Page 49 of A Story of Love

He gave an exasperated huff. “Has it ever occurred to you that you might be misreading me?”

“No. I recognize that superior, pitying look. Is that because I won’t leave this ball with you? You think because I’m a woman who works that I’m also a—a—”

“Yes?” he asked, curious to see what she thought he thought she was.

“A female with loose morals. A—a Jezabel.”

He laughed, amused by the antiquated word.

She lifted her hand, as if she might slap him, but then clenched it into a fist and dropped it to her side. “Are you courting Miss Pascoe?”

Yet again, Lorelei had surprised him with a question he wasn’t expecting.

“You are, aren’t you?” she demanded, mistaking the reason for his pause. “You are in pursuit of one woman but believe you have the right to bed another.”

“I am not betrothed to Miss Pascoe.”

She gave him a scornful look. “You think women are put on earth to amuse you—that we are nothing but your playthings. And when the result of your—your raking arrives nine months after you have taken your pleasure you are already long gone, leaving some poor woman to live with the consequences.”

The irony of her accusation was enough to make him laugh. Wisely, he didn’t.

“Why are you smiling, my lord? Do I amuse you?”

“It is not so much you I find amusing as this conversation, Miss Fontenot.”

“I’m so pleased to be a source of mirth. But I am finished entertaining you.” She spun on her heel.

Or at least she would have done if he’d not caught her upper arm, the feel of warm silky skin and cool soft leather teasing the pads of his fingers.

“You should not go—not like this, Lorelei.”

She jerked her elbow away and Fast immediately released her. “Why not?” she demanded, crossing her arms and rubbing the spot where his fingers had just been.

“Because your eyes are throwing sparks, and your lips look freshly kissed, and your cheeks are delightfully flushed. If you enter the ballroom in such a condition everyone will know you’ve just been soundly kissed in the garden.” He smiled. “By me.”

“And that would reflect poorly on you because you are supposed to be pursuing Miss Pascoe, aren’t you?”

“It wouldn’t look good for either of us,” he said, not bothering to deny her accusation. It was better for her if she was suspicious of him. Especially since Fast couldn’t seem to control his thoughts or hands or mouth around her. No, she shouldn’t trust him.

Her jaw flexed and he suspected she was rapidly trying out responses and just as rapidly discarding them, her rattled behavior once again telling him that she was scarcely more than an innocent when it came to sexual dalliance—or even mere flirtation. He felt a sharp pang of regret that there could never be more between them.

She was a stunning woman and not just her looks. Standing near her was like standing beside a lightning bolt; never before had he been so completely aware of another person.

But she was not of his world; she was a newspaperwoman, not a member of his class. No, she was not meant for him. He’d forgotten that fact briefly when he’d held her in her arms. He’d been a bloody fool to ask her to go home with him. He was relieved—if also disappointed—that she’d come to her senses.

This needed to be the last time he allowed himself to linger in her company.

The last.

After tonight, he would avoid the woman like the plague. For her good, as well as his own.

***

“My goodness,” Freddie murmured as she gazed down at the contents of the now familiar pale pink box. “It is—”

“Magnificent,” Lori finished for her.

Freddie looked up from the gown at Lori’s brittle tone and she frowned. “You look angry.”