Page 117 of The Viscount's Seduction
No work in progress had been set upon an easel in that outer room with its uncovered windows, and he saw no easel here. Bakeley scooted the box with his foot, slid out a canvas, and held the candle close. It was a rough of a landscape, hills stretching in the background, a few scattered trees around a river.
His skin prickled. Fox had sketched out a view from the terrace at Cransdall. The next one was a similar country scene, with the figure of a distant woman, her features indistinguishable except for the spectacles she wore.
When Fox had spent those months at Cransdall, Perry had not worn spectacles.
His hand tightened around the candle holder. Fox had seen Perry, here in London, in person, perhaps in these very lodgings, while Bakeley was too preoccupied with Sirena to look after his sister.
He made a circuit of the room and found a battered round table piled with books. A loosely rolled paper lay on top.
“…Infernal machine…,” Fox said, catching Bakeley’s attention.
That term snagged at his memory. He shook his head. The rest of their discourse was unintelligible. He would look into it later.
He set down his candle and unfurled the rolled paper. This was a pencil drawing, a fanciful tableau of horses and...
He looked closer. Not horses. Unicorns. In all the corners, Celtic knots, and in the center, the coat of arms he’d learned to draw when he was old enough to hold a pencil.
His chest tightened. The ballroom floor design.
In the parlor, both men looked up.
“What is this?” Bakeley held up the paper and let the design unfurl.
“It’s your ballroom floor, Bakeley. Lady Perpetua commissioned the design.”
His stomach roiled. “I see. Who is that man chalking the floor?”
Shaldon sat up straight. “Old Nate’s a good craftsman for following a design.”
“Old Nate hired a crew,” Bakeley said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Yes, well, there’s one man left, and Lloyd mentioned he’s working late to finish.”
When they’d returned to rescue Sirena from Hollister, Lloyd had also mentioned that Perry had found Sirena speaking with the workman. “We must go home, Father. Now.”
A tic started near Shaldon’s eye. He pulled a wad of notes from his coat.
Fox stared at the money in Shaldon’s hand.
“You need it, and I trust you to pay me back. And I trust that any disputes among us have long been settled.”
Fox took the money and flipped through it.
“Sirena and Perry are home alone,” Bakeley said.
Fox’s gaze narrowed. “Is he a tall man? Scarred?”
His hand fisted around the parchment. Was he? Damn, damn, he’d been negligent. “I don’t know.”
“Fair-haired?”
He’d barely looked in on the man. Bakeley closed his eyes and tried to retrieve the image. “He wore a cap.”
Shaldon rose.
Fox stood also, wobbling. “I’ll come—”
