Chapter 20

Two hours later Lori was using the butterknife from her breakfast tray to pry the bolt off one corner of the bars on the window when she heard the telltale sound of the key in the lock.

She sprinted to the bed and tucked the knife behind a pillow, hurriedly dropped into a nearby chair, and picked up the book on Massachusetts.

When the door opened, Mr. Gregg entered. “Hello, ducks.”

She scowled up at him. “Go away.”

“Are you sure?” He lifted a very familiar looking valise. “Shall I take this with me?”

Lori stared at the battered leather bag. “Wait! Is… is that mine ?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we have a look and see?” He shoved his hand inside the bag and pulled out something white. “ Hmm , pretty. Is this yours?” He waved Lori’s nicest chemise in the air.

She charged across the room and snatched the garment out of his hands. “Where did you get this?” she demanded, grabbing the valise, and taking a few steps back, even though Gregg showed no signs of trying to take the bag back.

“Your housemate packed it for you.” He grinned. “Indeed, Lady Sedgewick handed it to me herself.” He gave a low whistle, his eyelids lowering. “Now that is a lovely lady.”

“Why in the world would she give my things to you?”

“Because you wrote to her and asked for them.”

Lori narrowed his eyes at him. “I most certainly did no—”

“Oh, yes you did.” He reached into his exquisitely tailored clawhammer coat and pulled out a few folded pieces of parchment. Lori came close enough to snatch them from his hand.

She gave an outraged squawk when she saw the three messages—all the same, with varying degrees of success when it came to copying her handwriting. “You forged a letter from me!”

“Guilty as charged.”

She pulled her gaze from his smirking face and read the brief message.

Dearest Freddie,

I’m afraid I need to be away from home for a few days. Would you mind terribly packing a bag for me? You can give it to the man who delivered this message—Mr. Gregg—and he’ll bring it to me. Don’t worry, Freddie, I’m not in any trouble. I’ll send you a message by Mr. Gregg every day to let you know things are well. You may trust him implicitly with any messages for me.

Thank you, my dear.

Lori

She looked up, shaking her head. “You swine ! I may trust you implicitly ? You are without shame.”

Gregg looked delighted by the accusation. “Utterly and completely.”

Lori rooted through the bag, relieved when she saw not only fresh undergarments but her two favorite day dresses. Wearing nothing but a fancy dressing gown did not do anything for her morale.

Nor your morals, either .

She scowled at the taunt and looked up to find Gregg leaning against the doorframe, his expression strangely pensive as he stared at the scattered newspapers and half-eaten meal on her breakfast tray.

“What do you want now?” she demanded rudely, hoping her angry tone hid the nervous quaver in her voice.

“Where is the butterknife?”

“What butterknife?”

He strode directly to the window, lifted the corner of the heavy velvet drape, and made a tsking sound as he turned to face her. “You’ll never get those bolts out of the wall. The knife, Miss Fontenot.”

She gave an exasperated growl. “On the bed, under the cushion.”

He found the knife, tossed it onto the tray, and then strode to the door and opened it, handing the tray to whomever was waiting outside before turning back to her. “I want you to stop trying to escape.”

“No.”

He laughed. “Would you really have tried to climb out the window if you’d managed to get the bars off?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the man I put on guard had fallen sound asleep and didn’t see you—which wouldn’t happen, by the by—you might have broken your neck in the fall. Or been scooped up by some shifty character.”

“You’re one to talk of shifty characters.”

“Stop trying to escape.”

“All right. I’ll stop.”

He blinked and his lips parted, the expression of startlement making his almost sinister features look boyish.

Lori smirked and added, “If you let me walk out the door.”

“No. Tell me about Lady Sedgewick.”

“ What ?”

“You heard me; I want to know about her.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing nefarious.”

Lori snorted. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He lifted a hand and laid it over his heart. “You have my word.”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m asking nicely” He gave her a smile that wasn’t entirely pleasant. “And because you could use a friend right now, and it seems I’m the likeliest candidate.”

“A friend who keeps me prisoner? I don’t think I need that kind of friend.”

“A person can always use more friends.” He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

There was movement at his feet and the black cat who’d knocked her off the stack of crates rubbed against his calf.

“You!” she accused, pointing a finger and glaring at the offending creature.

The cat paused and gave her a smirk that was a great deal like Mr. Gregg’s.

“You should be honored Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones has deigned to pay you a visit.”

Lori ignored his taunting. “Will you help me escape if I tell you about Lady Sedgewick?” She had no intention of telling him anything, but it would be interesting to see how far he would go to get information about Freddie.

“No.”

“So, then what will you do for me?”

“I could tell you some interesting things.”

“Such as what Lord Severn did with the mutineers he picked up?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I won’t say anything about Severn.”

“Then what? Give me a sample of the interesting things you could share.”

“Did you know the Earl of Barrington is pockets to let?”

“ Pffft! Everyone knows he is broke thanks to ill-advised investments.”

“Did you know Barrington is dabbling in illegal slave trading to re-fill his family’s coffers?”

Lori’s eyebrows shot up. Barrington was an extremely powerful, well-connected man. Parker would love to print such a story, but even he would want more than innuendo to go after such well-regarded peer. “I would need proof,” she said. “And lots of it.”

He nodded slowly. “I have proof.”

“And you’ll give it to me if I tell you about Freddie?”

He nodded again.

“I’m not going to tell you anything she has confided in me.”

“I don’t want to pry into any confidences,” he said. “Was her marriage happy?”

Lori frowned.

“Well?” he prodded.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, more than a little ashamed that it was the truth. “She was widowed years before I met her.”

“Does she have a lover?”

She opened her mouth to tell him he was an impudent scoundrel for asking such questions, but then realized she could give him a truthful answer without betraying her friend. “I don’t know anything about that.” She paused and added, “And I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”

Humor glinted in his dark eyes at her answer. “What about the Duke of Plimpton?”

Lori was startled by the question. “What about him?”

Gregg sighed and gave her a pained look.

“Are you asking me if Plimpton is Freddie’s lover?”

“Is he?”

“I already told you that I don’t know anything about Freddie’s lovers. ”

“And you wouldn’t tell me if you did,” he said, a wry smirk curving his lips.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“So then who is Plimpton to her?”

“Why do you think he is anything to her?”

“I saw his carriage leaving her house when I called to get your valise.”

“Oh.” Lori studied him for a moment. What could it hurt to tell him that Plimpton was Freddie’s client? It wasn’t a secret. “Freddie will be launching Plimpton’s daughter next Season.”

He nodded slowly, but didn’t look especially surprised.

“You already knew that, didn’t you?” she accused.

He kept nodding.

Lori flung up her hands. “Why are you wasting my time and asking me things if you already know the answer?”

“Do you have something better to do?”

She snorted. “Excellent point. What else do you want to know?”

“What about her marriage to Sedgewick?”

“I already told you I don’t know if it was happy or not.”

“You must know something .”

Lori wracked her brains for some bit of information that would not be a betrayal of her friend.

“Do you want to exchange information, or not?” he asked coolly.

“Would you rather I make something up?” she demanded, goaded less by his picking at her than the realization that her friend’s past was such a mystery to her after so many years.

“How is it that she doesn’t live in the dower house on her dead husband’s estate?”

“ Is there a dower house?” Lori retorted, intrigued.

Gregg frowned.

“I don’t know why that is,” she admitted. “I—I just know she is not on easy terms with the man who inherited the earldom. Evidently his is some distant cousin.”

“I find it had to believe this is all you know about your own housemate.”

“She is an exceedingly private person. I doubt she’s told anyone about her marriage,” Lori snapped. “But if she has, it would be Miles Ingram.”

“That’s the Earl of Avington—the bloke who taught dancing at that girl’s school?”

“How do you know all this?” she asked, more than a little worried about how much this man seemed to know about Lori’s friends.

“Why would Avington know? Were they lovers?” he persisted.

“You seem to have lovers on the brain,” she shot back.

“Answer my question or I’m leaving.”

Lori gave an exasperated growl. “I told you already that I don’t know if she has had any lovers. Do you work for the Spanish Inquisition by any chance?”

His lips twitched slightly at that. “What about the rest of her family?”

“She never mentions them,” Lori said rather lamely. Did she really know so little about a woman who was probably her best friend?

“Nothing?”

Lori didn’t blame him for sounding skeptical. “She has never mentioned any siblings or her parents. I assume there is nobody left, or she would not have been forced to fend for herself.”

Gregg stared for a long moment and then turned to leave.

“Wait! When will you give me the information about Lord Barrington’s smuggling?”

“Before you leave here.”

“And when will that be, pray?”

“When Lord Severn says you may leave.”

“When will he return?”

“That is a matter for him to decide.”

Lori looked for something to throw at Gregg’s head, but he opened the door and stepped into the corridor too quickly.

The cat strutted across the room and hopped up onto the bed.

“You’re forgetting your cat,” she called to Gregg.

He was in the act of closing the door but glanced at the sinuous black beast, which was sprawled across the supple leather bedspread as if he belonged there.

“Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones doesn’t belong to me. He’s his own cat.” Gregg shut the door with a firm click before she could come up with a response.

Lori stared at the cat, who stared back at her from beneath lowered lids and then yawned.

“Fine, you can stay,” she said after a moment. “But I get the right side of the bed.”

***

Two mornings later the maid entered Lori’s room without Gregg in attendance. She shut the door behind her and deposited the tray on the usual table.

For the first time, there was no sound of a key turning in the lock.

Lori perked up; what was going on? Where was Gregg? Was the woman alone?

She swallowed down her excitement and smiled in what she hoped was a winning, rather than scheming, way. “Hello,” she said to the young woman who eyed her nervously. “I see you every day and yet I don’t know your name.”

“Er, it’s Lucy, ma’am.” She fiddled with the tray a little and slid an anxious glance toward the closed door. Was Gregg waiting on the other side of it to lock up after Lucy left? Or was he elsewhere this morning, hence the girl’s nervousness?

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, ” Lori said, pushing off the bed and moving slowly toward the maid, approaching her as she would a skittish animal. “Just Lori is fine.”

“Aye.” Lucy gave a hesitant nod and began to back away.

“Wait! Don’t leave just yet.”

But the girl darted toward the door.

Lori hurried after her and was right on her heels when Lucy flung open the door. She made it no more than two steps into the corridor before she slammed into a hard, broad chest.

“Now, now, Miss Fonty-Not, none of that,” Mr. Barker chided, one of his massive paws gently but inexorably closing around her upper arm.

Lori watched helplessly as Lucy scurried off down the hall before glaring up at Barker. “You can release me now.”

“Not until yer back inside. Go on, now,” he said, nudging her backwards into the room.

She growled at him but shuffled back two steps. “Where is Mr. Gregg this morning?”

“Somewhere else.” He jerked his chin at her tray. “Go’won and eat yer food afore it’s cold.”

“Care to join me?”

He chuckled. “I awready ate, Miss Fonty-Not.”

“It’s pronounced fon-te-no ,” she corrected. “No t sound at the end.”

“Ain’t that wot I just said?”

She couldn’t help smiling. “It was close.”

He began to shut the door.

“Wait!”

He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Aye?”

Did every man in the whorehouse know how to raise one eyebrow? Was it a prerequisite for being a privateer?

“I’m bored,” she said.

His brow furrowed. “Er—”

“Why don’t you come inside and keep me company?”

He gave her a startled look before comprehension dawned. And then he laughed. “Oh, no, miss. ‘is loreship would ‘ave me guts for garters, ‘e would.”

Lori smiled slyly. “He can’t get angry at what he doesn’t know, can he?”

Barker laughed, his easy dismissal of her offer reminding Lori that she was employing her very elementary seduction technique on a man who was living in a brothel, surrounded by prostitutes.

She tried a different tack. “Surely he wouldn’t get angry at you just for talking?”

“You ain’t wantin’ to talk, are ye?”

He looked so amused that she couldn’t lie.

“No. I was hoping I might somehow trick my way out of this room.”

He chuckled. “Aye. And get me sacked in the bargain.”

“Oh, very well,” she said, making a point to look chastened and defeated. She gestured at her head. “My hair is a disaster. I need somebody to help me wash and dress it properly,” she lied. “Couldn’t you send one of the maids up? Perhaps Lucy?”

“I’ll ask Mr. Gregg.”

Lori feigned a look of surprise. “Does Mr. Gregg count ladies hairdressing among his many skills?”

Barker gave a full belly laugh and waved a huge forefinger at her. “Yer a caution, you are! I’ll fetch a lass fer ye.”

“Could I also have some paper? Ink? A desk?”

He looked perplexed, his mind obviously sifting through her request and trying to figure out how she could use any of those items to escape. After a moment he said, “Er, I don’t see why not, but I’ll need to ask Mr. Gregg.”

“I’d like to take a walk—get some exercise,” she added desperately as he moved to shut the door.

“I’ll—”

“Ask Mr. Gregg,” Lori finished for him.

Barker gave her a crooked, oddly charming smile. “Aye, miss. Now eat yer food.” And then he shut the door.

Lori heaved a sigh and turned to her meal. Not even the sight of three fresh newspapers lying on her tray could cheer her.

She could dress her own hair—she’d never had a maid in her life—but she desperately wanted to talk to somebody who lived at the brothel. Even if she couldn’t convince anyone to help her escape, at least she could learn a little about the place. She hadn’t lied about being bored. The last few days had been the first in years when she’d not had to work. Reading and lounging were lovely pastimes, but she needed something to occupy her mind—especially when all she had to think about at the moment was how she was probably out of a job and had lost any chance of ever getting her book published.

Sighing heavily, she sat down and ate her meal before it went cold.

She had just poured a second cup of coffee when there was the sound of the key turning in the lock.

When the door opened, a woman a few years older than Lori entered, Barker standing in the open doorway behind her holding a large cannister of steaming water. “This be Dinah and she’ll ‘elp ye.” He jerked a nod at the woman, who was holding a slim lap desk. “There’s yer writin’ things.” He set down the water and then closed and locked the door before she could thank him.

“Hello,” Lori said, taking stock of the woman who was certainly taking stock of her. “I didn’t really need help dressing my hair, I’m just bored and lonely.”

Dinah gave a startled laugh. “Mr. Barker said as much, miss. That’s just as well, as I’m not really a maid. I was just one of the few people awake at this hour.”

“Call me Lori.” She gestured to the other chair at the table. “I’m sorry, but I only have one cup, or I’d offer you some coffee.”

Dinah set the writing desk down but didn’t sit. “I’ve already had plenty of coffee,” she said, regarding Lori with open curiosity. “The lads say you’re a newspaper lady?”

“I am. But I’m afraid being prisoner here is cutting into my job. What lads do you mean?”

Dinah got a wary look. “The ones who came with his lordship.”

“So…you, er, work here?” Lori asked, when it was clear the other woman wasn’t keen to disclose more information about Severn’s men.

“I’m a whore, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Dinah said, her expression mulish.

“I’m very curious about what it is like to work here,” she admitted. Have you ever lain with Lord Severn ?

Dinah snorted. “You a maiden, then?”

Lori was momentarily taken aback by the direct question, but it only seemed fair that she needed to share something about herself if she expected the other woman to confide in her. “No.”

Dinah’s eyes widened in surprise, but she looked less evasive. “What part about workin’ here did you want to know about?”

“I guess… all of it. Would you mind answering a few questions?”

“What sort o’ questions?”

“You don’t have to answer anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“And this will be in a newspaper?”

“If I chose to write a story about it, your answers might be mentioned.”

Dinah’s eyes shuttered and she firmly shook her head. “No. I could never ‘ave my name in the newspaper. Mrs. Marlowe would be most displeased.”

“Mrs. Marlowe? Who is she?”

Dinah opened her mouth and then closed it. “Er, I shouldn’t say.”

“I could write a story and change your name.”

The other woman frowned, mulling over Lori’s offer. Suddenly she looked much younger than she’d seemed at first.

“How old are you, Dinah?”

“Nineteen.”

Lori scrambled to hide her shock. Dinah didn’t look four years younger than her. In fact, she would have guessed the other woman as at least five years older .

“How long have you worked here?”

“I’d have to ask Mrs. Marlowe before I say anything more,” she repeated.

“I understand. Er, when do you think—”

Dinah stood. “I can ask her right now.”

“I thought you said everyone was still asleep.”

“Oh no, she’s always up early. And up late.” Dinah pulled a face. “To own the truth, I don’t know when she sleeps. If you don’t mind waiting, then—”

“Not at all.” What else did she have to do?

“I’m not sure when I’ll return.”

Lori smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dinah’s eyes bulged and then she gave a surprised sounding laugh. “No, I s’pose not.” She knocked on the door.

It opened immediately and Dinah murmured something—to Barker, Lori supposed—and the door shut. Once again Lori heard the sound of the key in the lock.

Lori sighed and glanced at the water Barker had left. She might as well use it while it was still hot.

An hour or so later, after washing her hair and tidying her room, she was just sitting down to examine the contents of the lap desk when she heard the jingling of keys at the door.

When it opened, it wasn’t Dinah, as she’d expected, but an older woman—perhaps in her mid-thirties—who was breathtakingly lovely.

“I am Mrs. Marlowe and I’m in charge of this establishment.”

Lori stood and held out her hand. “My name is—"

“Lord Severn told me who you are,” Mrs. Marlowe said, lightly clasping Lori’s hand before releasing it.

“Did he also mention that I’m an unwilling captive?”

The older woman smiled faintly. “He told me you were to be treated as an honored guest.”

Lori laughed. “You know that holding a person hostage is illegal?”

“Yes, I know that. But Lord Severn owns this building and employs everyone in it. If we were to allow you to leave, he would be extremely displeased. The truth is that he has asked very little of me or anyone else here so I am inclined to do as he asks so long as he doesn’t abuse his power.”

“And depriving me of my liberty is not an abuse?”

“Miss Fontenot, you are in a whorehouse. The women who live here have an entirely different, and more realistic, definition of what constitutes abuse.”

Lori’s face heated and she shut her mouth.

“Now, Dinah said you wanted to ask her some questions?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“About what it is like to work here—what her life is like.”

“I see. And I assume you would publish the results of your, er, interview?”

“I might.”

“I cannot encourage any of the employees to cooperate with you if you are going to mention the name of the establishment.” Her full lips turned down at the corners and her dark blue eyes narrowed. “Drawing attention to ourselves in the newspaper would lead to unwanted attention—perhaps we would even be shut down.”

Lori didn’t point out that that is what should happen. “Provided his lordship doesn’t kill me and eventually releases me, then there’s nothing to stop me from writing a story, whether you agree to help me, or not.”

The other woman’s lovely face hardened. “No, of course you may do whatever you wish.” She turned to leave.

“Mrs. Marlowe—please wait a moment.”

“Yes?” the madam asked coolly.

“I—I don’t want to make your life difficult.”

Mrs. Marlowe didn’t look convinced.

“What if I agreed not to mention the brothel by name?”

“I have a better idea.”

Lori perked up. “Yes?”

“You can ask all the questions you like, but you must allow Lord Severn to read your story and agree to its contents before publication.”

“ What ? No! That’s—”

Again Mrs. Marlowe began to turn. “I can see that you don’t care for that idea, so—”

Lori felt any chance of a story slipping away and blurted, “Fine. I will agree to your terms.”

Mrs. Marlowe paused. “That is easy to say, but how do I—”

“I give you my word of honor. I know that is not something we women are taught to offer each other—as if we possess no honor, or it has no value—but why shouldn’t our word count every bit as much as any man’s?”

The madam hesitated, and then nodded slowly. “Very well, I accept your word. You will not publish anything that doesn’t have the viscount’s approval?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I shall tell Dinah—”

“Wait—could I ask you a few questions first?”

Mrs. Marlow’s golden-brown eyebrows lowered. “About what?”

“Just general questions about the brothel.”

Rather than prod her, Lori waited.

A moment later, her patience paid off. “I’ll answer questions as long as you promise me one thing.”

“You mean one more thing other than allowing Severn to have veto power over my article?”

The other woman gave her a small, but genuine, smile. “Yes, in addition to that. I want you to promise me you will tell the truth without sensationalizing it—making it… titillating.”

“That is one thing I can guarantee you, Mrs. Marlow. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the same chair she’d just offered Dinah. “I will take some notes if you don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t mind.”

Lori set out the bottle of ink and inspected the quill nib while she talked. “You run this business?”

“I manage the day-to-day matters, but I am an employee, like everyone else.”

“You mean—”

“I mean the business belongs to his lordship and I work for him.”

“Could you tell me how long you’ve, er—”

“Been a whore?” Mrs. Marlowe asked wryly.

“It might help me if I knew the preferred nomenclature.”

“I prefer the term whore . It’s jarring, but more honest than courtesan or demimondaine or any other pretty words.”

Lori nodded, although she wasn’t sure whore was a word she could use.

“Like many of the others here I came to this line of work as a last resort. It is the same tired old story,” she went on, before Lori had to ask. “My father is a gentleman farmer, but he was blessed with too many daughters—there are seven of us—so several of us had to find work. I’ve never been especially good with children, so I chose to hire myself out as a lady’s companion. I worked for a woman who was young, bedridden, and dying. I had an affair with her husband.” She glanced toward the window, her eyes vague. “He said he loved me and would marry me… after his wife died and a proper mourning period.” She shrugged. “Before that could happen, I fell pregnant and had to leave.” Her voice was toneless, as if she were reciting a grocery list. “He gave me some money to live for a while, but then no more came. I lost the baby and when I tried to see him, his servants turned me away. His wife had died, and he married another woman before even a month had passed. I needed to find work, but nobody would hire me without a recommendation. I could not tell my family.” Again she shrugged. “It was an unpleasant period of my life. I’d just been evicted from the boarding house where I’d been living when I encountered the midwife who’d delivered my stillborn child.” She paused, her jaw tightening. “She told me about an establishment that took on gently bred women such as myself. The place looked like any banker or solicitor’s house. The woman who operated it was fair and vetted the clients to make sure they weren’t violent or visibly diseased. I worked there for three years, until the owner died and her son took over.” Her lips tightened. “He was not like his mother. Instead of adult women, he was interested in the money to be made from the far more lucrative virgin trade. And so I looked elsewhere and ended up at The King’s Purse.” She looked up from her thoughts and seemed almost surprised to find Lori in the room. “That was four years ago.”

“I know you don’t wish me to list the names of anyone to do with The King’s Purse, but if you told me the identity of the virgin exploiter, then I might be able to do something about him.”

Mrs. Marlowe’s lips curved into a small, cold smile. “That business has been closed down.” Her gaze sharpened as she stared at Lori. “Thanks to Lord Severn and the Earl of Grandison.”

Lori frowned. “You mean it was one of the brothels written about in the papers last year?”

“Yes.”

“Severn had only been back a little over a month when all those arrests were made. How did he manage to get involved with Grandison on such a matter? I know Lord Grandison has made the eradication of the virgin trade a goal of his for years. Why would he join up with the owner of a brothel?”

“You’ll need to ask his lordship about that.”

Lori wasn’t surprised by her answer. All Severn’s employees seemed loyal to the core. “So…what can you tell me about?” Lori decided to ask after a moment’s consideration.

“Let me give you a little background about this establishment.”

Lori nodded.

“The man who used to own The King’s Purse had once been relatively decent. But that changed as his addiction to the gambling tables grew worse. When I first started working here, the house was clean and well maintained. By the time Lord Severn won the business in a card game it was—” she broke off and made a sour face. “Let’s just say it was grim. All that began to turn around after Lord Severn took control. The changes have been nothing short of miraculous.”

“Women are still forced to sell themselves, aren’t they?”

“Nobody who works here now is forced . Every woman now keeps the majority of her fee and also decides who she services. Back when the last owner was in charge, a woman had no choice. He and his cronies used all of us—often without paying—as if we belonged to him, body and soul.”

“And that doesn’t happen with Severn?” Lori asked, not sure she really wanted the answer.

“His Lordship doesn’t use any of the women’s services—even though there are a goodly number who would be delighted. And his men always pay their way.”

Lori’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying that Lord Severn never uses any of the—the whores who work here?”

Mrs. Marlowe gave her a wryly amused look. “You have grown so heated, Miss Fontenot. I didn’t think that newspaper journalists were supposed to become so emotional about the subjects they write about. I thought they were supposed to maintain a certain degree of neutrality.”

Lori gave a forced-sounding chuckle. “You are correct. I should not let my own opinions color my investigation. It’s just that—well, I saw Severn with one of your employees the last time I was here. I’m sure you’ve heard about that?”

“You mean when you were peeping in Lord Severn’s window?”

Lori hadn’t thought her face could get any hotter. “Yes, that time. In any case, what I saw in the window was proof that his lordship is hardly an angel of mercy. To me he looked more than willing to exploit his own employees for his pleasure.”

Mrs. Marlowe’s smile grew.

“What? Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because I would like to tell you something. But it must go no further than the two of us—not into your article or anywhere else. Is that possible?”

If she agreed to what this woman was asking, then she would have to abide by it, regardless of how useful the information might be. She stared hard at Mrs. Marlowe, who merely waited, expressionless.

“Fine. I give you my word that I won’t tell anyone else what you are about to tell me.”

Mrs. Marlowe looked pointedly at the quill in Lori’s hand.

She laid it down.

“The woman you saw him with was not an employee. She was a lover from his own class. And he didn’t bring her here, she followed him and all but forced her way into The King’s Purse.”

“From his own class?” Lori couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

“Yes.”

“Are you saying that was a peeress I saw kneeling and—er, well, are you sure?”

“Yes. I even know which peeress, but that is something I will not tell you.”

Lori had to bite her tongue to keep from begging. Just who would be brave enough—or careless enough with their reputation—to come down here? Other than Lori—of course—but then she wasn’t a peeress, was she?

She opened her mouth.

“I will not tell you the woman’s name.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” she said, only lying a little bit. “So, you’re telling me that he’s never had sexual relations with one of the women here?”

“Not to my knowledge. And not very much happens in this building that I don’t know about, Miss Fontenot.”

Lori could believe that. “So… then why does his keep this place?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t take any profits and allows me to operate it the way I wish.”

“He doesn’t take any money at all?”

“None. And yet he put a great deal of money into the enterprise.”

“That is… Well, I can’t believe it.”

“You have my word of honor that I’m telling the truth.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Or doesn’t a woman’s word carry any weight with you?”

Lori laughed. “Touché, Mrs. Marlowe. You said he lets you operate the business your way?”

The other woman nodded.

“And what way is that?”

“I have final approval over our clients, which means there are no violent or openly diseased men. I don’t sell children or virgins or anyone who is unwilling. If somebody comes here out of desperation, I offer them other choices instead of exploiting their need.”

“What sort of choices?”

“Lord Severn lends his name to letters of reference for anyone who wants to go into service or work in one of the manufactories he invests in. All they must do is show willing to work hard and learn whatever trade they wish to pursue. Most of the time that’s not difficult as so many girls were already in service when their master—or their master’s offspring—took advantage of them and destroyed their lives.”

Lori was rendered speechless. Lord Severn didn’t exploit the women at The King’s Purse? He found respectable jobs for the ones who wanted to get away?

It sounded like a fairy tale. Could Mrs. Marlowe be lying?

“You can talk to any of the other women here if you don’t believe what I’m saying.”

Lori jumped at the offer. “I would like to talk to anyone who is willing.”

“Under the same terms you already agreed to.”

Lori nodded. “Yes.”

“I will agree to that. In exchange for one thing.”

Lori laughed. “You really are quite a haggler. What do I need to concede now?”

“Mr. Gregg mentioned you’d used a butter knife to pry off the bars. Don’t try to escape. It will make my life a great deal easier.”

“Why? Because you fear Lord Severn’s wrath?”

Mrs. Marlowe gave an exasperated sigh. “No, Miss Fontenot, not because I fear him. He’s been good to us, and I’d like to do something for him in return.” Her eyes narrowed. “And another thing. If he is keeping you here, I daresay he has a good reason.”

Again, Lori felt heat creeping up her neck, but she held her tongue.

They held each other’s gazes. Lori didn’t know why she didn’t just agree to the other woman’s terms. Especially since she’d already decided to wait around for Severn’s return. Even if she managed to escape—which was doubtful—she’d still have no money and be stranded in a part of town that wasn’t kind to women.

Besides, after languishing at The King’s Purse for the better part of four days she had no hope that she still had employment with David. He would be furious that she’d not checked in when the deadline for her story arrived and went.

While she felt a sharp, painful regret about the future of her manuscript—although future was an inaccurate word at this point—she couldn’t help feeling relief that she no longer had to torment her principles by working for the man.

All she had to look forward to upon leaving the brothel was the agonizing process of finding a position with another newspaper. And that , she was in no hurry to face.

Besides, she was curious about Severn and what he was up to. And now, after learning of his strangely humanitarian bent when it came to the brothel, she was doubly curious to grill him when he returned.

Lori met the other woman’s patient gaze and nodded. “Very well. I give you my word that I won’t try to escape.”

***

Lori’s promise to Mrs. Marlow turned out to be far easier to keep than she ever would have guessed.

The madam didn’t just answer questions, she also allowed all of her employees ample time to talk to Lori if they were so inclined.

To Lori’s astonishment, every woman in the place—and even the few men who worked there—spent several hours talking about their lives and what had led them down this particular path.

At first, she had thought only to write an exposé on the subject of prostitution—something she could sell to one of the more reputable newspapers like The Times —but the more time she spent taking notes and learning peoples’ stories the more she envisioned something that was both larger in scope while at the same time less…limiting.

Because there was no denying that if she wanted to sell something to a newspaper, she would need to heavily censor many details. Even if she did so, the subject was one that could too easily be made into something that titillated rather than informed.

A novel, on the other hand…

It did not take long for that idea to take hold.

She continued to interview during the days—when most of the workers were at leisure—but at night, when the huge house around her came to life and everyone went to work, Lori wrote.

Indeed, she didn’t just write, she scribbled more furiously than she’d ever done in her life, the words pouring from her quill as if they could not wait to make their way onto a piece of parchment.

Day after day, night after night, passed this way—time flowing in a blur as she composed something so compelling that she was almost afraid to look at it for fear it might only be a product of her fevered imagination.

It was on the seventh night after she’d first spoken to Mrs. Marlowe—late, perhaps four o’clock in the morning—that she reached the end of an extremely rough draft of her story.

A novel in scarcely a week! How was that even possible?

But her aching hand—fingers swollen and sluggish—was a mute testament to her labor.

She tossed aside her quill and stared at the not insubstantial stack of parchment on the desk in front of her. The story was rough, but it was all there—all laid out and ready to be polished. It was, without a doubt an excellent start.

And you owe it all to Lord Severn.

Lori pulled a face at the thought, but knew it was true enough. Not that Severn had locked her in this horrific room so that she could write a book. She looked around at the walls, laden with sexual implements, and shivered slightly, unnerved by the sight of them even after all these days. No, he had left her in the Queen’s Chambers hoping to offend every sensibility she possessed.

Instead, he has managed to stimulate more than just your interest…

“Oh, do shut up,” she muttered.

But it was true. Looking at whips and leather straps and—and things she could not identify—had fed her desire to understand what she was missing.

Lord Severn will doubtless be willing to educate you in such matters.

“Ha! If he ever returns.”

He’d been gone a week. What was he doing at the wretched house party? Was he paying midnight visits to eager lovers—as hedonistic aristocrats were said to do at such gatherings, which were no better than orgies?

Lori hated to think about it.

When was the man coming back?

It suddenly occurred to her that she’d scarcely spared a thought for the fact that she had probably been sacked from her job at The Mercury. Honestly, that was a relief, even though it meant she would need to find some other way to earn her crust. She was beginning to think she should seek out another teaching position, not that they were thick on the ground in London, which would mean moving somewhere else.

She would hate to leave the City, which she found vibrant and inspirational, and she would truly dislike moving out of the house she shared with Freddie.

Not to mention moving away from Lord Severn…

Lori sighed, genuinely dispirited at that last thought. Yes, she would hate to leave Lord Severn. Although what she expected could ever come of their association, she did not know.

Oh yes you do! You know.

She caught herself up sharply, refusing to allow her thoughts to travel down that path—a path that ended with Lord Severn in her life for the long term.

Instead, she turned back to her manuscript and carefully straightened the stack of pages, wishing for a moment that she could straighten her emotions as easily.

***

The following day…

Fast stared out the post chaise window, not really seeing the scenery that sped past, but instead imagining the same beautiful, willful, green-eyed face that had haunted him almost hourly since he’d left Lorelei Fontenot at The King’s Purse a week ago.

It was Lorelei’s face he’d seen whenever Meg had tried to lure him to her boudoir.

It was Lorelei’s face that had materialized in his mind’s eye whenever Bryok Pascoe had—with a complete absence of finesse—repeatedly thrown Fast together with Demelza.

And, most surprisingly, it had been Lorelei’s face that had given him strength to resist strangling Bevil Norman at the blasted house party from hell.

While Fast had agreed in theory with Gregg’s proposition that he take his time and destroy Bevil piece-by-piece, a week in proximity with the man had severely eroded his commitment to that plan. In truth, if he could have gotten away with killing Bevil in a house crawling with amorous, room-hopping peers and peeresses, he would have done so.

When he returned to London, he would need to revisit his plan with Gregg.

But that was for later. For now, he was free. Free to go back to The King’s Purse and make an even bigger fool of himself over Lorelei Fontenot.

But first he had to make a brief stop at Grandon Castle and retrieve something from the family vault.

And then you will truly be prepared to make a complete and utter besotted jackass of yourself.

That was the truth, but Fast did not care. He was going to Grandon to fetch jewels his mother had left him. It was an extremely valuable set that he was then going to hand over to a woman who was likely even now drafting a newspaper story about Fast which she would joyously sell to David Parker in the flicker of an eye.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I am an idiot.”

While Fast had returned to England this year determined to marry—not only to please his grandfather, but because he also desired a family—he had never believed he would fall in love again. The sort of marriage he had envisioned was a cordial but bloodless union between two people of the same class. Oh, he’d hoped that he would marry a woman he would learn to love over time, but he’d had no thoughts of passion or being in love. He would not have married any woman based on her birth or position alone, but those two factors would have influenced his decision.

Instead, he’d been struck by lightning, or by a green-eyed vixen, rather, who had captivated him with her sharp tongue, lively mind, and irrepressible spirit from almost the first moment he’d met her. True, his initial reaction to her had been mostly defined by fury over her relentless stalking and the story she’d threatened to publish, but even when he had wanted to strangle her, she had occupied far too much space in his head.

He had hoped that almost a year away from England—and her —would have erased the woman utterly from his thoughts. But he had been secretly pleased when, as soon as he’d returned, he’d discovered her rooting in his rubbish and spying in his bedroom, both actions that had given him good reason to pursue their acquaintance. Who would have believed that setting Bow Street Runners on a woman would have proved more effective than traditional flirtation methods?

Fast couldn’t help a wry chuckle at the thought.

Was Lorelei beautiful? Undeniably. But the appeal of her exquisite physical appearance was easily rivaled by her sheer liveliness and her—and her—

“Damnation!” Fast couldn’t seem to find the right word for exactly what it was about her that had grabbed him by the scruff and showed no sign of turning him loose.

“What difference does it make if you can’t find the word? You’re still suffering from the affliction.”

Affliction? Addiction might be a better word for how she had ensorcelled him. Matching wits with her in boring ton ballrooms and imagining what she looked like under those ugly gowns she wore had been stimulating enough. But then he had made it all the worse by spending a night with her!

“Lord save me,” he said, sounding so pathetic that his face heated in mortification even though there was nobody to hear his pitiful whinging.

A week away from her—spent at the house of his erstwhile lover—should have driven the fever called Lorelei Fontenot from his body.

But it had not worked. In fact, the distance had only seemed to magnify his symptoms.

He closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall back against the soft leather squabs, exhausted by his relentless thoughts.

All this fretting was pointless. Fast would soon be reunited with the fascinating, maddening, unsuitable object of his obsession. If he was fortunate, he would discover that he had grossly exaggerated both her myriad charms and his attraction to her. If that was the case, then they could engage in a bit of mutually enjoyable bed sport and then go their separate ways once it was safe for her to leave the brothel.

But somehow, Fast did not believe it would be that easy.