Page 137 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 26
Panic raced through him. He scanned the crowd. Kincaid hurried toward him, Bink on his heels, footmen handing their trays off and scattering to get out of their way.
“Out the door,” Kincaid mouthed, flying past him toward the flapping French door near where Sirena and Hollister had been standing.
They sped out to the small terrace and down the steps to the back garden, and stumbled over a man on the ground.
The footman who’d signaled to him.
“The stables,” the man groaned. “Hurry.”
This should not be happening. It was Jocelyn’s job to lure Sterling Hollister, not Sirena’s.
A streak of gold flashed in the lamplight. Bakeley vaulted the concrete railing and raced toward her. Someone burst out from the shadows, but another body tackled that one.
Shaldon had men all throughout the garden, but so did Hollister.
The golden streak stopped and he caught up with them.
“I’ve got your back,” Kincaid whispered.
Hollister had a hand clamped over Sirena’s mouth and a knife to her neck.
Behind them, the music played on, the orchestra striking up a brisk Scottish reel. Whether the attendees noticed the commotion and poured out of the door, he didn’t know. He couldn’t take his eyes off the pair in front of him.
In the dim light from a garden lamp, Hollister’s eyes glinted wildly, sending Bakeley’s pulse racing. Sirena groped at the hand gagging her, her eyes wide as two pale gray moons. His own heart had climbed high into his throat.
Bink trundled up with a liveried man in tow, an older fellow whose face had been battered into a pulp. “Not one of your servants, I think, Bakeley.”
“No, indeed.” He made himself drawl the words. Hollister’s blade was too close to that lovely neck. “I see you still have a way with your fists, brother.”
“As needed, Bakeley. As needed.”
He had a pistol tucked away, but there were other men here in the shadows, surer shots than he. Especially Kincaid. He needed to get Hollister talking.
“Are you all right, my love?”
Sirena blinked determinedly several times. In the corner of his eye, he saw her hand slip to the hidden pocket she had whispered to him about.
“Lord Glenmorrow,” he said, “uncover her mouth. She won’t scream, will you, my dear? What would be the point?”
She shook her head. Hollister released her mouth but slipped the hand down to fondle her breast. “Let her scream if she will.”
She writhed and unleashed a stream of epithets that would have burned the ears of a stable lad. Her cousin jerked her in tighter, his hand now at her waist.
“Ah, what a fine lady she is, with a mouth like a guttersnipe.”
The lamplight around him was charged with red. Bakeley took a step closer.
“No.” Hollister slipped the point of his blade under the ribbon. “This brown is a good color, Sirena. It will not show the blood.”
“You have no honor, Sterling,” Sirena said.
The knife pressed and sweat poured down Bakeley’s back. “Ignore the chit,” Bakeley said. “What do you want, Hollister?”
“What I want? You shall soon see. You with your muck men. There’s enough powder under your ballroom to take out both your near neighbors and the mews in back.”
“You would kill our horses?” he drawled.
