Page 8 of The Viscount's Seduction
Chapter 3
Sirena smiledas Lady Jane rose from her chair and greeted them—a lady through and through, and still quite lovely. No one could question Lady Jane’s character or bearing, and Sirena could tell even Bakeley could see that. He was ever so aristocratically polite as he maneuvered her patron into a proper introduction that, for all his prying and gabbing, did not include any more details about herself than what she’d given him. In fact, Lady Jane included less, omitting that business of Sirena being a paid companion.
And well, it was not really a true fact, since the lady was sure to be short of funds on Lady Day.
“It is a lovely soiree tonight, is it not, Lord Bakeley?” Lady Jane asked.
“Indeed.”
Gad, but the man was fine-looking. Tall, he was, and dark, of both hair and eye, with a jaw that could crack a bushel of nuts.
Lady Jane babbled on about the room and the orchestra, the ladies’ gowns and the refreshments. She glowed like the sparkling springs on a moonlit night back home. The poor thing had gone without such splendor for too long.
Sirena slid Lady Jane a glance. “Are you not acquainted with Lord Bakeley’s father, my lady? Perhaps Lord Bakeley will escort you to greet him.”
When they’d entered the room, they’d spotted the stately, quite fit-looking man tapping along on a cane he surely didn’t need. Lady Jane had whispered his name right away.
It might be forward of Sirena to suggest the introduction, but Lady Jane knew Sirena wanted to meet the great Lord Shaldon. Needed to meet him.
Bakeley’s handsome face went blank, as though a curtain had dropped on the end of a theatrical scene.
“Oh, good heavens.” Sirena began vigorously fanning her benefactress. “You are quite flushed, my lady.” She winked unobtrusively. “Let us get you to a chair and I’ll fetch you some lemonade.”
“Yes. Oh, dear.” Lady Jane added a hint of a quiver. “The punch will be more restorative, I believe.” She latched onto Bakeley’s arm and all but dragged him off toward a vacant chair.
Next to Shaldon. Excellent that the heir was such a finely bred gentleman and followed Lady Jane’s lead.
Sirena found a footman, ordered a glass of punch, and hurried over to be introduced.
Bakeley settledthe lady into the chair next to his father, lifted his shoulder in the shrug the old man hated, and watched Lady Sirena cross the room, a young footman in hand, the man as bedazzled as he’d been.
She was like a boulder barreling down a mountain.
But no, that wasn’t apt. Her back was straight, her step light. Perhaps, more like the alpine avalanche he’d read about recently, or a white frothy tidal wave sweeping all in her path.
A lady. Beautiful, not likely obedient, and certainly not rich. Not for him, but excellent for goading his father.
He informed his father that the lady seated next to him was Lady Jane Monthorpe. Then he did the unthinkable and introduced the vastly unsuitable Lady Sirena, poor, pushy, and worst of all in his father’s eyes, Irish, and whose family name he still did not know.
The tight line of Shaldon’s jaw and the grim sag of his lowered eyelids both shouted displeasure. “Good evening,” he said, inclining his head to first the older lady, then the younger.
Bakeley expelled a breath. No cut direct. That would have been out of bounds even for Father.
Though, he thought, he’d not truly seen his father in many social settings outside of their country estate, Cransdall. Father had been away on the King’s business for most of Bakeley’s life, and on and off tooillfor the last two years to take up his seat in Parliament.
“We did meet, Lord Shaldon, many years ago,” the older lady said coolly. “I was not much more than a child. But of course you won’t remember.”
His father’s eyes slitted further, Lady Sirena’s eyes widened, and Perry pushed her glasses up and smiled too sweetly at Bakeley.
The skin on his neck rippled. Father had been too ill to take up his seat in the Lords, but that hadn’t kept him home every day, nor had it kept his old companions away.
There was something afoot here, some scheme.
Monthorpe.Monthorpe.
Then he remembered. “Lady Jane Monthorpe. Daughter of the Earl of Cheswick.”
“Daughter of the last earl. Cousin of the current one.” She smiled tightly and looked at the glass of punch. “I believe I don’t want this after all.” She handed the glass to Lady Sirena.
