Page 124 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 24
“There, there. Get it all out.”
A man’s gentle tones penetrated the fog in Bakeley’s head, and the sound of retching that accompanied them slammed around inside it.
He put his hand to his temple and felt dampness.
“He’s alert.” That low timbred voice he knew. “Do you feel better now, Bakeley?”
He opened his eyes and turned, the mere act making his brain rattle.
A slim figure in men’s clothing came into focus.
“Thank God.” She leaned in close examining him.
Jocelyn. His mind raced, remembering. The carriage…Sirena abducted…
More retching sounded from somewhere behind him.
“There, there. This will pass very soon.”
A woman moaned.
“Sirena.” He sat up. He’d been stretched on a brocaded sofa in an unfamiliar sitting room. Blood speckled the flannel that covered a pillow. He pushed himself up to stand.
Jocelyn stood also and reached for him. He jerked away and the room spun.
She clamped a hand on his arm.
“Damn you, Jocelyn. I thought I could trust you.”
“You can.” The man behind him had spoken again.
Bakeley turned and sudden pain pulsed in his temple like the crash of a farrier’s hammer.
Sirena sat next to the man, his arm wrapping her as she leaned over a basin held in his other hand.
Bakeley jerked out of Jocelyn’s grasp. “Let go of my wife.”
Sirena lifted her head and looked at him blurry-eyed. She pushed to her feet, wiping her mouth with the handkerchief she clutched. “Bakeley. Your head.” She looked from Lady Arbrough to Bakeley to the man next to her. “What did youdoto him?”
When Sirena wobbled, the man steadied her.
“Take your hands off my wife. Come here, Sirena.”
She stumbled into his arms and he tucked her close, studying the man.
His fair hair was fashionably cut, as were his coats. Broad and muscular, his face had the edge of a man who lived hard.
Sirena took in a sharp breath and held the cloth to her mouth. He looked down into cloudy, unfocused eyes. They’d dosed her with something. One of her cheeks glowed a brighter shade of red and a bruise was blooming on her neck like a purple necklace.
Blood rose in him, sending the hammer pounding again. He forced his hand to unfist and stroked the tangled locks that spilled down her back.
Bloody hell.
He locked eyes with the man. “You’ll pay for hurting her.”
“No.” The man rose, careful, wary. “Those bruises are Donegal’s handiwork.” His jaw hardened. “And how the devil was he working in your home?”
