The Viscount's Vow (A Regency Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

sputtering, “Viscount Warrick, whatever are you doing in here?” And upon peering past his shoulders, her bulgy eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And why is Miss Caruthers unconscious and . . . half-clothed ?”
    “Indeed, sir,” parroted Lady Pendelbury, a skinny pinched-faced widow. “Surely, you’ve a plausible explanation.”
    Her voice rang with self-righteousness, clearly insinuating no such thing was possible.
    A few women traveled to ogle Miss Caruthers, whispering in what was obviously feline satisfaction at her appearance. He heard one of the murmuring harpies refer to her as a heathen, gypsy trollop.
    He stifled an oath. Rage, hot and furious roiled in his gut. Sharp-clawed, envious hellcats. And these were the créme-de-la-créme of the ton from which he was expected to select his viscountess. Not bloody likely. Cocking up his toes was preferable to becoming leg-shackled to one of them.
    Tucking his arms behind him, he clenched his hands together and rocked onto his heels. What maggot in his head possessed him to stay and help Miss Caruthers?
    She couldn’t breathe, dolt .
    Sweeping the aristocratic women with a contemptuous gaze, Ian observed a conglomeration of emotions. More than a few ladies averted yearning eyes, their desire obvious as they blushed self-consciously. Others’ expressions reflected embarrassment, sympathy, accusation, condemnation, and yes, even malicious glee. Those were the biddies whose vicious tongues would be flapping all over town before the night ended.
    If Ian planned this debacle, it couldn’t have served his original purpose any better. Now, he found himself attempting to preserve Miss Caruthers’s reputation by assuring these rabid flibbertigibbets he hadn’t ravished her.
    “Miss Caruthers felt faint while we danced. She swooned on the terrace. I brought her here to recover.” Blister it all, the story sounded preposterous even to his ears.
    There was a flurry of activity outside the room. What now? More histrionics?
    The ladies turned eager faces to the door. He eyed them, barely keeping his mouth from curling into a sneer of disgust. As if they needed any more juicy tidbits to bandy about. Miss Stapleton charged into the room, bolting at once to her cousin’s side. A striking couple followed her.
    The aunt and uncle, Ian presumed.
    Their host and hostess, Lord and Lady Armstrong, rushed in behind the pair. Ian couldn’t but admire Lady Armstrong’s astuteness. With a quick, assessing glance, she comprehended the delicacy of the situation and took matters in hand.
    “Ladies, let us remove ourselves to one of the other sitting rooms.” Despite their protests, she firmly shepherded the titillated oglers out the door.
    Ian disregarded them, more concerned that Miss Caruthers had yet to stir despite the ongoing commotion. He turned a carefully bland expression on her uncle. Was he a hot-tempered sort? The type to jump to conclusions? The devil take it, would he demand satisfaction? By all that was holy, it mustn’t come to that.
    Fire flared in Stapleton’s light blue eyes, but other than his lips firming into a straight line of disapproval, he remained silent.
    Ian breathed a bit easier. Good. A sensible man.
    Mrs. Stapleton joined their daughter, both women intent on reviving Miss Caruthers. After several moments, during which the men watched in tense silence, her eyelids fluttered open.
    “Dearest, are you all right?” Miss Stapleton cast an apprehensive glance in Ian’s direction. “What happened?”
    Furrowing her brow, Miss Caruthers lifted a shaky hand to her forehead. “I had one of my unfortunate episodes. I must have fainted.”
    She closed her eyes and swallowed.
    Ian exhaled bit-by-bit, daring to feel the tiniest smidgen of relief. She had episodes. Surely her family would understand.
    The aunt tsked comfortingly. “I so hoped you would outgrow your headaches; the physician said you might. You’ve suffered from them so many years now—ever since