Page 52 of The Viscount's Seduction
Bakeley’s blood spiked, but he patted her hand and noted she had lifted her chin, as regal as the dress she wore. Her bravery settled him.
Lady Hackwell, Lady Jane, and Perry moved around Shaldon. If he planned to start trouble, the ladies would reckon with him. Lord Hackwell had taken his station near Mr. Kincaid, along with Bink’s wife, Paulette, who shoved her small son into Kincaid’s arms, an effective means of disarmament. Two maids hovered just inside the door, Lady Jane’s abigail and the girl Jenny.
“Where is the Vicar?” Bakeley looked around.
“Right here, sir.” The man pulled opened his prayer book. “Shall we begin?”
“Yes.” Bakeley tucked her arm more firmly and marched her over. His father’s glare was like a piercing wind, or an icy spike, or a fragment of shot from a misloaded gun.
The vicar’s voice droned with the beginning prayers. Hackwell stepped up to give Sirena away. There were more droning words about the sanctity of marriage. Then the vicar started to ask if there were any objections and he could hear Shaldon clearing his throat.
“Move on,” Bakeley said. “Quickly, as we discussed.”
The vicar’s jowls fluttered. “My lord, I—”
Another throat-clearing.
“Don’t do it, Father.” Perry’s chiding whisper filled the room.
“My son is right,” Shaldon said. “Move on.”
After that command, the clergyman set a dizzying pace, and before he knew it, he was kissing his bride’s soft, chilly lips and then being congratulated by their friends. Their circuit of the room ended at his lordship.
“So you have married,” Shaldon said.
The frosty manner spiked his ire. Worse, his bride had matched Shaldon’s comment with an impenetrable sheet of ice.
Lovely. She should be glowing with happiness and warm anticipation, not icy anger. Shaldon was throwing a dampener on the wedding, which had no doubt been his intention.
“Did you not wish me to marry, father?”
“Of course I did.”
Next to him, tiny tremors rippled through his bride. “You didn’t wish him to marry me, though, did you, my lord?”
Shaldon looked at her again, with that studious gaze, as if he was looking at another species of earthworm, and he said nothing. He used this technique to intimidate his children. Bakeley was tired of it.
“Father, Lady Sirena is my chosen wife. If you plan to be rude to her, you may return home, and please, don’t bother to extend invitations to visit, as I will not subject her to mistreatment from anyone.”
“What are you talking about, Bakeley? You and she will be living at Shaldon House.”
“I have taken a townhouse.”
“Have you? That narrow building is no place for the next Lady Shaldon.” Shaldon brushed at his sleeve.
Bakeley exchanged a look with Sirena. “What are you about, sir?”
“I would speak with the both of you after the celebratory meal. Will you indulge me then?” He cleared his throat. “I will be brief.”
He looked at Sirena and she nodded her agreement.
“Yes. We will,” he said. He led her off to the dining room.
“I’ll have some things to say also, Bakeley,” she whispered.
“James.”
“James. I do hope you weren’t counting on a quiet, meek wife.”
