Page 83 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 18
As he ledher up the stairs, Bakeley let his hand drift along Sirena’s waist under yet another ugly woolen shawl. Shaldon had not been in the library and they were on their way to his father’s private study.
He liked the feel of her soft curves without the tight boning. “You don’t really need stays.”
She bounced up the steps. “I saw almost everything today. But not this room. The housekeeper begged off letting us in.”
“She doesn’t have the key,” he said.
Her manner had been chilly, and not from the lack of heat in the frigid dressing room. He’d offended her in some way unrelated to her cousin or his father.
And blast it if he could figure out what was wrong. “I’ve been told that dresses don’t fit properly without stays. Perhaps I shall ask your dressmaker to make you a whole wardrobe that doesn’t require them.”
She stopped on the stairs, indignation lighting her face. “Aye, your Paddy bride, flopping about in public all over the isle of Britain. I think not. I’m bought and paid for, and you can have me without stays every night, Bakeley, but I’ll be respectable when I’m out and about.”
The words slammed him. Bought and paid for—was that what she thought of him? Or…was that what she thought of herself.
He drew himself up. “What is really wrong?”
She chewed her lip. “Nothing.”
“I see. Or, I don’t see. I have a feeling that father can shed some light on your cousin, and if you’re coming with me, than you need to bewithme. We need to work together. Agreed?”
“You want me to what…charm him?”
He ignored the sarcasm. “If that works, yes. And if it doesn’t, try something else. You’ve not had more than one chat with him after our wedding. He seemed inclined to be conciliatory.”
“We spoke this afternoon also.”
“Did you? Yes, he did tell me he would speak to you. Is he having you keep secrets from your husband?”
Her eyes flashed, and she quickly sent them rolling.
Sirena would keep secrets. She would lie to him. Jocelyn had been right—he’d need to seduce her.
“Oh, now Iamcurious. What did he say?”
“Nothing of import. He hopes I’ll be happy here, or some such. The housekeeper came to take me to look at the silver, and that was all that was said. I believe he set her up for the interruption so he wouldn’t have to share anything of importance with me.”
A flood of affection swept through him and he pulled her closer. “Then your perceptiveness puts you one step ahead of him, love.” He squeezed her hip. “Come. Let us find out what he really knows.”
Insides quaking, Sirena let Bakeley handle the door-knocking. A gruff voice called out and they entered. Two lamps shed pools of light and a low fire warmed the small room. Half-hidden behind a dark wooden desk, Shaldon sat erect. A brown file lay precisely squared up an inch from the edge of the desk, like it had been laid by the footman preparing the dining table.
Shaldon did not look at all surprised to see them, but, she reflected, in the few times they’d met, his face had worn that same haughty bored look she saw often on Bakeley’s handsome mug. Her own father had been like a badly loaded musket most of the time, easy to set off and unpredictable. Not at all like the Shaldon men. It would be her greatest achievement to rouse some emotion in her new father.
“Yes?” Shaldon asked rather impolitely. That one lonely word dropped off into a conversational abyss.
Next to her, her husband had stiffened up like the fireplace poker.
“I received a message tonight I wish to speak with you about.” Bakeley moved a chair from before the fireplace for her, but he remained standing.
Very well. She would play the demure lady. She wrapped her shawl a little tighter and sat.
Shaldon took the proffered paper and scanned it. “Who is this about?”
“Sterling Hollister.”
Shaldon’s eyes flickered, but he shuttered his gaze before turning it on her. “Your cousin.”
