Page 54 of The Viscount's Seduction
Ah, but she’d learn how to spike his cannon. And she knew, at least on the topic of breeding, that a passionate man hid beneath all that aplomb. When they returned to his townhouse tonight, she’d get his eyes dancing and his blood racing, and once she got through that, he’d damn well help her search for her brother.
Shaldon’s gaze narrowed on them. “Yes, of course, it is your wedding day. You are impatient to get away. I am looking for a man named Donegal.”
Her hair prickled. “Donegal?” Donegal was the man the O’Brian boys were looking for, the man she was supposed to meet.
“You are not going to use my wife as a lure. I will not have Sirena placed in danger.” Bakeley might have been describing the weather.
Shaldon steepled his hands.
“Come, Sirena.” Bakeley planted his feet as if to rise.
“Donegal may have information on your brother,” Shaldon said.
Her new husband never so much as twitched, yet she sensed his rising anger. Her own heart had quickened to a mad race. He took her hands in his.
“’Tis what I hoped for,” she whispered.
“What do you want from us, Father?” Bakeley asked, but his eyes never left her face.
She was trembling, she knew, and it irritated her. The old lord was playing with her, she knew that also, in the way a cat played with a broken beetle as it died.
She was not broken, nor would she die for him.
Shaldon folded his hands in his lap. “Donegal might be willing to speak to the sister of Roland James Hollister.”
“Aye, but will he share secrets with Lord Shaldon’s daughter-in-law?” Her cheeks were on fire. She could never match this English coolness.
“Speak plainly, Father. What do you know of Sirena’s brother?”
“Only what you know. His body has not been found.”
Her head buzzed with the vision of that day—the rider, the note, the chain, Mama’s head hitting the heavy table.
Mama had died the next day.
“But it was,” she whispered. “It was.”
Shaldon’s gaze softened. “Abody was pulled from the sea, so badly…well, I’m not convinced it was his.” One long, strong finger tapped the arm of his chair. “Nor are you, Sirena.”
The rush of emotion confused her—gratitude, vindication, more anger. How could he reach into her heart and pull out that knowledge?
“And why do you seek this Donegal?” Bakeley asked.
Shaldon glanced at Kincaid.
“She is family now,” Shaldon said.
A chill went through her. She was family to this man who was part of the machine that spread such sorrow through her land.
“You’ve heard of the Cato Street Conspiracy, and the actions of the radicals last year in Scotland?” Kincaid asked.
When Kincaid spoke, she noticed the burr. “You’re…Scottish?”
“I am. But Lord Shaldon and I spent many years on the Continent seeing what happens when radicals rip apart the social order. They promise change and then install their own despots.”
“But all the radical conspirators were executed last year.”
“There is always a conspiracy afoot.” Bakeley’s voice sounded leaden. “I will not allow my wife to be placed in danger.”
