Page 129 of The Viscount's Seduction
Footsteps sounded outside the room and Bakeley jumped up. The door opened and Jocelyn entered, followed by Sirena’s brother and Charley. Drawing up the rear was a large, foreign-looking man dressed in the same black attire as the others.
Charley looked bosky, yet Father had sent him. Bakeley had a good sense of what Bink had felt when he himself had been sent to help Paulette. Bink, a veteran of the Peninsular War, to be assisted by the heir, whose combat had been in Jackson’s saloon and Angelo’s studio. No wonder his brother had vanished.
Charley’s eyes widened and some of his fog lifted. “Bakeley. You’re bloodied. And Lady Sirena...” He looked at his brother. “I see now why I was pulled out of White’s.” He went down on one knee in front of Sirena. “My dear, who did this to you?”
“Oh, get up, Charley,” she said.
Charley’s gaze flitted between the two of them and he leaned close. “I know the fetching gentleman in the tight waistcoat, but who are the other two?”
His breath reeked of drink.
“Good heavens,” Sirena whispered. “Bakeley, he’s drunk. Shall we have to trust him also?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Charley, you know Lady Arbrough. The fair-haired fellow is Sirena’s brother, the true Lord Glenmorrow. The other man is the one who bashed my skull.”
Charley swayed a bit struggling to his feet. He shook Sirena’s brother’s hand.
“Charles Everly, Bakeley’s brother.”
“Roland Hollister. And this is my man, Obed. I vouch for him.”
For what that was worth.
Obed’s head inclined. His hair was dark and stick-straight, his skin burnished, his features European, his eyes large and round, and golden—in other words, his nationality completely indeterminable.
Bakeley touched his head. The bleeding had stopped. “And I can vouch for his right hook.”
“I beg pardon, sir.” No expression wrinkled the foreign man’s brow.
“Pardon granted, provided you use those fists on our enemies.”
Sirena waved a hand. “Please, everyone, sit. Charley, exactly who pulled you out of White’s?”
“One of the blood—er, one of Kincaid’s Scotsmen. They are both hanging about outside. Whose snugpied-a-terreis this?”
“It is mine.” Lady Arbrough took a seat. Sirena’s brother quickly took the chair next to her that Charley was eying.
Charley grinned and carried a chair from the table. “You make an elegant fellow, Lady Arbrough.”
Obed stood near the door and crossed his arms over his chest, reminding Bakeley of a picture he’d seen of a genie. All the man needed was a turban and flowing trousers.
It was not a group to inspire confidence.
“So,” Charley said, “What is the plan?”
