Page 131 of A Story of Love

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.