Page 71 of A Story of Love

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.”