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Stapleton angled his dark head and gestured with two fingers. “Come in, Joseph. You need to witness Warrick’s signature.”

Mr. Dehring hurried into the room, another pile of papers beneath his arm.

Waving the foolscap he held, Ian shook his head. He tossed the document onto the desk, mindful of the affronted glance Mr. Dehring shot him for his irreverence. “I want nothing to do with your money, Stapleton. Transfer the entire settlement to your niece as her irrevocable property.”

“Come now, Warrick. Don’t be hasty,” Stapleton said, though he couldn’t quite disguise his astonishment. “Somersfield is in disrepair, and the new Arabian bloodline you’ve invested in would set back a man with pockets much deeper than yours.”

Ian glared, again stifling the stream of obscenities thrumming in his throat.“Bloody hell, does your interference know no bounds? What other business of mine have you been prying into?”

Stapleton crossed his legs, lounging against his chair, completely at ease once more. “There’s the rather stiff penalty Prinny’s assessed.”

Ian curled his toes in his boots until they protested in pain. What he truly wanted to do was slam his fist atop the desk—or into Stapleton’s much too smug face.“That amercement,” he said with a calm deliberation, though fury tunneled through his veins, “is none of your concern.”

“There you’re wrong, Warrick.” Stapleton’s menacing mien had returned. “Anything affecting Vangie is my concern. A portion of her marriage settlement would certainly soothe the Prince Regent, don’t you think?”

God help him from launching himself across the desk and grabbing his throat. “You know nothing of it.”

“I know your brother killed one of Prinny’s favorites.”

Smug arse.

“Geoff was…” How could Ian explain the duel?

By-the-by, Stapleton, my brother found your niece engaging in a ribald dalliance with the Duke of Paneswort on the veranda. Poor gullible, infatuated pup that Geoff was, it appeared to him she was being set upon against her will. Naturally, he was honor-bound to call out the duke.

Or so Lucinda had ranted to Ian when she’d told him the cause of the duel.

Against Miss Caruthers’ will? And geese lay golden eggs.

He’d heard men at Armstrongs’ ball boasting about sampling her charms, even if her uncle hadn’t.

Staring past the sooty-paned window behind Stapleton, Ian rested his gaze on the scarcely-visible ship masts lining London’s harbor. Geoff had wanted to join His Majesty’s Navy.

Father had soundly forbidden it. With one son already in His Majesty’s service, the risk to the viscountcy was too great. Despite his sire’s strenuous objections, Ian had used his inheritance from his maternal grandmother to buy a captain’s commission.

If he hadn’t joined the army to escape his father’s control, his brother would be off safely sailing on a ship somewhere. Geoff wouldn’t have attended that fateful ball or defended the unworthy Miss Caruthers’ reputation. Guilt, a putrefied black knot, settled in Ian’s gut.

He couldn’t even explain Geoff’s role in the duel without besmirching Miss Caruthers to her uncle. Was the man truly completely ignorant of her fast behavior?

Ian sent Stapleton a quick glance. It wasn’t entirely impossible. Half the peerage was indebted to the man in one way or another. None dared risk his wrath. He possessed the ability to single-handedly ruin titled lords. So flush were his pockets, Stapleton had even extended several thousand pounds to the Prince Regent.

Stapleton Shipping and Supplies had amassed a colossal fortune. The third son of a viscount himself, Stapleton was the envy of the ton:well-heeled, full of juice to be exact, and well-bred. He was nearly untouchable. Only a disastrous scandal could shake his position.

A scandal such as the one Ian was party to.

He forced down a snarl. No doubt great care had been taken to keep the whispers about his coquette of a niece from reaching Stapleton’s ears.

He looked up, catching Ian’s scrutiny. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Have we an agreement then?” Stapleton paused then inched the ink and quill across the desk. “I’ll pay the amercement too. Consider it a wedding gift.”

Fury ripped through Ian, and he planted both hands on the desk’s worn edge. He bent forward, rigid with rage. “Hear me, Stapleton, and hear me well. I take care of my own. I don’t want a single groat from you!”

Stapleton cocked his head to the side. His eyes held that odd glint again. A slow smile curved the corners of his mouth. “So be it.” He waved his hand at the solicitor, before sweeping it across the documents. “Joseph, make whatever changes Warrick deems fit.”

Ian fought the urge to sneer his thanks. What was Stapleton grinning about, the pompous twit? Ian sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek. Damn but he wanted to tell the ass to go bugger himself.

At Ian’s insistence, Mr. Dehring amended several clauses of the contract. As the solicitor—his spindly fingers permanently ink-stained—made the meticulous changes he insisted upon, Ian curled his lips in contempt. Ridiculous practice that—paying a man to take a woman to wife. He didn’t care if it was what society did. He wanted no part of it. He’d be no better than his father if he accepted Miss Caruthers’ marriage settlement.

And by all the saints, I am not my father.