Bakeley’s blood roared. “Not my wife. Not Sirena.”

“No, no. I wasn’t thinking of her at all.”

“Kincaid.” Shaldon’s tone was a sharp rebuke, but his fellow campaigner was not standing down.

“You can trust your sons, Ned, haven’t I told you that?”

Charley sat up, and Bink lifted an eyebrow.

Kincaid stood, palms flat on the table. “The foul-up two years ago endangered Paulette, and it was only Gibson’s presence of mind that ensured her safety. Enough. We can trust them.”

Shaldon sent Kincaid a dark look, and the other man returned the glare.

Well. Perhaps the hazards of war had made them more equal than mere social position would allow for. In any case, none of the sons of Shaldon had seen Kincaid step out of rank before.

Both Shaldon and Kincaid turned their gazes on him, and it made his skin ripple.

Hot anger pulsed in him. “Not. My. Wife.”

“Indeed not,” Kincaid said.

Farnsworth followed the discussion, his expression a cipher. Bink frowned. Charley grinned.

A very loud sigh floated across the table from Father.

“We are all men at this table,” Kincaid said. “Bakeley, we don’t have time to coddle sensibilities.”

His every nerve alerted. “Sensibilities?”

Kincaid ignored him. “Some years ago, quite a few actually, there was a suspicion about some of the equipment being supplied to the army. Great profits were being made, and not all of the shipments were arriving intact. We set an agent to see what she could find out about this business.”

The pulse in Bakeley’s ear began to pound louder, sending a pain just above his right eye to join the ache in his neck. He eased in a breath. “Lady Arbrough.”

“Indeed.” Kincaid nodded.

Had his father set her to spy upon his heir? Had all his careful pursuit of the untouchable Lady Arbrough and her unexpected capitulation been a ruse? She’d had no lovers in the two years since her husband’s death.

That question would be asked later. “The whole world knows we’ve broken off. I wouldn’t insult my wife by having anyone believe otherwise. Hollister will do his snooping and discover Lady Arbrough has no access to my bedchamber.”

“He’s making excellent points,” Shaldon said.

Kincaid waved them all away. “The liaison ended around the time your courtship of Sirena began. One might infer that Lady Arbrough might have had access and seen something on your person that you obtained from Lady Sirena.”

“But that something is impossible for her to obtain now. I never entertained her at my townhouse or Shaldon House. Hollister will know she has no access now, not after my marriage.”

Kincaid frowned. “You don’t know then.” He straightened in his chair. “Paulette has said your lady is overwhelmed by the preparations for this ball.”

“Bakeley.”

He turned at Bink’s voice. “Paulette spent the evening yesterday helping the ladies with the final invitations. Sirena insisted on inviting Lady Arbrough to the ball.”

He eased in a breath and picked a spot of lint off of his coat. “Well, then. Lady Sirena knows I feel nothing but friendship toward the lady.”

What a lie that was. He was livid. He would like to throttle Jocelyn for weaseling her way into their wedding ball. “And I would not care to see her life endangered.”

Except by him, while he was throttling her.

“As I recall, she was quite adept,” Farnsworth said. “Do you believe she has retained her skills?”

“The question is, will she be willing?” Kincaid said. “Shall I undertake to speak with her, or will one of you?”

“Not Shaldon,” Farnsworth said. “She hasn’t forgiven you quite yet for accusing her of double-dealing.”

Shaldon cleared his throat and sent a menacing look toward the two men.

So Shaldon wouldn’t have set her upon him, but perhaps she’d set herself in his path so she could wreak revenge on his father.

Much like his wife had done. A tingle crept up his spine.

And anger reared anew in him. Until two years ago he’d been a man, competent, able, and in control of an empire. Now he had tingles and headaches.

Bakeley glared back. “I’ll speak to her. That will support the story, will it not?”

“Can we trust her?” Charley asked.

“Excellent question, Charley. You are not as drunk as I thought you were. Can we, Father?”

Shaldon’s eyes narrowed on him. “Yes, I believe we can.”

“Very well. I’ll engage to speak to her.” And he would speak to his father later, privately, to spare the old man’s sensibilities. “Now, let us get down to the specifics of our plan.”

Later, as they left the meeting, Bink pulled Bakeley aside.

“It’s a bad business, this,” Bink said. “I’ll go with you to talk to her.”

The last person he wanted with him when he talked to Lady Arbrough was one of his brothers. “Not necessary,” he said. “And I’m not visiting her at her home.”

“What about your wife’s feelings?” The steely-eyed glare reminded him of the one Bink had delivered the day they rescued Sirena. Defender of women and children, was his brother.

“What about them? Did you not tell me she insisted on inviting my former mistress to her wedding ball?”

Bink shook his head. “It did seem a bit too fashionable.”

Bakeley climbed into the unmarked coach where Shaldon already waited. Perhaps he should rejoice his wife was so open-minded.

Outside the coach, Bink hesitated. Charley and Kincaid had already ridden off on their mounts. “I’ll hail a hackney.”

“We’re going your way,” Shaldon said.

“You’ll want to talk.” He pushed the door closed and the coach drove off.

“Well, Father. We’re alone. If I’m to recruit Lady Arbrough, I’ll need to hear all about her escapades.”

His father sighed expressively.

“If you swoon, do not expect me to catch you.”

“Ungrateful pup.” Shaldon smiled and then laughed.

Sirena woke before dawn to the sound of a door closing. Her second day here, she and the housekeeper had come to terms, and Jenny now had a proper bed. This night, it had been herself falling asleep on her chaise longue, waiting for Bakeley. She sat up, watching the connecting door and anticipating his warmth, her heart sinking lower with each passing minute.

Finally, she rose, dressed in her old work gown, and went below stairs, surprising a yawning maid who was stirring the kitchen fire.

In the mews, a lone stable boy roused at her passing and pulled at his cap. She waved him back to his doze, and looked down the aisle at the empty stalls.

The brickwork looked dry to her. Why was he keeping the horses away?

A familiar snort drew her.

Lightning turned his great gray nose to her and sudden moisture flooded her, along with the memory of the first time she’d seen Bakeley so many years before.

“Sure, and you are Pooka’s,” she whispered, rubbing the spots. “The same markings. The same spark.”

He nosed her skirts and she laughed. “And the same sneaky appetite.”

Selfish of her to not stop for a carrot.

“What then, my fine boy?” she asked, patting his side. “Where was your master last night?”

The stable boy came carrying buckets of water, leaving one in Lightning’s stall.

She found a curry comb and began stroking, the whisk-whisk of it calming her.

For the first time in their brief marriage, her husband had not shared her bed.

She knew why. He’d learned about Lady Arbrough. No one had told her, but no one had to. In this great house, for all Shaldon’s secretiveness, everyone had a sense of what all the rest were doing. And Bakeley was angry.

Men liked to be in control. If a wife and a mistress were friendly, well, how could he work them against each other?

Her heart felt like she’d breathed in a load of shot. She’d thought to be kind. She’d thought to be sensible—this wasn’t a love match, and he being a great, wealthy, handsome man, sooner or later he’d have a woman on the side. Great or lowly, men were gullible creatures where the fair sex was concerned, and it was how it was done.

The ache in her chest rose into her throat, and to chase it away she began to croon a song her mother had sung to her.

Bam.

The gelding shied and snorted.

Bam. The pounding had come from another stall.

“You’re not alone then, my boy? And who is that ill-tempered neighbor?”

When she went to investigate, a dark head eyed her, lips pulling back to bare a full set of yellowing teeth.

“Be careful, my lady.” The stable boy, a sandy-haired fellow as slight as herself, stepped out of a shadow. “A mean one is this one. His lordship just brought her in.”

“Is she now?” She held the horse’s curious gaze. “A challenge you will be, will you? Has my wee lullaby discomfited you? Is my singing so bad?”

The boy chuckled.

“Or are we a jealous one?” Sirena said. “Well then, you shall have our attention.” She edged closer. “Come on then. Let’s have a discussion.”

Bakeley was buttoning his waistcoat when he finally heard a stirring in Sirena’s chamber. A night spent with Charley—and without Sirena—left him irritated and cross. He’d done far more hopping from club to gaming hell than he had in years, trying to run into Sterling Hollister.

Hollister had moved into rooms, but apparently, he’d not yet settled fully into the club life. That would change—a man looking to make his way in politics would have to show his face socially. He’d not yet accepted his invitation to the Shaldon ball, either—though the landlord at the inn said he’d delivered it himself.

Bakeley had arrived home with nothing but an extra ill-tempered horse that he’d won in a card game, and he was too damned snarly himself to wake up his wife for a tupping.

Nor did he want to be questioned in bed about his plans for the day when he was groggy and half out of his mind with lust. Though now…

He went to the connecting door, tapped gently, and opened it. A maid looked up from her dusting and quickly curtsied.

Disappointment ramped up his irritation. He’d slept through Sirena’s rising, and she hadn’t come in to wake him.

“Where is Lady Sirena?” he asked.

“I don’t know, my lord. I haven’t seen her.”

Unease rippled through him, remembering her morning jaunts when she lived with Lady Jane.

He hurried downstairs.

Perry sat alone in the breakfast room studying the scandal sheets. “They’re not mentioning you and Sirena today,” she said by way of greeting.

He helped himself to some tea. “Wonderful. Where is she?”

Perry pushed her spectacles higher and studied him. “Not still in bed?”

The note of surprise and concern, as though her romantic conceptions had been upended, ruffled him more.

And then more worry reared in him.

“She hasn’t come down,” Perry said. “That I know of. She wasn’t in the morning room.”

“Are the men at work in the ballroom?” Perry had concocted the harebrained scheme of commissioning an elaborate chalk drawing to cover the dance floor.

“I don’t know. Perhaps she went to check on it, though I made her promise not to peek.”

He trudged to the ballroom and stopped on the threshold. The gray light outside barely touched the floor, but what he could see was an intricate design of horses, mythological figures, and Celtic signs.

His sister had found an artist to come up with the design very quickly, and paid him—him, who the devil was he?—out of her own money. He should question her about the man and how she’d learned of him, but this business with Donegal…

He sighed. The fanciful floor art would awe the ton, and surprisingly, it would be ready in time. All looked complete, except for a corner where a lone man worked away without looking up.

Bakeley retraced his steps and went downstairs, catching Lloyd, the butler, supervising the cleaning of silver. Lloyd had served the family well, since before Bakeley could remember, and made a point of knowing all the comings and goings of staff and family.

He didn’t disappoint. Bakeley’s boots clicked on the bricks as he strode to the mews.

He heard her before he could see her. She was talking, her voice low and soothing in a way that did anything but settle his own disquiet.

He sensed a wedge between them, related to Lady Arbrough perhaps, or—he couldn’t imagine what else it could be.

Drat, it could be his own guilty conscience. He was off for a private meeting with Lady Arbrough, and perhaps Sirena had discovered it the same way he’d discovered she’d invited his former mistress to her wedding ball.

“Get Lightning saddled.”

The groom saluted.

“Handsome, you are.” Sirena’s voice came from a stall further down, and a sliver of jealousy stirred in him.

He peered into the gelding’s quarters and the lonely horse cast him a baleful look. Another jealous male.

“’Tis the new horse she’s with, my lord,” the groom said.

Alarm must have shown on his face because the young man shook his head. “Softened up like butter, she did. Her ladyship has her in hand.”

The girl who whispered to horses.

He approached slowly. In the light of morning, the mare was beautifully built, her black coat sleek over taut muscles.

The horse rolled her eyes and snorted. Sirena’s monologue broke off and her hand stilled momentarily.

“Good morning, my lord.”

Whisk, whisk, whisk.

The horse noticed the absence of speech and glanced back at her.

“Having a nice conversation, we are.” She didn’t look at either of them.

She’d worked with horses all her life, he told himself. She could handle this one—was handling this one.

“You’ve calmed her.”

“I’m glad you’ve brought two of the horses back. This one I don’t know.” She smoothed her hand down the horse’s shoulder. “Does she have a name?”

“Not as I know.”

“Banshee would do,” she said. “She’s a flighty, complaining one. You have a devil in you, do you not, my girl?”

“Yes, indeed she does. I won her at cards last night from a fellow who was pockets to let and happy to be rid of her. As I will be when I can get her over to Tattersalls.”

She paused again and still wouldn’t look at him. “I should like you to keep her.”

“And I should like you to leave her to one of the grooms. In fact, I’m wondering why my wife, who has a grand ball to host in a day, is in the stable brushing a wild mare who won’t be ridden.”

Her hand paused again, and he saw a tremble. “I’ve barely touched a horse in so many months. Will you take this away from me then?”

The catch in her voice sent a wave of guilt washing over him.

But she was his to protect. “Sirena, this horse is dangerous. You know this.”

“Aye.” She made another pass with the comb and turned to him, cheeks pink and eyes glowing. “I don’t need a gentle, safe beast. There’d be no challenge to that.”

He blinked. A gentle, safe beast. A boring husband.

“And I will ride her one day,” Sirena said. “She and I are coming to an agreement about it.” She patted the horse’s neck. “Though she knows we likely can’t be together every day as I’d wish.”

Jealousy flared in him and he pushed it back immediately. This was a horse. A horse, not a man she was talking about.

Boring though he might be, she was stuck with him. And he would win her, somehow.

Wisps of hair protruded from the cap she’d pulled on. The horse snorted and nosed her arm, and cold fear ran through him. The beast could snap one of her bones so easily. Behind him he heard the creak of leather as the boy readied Lightning.

“I’ll have Pooka brought up from Kent and trained to the side saddle for you.”

She threw him a glance. “Sure, and I can manage the side saddle, but astride suits me better.”

“Perhaps when we’re home at Cransdall. But in town—”

“Do not the grooms take them out early to run in the park?”

Whisk, whisk, whisk.

His wife, riding astride, in London, dressed as a groom, for surely that was what she was planning. And he’d never allow it.

“You could go out of a morning with a groom.” She turned a baleful look on him. “That is if you’ve bothered to come home the night before.”

The horse snorted and ducked her head, as if agreeing, and Bakeley fought a smile. Now they were down to it. “I was hunting for Hollister last night,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“I see.”

“I must go out again. Shall we chat when I come back?”

“If I have time. I’m to be at home today for callers.”

“Come away from that horse, love.”

“In a bit,” she said.

“Now.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you and I’m not sure she’ll allow it.”

That won him a smile as he’d hoped it would. She patted the horse again, whispered something to her and stepped out of the stall.

He gathered her close.

A snort from the horse and a discreet cough from behind interrupted them. His mount was ready.

“I must go.”

“And where is it you’re going, Bakeley?”

“James.”

“You will be Bakeley until you tell me.”

He held his breath. There was no time to smooth this over, should she be upset with his mission, and he couldn’t wait for her to change her clothing should she wish to accompany him. “I’m meeting someone who’ll help carry out our plot,” he whispered.

“And which plot is that?” she asked softly.