Page 105 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 22
Sirena watchedher 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 thetonthinks. 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.
