Page 119 of The Viscount's Seduction
The candlelight made the scar come to life, wriggling and jumping with his chuckle. “Well then, why not a kiss for your long-lost brother?”
Her skin writhed. The accent had changed again. It was not Irish. Not Irish. She couldn’t tell what it was—some English north country tangle.
“I’m in shock, Jamie.” Real tears rolled down her cheek.
Blast it, she wasn’t a weeper.
It was terror, it was. She’d not tasted fear like this since her cousin’s attack, not even at the dock.
She swiped at her cheek and let her nose drip. The hand lifted, and he went to the sideboard.
He didn’t like tears. This was good. Tears of happiness, they might seem, and she’d not even had to try to fake them.
She let them flow and sniffled. “Have you a clean kerchief, Jamie?”
One glass slapped the table and brandy gurgled, splashing over the rim.
“Do I look like a swell with a snot rag for the lady?” Smirking, he tipped back his drink.
She moved round the table, and he matched her, blocking her way to the door. “No, but I wouldn’t expect that, though you are a gentleman, Jamie. You’re a lord. Where ever have you been all these years? Mother’s heart—”
“Do not be thinking of the door, your grand ladyship. I’ve locked it.”
She took a step back. Her hands curled and she realized she still fisted the stout pencil. That, and her great act of stupidity wasn’t much, but help would come and soon. The footman would have noticed him missing. Lloyd would come to check on her, carrying his key.
She gave her head a quick shake and let a few tears fly. “I don’t understand.”
Cold air rippled along her neck. She was nearer the window. He’d advanced though, keeping pace with her.
If he’d come in through the window, she could surely go out it.
“It’s a long drop out that window, your grand ladyship.”
“You came in that way?”
“Yes, but then I’m good with an upper-story window.”
She was running out of ways to play stupid. “Who are you?”
“Did you not call me Donegal?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want what you want, Sirena. I want your Jamie.”
Her breath hitched. “Is he alive, then?”
He laughed. “Well then, you’ve finished playing the nick ninny, your grand ladyship.”
Her grip on the pencil tightened. “Ismy brother alive?”
“Is my brother alive?” He mimicked her in a high falsetto. “Mayhap he is.” He stepped closer and chuckled. “You’ve no big clod-hopping boys here tonight like that day at the docks, your grand ladyship. No lord running up to rescue you.”
She screamed, and his face twisted into a grin.
“There now. That footman won’t come, yer butler is off to the kitchens and he won’t hear you. The others are abed. And your man will stay out all night again.”
She eased back. He was wrong. She prayed he was wrong.Bakeley, where are you?
