Chapter 28

Fast had not been jesting about carrying her back to bed immediately after dinner. In fact, he hadn’t even waited until the dessert course was over to make good on his promise.

Not that Lori had complained.

It had been wise to have an early night as Mr. Gregg had knocked on the bedroom door at one-thirty—interrupting what had been a very pleasant cuddle—and Fast had left the room to talk to him.

Lori had immediately fallen back to sleep, only to be kissed back to wakefulness an indeterminate time later.

“What is it, Fast?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to nip out for a few hours.”

“Now?” she’d woken fully at his odd declaration.

He’d kissed her so deeply and thoroughly that—for a moment—she had believed he was going to crawl back beneath the covers.

But he had eventually pulled away. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. If all goes as planned I’ll be back beside you by morning. If not then, then certainly by tomorrow night.” He hesitated, kissed her, and then added, “We’ll have a good dinner and a nice long talk, love.”

“Mmm, talk?” she’d mumbled.

“Yes, darling. You’ve been patient, and it’s time—well, we’ll talk later.” He’d kissed her again. “I have to go.”

She had wanted to ask what they would talk about, but he’d gone before she could come up with the words.

That had been more than six hours ago. Lori glanced at the clock as she stretched and blinked the sleep from her eyes. It was almost eight-thirty and he’d not returned.

She heaved a sigh and pushed back the covers.

Fast had had all her clothing and her writing desk moved to his room the day before, so she slipped into the dressing gown that was laid at the foot of the bed and then pulled the servant cord.

Lucy arrived a few minutes later. “Oh, you’re awake. The master told the kitchen not to send breakfast up at the usual time, but to wait until you rang. Shall I fetch your tray?”

It was just like Fast to think about her even after he’d had a long night. “Did his lordship just get back, then?”

“No, miss. He never came back. He told Mrs. Marlowe last night, before he left.”

“Ah.” The house was so well-insulated and quiet that Lori tended to forget that the real business of King’s Purse didn’t even get started until after midnight.

“I’ll have hot water sent up when I fetch your tray,” Lucy said.

“You needn’t bother with that. There’s plenty in the pitcher still.”

“But it’s cold!”

“It will wake me up. Thank you, Lucy.”

Lucy bobbed a curtsey, murmured, “Of course, Miss Fontenot,” and then scurried from the room.

No matter how many times Lori had told the girl to call her by her first name, Lucy insisted that his lordship and Mrs. Marlowe wouldn’t like her taking such liberties.

The cool water did indeed wake her up and by the time Lucy arrived with a heaping tray of food a scant quarter of an hour later she was famished.

Lucy gestured to the stack of newspapers on the tray, which was twice as thick as usual. “Mrs. Marlowe thought you might want yesterday’s papers as well as today’s as you didn’t have a chance to read them.”

Lori’s face heated when she remembered exactly why she’d skipped her morning ritual yesterday.

“Thank you, Lucy. And thank Mrs. Marlowe for me.”

Lucy curtsied and then fled in her usual headlong way. Only when she was gone did Lori realize that she’d not heard the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock. Nor had she heard it earlier.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and went to the door, hesitating a moment before twisting the knob. She was so startled when it turned that she didn’t pull it all the way open, instead peeking out the crack to where her gaoler usually stood. As if he wouldn’t notice her opening the door if she were stealthy enough.

But there was no guard.

Lori paused, and then quietly shut the door, slumping against it, her mind in a whirl.

She was free, or near enough.

Her feet were already moving toward the armoire that held her valise when she stopped. Why was she running off? She had already decided not to sell any stories about Fast to Parker—or anyone else—which meant her employer would likely sack her on the spot.

Even if he didn’t, Lori had already decided to leave his employ. She felt a rush of relief at the thought of never having to see the odious man again. And of never again needing to work on a story that shamed her.

She wouldn’t look for a new job right away. It made excellent sense to stay at The King’s Purse until she’d finished her first draft of the article. That way she could easily speak to any of the women if she needed to verify any information.

And then there is the fact that Fast lives here…

Yes, there was no denying that was a greater lure than any other. As much as it scared her, it was time that she faced her feelings for the man: she loved him and had for some time. She’d been a coward not to admit as much when he’d declared his love for her.

She’d had another opportunity last night, when he’d again told her he loved her before falling asleep with his arms around her, and yet again she’d taken the coward’s way out and not answered.

Lori dropped down into a chair and closed her eyes. What a relief to finally admit it, if only to herself. She loved him. And he loved her back. The thought was both thrilling and a little frightening.

After her terrible experience with Dorian, Lori had not believed that she was even capable of falling in love. It wasn’t that she did not trust men—although she was far less trusting than she’d been before—but more that she had discovered her own judgement was suspect where love was concerned. Even after all these years she still felt ill when she recalled how she’d foolishly believed that Dorian had cared for her.

Lori hadn’t been able to make herself confide to Fast the crowning humiliation in her tawdry little affair: How Dorian had laughed in her face when she had confronted him after learning that he was betrothed to another woman.

“How long have you been committed to this marriage, Dorian?”

“Almost a year,” he’d answered without hesitation. “We didn’t want to make an announcement until Lady Lenora was seventeen.”

“You knew all this time and yet you led me to believe there was the possibility of some future between us?”

The glance he’d given her had been a blend of annoyance and amusement. “ Me marry a vicar’s sister? And an immoral bluestocking willing to spread her legs, to boot?” He’d laughed. “I knew you had some barmy ideas, Lori, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”

She had slapped him then, only surprised by her own violence for a second before his retaliatory slap—more of a punch—had driven her to ground.

“Be grateful I did not hit you harder,” he’d snapped as he’d glared down at her. “If you know what is good for you, you’ll scurry home with your tail between your legs and keep that clever mouth of yours shut. I’d hate to be the one to convince my father that his vicar is harboring the village tart under his roof. It would be unfortunate if your brother were forced to seek a position elsewhere.”

The threat had chilled all the rage in her belly. Her brother had a wife and four children, soon to be five. He would never be able to find a new position if Lori’s behavior became known.

Dorian had left her there, sprawled on the ground. Lori had scurried back to the vicarage with her tail between her legs, hoping that she’d be able to lick her wounds in private. After all, Dorian was an earl’s son, and they hadn’t moved in the same social circles. Indeed, the only time she’d seen him had been when she had made an effort to seek him out.

Unfortunately, Lori had been forced to look at him every Sunday in church, but at least he had been in no more of a hurry to talk to her than she was to him.

As it turned out, it wasn’t Dorian she had needed to worry about avoiding.

Scarcely a week after they had exchanged blows, the squire’s son, Daniel Fenton, had accosted her on the way home from delivering a care basket to one of her brother’s homebound parishioners.

Lory had never especially liked Daniel—although he’d grudgingly accepted her, he had always treated her with marked disdain—but she’d been so grateful to be included in the group that she’d failed to notice the cruel gleam in his eyes whenever they rested on her.

Well, Lori certainly noticed it that day.

She had stopped when he’d called out to her, pathetically pleased that not all her former friends had given her the cut direct. Lori had smiled and greeted him in a friendly manner. He’d responded by shoving her against a tree and thrusting a hand down her bodice.

Only by clawing his face and stomping hard on his foot had she got away. As she’d fled, her eyes blurring with tears, he’d yelled obscenities after her—threating her and her family with dire repercussions.

Lori had known then that she couldn’t continue to live in her brother’s house. Although Jeremy and his wife Sarah hadn’t heard what Lori had done yet, they soon would. Dorian’s friends—like Daniel—would make sure of that. Jeremy might never hear anything directly, but there would always be rumors if she stayed there.

There was a slight chance that people might forget if she went away. That was all she could do to spare her family.

Lori’s mother and father had left her a small annuity; it would not have been enough to live off, but it was enough to afford a few years of schooling. She’d begged Jeremy to let her use that money on school, arguing that she would eventually need to find employment, likely as a governess, and that more tuition would help her in that endeavor when the time came.

She spent two happy years at Miss Lincombe’s School. During her final semester, she was fortunate to secure a position teaching literature at Ivo Stephani’s Academy for Young Ladies.

Although Lori had always loved teaching young children—she had for years volunteered at the village school in her brother’s parish—she had been delighted to discover that she had a true aptitude for teaching older students, as well.

Her few years at the Stefani Academy had been the best in her life and Lori had made a new home with the tightly knit group of teachers. A home that had been shattered when Ivo Stephani had absconded with the school’s money, leaving his wife, Portia Stefani, to pick up the pieces. Portia had eventually closed the school, and Lori had been faced with the prospect of going back to live with her brother if she couldn’t find a job.

Right as she was preparing to swallow her pride and move back to Jeremy’s house in Moorcross, she’d received an offer for a companion job. The woman, a widow named Mrs. Holmes, lived less than an hour from her brother and his family. That meant she would be close enough to visit, but far enough not to worry about encountering anyone from the village. At least she’d believed that for almost a year, until her employer’s nephew had visited with a friend of his—none other than Daniel Fenton.

Lori had packed her bags the very same evening that Daniel had arrived, telling her employer that she needed to see to a family emergency. The way Mrs. Holmes had sneered made it clear that Daniel had already filled her ears with lies. Indeed, the old woman had told Lori not to return and had paid her for the days she’d worked and not a penny more.

Lori had known then that she could never return to Moorcross to live. That had left her with only one real choice, which was to accept Freddie’s offer to share her London house. She’d encountered Parker one day when she’d been wandering the stacks at The Temple of the Muses—the magnificent bookstore that served as a sort of meeting place for authors and publishers. David had seemed so kind—so interested to hear about her book.

And so eager to hire her when he had learned that she lived with Lady Winifred Sedgewick, the well-known companion and matchmaker to the ton.

The Miss Emily articles were easy, if frivolous and boring, and Lori had been delighted to be able to pay her rent and have money to live.

But then Fast had returned to England last year and Parker had seemed almost demented with hatred for the man. Increasingly, Lori had needed to set aside her moral reservations and pursue stories that made her more than a little uncomfortable.

She was not so foolish as to think that Parker would keep her on just for her Miss Emily columns. No, her job with The Mercury was over. And good riddance.

She had a little bit of money saved up; she could last a few weeks.

You can always pawn some of the jewels Fast gave you .

Lori scowled at the thought and picked up the first paper from on top of the pile—amusingly, it was David’s paper. Fast took only The Times, World Examiner, and The Gazette. Not for him rags like The Mercury .

She poured herself a cup of coffee and settled in to read.

Half an hour later she was working her way through The Gazette when a name leapt off the page.

Is it true that the ethereal Miss D____ P____ the undisputed Diamond of the Season has fallen to the recently returned King of the Rakes ? My sources at Lady M________’s country estate say the two lovebirds were spotted frequently during the weeklong escape from the London heat.

Also attending the festivity was the recently out of mourning E____ of M_____ who has been making his intentions toward Miss P___ clear all Season.

What a fascinating week that must have been, my dearest readers!

A little bird whispered in my ear that Lord M____ is out of the running. If you are unwilling to take my word, then you can ask the bride-to-be’s father. The renowned industrialist Mr. B_____ P_____, announced his daughter’s betrothal at a dinner party held at his town house immediately after the house party, at which the happy couple reportedly danced not one, but an unprecedented three sets at the impromptu ball.

The King of the Rakes has, after more than two decades, abdicated his throne for matrimonial bliss. Will he, dear Reader, become the King of the Husbands? Only time will tell…

She swallowed as she stared at the page. Gossip was one thing—as Miss Emily she knew better than anyone how to stretch the slightest rumor into a column of newsprint—but Bryok Pascoe announcing his daughter’s betrothal at a dinner—with Fast evidently in attendance—could only mean one thing.

Fast was engaged to marry Demelza Pascoe.

Lori painstakingly refolded the newspaper, as if by making it appear perfect and unopened, she could somehow unread the dreadful news.

Fast had said he loved her while he was, all along, betrothed to another woman?

Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. It could not be happening!

It was the same nightmare all over again.

Truly, would Lori never learn? How could she have believed that the heir to a marquessate would want her for anything other than a temporary pleasure?

She was a tart. And a very stupid, gullible one, at that.

How could she have believed that a man who’d broken hearts for almost as long as Lori had been alive would give his heart to a scruffy ink-stained wretch?

You could sell the story about Fast, his brother, and Lord Moreland to Parker…

Lori flinched away from the repulsive suggestion.

Just because Lord Severn is a manipulative, immoral garden slug of a man does not mean that I must sink to the same level !

How comforting your principles will be now that you are without employment.

Lori squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would somehow stop the horrible thoughts.

It only made it worse.

She barely made it to the basin before vomiting the food eaten less than an hour before.

Good God. How had this happened to her yet again?