Page 130 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 25
Later, Sirena followed Bakeley into one of the bedchambers in Lady Arbrough’s hideaway, where a Scotsman stood outside the door.
They would spend the rest of the night here—Shaldon’s idea, Charley said. Given their injuries, her weariness, and the tumult at Shaldon House, Sirena was glad for it.
Compared to the bedchambers at Shaldon House, this room was simple fare, lacking ornamentation, and sparsely furnished. The bed would be a squeeze for the two of them, and they’d share a wash bowl and lamp. However, the deal table had been set with a bottle, two glasses, and a covered plate.
Bakeley poured some of the liquid.
She sniffed at it. “Laced with laudanum, is it?”
“It’s hard to trust, isn’t it? But no, I believe this is just wine. Will you have some?”
“No.”
He sighed and set down the glass. “You must sleep.”
“I’m not sure I can. Why not let me keep watch while you rest?”
He emptied his pockets of a tiny gun, a larger pistol, and a wickedly long dagger, and plopped onto the padded settee.
“Come.” He patted the cushion next to him. “The fire is warm. Will you eat something now?”
Her stomach fluttered at the thought. “Not yet.” She circled the table and trailed a hand over the mantel. More plain deal. This might have been a tradesman’s lodgings, and not a terribly rich one.
She rather liked the lack of fussiness.
Bakeley looked at home here, also, legs sprawled like he had no cares in the world. The dim light cast shadows across his face, the flickering of the fire mirrored in his dark eyes.
He hadn’t chosen the life of a titled nobleman. He’d been born into it, just as her brother had. Only, unlike her brother, Bakeley hadn’t made a mess of his life.
He reached out a hand. “Come here.”
The fluttering in her belly moved lower. She glanced at the door.
“I locked it. Come here.”
They should not. He needed to sleep.
But...did he not almost always doze off after they made love?And if Hollister kills me tomorrow, it will be the last chance for it.
She pushed that thought away and crossed to him in three strides, standing over him. “You need to be my protector tomorrow, Bakeley. You need to sleep.” She dropped to her knees and slid her hands along his thighs.
“What are you doing?”
“It occurs to me that I know a way to make you sleepy.”
He let loose a shaky chuckle. “You were sick tonight. I had planned to be considerate.”
“I’m not sick now.”
She was terrified, and she must not let him know it, else none of them would be able to follow this through. “I’ve been missing my husband’s touch.” She let her hands travel up over his great hard member to his fall, unbuttoned it, and leaned down.
“No.” He eased her chin up with one finger. “Not that way. That will be for some other night. Therewillbe other nights, Sirena.” He raised her by her elbows, lifted her skirt, and helped her stand. “Up, girl, on my lap.”
Afterward, when she’d collapsed against him, he cradled her close, her heart beating with his, waiting until her breathing smoothed out. She’d been overwhelmed by the night’s events, her worry palpable, her bravado shaken.
What to make of Roland James Hollister, he didn’t know, and he sensed the same speculation in Sirena. Jocelyn had vouched for the man, but she was hischere-amienow—what sort of testimony could she offer?
