Page 96 of A Story of Love

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.

Chapter 21

“Did Miss Fontenot behave while I was gone?” Fast asked Gregg. The two of them were in Fast’s dressing room while he was finishing dressing for dinner.

Gregg’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Absolutely not.”

Fast chuckled and held out his left hand to Bixby, his valet, who carefully pared and buffed his fingernails. “Oh dear. What mischief did she get up to?”

“She tried to organize a worker uprising among your employees.”

Fast laughed. “Indeed?”

“She told them to agitate for higher pay like those mill workers did last year.”

“Am I about to get hit with a strike, Mr. Gregg?”

“Thankfully Mrs. Marlowe reminded the girls that they made more than twice what they did before you took over. You wouldn’t think they’d need it pointed out that you allow the damned place to operate like a bloody charity,” he muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t hear that last part,” Fast lied.

“Er, nothing, my lord.”

“How many times did she try to escape?” he asked when Bixby released his hand and disappeared into Fast’s dressing room to fetch his coat.

“Actually, she hasn’t tried anything since the first few days.”