The Viscount's Seduction: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 2)

by Alina K. Field

  “You pursued me?”

  She waved the question away. “My marriage was practical and friendly, but my husband’s health issues... Ah, well, in spite of my services to His Majesty’s Government, I went to Arbrough as a maiden and we both did our duty. However, after his death, I wanted to experience...the virility of a handsome young man. And I knew you would be safe. Sensible.”

  “Safe and sensible.” His jaw ached with clenching it. Why not add boring.

  “Safe and sensible with me, a woman you didn’t love, and would never love. That is a compliment, Bakeley. I am sure you are reckless and feckless with Lady Sirena, which is how it must be when a man is head over ears with a woman. It’s good you came to me to help her achieve justice. What is it you’d have me do?”

  He was head over ears in love with Sirena?

  He scratched a spot on his jaw that he’d missed with his hurried shaving.

  Love? Was that what this was?

  Lady Arbrough laughed. “Clever girl. The seduction has not all been one way, I see. Now, I have another engagement this morning, so if there’s something you wish—”

  “Yes.” He blinked away the muddling thoughts—Jocelyn pursuing him, Sirena seducing him. “Yes, there is something I wish.”

  A while later Bakeley rose to escort Lady Arbrough out.

  “Go ahead, Bakeley. I shall find my own way. It’s not wise for us to be seen together.”

  “Perhaps.” He took her hand and tucked it under his arm. “But come. Let us brave Madame together.”

  They’d talked long enough that the modiste had opened her shop to at least one customer, a plainly dressed lady, a maid surely, who she chatted with at the ribbon counter.

  Madame left her and hurried to the rich viscount and wealthy widow. “May I help you with anything else, my lord, my lady?”

  Just then the dark figure at the counter turned and shock spread across the maid’s face.

  Bakeley’s breath froze. It was Barton, his future business partner.

  He nodded to her and turned back to Madame. “Thank you for allowing us the use of your office.” Then he bowed to Lady Arbrough. “Good day, my lady.”

  As he trotted down the steps and called for his horse, he calculated how long his next business with his father would take, and how long it would take Barton to return to Shaldon House.

  An unmarked carriage waited a few doors down, for Jocelyn perhaps, though the rig must be a new one. The Shaldon coach was not around. Barton must have come alone and walked.

  Blast it, he needed to get home to Sirena before Barton reached her with the tale.

  Sirena washed and breakfasted in her chamber. Lady Jane and Barton had gone out on errands, so she’d have to fend off visitors with no more than the aid of Lady Perry.

  In no hurry to meet callers, she let Jenny help her into one of her new gowns and dress her hair in an elaborate, time-consuming coif of small braids and curls.

  She eyed herself in the looking glass. “Put a daisy chain around my neck, and I’ll look like the pony for the May crowning cart.”

  Jenny’s lips firmed, and Sirena touched the girl’s hand.

  “Oh, this mouth of mine—don’t be offended. It’s lovely, it is, Jenny. You’ve a knack for turning me into a thing of beauty. It’s only that I’m not used to it.”

  “You didn’t ’ave a maid at ’ome?”

  “Not one so skilled as you.”

  There. That had brought a smile.

  “I took no offense, my lady. I should like it if ye be honest, and if it be that you don’t like the ’air, or the dress, you must tell me. I’m not really Mrs. Gibson’s lady’s maid, you know.”

  “No?” Even so, surely Paulette would be wanting her back, wouldn’t she? She drew the girl to the settee and sat next to her. “We haven’t talked about this.” She hadn’t even thought about it. It had been selfish of her. “I’ve ever so much appreciated your help. If Paulette would allow it, and if you would be willing, would you stay with me? As my lady’s maid?”

  Jenny flashed a smile and then her brow wrinkled. “I’ll ask her. She ’elped me out, she did. And, you should ask after me, what my background is, my lady. It’s the way of it.”

  “All right then. Where are you from, Jenny?”

  “From Seven Dials, madam. Lady ’Ackwell took me to live with her when she was still Miss ’Arris. And then I went to the ’ome in the country. And then she took me into service. And then...”

  She stood and gripped her hands together. “I was attacked by the valet of one of the guests, and Miss Paulette insisted I leave with ’er.”

  “Attacked? At the home of Lord Hackwell?” Sirena could not keep the shock from her voice.

  She nodded. “It wasn’t ’is lordship’s fault. ’Is lordship and Mr. Gibson stopped ’im, and locked ’im up, but his master got ’im released and ’e chased after us on the road.”

  Panic flickered within her. It was the thing she herself had feared that day running from her cousin. “He came after you?” She heard her own breathlessness.

  Jenny shook her head. “It was Mrs. Gibson ’e was after. Mr. Kincaid chased ’im over a cliff. The man broke ’is neck and died.”

  Why was he after Paulette? She bit back the question. She wouldn’t begin Jenny’s service with gossiping. She would rather hear the answer from her husband, if he knew, and if he’d tell her. She couldn’t ask Paulette until they’d become much better acquainted.

  But, blast it, she needed to know. “If it’s in the nature of gossip, you need not speak of it, Jenny, but I know so little of this family I’ve joined.”

  “The man’s master spied for the French, and Paulette’s father spied for the English. It went back to that, and Lord Shaldon trying to catch ’im up so he could be arrested.”

  “I see.” She did. And now Shaldon was after another spy, the man Donegal, as well as Sterling Hollister. Someday she’d like to hear Paulette’s side of the story. There would be a someday. If Hollister or Donegal didn’t murder her.

  The thought left her shaken. After a moment, she noticed Jenny’s intense gaze.

  She plastered on a smile and rose. “We shall talk to Mrs. Gibson. If she’s agreeable, and you’re willing, I should like to hire you.”

  Leaving Jenny all aglow, she went downstairs. A footman stopped her by the stairs and said the artist needed to speak with someone and he couldn’t find Lady Perpetua.

  At the ballroom door she paused, and let her heart fill with the pleasure.

  It was a guilty pleasure, since she’d promised Perry she wouldn’t have an early peek at this special gift.

  It was a mad idea, this plan to chalk a drawing on the floor. It seemed daft in any space of time, but certainly so in less than one week.

  At the first sight of it, her heart lifted. Spring burst upon the floor. Horses pranced about in a field of fanciful shamrocks and blossoming flowers.

  In the far corner, a man was on his knees, a white-haired man standing over him. She recognized the older one as Old Nate, the man Perry said they called when there were walls to be painted or paper to be hung, or in this case, floors to be chalked.

  He looked up and came to greet her, limping. Ah, so that was why he’d hired others for a kneeling task.

  “Does it please you, my lady?” he asked.

  “’Tis a marvel, it is. It seems a pity to dance upon it.”

  The dancing would erase the design. This truly would be fleeting beauty, like her brief honeymoon with Bakeley.

  He nodded in agreement, and her heart hurt a bit more.

  She pulled herself together. “And ’tis also a marvel that you’ve finished it in less than seven days. Even the Lord’s creation could not proceed so quickly.”

  He smiled at that. “I need to ask about that, my lady. To complete the last part, my man here will need to work quite late tonight, perhaps through the night, as you will want him done before the flowers and the candles are arranged.”

  “Only
one man? Cannot you send the others to help?”

  “’Tis a special design he’s adding to the corners, and he’s faster than the others.”

  She craned her neck but could not see the drawing. Nor did the man look up. From here he seemed a man of middle age, fair-haired and built more for strength than for art, though his hand worked away. His attire was clean, his boot soles sturdy with no signs of holes. He seemed an entirely respectable working man.

  Someone on Shaldon’s staff could keep an eye on him. “Very well. I’ll send along the butler to make the arrangements.”

  The man looked up then, and her breath quickened.

  “But first, I’ll just have a wee look at what he’s doing.”

  She raised her hem and tiptoed along the wall, careful to step over the chalked lines. Her pulse built and clanged, stirring up memories from the deepest parts of her confused mind. The artist pushed up to his feet, and she could see, he was quite tall, his handsome face scarred on one side, from cheek to jaw. Blue eyes studied her with too much interest.

  Had Jamie’s eyes been that blue? Where, oh, where were her fey senses now?

  She stopped outside his reach and angled her head to view the work.

  ’Tis Queen Brighid’s quaternary Celtic knot, Sirena. Can you say it for me?

  Her eyes started to fill. The outline on the floor was clear, and the man so like, but she couldn’t be certain. She’d been but a child when Jamie left.

  She took a breath and glanced back at the overseer who’d followed her. “Please go and find Lloyd. Tell him your request and that we’ve talked.”

  The old man nodded and left.

  “And a good day to you, my lady.”

  Her nerves jangled more.

  “And what would be your name?” she asked. “Donegal?”

  His smile seemed kind, and she saw that a tooth was chipped. Kind or not, he’d had a violent life.

  “It’s as good an Irish name as anything to call me, Lady Sirena.”

  She swallowed the tears that threatened to form. He knew her name. Was this Donegal, or was it...him?

  The quaternary cross—it must be him, and not some wishful thinking.

  Except…Perry had spotted Gram’s good luck charm in Sirena’s room and asked to borrow it. She must have drawn the design for the artist.

  Or perhaps, this was the man Donegal, and he’d seen Gram’s charm round Jamie’s neck before he’d murdered him.

  Or tried to. She must keep faith that Jamie lived. And she must test this one.

  “Why didn’t you come forth to talk to me?” she asked.

  “I could not. An Irishman can’t be too careful, innocent though he be. I think you know that.”

  The words sent a chill through her. Did she know that?

  And if he wasn’t innocent, a traitor had found his way into Shaldon’s abode.

  He looked over her shoulder and then she heard the soft footfalls.

  “What are you doing here, Sirena? It was to be a surprise.”

  “Keep my secret, I beg you, my lady.”

  She still wanted answers. “We shall talk later,” she whispered and then said more loudly, “I’ll leave you to go back to your work, sir.”

  He bowed and went back to his chalking.

  Sirena caught up with Perry near the door and hustled her out. Whether Perry knew about the search for Donegal, she didn’t know. She didn’t want to inspire a visit from Shaldon, not yet, not until she’d had a chance to ask questions of her own. If her husband could keep secrets, so could she.

  “I’m sorry. It was temptation’s evil bite that made me do it. I just had to see.”

  “You were talking to that man.”

  Aye, Perry was Shaldon’s daughter. She would need to tread carefully. “I interrupted him and he was being polite only. I don’t even know his name. I was not being unfaithful to Bakeley.”

  That brought a smile.

  “Old Nate said he’s called Desmond. Come,” Perry said. “I heard the front knocker moments ago. We’ll have a visitor.”

  Her mind was jumbled with thoughts of the artist in that room and the earlier spat with her new husband. She needed to find out Bakeley’s plan. She needed to find her way back to the ballroom and see what the man there was plotting.

  And now to be poked and prodded by visitors coming to see Bakeley’s scandalous new bride while she was tossed and scattered on the inside. It was a trial, it was.

  She straightened her skirts. “Will I do?”

  Perry squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Like this.”

  A laugh bubbled out and Perry joined in, linking arms. “Don’t worry, Sirena.”

  In the corridor, a footman stopped them with news that the florist had come with the racks and vases for the next night’s ball.

  Sirena saw Perry’s consternation. Perry was one to keep a firm grip on all phases of the planning, so much like her father and Bakeley.

  “Go, Perry, and see to it. I shall brave this tiresome visitor alone.”

  “Are you sure? Oh, you’ll be fine. It may be Lady Hackwell. She did say she would visit.”

  Outside the drawing room a footman handed her a salver with a card.

  Her heart sank all the way to the leather heels of her new shoes and then rose again sweeping up every morsel of anger in her. Her hand shook with it, her lungs squeezing tight.

  “Just the one caller, my lady.”

  She eased in a breath. The footman watched the door to the drawing room. And though his gaze had not lighted directly upon her once, she sensed he’d seen her discontent.

  That wasn’t good. She was supposed to play an English lady, not an Irish milkmaid. She set her face and entered.

  The door, she noted, did not snick closed behind her and some of her tension eased. The footman was keeping watch.

  Across the room, Sterling Hollister studied a fine piece of Sevres porcelain on the mantel. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, dark hair. It could have been Bakeley, but there was so much more true strength in her husband.

  The oiled hinges of Shaldon House did not creak, nor did her heels clack on the polished floor, yet Hollister turned.

  She stopped a few paces inside the door and curtsied. “Lord Glenmorrow.”

  He approached, too eagerly she thought, and came close enough to bow over the hand she put out to keep him away.

  “Cousin Sirena.” His beady eyes traveled up and down her person too boldly. “I must congratulate you on your marriage. You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “Won’t you be seated?” She went to a narrow chair within view of that open door and waited for him to choose the more comfortable armchair. Instead, he pulled another chair from the round table and placed it near her.

  Anxiety locked her knees together and an ache started in the back of her neck. “It is kind of you to visit,” she lied. “Bakeley and I hope you have received the invitation to our ball tomorrow night and are planning to celebrate with us.”

  He smiled that oily smile that had preceded his first hint of an offer so many months ago. It took all her strength of will to keep her fists unfurled.

  “Ah, so your husband is the generous sort and does not mind.”

  Her breath caught. Bakeley minded plenty, but his plans, she did not know, and that spiked a bit of anger.

  And just how was she to respond?

  He reached across and touched her hand. “You did not tell him.” That smile grew more sinister. “Well, it shall be our secret.”

  She pulled her hand away, rose, and moved behind the chair. “I have no secrets from my husband.”

  Well, except for the man who was, even now, working away on the ballroom floor.

  A thought flashed to run and get him, but she quickly tossed it away. Shaldon would only arrest him, before she could truly speak with him on her own.

  “But Bakeley understands you are my only living relative.”

  He was on his feet again, moving closer, frowning. “What have y
ou told him, Sirena?” He put a hand on her arm, his grip too tight.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall. He dropped her arm and moved away.

  I told him everything, she wanted to shout. Yet the truth might keep him away, and it might be essential for Hollister to attend the ball. If only she knew the plans.

  “Do not worry,” she said. “My husband is a sensible man.”

  The footsteps were drawing closer. “Not so sensible. He married you,” he whispered.

  “Lord Glenmorrow.” The voice boomed across the room and her heart lifted. Bakeley entered, all stone-faced courtesy, and behind him was the Earl of Shaldon himself.

  The gentlemen exchanged stiff greetings, and Bakeley made a show of kissing her warmly on the cheek. The way his dark eyes glittered, he was riled, yet she doubted Hollister could see it.

  She smiled at the new arrivals. “Father, Bakeley, I am honored that you have come in time to meet my cousin.”

  Bakeley noted the tension in her. How could he not—it rolled off her in great waves. The ass had insulted her, or threatened her somehow.

  Thank God, they’d made it in time. When Lloyd saw the visitor’s card, he’d sent a footman running to get Bakeley who’d just picked up his father. Bakeley wanted to drive a fist into Hollister’s smirking mouth, or put a sharp crease in his arse with the toe of his boot.

  He leaned in to drop a kiss on her other cheek. “The footman said Perry deserted you.” And what were you doing alone with this man? He led her to a settee and plopped next to her.

  “Perry’s gone to check a delivery. There’s much to-do in setting up a ball, husband.” She curved her lips up again in that approximation of a smile and he squeezed her hand, battling the rage that was threatening to choke him.

  His father laid his cane upon a table—within reach of his hand—and settled into a large armchair. “Sit, Glenmorrow. Tell us, will we see you at this ball? My daughters tell me all the best are coming.”

  “I will be honored to attend, my lord.”

  “Though I don’t recall that you and I have met before, I knew your brother.”

  “His death was a great loss.” Hollister dipped his head sorrowfully.