Page 102 of The Viscount's Seduction
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 washe?—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 theton, 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 heardher 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.
