Page 132 of The Viscount's Seduction
Sirena swallowed a gasp. By all that was holy—Madame and Kincaid—here was a story she wanted to hear.
“We’d best go down,” Lady Jane said. “Cook will be frazzled if we delay the first course.” Lady Jane ushered Sirena’s two new sisters to the door.
Jenny fastened Sirena’s gloves, straightened her skirts and stood to examine her. The bonny girl clasped her hands together and smiled. Madame and Barton lined up next to her.
“We have done well,” Madame said. “Perhaps one last thing. Turn this way, my lady.”
Unseen by the others, she slipped a thin, sheathed dagger from her pocket into Sirena’s and whispered. “Slash up. Avoid bone.Courage.” The last was said in the French manner.
“Merci.” Sirena’s heart rattled against her stiff stays. Well, and she would need courage, no matter how one said the word. If all the dinner guests had arrived, then Sterling Hollister was here.
You are a brave girl. Shaldon’s words to her that night in his study came back to her.
She straightened her shoulders and took as deep a breath as she could with these lacings.Yes, I am.
Bakeley tookhis place with his bride and sister for the receiving line and had his first good look at the floor. “I met your artist, Perry,” he said over Sirena’s elaborate coiffure. He’d complimented his lady’s appearance earlier, lamenting the number of hairpins and braids he’d have to delve through later that night.
First the risk, then the reward, and laterwouldcome.
“Myartist?” Behind her spectacles, Perry squinted. “You mean Fox. And what do you think of his design?”
“I think the Glenmorrow arms should be quartered with ours at the center of this canvas.”
“I’m sorry, Sirena. There was not time for the research. I hope that you at least like it.”
“Of course I do.”
The first guests were announced and they entered, transfixed by the floor.
“Ignore your brother in this, Perry,” Sirena said. “Your Fox’s floor will be the talk.”
Pink tinged Perry’s cheeks at the teasing compliment. Or—Bakeley took another long look at his sister—perhaps it had been the mention of Fox.
The first lady in a long queue curtsied before them. They would sort out the wholly inappropriate Fox later.
Pleading poor health, Lord Shaldon was seated in a place of honor at the head of the room, with Kincaid and one of his liveried Scotsmen flanking him, and a real footman at Kincaid’s elbow. Kincaid had sought Bakeley before the dinner, reminding him that one of his men would be on Sirena at all times, and that he himself should take no risks that might tip off the villain.
Shaldon would keep an eye on the room and the extra footmen-cum-guards—more carefully screened than the last group—would report to him throughout the evening. If things started to go sideways, Father could swoon and they would send everyone home.
Bakeley almost wished it would come to that.
At a break in the line, Sirena turned a bright smile on him. “It’s very subtly done, I am noticing.”
He followed the line of her gaze. Servants were circling near Sterling Hollister. Not for one moment had he been left unsupervised. Placed between Paulette and Perry at the small family dinner, he’d been peppered with questions about Waterloo on Paulette’s side, and Irish politics on Perry’s. Hollister’s last condescending responses had carried an edge of irritation.
Now the man stood watching the receiving line.
“Counting the number of dukes, is he?” Sirena asked.
“Waiting for Liverpool.” Perry whispered. “Oh, excuse me, Father is summoning me.” She headed off into the crush.
“Deserter,” Sirena muttered, nodding to the next couple in line. They greeted another string of guests.
The room was filling up, the rumble of voices making it impossible for the crowd to hear Lloyd calling names.
“Mr. A. Fox,” he intoned.
Sirena edged forward to peer around Bakeley.
