Page 79 of The Viscount's Seduction
He found a towel, helped her out, and rubbed her down, then wrapped her in a heavy velvet robe the maid had laid out.
While he dried himself and drained the water, she grabbed towels and mopped the floor.
“We’ve splashed something fierce, Bakeley.”
“James. And do not worry. That was taken into consideration also when the room was built.”
“Put on your robe, then, James, so you don’t catch cold.”
He propped his hands on his naked hips and sent her a baleful look, watching warmth bloom in her cheeks and her gaze soften, making her laugh.
“Well, and I’ve done my part tonight to keep you happy, and I must try to keep you healthy also, my lord. And I imagine you’re hungry.”
“You dozed through the dinner bell,” he said. “They won’t expect us. I’ll ring for a tray.”
“I’ll do that if you’ll feed the fire in the bedchamber.”
“And then you must sit yourself next to it and dry your hair.”
He ushered her into his grand bedchamber, found his robe, and then stoked the fire.
She seated herself next to it and began brushing her hair, the long locks sparkling in the glowing fire. He watched her from the corner of his eye while he lit the lamps and candles. She was beautiful, a lure to any villain, common or aristocratic. What his father had in mind, he didn’t know, but no matter where she went, if someone was after her, she was in danger. A trip to Bond Street might as well be a trip to Cransdall, their family estate in the north, for the ease of ambush.
He couldn’t accompany her everywhere, and he doubted she’d willingly live with a guard upon her.
“We haven’t talked of your meeting,” she said. “What did you learn?”
He went to her and took the brush. “Let me.”
Her hair was thick and wavy. In his much younger years, he’d dallied with a lady with hair this blonde, but once the hair pieces and folderol came off, her hair had been as thin and straight as a baby’s. Not like this.
He lifted a strand of hair and inhaled, then bent to kiss her ear.
“You’re dodging,” she said.
“No, I’m not. You’re distracting me.”
Ashiver went through her.She, distracting him? Good heavens, and well, wasn’t it true? It seemed that each time she looked at him that manly part was standing at attention.
She reached for the brush, and he pushed her hand away.
“Very well.” The brush moved through her hair. “Fineas Donegal is, they believe, a name being used by an Irish nationalist. It seems, Sirena, that instead of providing you with information on your brother, he may be seeking information from youaboutyour brother.”
“So Jamie might be alive.” Her heart lifted. “But why me? Would I be going to him for information if I knew anything?”
“Donegal disappeared at the same time as your brother. Perhaps they were on the same ship. Perhaps Donegal was pursuing your brother or your brother was pursuing Donegal.”
It didn’t make sense. “But my brother was an Irish nationalist also.” The strokes settled into a soothing rhythm. “Unless there were differences among them in how to proceed. That’s possible, isn’t it?”
James set down the brush and knelt before her. “Not just possible, but likely. My father says that your brother did portray himself as a member of the rebel cause, but he was actually still loyal to England.”
She studied his face, so serious, and his words began to sink in, bringing with them a chill beyond the room’s coolness, and making her shiver again. “He was a spy? My brother was aspy?”
“So my father says.”
His father, who was the Spy Lord. Sirena’s gaze dropped. “My brother worked for Shaldon.”
James nodded. “So he says.”
