Page 95 of A Story of Love

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.