Page 125 of The Viscount's Seduction
Shame fed the anger and the pain pounding through him. He’d failed her. He’d failed his whole household.
A soft hand touched his cheek. “It’s true about the bruises,” Sirena whispered.
He kept his eyes fixed on the man. “Yet, you drugged her.”
“Only a bit of thespongia soporifica.” Jocelyn moved up next to the stranger. “We needed to move quickly and Sirena wouldn’t cooperate. There is no harmful effect except for some nausea.”
“I told you we should not use it, Jocelyn,” the man said.
The gentle tone made Sirena stiffen.
Jocelyn had taken this man as a lover, and the intimacy upset her. His wife knew the man.
A wave of jealousy flowed over him and his brain muddled. He sorted through memories, looking for clues. Sirena at the ball. Sirena on the street. Sirena on the dock. What had he really known about his wife of one week?
Who was this man to her?
“And I toldyoushe was no fool and would not come along easily. Bakeley, I am ever so sorry. If you both would have come willingly, it would have been easier. As it was, we barely escaped Hollister’s minions.”
“Hollister?” he cried.
“His carriage was entering the square.”
“Hollister was on the street?” Sirena’s trembling breath tickled his neck.
A chill went through him. “It’s time for an explanation. What is going on? Why are you dressed in men’s clothing?” He turned on the man. “And who the devil are you?”
Sirena swalloweda new wave of nausea and touched Bakeley’s cheek until he turned back to look at her. Except for the dried spot of blood on his temple, and a disordered neck cloth, he looked as handsome as usual, even more so with a little rumpling.
He had come to her rescue in the garden, and then again in the coach. If her stomach wasn’t already fluttering, it would be doing so for happier reasons.
As his eyes focused, she saw the clouds of his injury lift and a sharpness form. He glanced over her shoulder and then back at her.
No fool was her husband. He’d seen what she’d suspected between bouts of puking.
Another wave of nausea rattled through her, and she pursed her lips, inhaling deeply, pushing against her stomach’s tide. “Yes...” She inhaled deeply twice. “Oh." Her hand flew to her mouth. She jerked out of his grasp, just in time.
Only, when she could see again, there were spots on his buff-colored breeches. Ah, well, now that she noticed, they were muddied and bloodied, those breeches.
“Bring her here.”
Jocelyn’s command barely penetrated her quivering belly and the new spiral of pain in her head.
Bakeley lifted her—it was him, she knew the smell of him. The other man was plain soap and...and...
Her head lifted. Jasmine, damn him. Lady Arbrough’s scent.
Her rump hit the sofa and she opened one eye to Lady Arbrough hovering at her head, ordering someone to bring tea, the woman’s tightly packed breasts straining against the buttons of a black waistcoat. As if anyone would mistake her for a man.
The tea came and Bakeley whisked it away, sniffing it closely before he would allow Sirena to put the cup to her lips. Some dry toast appeared, and she sat up, testing her head and her stomach again.
Lady Arbrough and the man pulled up chairs, and Bakeley nudged her around to sit next to him.
“You see, Roland, I told you your sister was clever. I did not need to tell her I’d found you.”
Anger rose in her and she clung to Bakeley. “Fast friends, indeed, Lady Arbrough. And if he is my brother, just when did you think to tell me you’d found him?”
“And why should we believe you are who you say you are?” Bakeley asked.
