Chapter 18

Lori yawned and stretched, turning over in bed. It felt too good to get up. The sheets had never felt so soft. Almost like silk against her bare breasts and belly.

Her bare breasts and belly.

She was naked.

Her eyes popped open, and she stared around at the dimly lit room. It took a few seconds before she recalled where she was.

And how she’d gotten there.

Images of Lord Severn between her thighs, face slick, lips wet and swollen—

Lori groaned, squeezed her eyes shut and slammed her palms over them, as if that could erase her behavior from the night before. But the images were ten times more vivid behind her eyelids, so she immediately opened them.

Before the shame could snowball and grow into something crushing, she firmed her jaw and said in a low voice, “You have nothing to be ashamed about. You haven’t done anything worse than thousands of men do every single day. Sensual desire is as normal as anything else the body craves.”

She repeated that same mantra—but in her head—until the tension leaked out of her. And then she tugged the sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her like an ancient Roman toga. Once she was properly shrouded, she tried to open the door. It was locked. She was about to start pounding on it when she saw the other door.

Ah.

She twisted the handle, fully expecting it to be locked also, but it turned easily, and she opened it to the study from the night before.

Her eyes immediately went to the chair where she’d sat sprawled and—

“Oh, God,” she mumbled, assaulted by images of her naked body wantonly spread before Lord Severn. His lips slick and passion-bruised, his eyes dark and brooding as he—

Lori yelped when the door suddenly opened and a maid with a full tray hovered on the threshold.

“Oh! You’re awake. His lordship said not to disturb you if you were sleeping.”

Lori waited until the maid nudged the door shut with her foot to ask, “Where is my clothing? And Lord Severn? And what time is it?”

The maid blinked at the rapid fire questions and carefully set down the tray before saying, “There are clothes in the armoire in the bedchamber. Lord Severn has gone out, but he wanted you to know he’d return shortly. It is just after seven o’clock.”

“ Seven o’clock!”

The woman winced. “Yes, Miss Fontenot.”

Oh, God! Whatever would Freddie be thinking? She would be worried sick.

“I need to leave.” She brushed past the maid and yanked open the door to the bedchamber.

The maid’s footsteps sounded behind her. “Er, Lord Severn wanted you to wait until—”

“I need to leave! I should have done so hours ago,” Lori shot back. She flung open the armoire and riffled through the hanging garments before turning. “My gown isn’t in here.”

“No, Miss.”

“May I have it back?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Why?”

“Because—”

“Because I had it tossed into the rubbish bin,” Lord Severn’s voice came from the doorway.

“You had no right to do that!”

He ignored her and said, “You can leave, Dolly.”

The maid scurried out of the room without a backward glance.

“Breakfast is in the other room. Why don’t you come and—”

“I want my clothing,” she demanded, fear mingling with anger at his high-handed behavior.

He gave her a cool look. “I told you: it is gone.”

“Well go and get it!”

“That’s not going to happen. Besides,” he said with humor lurking in his eyes, “we rather destroyed that gown last night. Or don’t you remember?”

The memory of that destruction came back in a flash, and with mortifying clarity. But Lori refused to acknowledge it. “Then find me some other clothing.”

He gestured to the wardrobe. “There are—”

“You expect me to wear your whore’s clothing?”

He shrugged, unperturbed by her rudeness. “There are a number of dressing gowns in there.” His pale eyes flickered over her body, making her remember that she was dressed in a sheet. “Although I must say you look fetching as you are.”

“Very droll, my lord. I want—” she broke off when he strode toward her, not stopping until he was close enough to lay a finger across her lips.

“Shh.”

Her jaw dropped, but no sound came out.

“That’s better.” His large hand spread across her lower back, and he gently propelled her toward the doorway.

Lori took a few steps before her wits returned and she whirled on him. “Don’t you shush me! This is not amusing. I want my clothing and I—”

“And I want you to sit down and have a civil conversation with me.”

Her mouth snapped shut as she was, yet again, silenced by a voice that was scarcely above a whisper. His eyes were even paler today. Or perhaps they only seemed that way because his pupils had shrunk to pinpricks. Although his expression was mild, there was no doubt in her mind that he was displeased that she had the gall to disagree with him.

Lori wanted to tell him to go to the devil, but it struck her rather sharply that she was without clothing, money, or any means of getting out of a building that belonged to him, filled with servants loyal to him.

She clamped her jaws shut.

He nodded, his harsh expression softening slightly. “Good girl. Now, have a seat.”

Lori bristled at his patronizing good girl and it took every drop of self-control she possessed not to hit him.

Instead, she sat in the chair he indicated.

He gestured to the tray on the table. In addition to tea, coffee, and numerous covered dishes there were several newspapers. “Will you make the tea? I like mine black and strong,” he said once he’d taken the seat across from her.

She wanted to argue, but she also desperately wanted tea.

And so she commenced with the familiar ritual. By the time she’d poured out her tea—she liked it weak and milky—her pulse had slowed to a normal rate.

Once the tea had steeped until it was an almost oily black, she poured a cup for Severn and met his penetrating gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, all the coldness from a few minutes earlier gone, his features now those of a pleasant, gentlemanly host.

But Lori wasn’t fooled. A cauldron simmered inside him and the lid had temporarily been dislodged— she’d been the one to dislodge it. It shamed her to admit it, but she wasn’t in a hurry to see that same cold expression on his face again.

He took a sip and gave a contented sigh. “This is good.”

“When can I leave?”

“I am worried about that man in the alley last night,” he countered with hardly a pause.

Lori opened her mouth to stubbornly repeat her question, but the glitter in his eyes stopped her. Instead, she said, “It won’t happen again as I won’t be going down there again.” It was a lie, but she didn’t owe him the truth.

“Did he give any indication who his employer was? What he wanted to talk to you about? Anything?”

“I’ve already told you no . You heard what he said.”

“ Hmm.” He took another sip of tea.

Lori set down her untouched cup and saucer. “When can I leave… Fast?”

He looked amused by her use of his pet name and Lori cursed her clumsy effort at manipulation.

“Who do you think is feeding Parker all his information about me?” he asked.

“I don’t know—as I’ve said at least five times already. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. What are you hiding, my lord? How about you answer that?”

“I’m sorry.” He gave her a look that was tinged with regret.

Lori blinked. “Sorry? What are you sorry about?” Dread slithered down her spine.

He ignored her question. “You had better make yourself comfortable.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you will be staying here as my guest until I decide otherwise.”

***

Fast knew it was childish, but he couldn’t help enjoying the way Lorelei’s mouth opened and closed just like that of a landed fish.

“What do you mean?” she managed after a moment.

“Just what I said. I’ll be keeping you here so I can make sure you don’t get into any trouble.”

“But”—she made a flustered huffing sound, like a broody hen, and shook her head, and then spluttered, “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, I can.”

“People know I am here. They will come looking for me if I don’t return.”

“People like Ella?”

She gaped. “How do you know about her?”

“You needn’t worry, my dear. I have already compensated Ella for her silence. She will not be going to Lady Sedgewick’s house.”

Her eyes threatened to start from their sockets. “There are others! She wasn’t the only one. I told—”

“You are a dreadful liar.”

Her already red face darkened even more at the accusation and her mouth worked, but no words came out. That was fine; Fast had plenty to say. “You are staying here until it is safe to let you out again.”

“Safe? What in the world do you mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“You can’t do that! I’ll—I’ll—”

“You’ll what ?”

She jumped to her feet, forgetting about the sheet she was wearing.

He watched with interest as she trod on the bottom of the fabric and dislodged the makeshift toga. She had lovely, lovely breasts and he regretted not exploring them more fully the night before. Judging by the way she was scowling at him, Fast would not be getting a second chance to enjoy her body.

He got to his feet, and she hastily stepped back, bumping into the chair behind her, and then edging around it, until she was clutching the chairback with both her hands. “You can’t just keep me here.”

Before Fast could answer there was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” he called out staring at Lorelei.

“Gregg.”

Fast’s gaze slid over Lorelei’s barely clad body—a body he didn’t want anyone but himself to see.

“One moment” he called, striding toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she demanded shrilly.

He ignored her and opened the door. Fast knew by Gregg’s expression that something was amiss, so he stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

Lorelei’s voice, raised in anger, came through the thick wood. “Severn! Where are you going?”

Gregg looked amused as Fast lightly held the handle while she yanked on it and continued shouting.

“I want any room she’s in to be locked at all times and station a man outside it,” he said, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the racket.

“Very good, my lord.”

“You’d better have one posted outside the window, too.”

Gregg smirked as he fished a key from his pocket and stuck it into the lock.

The door handle rattled. “You let me out this instant!” Fast winced when the door shook. She would hurt herself if she kept flinging herself against it like that.

“If you have something to tell me, tell me quickly.”

Gregg glanced at the vibrating door. “I think it would be better not to speak of it right here.”

Fast sighed and jerked out a nod.

“Will she be staying in your quarters?” Gregg asked as they strode down the corridor.

“Only until the Queen’s Chambers have been secured. Then I will move her in there.”

Gregg laughed. “Oh, she’ll like that.”

“I don’t care what she likes. It will be far easier to keep her contained in that suite. There are too many goddamned doors in and out of my rooms.”

The Queen’s Chambers, as the rooms were laughingly called, had been equipped for every perversion known to mankind. The room also had bars on the window and only one door. For all that it was locked up tighter than a Newgate cell it was luxurious. Lorelei would be comfortable, if scandalized.

“Oh, and from now on,” Fast said, “I don’t want any of the maids to go into her room alone. She had poor Dolly terrified.”

Gregg looked amused. “Of course, my lord.”

“I want you to be the one to accompany the servants.”

“You don’t trust the lads?” Gregg asked, his eyebrows arched.

“Oh, I trust the lads. It’s her I don’t trust.”

Gregg laughed and then opened the door to his own suite of rooms.

Fast disposed of himself in one of the chairs. “So, then. What is the need for such secrecy?”

“It was Moreland.”

Fast frowned. “What about Moreland?”

Gregg opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said with a grim look, “It was Moreland who had your brother killed, my lord.”

Fast stared. And when Gregg merely stared back, Fast gave a sharp bark of laughter. “The devil you say! Somebody is having you on, Gregg.”

But Gregg didn’t laugh with him. “I’m afraid not, my lord. Barker tracked Garcia down and found his lodgings. Unfortunately, he also found Garcia. Dead. Somebody slit his throat for him and then tossed his place. Not that there was much to toss. But it was obvious that whoever did it was looking for something.”

Fast shook his head. “But… but this makes no sense. How could Garcia tell Barker it was Moreland if he was already dead?”

“Because there was a witness to Garcia’s murder, my lord.”

Fast laughed again. “Now I know somebody is lying if they said they saw Moreland slit somebody’s throat. Bevil Norman faints at the sight of blood—he always has. He might kill a man, but not with a knife.”

Gregg rubbed his temple. “I’m making a mess of this.”

“You bloody well are,” Fast agreed. “Tell me straight what happened.”

“It wasn’t Moreland the witness saw, but a huge bloke who is one of the earl’s servants. A man named Edward Carey, who is as big as you.”

“What did he look like?” Fast asked, a sick feeling already blooming in his belly.

“A scar through his eyebrow with salt-and-pepper—”

“Damnation! That was the man who had Lorelei cornered in that alley last night.”

“A neighbor saw Carey enter Garcia’s flat, heard sounds of a scuffle, and saw Carey leave covered in blood.”

Fast shook his head in perplexity. “But…why?”

Gregg pressed his lips together and shrugged. “That, I don’t know. Barker and two other men are holding Carey captive in a corder’s shack on Bell Pier. It took a lot to soften him up, but he finally broke and confessed it was Moreland who sent him to kill Garcia.” Gregg snorted. “Not that there was much chance of him getting out of it. In any event, he swears that he knows nothing about why Moreland wanted Garcia dead. It seems the earl hasn’t taken him into his confidence to that extent.”

Fast shook his head, unable to credit what he was hearing. “And you really believe that Carey is working for Moreland?”

“Barker will be able to tell you the whole of the man’s confession, but there is no doubt of it, my lord. Carey has lived in a cottage on the Earl of Moreland’s estate for years and is well-known about the place. Moreland obviously placed a great deal of trust in him.” His jaw flexed. “Moreland is the man who paid Albert Jensen to kill your brother. And it makes sense to assume that he had Garcia killed—and his rooms searched—hoping to find the confession. I daresay Garcia has been bleeding him.”

The words echoed strangely. Fast could hear them, but it was simply too difficult for his brain to grasp. It was too…fantastical to accept that a man who had once been his best friend—and Percy’s too—was responsible for killing his brother and all but destroying Fast’s life.

He stilled his rampaging thoughts and took deep, controlled breaths. After a moment, he unclenched his fingers as his shock began to evaporate like fog under a hot sun.

“There’s something else.” Gregg’s voice seemed to come from a far way off.

“What?” he demanded irritably, grappling with rage now that shock had passed.

“Carey said that he found the girl.”

“Girl?”

“Jensen’s younger sister.”

Fast’s head whipped up. “Good God! Ellie Jensen is alive?”

“She was alive when Carey brought her to Moreland. But he hasn’t seen her since delivering her several weeks ago.”

“Did he say where Moreland was holding her?”

“He doesn’t know.”

Fast shifted his jaw from side to side, his mind racing. “You think he’s keeping her to get Jensen to hand over the confession?”

“I don’t know, but Carey claims he didn’t find anything in Garcia’s rooms. And yes, before you ask, I do believe him. So that confession is still out there.” Gregg shoved a hand through his thick ash blond hair. “Damnation but I wish we’d been able to talk to Garcia. I wonder…” he trailed off and shook his head. “No. It is too farfetched.”

“What?”

“What if Garcia took that letter from Jensen before we even left Majorca? What if he didn’t just tell Moreland about it, but showed him and that is why Moreland is willing to kill to get his hands on it?”

Fast pondered the notion for only a few seconds and then shook his head. “Jensen would have sent a letter if he’d been robbed. If not because the bargain he made with me, then because he would be worried that the killer might seek out his mother and sisters.” He scowled. “Which is exactly what Moreland did.”

“But Jensen couldn’t have sent word if Garcia killed him when he stole the confession.”

Fast blinked, stunned that he’d not considered that possibility. “Good God!” he said, lifting his eyes to Gregg. “If Joe Jensen is dead and his brother’s confession is missing, then…”

“Then you don’t have a signed confession or a witness to attest to it,” Gregg finished for him.

Fast felt as though somebody had punched that air from his lungs. This simply could not be happening! Moreland could not evade justice.

If you can’t bring him before a jury of his peers, then you will simply have to seek justice yourself.

“It doesn’t matter if I don’t have evidence,” Fast said. “Because I’m going to kill Moreland.” He would use his own two hands, and he would enjoy it. He would do it slowly. He would—

“What about the girl?”

“Girl?” he repeated, his chest aching with the effort of containing the anger that was roiling and swelling and pulsing inside him.

“Ellie.”

Fast forced himself to concentrate on something else besides squeezing Bevil’s neck until it snapped. “Do you think she is still alive?”

“I don’t know. There is far too much we don’t know.”

“You’re saying I shouldn’t kill him.

“Er, maybe not yet, my lord.”

Fast flexed his hands. “No, you’re right. I can get some answers out of him first.”

Gregg leaned toward him and opened his mouth.

Fast raised a hand. “Let me guess. I can’t kill him or beat answers out of him.”

“Not yet, sir. We might still find the evidence you need to see him face justice. Isn’t that what you want for your brother? Justice?”

“Killing Moreland will be justice.”

“It will also make you a murderer.”

“That doesn’t bother me one iota.”

“And what about your grandfather? Will it bother him?”

Fast ground his teeth. “That is a low blow, Gregg.”

“Perhaps, but it doesn’t make it less true.” Something like pain flickered in the other man’s dark brown eyes. “You don’t want to live out your life on the run, my lord.”

“Of course I don’t. But I am smart; I’ll leave no trace.”

“Let’s say you do kill him and don’t get caught. If word of this scandal were to gets out—and we don’t know how many people are in on this secret now—you will be in the same position as Moreland; which is to say ripe for extortion.”

“So what the hell do you propose, then? That I do nothing ?”

Gregg opened his mouth, but then closed it.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Speak, man.”

“Death is quick, my lord. Some would say it is the easy way out for what Moreland did.”

“But torture before death can be long and drawn out,” Fast retorted. And it would be. He would take days—maybe weeks—to kill Bevil Norman.

“Yes, but it seems to me that would be letting his sort of man off too easily. It seems to me—based on what you’ve said about him—that he would suffer more by losing all his money and status first.”

Fast’s jaw twitched. “So you’re saying I should make my information public? With what evidence?” He snorted. “And even if I do find that confession, now that I know Percy’s killer is a bloody peer —ha!” he laughed bitterly. “The word of a dead man, a killer’s brother—a known mutineer—would never bring down an earl, Gregg.”

“I’m not talking about making what you know public.”

“Then what the hell are you talking about?”

“Moreland is hurting for money, my lord.”

“I know that. So what?”

“Why not destroy him before you kill him?” Gregg hurried to explain. “You’ve got the upper hand when it comes to the Pascoe chit. If he marries her, his money troubles are over.”

“That’s just one heiress. There are dozens of them dangling for a peer. It might frustrate Bevil to lose a woman like Demelza Pascoe, but he wouldn’t suffer for long.”

“Surely there are ways to discredit Moreland so badly that no wealthy Cit would allow his daughter to marry him. Even if he is an earl?”

Fast fought against the unfettered, rampant hatred churning inside him. He knew Gregg had a good point—several of them. He didn’t want to spend his life running from a murder charge. Moreland’s situation was a case in point in how bloody difficult it was to keep such a thing a secret. And then there was the fact that such an accusation would kill his grandfather.

Killing Moreland won’t get Percy back .

No, nothing would.

How would Percy want you to deal with this? Shouldn’t that weigh in your decision?

Fast gritted his teeth against the deviously clever voice. His brother wouldn’t have wanted Fast to destroy what remained of their family. And that is exactly what he’d be doing if he turned himself into a murderer. For all that Percy could be selfish and thoughtless, he had always taken the responsibilities of being the heir seriously. That is what had made it so hard to believe that he had killed himself.

We belong to the family first and then ourselves, Fast, Percy had said on more than one occasion. Even our father knew that. I could hardly be worse than him, could I ?

Percy had been right. Their father had done his best to drain the marquessate of its money and bring shame to the name, but he had married an acceptable woman and provided the obligatory heir and spare.

“My lord?”

He looked up. “What?”

“You mentioned the Countess of Mansfield was having a house party.”

“Yes. What of it?”

“Her country estate isn’t far from Moreland’s, is it?”

“An hour or two away.” He frowned. “Why? What are you driving at?”

“If you were to accept the countess’s invitation—”

“I rejected it already.”

Gregg grinned. “You know she would be delighted if you were to change your mind.”

“Probably,” Fast accepted. “But why would I?”

“How many properties does Moreland own?”

Fast shrugged. “Lord, I don’t know. He still has a bit of acreage near my grandfather’s estate. And his wife, Louisa, brought at least one property to the marriage. I’m guessing there are several minor estates that came with the earldom. Why?”

“Because if he is holding Ellie, certainly it would be at one of those places.”

Fast nodded slowly.

“And if you went to Lady Mansfield’s party you could sneak over one or two nights and look around his estate, couldn’t you? Perhaps drop some blunt to see if anyone who lives around there knows anything.”

“I could.”

“You could also tell Moreland that you had some investment opportunity for a dear old friend—bait a trap for him, as it were. I can throw something together before you go, just enough to whet his appetite.”

“That is all assuming I can look at him and talk to him without killing him, which I’m not entirely sure I could do. And keep in mind that he won’t be at Meg’s party—not when he lives so close.”

“But aren’t the Pascoes going to be there?”

“Yes, that is true,” Fast admitted, suddenly recalling a conversation he’d had with Meg about her inviting the industrialist and his daughter to her party. “I have lowered my standards and invited an obnoxious Cit because it is the only way I’ll be able to lure you to attend,” she had retorted. “Everyone knows you have your sights set on Miss Pascoe for the position of Viscountess Severn. If you don’t come, Moreland might very well steal a march on you.”

Fast looked up at Gregg and nodded. “Yes, Bevil will make sure to join in the festivities if the Pascoes are there.”

“Well, there you have it. A perfect opportunity to take care of several problems at once.”

Fast heaved a sigh. “Christ. Am I really considering going to a party to be near my brother’s murderer?”

“Think of the goal, my lord. And also think of Ellie.”

“Damn you, Gregg; you are right. I shall need to get going today as that bloody party starts the day after tomorrow.” He snorted and then met his friend’s curious gaze. “If I leave then you will be in charge of Miss Fontenot in my absence.” Fast felt a pang at the thought of leaving her, which was only more proof that the less time he spent with that far-too-appealing young lady, the better.

Gregg gave Fast a pained look. “Why, thank you, sir.”

“I suppose there is nothing in London that cannot wait until my return.”

“I can hold down the fort here until the Blue Devil returns in ten days—two weeks at the most.”

“I’ll bloody well be back by then,” Fast assured him.

The Blue Devil was the ship Jensen was supposed to take to England. If the man was still alive, of course. Fast would have felt guilty asking the Blue Devil ’s captain to transport a mutineer if the man hadn’t already been delivering a hold full of contraband.

He would have brought Jensen over on the Vixen if the ship wasn’t under so much scrutiny thanks to David Parker.

And Lorelei Fontenot.

He snorted softly. Yes, and her.

Fast turned to Gregg, who’d paused and was staring at him strangely. “Out with it,” he ordered.

Gregg smiled wryly and said, “Even if spending time with Moreland this coming week makes you decide that destroying him piece-by-piece is too difficult, you’ve waited nine months to avenge your brother. Perhaps you might remind yourself—when your temper begins to fray—that it would be advisable to wait until after the Blue Devil arrives to kill him.”

Fast gave an unamused bark of laughter. “Damn you and your cool, calculating mind, Gregg. But you are right. I will wait for the Blue Devil before I do any killing. Satisfied?”

A slow, evil grin spread over Gregg’s face, and he rubbed his hands together. “Indeed, I am, sir. You leave it to me to come up with a nasty little financial snare for Moreland. I anticipate having a great deal of entertainment at his lordship’s expense.”