Page 92 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 20
Sirena pinchedher nose with the corner of her shawl and picked her way to the stable at the back of the garden. Shaldon House was a grand mansion, standing all on its own, not one of the townhouses wedged up against others. ’Twas as big as her home in Glenmorrow, and if Cransdall was grander, as Perry had said, it must indeed be a veritable palace.
And with Lady Shaldon deceased, it was Lady Bakeley’s to run.
She shook off the terrible thought and let herself into the stables.
Horses and hay—a deep breath brought the comforting smells. A low lantern hung in the aisle, casting a dim light, so someone must be about.
She paused. Every stall was filled except the one loose box in the near corner. The box, a great luxury for a London mews Perry had said, still stood empty, Save for some shuffling and snorting, all was quiet. Perhaps the grooms had been needed to help Bakeley shovel the human seepage. For herself, she’d rather deal with horse droppings. And she had every right to be here, didn’t she?
A gray nose poked her way—Bakeley’s gelding she’d met on the street. And that only a few days ago.
She moved up silently in the stall and laid a palm on him. He buzzed with an excitement and interest that shot up her arm and stirred her. Her fey gifts were truly back. She let out a long breath, letting it float over him, her eyes tearing with the joy of it.
Now, here was a fast friend, a true friend. Ride him, she would. She opened her mouth to speak, but a rumbling whisper down the aisle silenced her.
The gelding trembled.
“Shhh,” she breathed, stroking his nose.
“Sure, and they’re all in the house. ’Tis only me here.”
The lilting male voice made her ears fairly quiver. That was an Irishman, here, in the Shaldon stables. Did their lordships have a Paddy employed?
The other voice rumbled, and the skin on her back rippled. The gelding stirred.
She closed her eyes to hear better.
“No. ’Twon’t be that easy.”
More rumbling.
“I’ll try. ’Tis all I can promise. And—”
Bam.
Down the aisle, a horse was objecting. And wasn’t that a sure sign the whisperers were up to no good?
The gelding’s nostrils ruffled but he held in his worry.
The voices moved away, toward the door at the end.
Behind her, the door she’d entered opened again. Light from a lantern lit the gelding’s rolling eyes and fear shot through her. She swallowed hard and turned.
“See here—”
“Don’t be swinging that light at me,” she said.
Shock registered in the man’s face. She didn’t know him.
“Beg pardon, miss.”
“You’ve left a lantern lit and the horses unattended.”
“Lord Bakeley called, but there was a man here.” He took off his hat, revealing hair that was probably red in the light of day.
“What’s your name?” she asked. “Why aren’t you wearing your livery?”
