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

by Alina K. Field

  The stable boy came carrying buckets of water, leaving one in Lightning’s stall.

  She found a curry comb and began stroking, the whisk-whisk of it calming her.

  For the first time in their brief marriage, her husband had not shared her bed.

  She knew why. He’d learned about Lady Arbrough. No one had told her, but no one had to. In this great house, for all Shaldon’s secretiveness, everyone had a sense of what all the rest were doing. And Bakeley was angry.

  Men liked to be in control. If a wife and a mistress were friendly, well, how could he work them against each other?

  Her heart felt like she’d breathed in a load of shot. She’d thought to be kind. She’d thought to be sensible—this wasn’t a love match, and he being a great, wealthy, handsome man, sooner or later he’d have a woman on the side. Great or lowly, men were gullible creatures where the fair sex was concerned, and it was how it was done.

  The ache in her chest rose into her throat, and to chase it away she began to croon a song her mother had sung to her.

  Bam.

  The gelding shied and snorted.

  Bam. The pounding had come from another stall.

  “You’re not alone then, my boy? And who is that ill-tempered neighbor?”

  When she went to investigate, a dark head eyed her, lips pulling back to bare a full set of yellowing teeth.

  “Be careful, my lady.” The stable boy, a sandy-haired fellow as slight as herself, stepped out of a shadow. “A mean one is this one. His lordship just brought her in.”

  “Is she now?” She held the horse’s curious gaze. “A challenge you will be, will you? Has my wee lullaby discomfited you? Is my singing so bad?”

  The boy chuckled.

  “Or are we a jealous one?” Sirena said. “Well then, you shall have our attention.” She edged closer. “Come on then. Let’s have a discussion.”

  Bakeley was buttoning his waistcoat when he finally heard a stirring in Sirena’s chamber. A night spent with Charley—and without Sirena—left him irritated and cross. He’d done far more hopping from club to gaming hell than he had in years, trying to run into Sterling Hollister.

  Hollister had moved into rooms, but apparently, he’d not yet settled fully into the club life. That would change—a man looking to make his way in politics would have to show his face socially. He’d not yet accepted his invitation to the Shaldon ball, either—though the landlord at the inn said he’d delivered it himself.

  Bakeley had arrived home with nothing but an extra ill-tempered horse that he’d won in a card game, and he was too damned snarly himself to wake up his wife for a tupping.

  Nor did he want to be questioned in bed about his plans for the day when he was groggy and half out of his mind with lust. Though now…

  He went to the connecting door, tapped gently, and opened it. A maid looked up from her dusting and quickly curtsied.

  Disappointment ramped up his irritation. He’d slept through Sirena’s rising, and she hadn’t come in to wake him.

  “Where is Lady Sirena?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, my lord. I haven’t seen her.”

  Unease rippled through him, remembering her morning jaunts when she lived with Lady Jane.

  He hurried downstairs.

  Perry sat alone in the breakfast room studying the scandal sheets. “They’re not mentioning you and Sirena today,” she said by way of greeting.

  He helped himself to some tea. “Wonderful. Where is she?”

  Perry pushed her spectacles higher and studied him. “Not still in bed?”

  The note of surprise and concern, as though her romantic conceptions had been upended, ruffled him more.

  And then more worry reared in him.

  “She hasn’t come down,” Perry said. “That I know of. She wasn’t in the morning room.”

  “Are the men at work in the ballroom?” Perry had concocted the harebrained scheme of commissioning an elaborate chalk drawing to cover the dance floor.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps she went to check on it, though I made her promise not to peek.”

  He trudged to the ballroom and stopped on the threshold. The gray light outside barely touched the floor, but what he could see was an intricate design of horses, mythological figures, and Celtic signs.

  His sister had found an artist to come up with the design very quickly, and paid him—him, who the devil was he?—out of her own money. He should question her about the man and how she’d learned of him, but this business with Donegal…

  He sighed. The fanciful floor art would awe the ton, and surprisingly, it would be ready in time. All looked complete, except for a corner where a lone man worked away without looking up.

  Bakeley retraced his steps and went downstairs, catching Lloyd, the butler, supervising the cleaning of silver. Lloyd had served the family well, since before Bakeley could remember, and made a point of knowing all the comings and goings of staff and family.

  He didn’t disappoint. Bakeley’s boots clicked on the bricks as he strode to the mews.

  He heard her before he could see her. She was talking, her voice low and soothing in a way that did anything but settle his own disquiet.

  He sensed a wedge between them, related to Lady Arbrough perhaps, or—he couldn’t imagine what else it could be.

  Drat, it could be his own guilty conscience. He was off for a private meeting with Lady Arbrough, and perhaps Sirena had discovered it the same way he’d discovered she’d invited his former mistress to her wedding ball.

  “Get Lightning saddled.”

  The groom saluted.

  “Handsome, you are.” Sirena’s voice came from a stall further down, and a sliver of jealousy stirred in him.

  He peered into the gelding’s quarters and the lonely horse cast him a baleful look. Another jealous male.

  “’Tis the new horse she’s with, my lord,” the groom said.

  Alarm must have shown on his face because the young man shook his head. “Softened up like butter, she did. Her ladyship has her in hand.”

  The girl who whispered to horses.

  He approached slowly. In the light of morning, the mare was beautifully built, her black coat sleek over taut muscles.

  The horse rolled her eyes and snorted. Sirena’s monologue broke off and her hand stilled momentarily.

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  Whisk, whisk, whisk.

  The horse noticed the absence of speech and glanced back at her.

  “Having a nice conversation, we are.” She didn’t look at either of them.

  She’d worked with horses all her life, he told himself. She could handle this one—was handling this one.

  “You’ve calmed her.”

  “I’m glad you’ve brought two of the horses back. This one I don’t know.” She smoothed her hand down the horse’s shoulder. “Does she have a name?”

  “Not as I know.”

  “Banshee would do,” she said. “She’s a flighty, complaining one. You have a devil in you, do you not, my girl?”

  “Yes, indeed she does. I won her at cards last night from a fellow who was pockets to let and happy to be rid of her. As I will be when I can get her over to Tattersalls.”

  She paused again and still wouldn’t look at him. “I should like you to keep her.”

  “And I should like you to leave her to one of the grooms. In fact, I’m wondering why my wife, who has a grand ball to host in a day, is in the stable brushing a wild mare who won’t be ridden.”

  Her hand paused again, and he saw a tremble. “I’ve barely touched a horse in so many months. Will you take this away from me then?”

  The catch in her voice sent a wave of guilt washing over him.

  But she was his to protect. “Sirena, this horse is dangerous. You know this.”

  “Aye.” She made another pass with the comb and turned to him, cheeks pink and eyes glowing. “I don’t need a gentle, safe beast. There’d be no challenge to that.”


  He blinked. A gentle, safe beast. A boring husband.

  “And I will ride her one day,” Sirena said. “She and I are coming to an agreement about it.” She patted the horse’s neck. “Though she knows we likely can’t be together every day as I’d wish.”

  Jealousy flared in him and he pushed it back immediately. This was a horse. A horse, not a man she was talking about.

  Boring though he might be, she was stuck with him. And he would win her, somehow.

  Wisps of hair protruded from the cap she’d pulled on. The horse snorted and nosed her arm, and cold fear ran through him. The beast could snap one of her bones so easily. Behind him he heard the creak of leather as the boy readied Lightning.

  “I’ll have Pooka brought up from Kent and trained to the side saddle for you.”

  She threw him a glance. “Sure, and I can manage the side saddle, but astride suits me better.”

  “Perhaps when we’re home at Cransdall. But in town—”

  “Do not the grooms take them out early to run in the park?”

  Whisk, whisk, whisk.

  His wife, riding astride, in London, dressed as a groom, for surely that was what she was planning. And he’d never allow it.

  “You could go out of a morning with a groom.” She turned a baleful look on him. “That is if you’ve bothered to come home the night before.”

  The horse snorted and ducked her head, as if agreeing, and Bakeley fought a smile. Now they were down to it. “I was hunting for Hollister last night,” he said, keeping his voice low.

  “I see.”

  “I must go out again. Shall we chat when I come back?”

  “If I have time. I’m to be at home today for callers.”

  “Come away from that horse, love.”

  “In a bit,” she said.

  “Now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to kiss you and I’m not sure she’ll allow it.”

  That won him a smile as he’d hoped it would. She patted the horse again, whispered something to her and stepped out of the stall.

  He gathered her close.

  A snort from the horse and a discreet cough from behind interrupted them. His mount was ready.

  “I must go.”

  “And where is it you’re going, Bakeley?”

  “James.”

  “You will be Bakeley until you tell me.”

  He held his breath. There was no time to smooth this over, should she be upset with his mission, and he couldn’t wait for her to change her clothing should she wish to accompany him. “I’m meeting someone who’ll help carry out our plot,” he whispered.

  “And which plot is that?” she asked softly.

  Chapter 22

  Sirena watched her husband assembling his answer from the bits and pieces of what he was willing to share. Galling it was, and she was a far way toward a hammering anger.

  Part of his attention was on the wee horse behind her, and part on the twitchy mount waiting to take him away, and the groom who surely must be trying to eavesdrop.

  Kiss her he would, and it would lead to nothing—his mind was not on amorous activities, nor on telling her the truth. What it was on, she wasn’t sure, because he wasn’t tipping his hand, nor were her fey senses working on him. Had he come to her in the morning—or had she smothered her pride and gone looking for him, she might have coaxed it out of him by her great skills at lovemaking.

  For it was the truth—married less than a fortnight, and she’d been pining for him.

  And perhaps that was why he’d avoided her bed. Men didn’t like a clinging woman, even when they didn’t have something to hide.

  She must try anyway. She turned her head so their lips were in proximity, and after a moment, little sparks like fairy arrows began to play between them.

  He stared down through heavy-lidded eyes, and her heart took a giant leap. This was a kind of power like her mother’s and Gram’s, and whether he had it over her or the other way around, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She touched her lips to his and pressed her breasts into his chest, and the kiss was sweet and then sultry, and then smoking in the tiny gaps of air between them. It hurt to think how much she’d missed him in her bed, and to wonder if he was angry with her or if he even knew they’d had a wee falling out.

  She broke the kiss and leaned around him. “Take Lightning outside,” she told the groom.

  When the boy led the horse off, she looked at Bakeley. “You didn’t come to me last night.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you when I came in.”

  The tenseness round his mouth told her he was skirting a secret. Very well. She’d try to draw it out of him. “That may be, but I think you were angry with me. I think you discovered a...a decision I made and were unhappy.”

  The glint that flashed told her she was right.

  “What decision would that be?”

  Anger sparked in her. “Don’t play the dunderhead. I’m sure one of your whispering men told you I invited Lady Arbrough to the ball. I saw her at the dress shop and she seemed—well, she hasn’t been unkind to me, and I won’t be unkind to her.”

  “You’re that confident in me?”

  The irritation that laced his tone surprised her.

  “You said your arrangement was over, and I believed you. She said the same thing, and I believed her. And no. I don’t wish to share you with her, Bakeley.” Or anyone else, but of course that was a fairy dream if ever there was one.

  She sucked in a great breath and blinked hard. He’d married to spite his father, hadn’t he? She’d married to have a roof and to find her brother. “Perry said your father would be shocked, but I don’t think there’s much will shock him, and I don’t think he cares a hare’s bottom what the ton thinks. Do you care? Or is that why you’re upset?”

  His eyes clouded and he lifted the comb from her hand. “I’ll bring Pooka up for you to ride. But only when I’m around.”

  The great bloody fool. He was taking charge again.

  Or thinking to.

  “Very well, then.” She forced a smile.

  He took her elbow and marched her outside, where she watched him ride off, one of the Shaldon grooms mounted and following him.

  And her heart twisted inside. At least he wasn’t going off alone. She would count the hours until his return, whether to battle out their disagreement or to make peace, she wasn’t sure.

  And what battle, really, would they be fighting?

  Madame La Fanelle herself, serene, and tight-lipped, and exquisitely polite, opened the shop door for Bakeley and ushered him in.

  He would have to pursue his investment in Barton’s enterprise more aggressively.

  Madame curtsied. “This way. She waits in my office, as you requested.”

  He followed her down a narrow corridor to a small cluttered room.

  Jocelyn sat at a desk, thumbing through fashion plates. The gaze she lifted to him was coldly amused.

  Damnation. He had the ire of three women on him this morning.

  He bowed. “I do apologize. Thank you for waiting.”

  “I hope it was due to pleasant reasons.”

  The insinuation was clear, but he would be damned if he’d give her intimate details of his married life.

  “The wedding ball is requiring more preparations than anyone expected.”

  She smiled back tightly. “I’ll decline the invitation if you wish.”

  He took Madame’s chair behind the desk and looked around, wondering at the contents of this room. There were drawings and fashion plates, ribbons and trims, scraps of fabric and measuring tapes, but no lists of ordered ribbons and trims and textiles, no accounting books, no delivery schedules. Madame might bring clients here but her real work was done elsewhere.

  How private it was, he wasn’t sure. He lowered his voice. “My only consideration would be my new wife’s feelings, but since she wishes you to come, that consideration is moot.”

  She blinked and he could not
tell if she was hiding some sadness or plotting some mischief.

  “Do not fear, Jocelyn. I shall not importune you in that way.”

  One eyebrow shot up. “In some other way then?” She studied him and laughed. “What are you up to, Bakeley?”

  The tension eased, and he settled back as if he was talking to one of his friends at the club and not a woman who’d been in his bed.

  “We need your help,” he whispered.

  “We?”

  It was the we that had given her pause, not the issue of helping.

  “Sirena needs your help.”

  “With what?”

  He thrummed his fingers on the desk. Jocelyn gossiped like everyone else, and Sirena’s past was none of the ton’s business.

  “I won’t bandy her secrets about, if that’s what has you suddenly tongue-tied.”

  His face heated. “I must have your word on that. Not for my sake, but hers.”

  She nodded. “You have it.”

  He told her about Sterling Hollister’s treatment of Sirena.

  “So you rescued her from not just poverty, but disgrace should he choose to make the story known.” Her voice had softened with a sentimentality he’d never seen in her. “She is safe now. No one can touch her if she is under yours and Shaldon’s protection.”

  “Yes, she has protection, but what we would like for her is—“

  “Revenge?”

  He paused, remembering the wedding night conversation.

  “Justice.”

  Her face froze and she sat up straighter. “Do not expect me to sleep with the man.”

  “If he lays but a finger on you, he’ll answer to me and my brothers. But I’ve heard some tales recently that Lady Arbrough is capable of taking care of herself even in matters of combat.”

  “Have you?” Her dark eyes sparkled. “His lordship has been talking.”

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t approve of my marriage. One doesn’t marry one’s mark, he said. Had he been in town then, I might have exercised those combat capabilities on his person.”

  “Is that why you agreed to be my—“

  “Bakeley. Stop. The possibility of inflicting pain on the old man by toying with his heir sweetened the chase for me, but do not fear that was the only reason I pursued you.”