“There, there. Get it all out.”

A man’s gentle tones penetrated the fog in Bakeley’s head, and the sound of retching that accompanied them slammed around inside it.

He put his hand to his temple and felt dampness.

“He’s alert.” That low timbred voice he knew. “Do you feel better now, Bakeley?”

He opened his eyes and turned, the mere act making his brain rattle.

A slim figure in men’s clothing came into focus.

“Thank God.” She leaned in close examining him.

Jocelyn. His mind raced, remembering. The carriage…Sirena abducted…

More retching sounded from somewhere behind him.

“There, there. This will pass very soon.”

A woman moaned.

“Sirena.” He sat up. He’d been stretched on a brocaded sofa in an unfamiliar sitting room. Blood speckled the flannel that covered a pillow. He pushed himself up to stand.

Jocelyn stood also and reached for him. He jerked away and the room spun.

She clamped a hand on his arm.

“Damn you, Jocelyn. I thought I could trust you.”

“You can.” The man behind him had spoken again.

Bakeley turned and sudden pain pulsed in his temple like the crash of a farrier’s hammer.

Sirena sat next to the man, his arm wrapping her as she leaned over a basin held in his other hand.

Bakeley jerked out of Jocelyn’s grasp. “Let go of my wife.”

Sirena lifted her head and looked at him blurry-eyed. She pushed to her feet, wiping her mouth with the handkerchief she clutched. “Bakeley. Your head.” She looked from Lady Arbrough to Bakeley to the man next to her. “What did you do to him?”

When Sirena wobbled, the man steadied her.

“Take your hands off my wife. Come here, Sirena.”

She stumbled into his arms and he tucked her close, studying the man.

His fair hair was fashionably cut, as were his coats. Broad and muscular, his face had the edge of a man who lived hard.

Sirena took in a sharp breath and held the cloth to her mouth. He looked down into cloudy, unfocused eyes. They’d dosed her with something. One of her cheeks glowed a brighter shade of red and a bruise was blooming on her neck like a purple necklace.

Blood rose in him, sending the hammer pounding again. He forced his hand to unfist and stroked the tangled locks that spilled down her back.

Bloody hell.

He locked eyes with the man. “You’ll pay for hurting her.”

“No.” The man rose, careful, wary. “Those bruises are Donegal’s handiwork.” His jaw hardened. “And how the devil was he working in your home?”

Shame fed the anger and the pain pounding through him. He’d failed her. He’d failed his whole household.

A soft hand touched his cheek. “It’s true about the bruises,” Sirena whispered.

He kept his eyes fixed on the man. “Yet, you drugged her.”

“Only a bit of the spongia soporifica.” Jocelyn moved up next to the stranger. “We needed to move quickly and Sirena wouldn’t cooperate. There is no harmful effect except for some nausea.”

“I told you we should not use it, Jocelyn,” the man said.

The gentle tone made Sirena stiffen.

Jocelyn had taken this man as a lover, and the intimacy upset her. His wife knew the man.

A wave of jealousy flowed over him and his brain muddled. He sorted through memories, looking for clues. Sirena at the ball. Sirena on the street. Sirena on the dock. What had he really known about his wife of one week?

Who was this man to her?

“And I told you she was no fool and would not come along easily. Bakeley, I am ever so sorry. If you both would have come willingly, it would have been easier. As it was, we barely escaped Hollister’s minions.”

“Hollister?” he cried.

“His carriage was entering the square.”

“Hollister was on the street?” Sirena’s trembling breath tickled his neck.

A chill went through him. “It’s time for an explanation. What is going on? Why are you dressed in men’s clothing?” He turned on the man. “And who the devil are you?”

Sirena swallowed a new wave of nausea and touched Bakeley’s cheek until he turned back to look at her. Except for the dried spot of blood on his temple, and a disordered neck cloth, he looked as handsome as usual, even more so with a little rumpling.

He had come to her rescue in the garden, and then again in the coach. If her stomach wasn’t already fluttering, it would be doing so for happier reasons.

As his eyes focused, she saw the clouds of his injury lift and a sharpness form. He glanced over her shoulder and then back at her.

No fool was her husband. He’d seen what she’d suspected between bouts of puking.

Another wave of nausea rattled through her, and she pursed her lips, inhaling deeply, pushing against her stomach’s tide. “Yes...” She inhaled deeply twice. “Oh." Her hand flew to her mouth. She jerked out of his grasp, just in time.

Only, when she could see again, there were spots on his buff-colored breeches. Ah, well, now that she noticed, they were muddied and bloodied, those breeches.

“Bring her here.”

Jocelyn’s command barely penetrated her quivering belly and the new spiral of pain in her head.

Bakeley lifted her—it was him, she knew the smell of him. The other man was plain soap and...and...

Her head lifted. Jasmine, damn him. Lady Arbrough’s scent.

Her rump hit the sofa and she opened one eye to Lady Arbrough hovering at her head, ordering someone to bring tea, the woman’s tightly packed breasts straining against the buttons of a black waistcoat. As if anyone would mistake her for a man.

The tea came and Bakeley whisked it away, sniffing it closely before he would allow Sirena to put the cup to her lips. Some dry toast appeared, and she sat up, testing her head and her stomach again.

Lady Arbrough and the man pulled up chairs, and Bakeley nudged her around to sit next to him.

“You see, Roland, I told you your sister was clever. I did not need to tell her I’d found you.”

Anger rose in her and she clung to Bakeley. “Fast friends, indeed, Lady Arbrough. And if he is my brother, just when did you think to tell me you’d found him?”

“And why should we believe you are who you say you are?” Bakeley asked.

Why, indeed?

There’d been a portrait of Jamie, sketched by her mother. But after her death it had gone missing, and after that, she’d barely been able to remember her brother’s face.

“Do you know,” she said, “that man, Donegal. I thought for a moment he could be my brother, as Jamie might look all battered and scarred, and then, well, I had more than five words with him, and I knew that he couldn’t be.”

Bakeley stiffened next to her and a drop of blood spattered her arm. “You’re bleeding again.”

His blood had risen. She caught her breath. Aye, that glare was directed at her. He was angry she hadn’t told him about Donegal.

She looked away and spotted the flannel covering the pillow and grabbed for it, taking a breath to quell her answering anger and gentle her touch.

She put the cloth to his nicked head and gritted her teeth, glaring back.

“Lady Arbrough,” she said, “kindly bring me paper and ink or a pencil.”

“I’ll get it,” the man said.

A small table appeared in front of her. Paper was set upon it, with an inkwell. The man set to work sharpening a quill and handed it to her.

Her hand shook and she blotched the first line.

“Let me do it, iora.”

Her breath caught. Iora. Squirrel. It was the pet name Jamie had always used for her.

He dipped the quill and traced a half circle, the end points facing outward. Then he looped back for another at a right angle, and another, and a fourth, and one circle inside the center, and then he put the quill down and blew on the paper.

“Tell us the story of the four points of this knot, Sirena,” he said.

She swallowed moisture and shook her head. Bakeley’s hand covered hers, and she gripped it.

“Can you not then, iora? What will you guess? The four points of the compass? The four seasons? The four gospels?”

She pressed her lips together, blinked against a flood coming, and held her breath.

“Always, you leave it to me to tell. It’s the sign of Brighid—hand, hearth, head and heart. Brighid, Queen of the Four Fires, Goddess of Heaven, Bringer of Light, Ruler of Birth and New Beginnings.”

Air whooshed from her. She squeezed her eyes shut, hanging onto her husband.

“Breathe, love,” Bakeley whispered.

She took in a sharp breath. “How dare you, Roland James Hollister. How dare you, Lady Arbrough.” Her throat was raw from heaving and she squeezed her eyes again to hold back hot tears. “You drugged me. You struck Bakeley so hard, you might have killed the man I love. You say you were fleeing Hollister, but then why injure us? Why take us at all? We could have simply gone inside and—”

“You may not have been safe inside. We came as soon as we knew what was afoot. We know Hollister and Donegal had men amongst your household. The one who carted you out to the street, Lady Sirena, Obed recognized him.”

Bakeley shot to his feet, still gripping her hand. “Then my father, my sister, they’re in danger.”

“No. It’s Sirena he wants, to get to Roland,” Lady Arbrough said. “I’ve sent a message. Your father will take proper steps. The graver danger will be at the ball tomorrow night. You’ve invited Liverpool.”

“The danger to whom?” Sirena asked.

“You’ve invited dukes and ministers also, have you not?” Lady Arbrough asked.

“And they’ll all feel safe at the home of Lord Shaldon,” Bakeley said, staring off, frowning.

There was more he knew, and wouldn’t tell her in front of these two, or maybe not at all.

“But why take me now?” she asked. “Why not wait until the ball?”

Bakeley’s grip tightened as Lady Arbrough and her brother exchanged a look.

“We don’t know. That would be a dispute between two villains, is my guess,” Jamie said.

Lady Arbrough nodded. “It is good that you came to me for help, Bakeley.”

Sirena’s pulse quickened. When had he gone to Lady Arbrough for help? And why? And why his anger with her for inviting the woman to the ball?

Bakeley’s heart raced. His father and sister were in danger, as well as the lady they’d taken in and the host of innocent servants. The Home Office had theorized a connection between Sterling Hollister and Donegal, but that they’d invaded his staff?

His mind ran through the list of new hires, as it had done the night the sewer had stopped up. “How long would you say his men have been in my father’s house?”

Jocelyn held his eyes. “Very recently, we believe. Have you engaged new people?”

“We?” he asked.

She blinked.

“Who are you working with, Jocelyn? Besides him.”

Sirena squirmed.

“I did mean just Roland, as well as his two men and a couple of mine. But now, of course, we shall include you and Lady Sirena and, very soon, Shaldon.”

“Why did you not tell me you’d found my brother, Lady Arbrough?”

“’Twas my doing, iora,” Sirena’s brother said. “I asked Jocelyn to hold back until I was ready. I’d no idea you’d go off to the docks like you did.”

She choked. “Since the docks, you knew? At the musicale? Oh, Lady Arbrough, you are deceptive. You would hide my own brother and expect me to play your friend?” She took a shaky breath. “And ready for what, Jamie? For what? Where have you been? Do you know that Sterling Hollister has sold off the last of the breeding stock?”

She could see that the rawness in her voice pained him. Blast her brother for upsetting her so.

“It’s all right, iora.” The man’s voice softened again. “I’ll buy the best ones back for you.”

Tears rolled over her clenched jaw.

Bakeley pulled her to him. “We’ll buy your favorites back, Sirena.”

“No, ye shall not.” Her brother glared. “They shall be part of her dowry. You whisked her off to marriage without a proper agreement.”

She turned and glared back. “You’re not listening, Jamie. I’m of age, and have been speaking for myself for years. I have a proper marriage agreement, no thanks to the Lords of Glenmorrow. My English husband has settled a generous dower from his own pocket for me and our children. And where were you when I was choosing a husband? My husband will pay for those horses, and you must allow it.”

“I shall not, squirrel.”

She scooted to the seat edge. “You must. And where have you been for these last many years? Mother—”

She choked and bit on her fist.

The lout was on his knees then, taking the raw fist, while Bakeley gripped the other.

“I was on the other side of the world. Sterling Hollister chased me to Belfast, and his man, Donegal, with him. They brought down that ship with a barrel of powder, but Gram’s good luck held for I’d jumped to another near one.”

“But they found Gram’s Brighid knot.”

“Aye. I put it around a dead man’s neck before we left port. I didn’t expect to be gone so long, but it took me years to get back, and when I did, I got word that Mother was gone, and others were looking for me. I would do you and Father no good so I left again. I’ve been around the globe more than once. I’m sorry I didn’t get back in time to keep that bastard Hollister from hurting you.”

“He didn’t hurt me.” She sniffed. “He did try, though. Bakeley is going to challenge his claim to the title and find a way to bring him down.”

Or I could just kill him for what he’s done tonight, and for what’s he’s planning.

The talk at the Home Office came back to him. Gunpowder was missing. And the graver danger would be at the ball…

Her brother was nodding at him. “I will thank you for your help with that, Lord Bakeley.”

“You must claim the Glenmorrow title,” Sirena said, “and be just and fair.” She pulled her hand out of her brother’s grasp, and turned, her whisper feathering Bakeley’s ear. “What did you learn today? Will you speak of it in front of them? My head aches too badly to be entirely trusting.”

The others were watching them closely.

“Come, Roland,” Jocelyn said. “Let’s give them a moment. I hear horses outside in the street. We’re expecting a visitor.”

“Hollister?” Sirena asked.

“There’s always the possibility, but I believe we eluded him. No, I imagine Lord Shaldon will send Kincaid.”

When the door closed on them, he pulled her close. “I asked Lady Arbrough to lure Hollister with the list of traitors’ names we talked about. I met her at the modiste’s, but only after I was told you had invited her to the ball. I did plan to tell you, but Father has had me running hither and yon.”

She bit her lip, absorbing that information while he held his breath.

“Can we trust them? They are intimate,” she said through clenched teeth. “He is tupping her.”

“Does it bother you?” He stroked her cheek. “Because it doesn’t bother me one whit.”

She hunched her shoulders. “I would know how long they’ve been about this. How long before the musicale? Why? Why did he not seek me out? Why did he go to her?”

“She was one of my father’s operatives. It’s possible your brother knew her.”

Her eyes searched his. “It was all a ruse then, her friendship. Even her…friendship with you?”

He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want his wife’s pity. “It doesn’t matter. She means nothing to me.”

But it wasn’t pity that made her eyes flash. “’Tis dishonest. And what do I know of him, besides the pain that he’s caused? He may have a wife. He may have children.” She pressed her lips together. “It may be the way of these things, but it’s not right.”

His heart swelled, and he took her hand. “It will not be our way.”

She bit her lip and would not look at him. “And when the children come and I am fair drained from chasing them and cross with my lot in life.”

The picture warmed him. “We shall turn them over to their nursemaids, and I’ll take you to bed and uncross you.” He touched his lips to hers and she pulled away.

“Bakeley, I’ve been puking.”

“It isn’t catching.” He retrieved the now tepid tea and handed it to her. “Sip this. Are you feeling at all better?”

“Yes.”

He smoothed a hand down her side to the swell at her hip, provoking a hint of a smile.

“Can we trust them?” she asked again. “Perhaps we should sneak away back to Shaldon House.”

Sneak away. Bink and Paulette had not trusted him when he’d gone to help them, had decided to sneak away from the safe house where he’d placed them, and it had almost cost Paulette her life.

“Let’s see who my father sends in response to her message.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been through this before with Bink and Paulette. You’ve not heard that story?” He shook his head. “They tried to go it alone and it was a near thing.”

“What happened?”

“Paulette was abducted.”

Footsteps sounded outside the room and Bakeley jumped up. The door opened and Jocelyn entered, followed by Sirena’s brother and Charley. Drawing up the rear was a large, foreign-looking man dressed in the same black attire as the others.

Charley looked bosky, yet Father had sent him. Bakeley had a good sense of what Bink had felt when he himself had been sent to help Paulette. Bink, a veteran of the Peninsular War, to be assisted by the heir, whose combat had been in Jackson’s saloon and Angelo’s studio. No wonder his brother had vanished.

Charley’s eyes widened and some of his fog lifted. “Bakeley. You’re bloodied. And Lady Sirena...” He looked at his brother. “I see now why I was pulled out of White’s.” He went down on one knee in front of Sirena. “My dear, who did this to you?”

“Oh, get up, Charley,” she said.

Charley’s gaze flitted between the two of them and he leaned close. “I know the fetching gentleman in the tight waistcoat, but who are the other two?”

His breath reeked of drink.

“Good heavens,” Sirena whispered. “Bakeley, he’s drunk. Shall we have to trust him also?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Charley, you know Lady Arbrough. The fair-haired fellow is Sirena’s brother, the true Lord Glenmorrow. The other man is the one who bashed my skull.”

Charley swayed a bit struggling to his feet. He shook Sirena’s brother’s hand.

“Charles Everly, Bakeley’s brother.”

“Roland Hollister. And this is my man, Obed. I vouch for him.”

For what that was worth.

Obed’s head inclined. His hair was dark and stick-straight, his skin burnished, his features European, his eyes large and round, and golden—in other words, his nationality completely indeterminable.

Bakeley touched his head. The bleeding had stopped. “And I can vouch for his right hook.”

“I beg pardon, sir.” No expression wrinkled the foreign man’s brow.

“Pardon granted, provided you use those fists on our enemies.”

Sirena waved a hand. “Please, everyone, sit. Charley, exactly who pulled you out of White’s?”

“One of the blood—er, one of Kincaid’s Scotsmen. They are both hanging about outside. Whose snug pied-a-terre is this?”

“It is mine.” Lady Arbrough took a seat. Sirena’s brother quickly took the chair next to her that Charley was eying.

Charley grinned and carried a chair from the table. “You make an elegant fellow, Lady Arbrough.”

Obed stood near the door and crossed his arms over his chest, reminding Bakeley of a picture he’d seen of a genie. All the man needed was a turban and flowing trousers.

It was not a group to inspire confidence.

“So,” Charley said, “What is the plan?”