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

by Alina K. Field

  A scratching at the door roused Bakeley from his chair, and the butler entered.

  “Beg pardon, my lords,” he said. “The cellar is seeping again. You did ask me to tell you, Lord Bakeley.”

  Bakeley swiped a hand through his hair. What had Perry said? He’d designed all the drainage himself.

  Well, and perhaps he’d not done a good job of it, a lord dabbling in a working man’s trade.

  And…hadn’t she been lolling around in a great bloody tub all afternoon? That would be her bathwater seeping out in the cellar.

  “I have some of the men seeing to it.”

  “Thank you, Lloyd. I’ll be right down.” Bakeley closed the door on the man.

  “The sewer,” Shaldon said. “Threats to the Crown, and you worry about sewers.”

  Bakeley scowled. “Miasma fevers and marsh gas explosions are also threats to the Crown.”

  Sirena stood. “Twas my bath—”

  “No,” Bakeley said. “The public sewer is backing up again. Come.” He reached for her hand. “I’ll take you back to your chamber. Shall I send Perry up so you can begin organizing the ball?”

  Her heart trembled within her. Dump her he would, after all she’d discovered, and go and deal with his shite.

  She forced a light tone. “Lady Perry will be abed, or near to it. You’re going down to your dungeons?”

  “The cellars, yes.”

  A part of the Shaldon House tour she’d missed. “Then I’ll find my own way.” She nodded to Shaldon. “Good night, then…Father, Bakeley.”

  She rushed out, but Bakeley caught up with her in the corridor outside her bedchamber, touching her waist. Blast him.

  “Sirena—”

  “Go,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Go to bed then. I’ll be right along.”

  “To join me?”

  “If you wish.”

  If she wished? Anger bubbled up in her, like Bakeley’s seeping sewage.

  She pasted on a smile and faced him.

  A lamp had been lit in the corridor. Surely the dim light would hide her falseness.

  “Twas truly not the bath?” she asked.

  “No. I’ve been after the sewer commissioners to clean up the lines. London is growing and…” He shook his head. “Shall I send your maid to tuck you in?”

  Tuck her in? Bakeley thought he’d married a meek soul who needed a maid to fetch and carry for her. An Irish lady who’d blithely forget all her countrymen and open her arms to the English at a fancy London ball.

  It made her head spin, it did.

  She patted his arm. “Go on with you, then.”

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead and she watched him hurry off.

  Inside, all was quiet. Outside, carriages clacked and rattled, rich people off to their parties and balls. And the night stink did indeed seep through the windows.

  A year earlier, she’d have run the fields in brisk, chilly air on a night like this. Even two days ago, she’d been free to go out at the crack of dawn.

  She pounded a fist on the door frame. They’d trapped her, these English, as surely as Jamie must have been trapped.

  She found the same servants’ staircase she’d climbed with Bakeley that first night and groped her way down to the back door.

  Chapter 20

  Sirena pinched her nose with the corner of her shawl and picked her way to the stable at the back of the garden. Shaldon House was a grand mansion, standing all on its own, not one of the townhouses wedged up against others. ’Twas as big as her home in Glenmorrow, and if Cransdall was grander, as Perry had said, it must indeed be a veritable palace.

  And with Lady Shaldon deceased, it was Lady Bakeley’s to run.

  She shook off the terrible thought and let herself into the stables.

  Horses and hay—a deep breath brought the comforting smells. A low lantern hung in the aisle, casting a dim light, so someone must be about.

  She paused. Every stall was filled except the one loose box in the near corner. The box, a great luxury for a London mews Perry had said, still stood empty, Save for some shuffling and snorting, all was quiet. Perhaps the grooms had been needed to help Bakeley shovel the human seepage. For herself, she’d rather deal with horse droppings. And she had every right to be here, didn’t she?

  A gray nose poked her way—Bakeley’s gelding she’d met on the street. And that only a few days ago.

  She moved up silently in the stall and laid a palm on him. He buzzed with an excitement and interest that shot up her arm and stirred her. Her fey gifts were truly back. She let out a long breath, letting it float over him, her eyes tearing with the joy of it.

  Now, here was a fast friend, a true friend. Ride him, she would. She opened her mouth to speak, but a rumbling whisper down the aisle silenced her.

  The gelding trembled.

  “Shhh,” she breathed, stroking his nose.

  “Sure, and they’re all in the house. ’Tis only me here.”

  The lilting male voice made her ears fairly quiver. That was an Irishman, here, in the Shaldon stables. Did their lordships have a Paddy employed?

  The other voice rumbled, and the skin on her back rippled. The gelding stirred.

  She closed her eyes to hear better.

  “No. ’Twon’t be that easy.”

  More rumbling.

  “I’ll try. ’Tis all I can promise. And—”

  Bam.

  Down the aisle, a horse was objecting. And wasn’t that a sure sign the whisperers were up to no good?

  The gelding’s nostrils ruffled but he held in his worry.

  The voices moved away, toward the door at the end.

  Behind her, the door she’d entered opened again. Light from a lantern lit the gelding’s rolling eyes and fear shot through her. She swallowed hard and turned.

  “See here—”

  “Don’t be swinging that light at me,” she said.

  Shock registered in the man’s face. She didn’t know him.

  “Beg pardon, miss.”

  “You’ve left a lantern lit and the horses unattended.”

  “Lord Bakeley called, but there was a man here.” He took off his hat, revealing hair that was probably red in the light of day.

  “What’s your name?” she asked. “Why aren’t you wearing your livery?”

  “I’m Johnny, miss. Mr. Gibson’s man. He sent me over to…er…”

  The conversation with Shaldon came back to her. “You were at the inn.”

  “Yes.” He rolled his cap in his hand, looking confused.

  He didn’t know who she was. Shaldon had said he was a good man.

  Behind him, more men trickled in and scattered to the stalls, sending her sideways glances.

  “I’m Lady Bakeley,” she said. “What are you all on about now?”

  “We’ll be moving these fellows to a hired stable. Lord Bakeley’s orders.”

  Her heart plummeted. “He wants them removed?”

  She’d have no horses to visit and to calm her.

  “For a few days, in case the pit down below seeps. Bad for their feet. And any gases are bad for their wind.”

  She blinked, trying to follow the man. “The pit?”

  “The cesspit, my lady. The common sewer is backing up into it, his lordship says.”

  The cesspit. And sewers. Of course, as his lordship had said to her also.

  “Then ’tis not the best time to discuss a mount for me. Do you need my help with the moving? Shall I call Lady Perry to come help also?”

  His eyes went wide again. “I couldn’t—I mean, we men here have ahold of it, my lady.”

  We men.

  Well, she’d only been Lady Bakeley for one day. It might, perhaps, take more than that to worm her way into the stables. But be there she would, or Bakeley could arrange his own wedding ball.

  She patted the horse’s nose, wished the man a good night, and found her way back to her bedchamber.

  Jenny was sprawled on the
chaise longue, fast asleep.

  The girl stirred and sprang up, mumbling a groggy apology.

  “Poor Jenny. If you’ve been waiting for me to climb out of the bathtub, I do apologize. We’ll make a fast job of it tonight, and you can head up to your bed. I didn’t don stays after my bath.”

  “You could have called me, my lady.”

  “I was in a big hurry. How are you finding this great house?”

  “My lady?”

  “Are they treating you well? Your being new, and the staff being so well-settled. I’m grateful to you for joining me here.”

  “I’m not the only new one. There’s two new footmen, and some of the grooms, and a couple of maids they’ve hired on for the season. They’re expecting a great deal of company.”

  “I see. Good. So you’re not the only one trying to fit in. Is all well with the staff?”

  The girl’s forehead wrinkled and her lips pressed together.

  “I’m not asking for secrets, you see. It’s just, I’m to be the new mistress here…”

  “I don’t know as I’d say all is perfect below stairs. There’s a great hubbub there now in the kitchens, with all of the grooms and footmen tramping about.”

  Her voice cracked on the last words and she turned away, shaking out the brown gown while Sirena pulled on her nightrail.

  A tremor went through Sirena. ’Twas more of that gift springing up, and not her own with the horses, but her mother and Gram’s. Meeting Bakeley had stirred up the fairies. “Where have they put you to sleep, Jenny?”

  “There’s cots off the kitchens—”

  “What? You’re not in the attics with the other girls?”

  “The beds are all taken, they said.”

  Unease threaded through her. Her tour hadn’t included the servants’ quarters. But she’d not have a girl in her care confined to the scullery. Not with the cesspit seeping and men tramping everywhere.

  She pulled the counterpane and a pillow off her bed and carried them to the chaise longue.

  “You understand, I cannot put you in my bed, Jenny, just in case his lordship wanders in with no light and a bit foxed. He’d not bother you, I’m sure, but ’twill be better to not confuse him and embarrass the either of you.” She plumped the pillow and spread out the blanket. “You’ll sleep here.”

  “Oh, miss, I couldn’t.”

  “You can, and you will. We’ll lock this door to the corridor, and I’ll be in Lord Bakeley’s bed.” She took the brown dress from the girl, tossed it onto the bed, and crossed to the door, turning the key. “There now. Loosen your laces, take off your shoes, and stretch out.”

  Jenny let out a breath. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Good night and sleep well.”

  Guilt nipped at her, and anger. Lady Bakeley she was, like it or not, and mistress of this great house. And tomorrow night her maid would sleep in a proper room.

  It was the wee hours before Bakeley trudged up to his bedchamber.

  At Sirena’s door he paused and moved on. It was late, and she’d be asleep, and as much as he’d washed below stairs, he surely carried the stench in his clothing.

  In his chamber, a lamp burned. He spotted a shape in the bed, sending his heart into a gallop.

  She was here, waiting for him. He stripped off his clothes and climbed in with her, pulling her close.

  “Bakeley?” she whispered.

  “Who else?”

  “Did you fix things?”

  “No. Not tonight. We didn’t want to nose about too much with the lanterns. There are gases that might ignite.”

  “Really? And start the house on fire?”

  “Or worse. Explode.”

  “Will we have to move out?”

  “No. We’ll carry on.” They’d clear the stables though, just for a time. For the health of the cattle. “We’ll call out the muck men first thing tomorrow.”

  “Will we still have the ball?”

  “Yes. It will all be cleared up by then.”

  “Oh.”

  He heard the disappointment in her voice.

  “A fine challenge you’ve set me.” She turned her head and scowled at him. “Plan a ball and pray that the house doesn’t explode around our guests.”

  Her eyes went wide and she sat up, the covers spilling to reveal a lacy nightrail. “Could it be done on purpose? Perhaps the man, Donegal—”

  “London’s growing so fast, there are frequent problems like this.”

  “But if it’s inside, perhaps one of your people—”

  “No.” Though in truth, he’d gone over the list of his staff in his mind, wondering the same thing. But they’d all been checked quite thoroughly, even the new ones.

  He traced a finger down the valley of her chest, making her shiver.

  She clamped her hand over his. “You’re so sure of yourself.”

  The challenge in her voice sent lust storming through him.

  He held himself still. “You wish to sleep. You’re probably sore.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant, have a care of your staff, is all. For the other, well, I know my duty. I’m to breed the next little Lord Bakeley.” She turned to him. “And so, husband, here I am.”

  Her lips touched his, and he was lost.

  Only later, as he was drifting to sleep, the scent of her hair filling him, her words came back, troubling him. She was his chosen wife, not a brood mare. She wasn’t bought and paid for. And, by God, he’d be more to her than the man she married to save her reputation. She’d surrendered her body and it wasn’t enough. He wanted her Irish heart.

  A few days later, Sirena squeezed in next to Perry in the front-facing seats of the Shaldon town carriage. Across from them, Lady Jane sat next to Barton, all but quivering with excitement.

  Sirena pushed the curtain aside and peered out. Two riders on each side protected them, along with two men on the coach. “Have we enough outriders?” Sirena muttered. “They’ll think a royal princess is tucked away in this carriage.”

  Perry giggled. “Bakeley would have come along himself had he not been meeting with Father, and Bink, and Charley. It’s wonderful the way we’ve all come together.”

  “Barton and I am delighted to be visiting Madame Le Fanelle’s,” Lady Jane said.

  Barton had been cooking up her dress designs from her observations in the park, shops, and public byways, as well as whichever Ackerman’s fashion plates she could get her hands on. The chance to see the modiste’s shop up close had even the level-headed maid grinning.

  “It’s spying, you are,” Sirena said. Perry had whisked her off on the first day to this fashionable dressmaker, where she’d been measured for a wardrobe and fitted with three completed dresses the proprietor had ready for new customers just like her, she’d said. Though Sirena imagined some other poor soul had gone delinquent in her bill-paying.

  In spite of Bakeley’s plight with the muck men, Lady Jane had moved in—for a short while only, she’d said—and now, two days later, they were off for more fitting and shopping, and the spying, of course. The time spent on the mundane tasks of arranging menus, planning the flowers, and addressing ball invitations had included more discussions of the dressmaking enterprise, and Barton was quietly eager to see how the most fashionable modiste in London conducted business.

  James had interrupted his sewer concerns to come with them on her first modiste visit, both to satisfy himself that she would be safe and, he’d whispered, to take his own measure of the cost of setting up such a business. Madame had greeted him more effusively than she would have had she known his true purpose—and had she not already made the acquaintance of his coin. It may have been the first time he’d crossed the threshold of the shop, but they had, Sirena decided, done business together before.

  She’d had to beat down a powerful bout of the green monster, as well as a healthy dose of curiosity, reminding herself that he’d broken with Lady Arbrough, and what had taken place before Bakeley’s marriage was not tru
ly any of her business. This wasn’t a love match, after all. Once he’d got her with child, he’d soon enough leave her bed for another’s.

  There again, perhaps he’d only paid his sister Perry’s bills. Yes, that might well be it.

  The carriage stopped and they were handed down into the phalanx of guards.

  “The street is a quiet one.” Lady Jane bent to whisper to Barton. “And quite respectable. And note the display. Very tasteful.”

  Perry smiled behind Lady Jane’s back. “The windows are also so clean they are glistening, and the fixtures are completely au courant. Come. Let us go up these well-swept stairs and enter.”

  Sirena chuckled and followed her new sister. The shop girl who greeted them said Madame was just finishing with a customer, and indeed, Sirena turned and saw the dressmaker walking from the back with a tall, dark-haired lady in a fawn-colored pelisse.

  A buzzing started in her head and she sensed Perry moving closer. Of course Bakeley knew this shop—Lady Arbrough had her dresses made here. Perhaps her more intimate attire also, the kind a lord would buy his mistress.

  Now he was paying for Sirena’s new attire. A new peignoir, a delicate, frothy thing in white, had been delivered to the great house the day before. He’d removed it from her body not long after she’d donned it.

  She felt her face go warm. Lady Arbrough was coming her way, a knowing smile upon her face, yet not an unfriendly one.

  “My dear.” Lady Arbrough curtsied. “Lady Perpetua. Lady Sirena. How wonderful to see you both. Am I too bold when I say that I read in the paper the announcement of your news? I do wish you and Bakeley every happiness. Lady Perpetua, you must be thrilled to have a new sister.”

  The chatter gave her time to recover. Perry’s initial alarm had faded and now she looked bemused, responding politely. Lady Jane and Lady Arbrough exchanged polite greetings.

  Lady Arbrough swept a gaze over Sirena. “I see Madame’s hand in your gown. That shade of blue is very becoming.”

  Sirena smiled. “Perry, will you introduce Madame to Lady Jane?”

  “Most certainly. Come along, and Barton too. You must see the collection of trims Madame keeps handy.”

  Sirena waited until they were out of earshot to speak. “You’re saying in your polite way that ’tis good I’m rid of the primrose?” She added a chuckle to defuse her impertinence.