Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Sharing

Loren

She sat across from him at his breakfast table in the conservatory, the beams of the sun gilding her hair, her face aimed to the windows, watching the birds at their bath.

He was dressed, but she was wrapped in his dressing gown. It was too big for her. But it was all they had for the now as he refused to button her into a gown she’d worn just the day before. He’d sent word to Corliss to have her maid, her apparel and her toilette directed to his townhome so she could face the day fresh, preparing to do so there.

More importantly, this also meant he got to keep her longer.

“Stop watching me,” she told the window. “It’s ridiculously romantic. I’m melting in a puddle over here.”

He grinned at his coffee cup, his attention remaining on her over the rim as he took a sip.

She turned in the midst of this, watched his actions, and her gaze heated yet again.

“You’re a walking, talking, eating, drinking-coffee, sex-god hero from a romance novel,” she groused.

“I love you think that, though I’m perplexed as to why this seems to put you in a foul mood,” he noted, returning his cup to its saucer.

“I can’t jump you over the table due to your injury, that’s why,” she explained.

He raised a brow. “Did I not prove my creativity this morning?”

“The bit where you were on your knees could have torn your stitches.”

The tone of her response communicated she was now being very serious.

“Again, darling, I’m fine,” he said in the same tone.

“How worried should I be about this bordello woman you’ve angered?” she asked.

And there it was.

“You shouldn’t worry at all.”

“Loren—”

He went about picking up his fork in order to go about consuming his eggs, saying, “I’m now aware that she holds ill will with the intent to do something about it and will thus be prepared in the future.”

“What actually happened?”

His head was slightly bent to his plate, and he kept it that way as he lifted his gaze to her.

“Oh boy,” she said when she caught his eyes. “That bad?”

He took a bite of some eggs, chewed, swallowed, and answered, “We’ll just say I made a statement, though, apparently, not a big enough one.”

“Mom told me what you did to the baddie who was guarding her.”

Loren grew motionless.

“It’s okay, honey,” she assured. “That guy was rough with Mom, and he was gearing up to…well…”

Loren kept her pegged with his eyes.

If they were sharing—and this had finally begun between them with depth and honesty, and as far as Loren was concerned, there was no stopping now—thus, she would too.

“Violate Maxine,” she whispered. Then quickly, likely seeing and maybe even feeling his reaction to those words, she reminded him, “He’s very dead. You yourself made him that way.”

“I should have perhaps taken more time in that endeavor,” he murmured, cutting into his sausage.

She released a surprised giggle, and he returned his attention to her.

She waved a hand in front of her face, shifted fully to her plate, reached for her coffee (a surprise she drank that with her breakfast, as he did, an unusual thing for a lady, they customarily drank tea), and said, “I know, I know. I shouldn’t think it’s funny that you murdered someone. But I can’t call up any remorse for a man who would stand guard over captive women, not allowing them to bathe, eat properly, and, it needn’t be said, all the rest.”

“We share a similar sense of justice,” he noted.

This time, Satrine pegged him with her eyes.

And she agreed, “We absolutely do.”

When she gave him this, Loren made a decision, set his fork down and straightened in his chair.

“Winnow Dupont, the madam of the bordello running the extortion scheme, ruined lives. How frank would you like me to be?”

“As frank as you can,” she invited.

He accepted her invitation.

“Farrell perhaps gave in to a moment of weakness, regardless, he behaved poorly. He had a favorite, and he assured me his intent in being there was to say good-bye to her prior to his nuptials.”

He lifted his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt.

Then he carried on.

“Agreed. He could have done that in a café. But he did not. And we both know why. He bears responsibility. But in that scenario, two hearts were broken by Dupont’s greed, not simply one. And then there are others. Some who should not have been unfaithful to their wives. Some who simply have proclivities that are no one’s business. She made them the business of people who were in the position to react and had the power to do something about it. Men lost wives, loves, but also employment, status, stature, not to mention quite a bit of money. I carry no judgment as to how a man finds his pleasure. Others, sadly, do. If he enjoys being tied up, or the company of another man, or a woman taking control, this means nothing to me. But men have slunk away in shame, and at least one took his own life, because it means something to others.”

“Took his own life?”

Loren nodded.

Satrinelet that settle before she angrily stabbed at her eggs, asking, “Are the police involved in taking down this scheme?”

He knew the word “police,” he’d just never heard it used in that manner.

They had constabularies and constables. If reduced to slang it was bobby or copper.

The verb was to police, not the noun.

As this was more than likely another indication of how she used language unexpectedly due to the fact her circle had been egregiously small her entire life, he didn’t remark on this.

“Yes. It’s my understanding Dupont is currently awaiting her own trial. But even in jail, people can scheme and issue orders. With the money she earned, she can buy quite a bit of loyalty.”

She swallowed her bite and asked, “Is it true what Marlow said? About you leaving this loose end because she’s a woman?”

“Darling, I think you understand now when I say the others who confronted me that night were neutralized. So yes, I draw the line at doing that to a woman.”

“That’s sweet,” she whispered.

He smiled at her.

“And totally short-sighted.”

He frowned.

She speared more egg, and before putting it in her mouth, announced, “We have to defuse her.”

His voice was dangerous when he asked, “We?”

She swallowed, opened her mouth, and…

“Jolly good!” Ansley decreed, strolling in.

They both turned in his direction and watched as Loren’s father went direct to Satrine, bent and kissed the side of her head.

“Dear daughter, good morning,” he bid. He turned to Loren. “Son. You look well this morning. Very well. Considering.”

Before Loren could reply, Ansley turned and headed to the covered dishes on the sideboard.

“Your grace, I—” Satrine began, and Loren took in the pink tingeing her cheeks, and he knew it was about the dressing gown…and how that referenced Loren’s earlier creativity.

Ansley scooped eggs and declared, “This is the best start to the day I’ve had in six months, maybe a year. Coming upon two people I love at my breakfast table.”

Satrine’seyes came to him, her cheeks pinker, but Loren sensed they were now thus for a different reason.

She’d had a detestable father.

And now she had Ansley.

Loren settled contentedly in that knowledge as Ansley finished his plate and sat at the round table with them.

“That was a lovely thing to say,” Satrine told him.

Ansley reached for the coffeepot, his regard on her.

“What is mine is my son’s, and it’s soon to be yours, and I enjoy sharing it.”

Loren suspected, even if his father was regarding Satrine, that remark was, in part, aimed at Loren.

The next definitely was.

“So I hope Loren doesn’t go about the realm buying his own properties where we already have them so you both can be at home in your homes and keep me company well into the future when we’re near to each other.”

“And that’s even lovelier,” she replied.

Ansley poured coffee. “I’m further pleased at your demonstration of patience and loyalty, my dear, but I hope a certain someone at this table learned his lesson last night.”

Loren sighed, sat back, and reached for his own cup.

“I did my best,” Satrine chirped, looking at him and winking.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered.

“Son, a lady is in our midst,” Ansley admonished.

“Father, my intended not only enjoys my foul mouth, she has one of her own that I feel it’s safe to say I enjoy far more.”

Satrinechoked on a bite of sausage.

“Good gods,” Ansley groaned.

Now Loren was grinning.

It died when he pointed out, “Though, I didn’t enjoy Satrine sharing with me how generous you were with the knowledge of my service.”

“Loren.” Now Satrine was admonishing,

And she was correct.

This was not for the breakfast table and should be between him and his father.

Or that was the case yesterday.

She was now theirs, so she’d have to learn to sit through this kind of thing, for his father and he did it often.

“Did your betrothed rush to your side last night?” Ansley asked.

Loren knew were this was going and elected not to reply.

“Is she sitting with us right now, gracing our table?” Ansley pressed on.

Loren spared his fiancée a glance and saw she was grinning into her coffee cup.

She knew where it was heading too.

“Would that you have children who think you’re a fool well into adulthood,” Ansley bid.

“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Loren retorted. “I simply think you have a big mouth.”

“You are recovered. You are yourself. Satrine is here,” Ansley recounted the evidence. “There will be a day you will acknowledge I know what I’m doing. I simply hope that day comes when I’m still breathing.”

“And I never contended you don’t know what you’re doing,” Loren returned. “You’re the wisest man I know, and you are that to me in a manner I know you always will be. This doesn’t mean, from the time I was a child, you being thus wasn’t supremely annoying.”

When he finished, his father’s face was warm, his mouth soft.

But it was Satrine who spoke.

“You two are incredibly cute.”

Both Copeland men turned smiles to her then.

But they again died, and all of them tensed when they heard a woman’s imperious, “Do not! Do…not. No. No. No. I will no longer be denied!”

And then a woman his father’s age with a hat more enormous than any Satrine wore on her head, along with a severe traveling costume encasing her body, all in black, stopped, of a sort, in the doorway.

The “of a sort” bit was that she was batting Eaton with the handle of a black parasol.

Ansley stood and turned to her.

Loren and Satrine followed suit.

“Mary, stop that this instant,” Ansley demanded.

She ceased assaulting Eaton and confronted Loren’s father.

“Well, I never, Ansley Copeland!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been practically buried under your messages delivered by bird telling me, in your inimitable way, that way being polite to the point of painful, which is a skill you possess that has always been impossible for me to fathom. I digress! Messages telling me with the utmost courtesy to mindmy own business when the world, it appears, is topsy-turvy!”

She was nearly shouting when she finished.

But no one was able to get a word in because she wasn’t done.

“Who, twenty-six years ago, advised you to approach my nephew?” She jerked her parasol handle to indicate herself. “Me. And who received a bird with the news that contract would not come to fruition.” She leaned forward. “Not me. The birds I received said something else entirely! Now, I demand to know who this Satrine is and what in the dickens is…is…” Her eyes went beyond Ansley, and she whispered, “By the gods.”

“Aunt Mary?” Satrine asked hesitantly.

Mary Livingstone, Baroness of Longdon, dropped her parasol, opened the large bag hanging on her wrist, pulled out an almost equally large fan made of lace, flipped it open, fanned herself, all this while reeling dramatically and calling out, “By Brigid! By the Morigan! By Cerdwin! The glorious gods have wrought a miracle.”

“Mary, calm yourself. This isn’t Maxine,” Ansley clipped. “It’s Satrine. Maxine’s twin.”

Mary shot straight.

“Her what?”

“Edgar abhorred twins,” Ansley told her. “He sent her away at birth. And he staged Corliss’s death after he was responsible for harming Maxine. After that, he sent them both away. The story is long. Fraught. And I will share it with you later. Satrine has lived it. She doesn’t need to go through it with everyone who learns it.”

“Edgar abhorred twins?” she asked breathily.

Loren glanced at Satrine to see her deathly pale.

“By Caylek!” Mary spat, and Loren returned his attention to her. “He was a bad seed. I was but a child myself, but even so, I told his mother. I said, ‘Smother that one, he’s a bad seed.’ Did she? No.”

“Oh my gods,” Satrine whispered.

It was a poor choice of thing to do.

She acquired Mary’s attention again.

As such, Mary stomped to her, lifted a hand high, as the woman was of diminutive stature, grasped Satrine’s chin, and dragged it side to side.

“A great beauty. Like your mother. Your father was a looker too. Unfortunately, the rascal was born with the soul of a knave.” She let Satrine go but didn’t stop talking. “I am unsurprised he sent you away, although I’m sorry for it, for your sake. But you were saved having to be around him, and I daresay in the now, you take my meaning.”

She didn’t wait for Satrine to confirm this.

She whirled back to Ansley and finished.

“It probably wasn’t abhorrence of twins. It was probably because he was tight-fisted with anything, unless it served his own pleasure. One child was drain enough on his vast fortune, but two? I cannot even begin to imagine what Corliss was thinking when she took him. Then again, he had the uncanny ability to charm the pants off a snake when he had a mind to.”

“Wow, you haven’t changed,” Satrine remarked.

Mary stepped back smartly, staring at her suspiciously.

“How would you know? I’ve never met you,” she snapped.

“Father told me all about you. I was supposed to pretend to be Maxine. He said I’d eventually meet you. He spent three weeks instructing me on everything I was supposed to know to be her,” Satrine replied.

“Humph,” Mary returned. “This is all tied up in why that cox-comb is currently gracing one of our handsome king’s lowlier institutions, I gather?”

“Yes,” Satrine confirmed.

Mary lost some of her spectacle and asked quietly, “Word is running amuck. I have acquaintances who’ve even seen her on the street. Your mother lives?”

Hesitantly, Satrine smiled and nodded.

“By Brigid,” Mary whispered.

“Would you like to sit with us and have a cup of coffee?” Ansley offered.

“Huh! A lady doesn’t drink coffee in the mornings. She drinks tea!”

Satrine’sgaze flew to Loren, and she looked close to dissolving into laughter.

“You there!” she shouted at Eaton, who was five feet from her. “Bring me a pot of tea.”

“Right away, milady.” Eaton bowed and escaped.

Loren was reminded of a thought he’d had weeks before, and the fact he was incorrect.

He had heard a lady shout, for he’d been around Mary Livingstone.

“Look at you,” Mary complained, regard fastened on Loren as she rounded the table. “You’re ridiculous,” she stated.

Satrine’sback slammed straight.

Mary seated herself and said to Ansley, “Really, Ansley, a man that handsome? It cannot be borne. You should have done something.” She sniffed. “A scar from a blade, or mayhap, acid.”

Loren watched Satrine relax, a smile playing at her mouth as she sank back into her chair.

After both ladies were seated, the men joined them.

Now Mary was studying Satrine.

“It’s uncanny,” she said softly.

“Hmm…” Satrine hummed noncommittally.

“I visit your sister on the regular,” Mary announced.

Satrine’sexpression gentled at this news.

“Or I did, until Edgar put a stop to it,” Mary continued.

Satrinedidn’t gentle at that.

“She’s home with us now, Aunt Mary,” she said. “And flourishing.”

“This, too, is unsurprising. Corliss doted on that girl. She was her very life.”

Satrinepressed her lips together.

“Sweet child, she is. So very sweet,” Mary muttered to herself, but did it gazing at Satrine. She turned that gaze to Ansley. “A miracle, my good man.”

“Agreed,” Ansley replied.

Satrineducked her head, likely to hide as she controlled her tears.

Loren stretched his leg to rest his boot beside her foot.

When she felt it, she pressed that foot closer.

And then Loren resumed eating.