Page 60 of A Story of Love

“I promise that everything I tell you will be the truth.”

Something about his careful wording made her pause.

“I will make it worth your time,” he added.

“Fine. I’ll come inside. You’d better not be toying with me,” she added and hopped out, ignoring his hand.

***

Lori glanced around the room, surprised by the quiet elegance of the décor. The walls were covered in crème silk and the furniture upholstered in a coffee brown leather that looked both supple and well-worn. It was the sort of room one would expect to find in an aristocrat’s house, not in a brothel beside the Thames.

And it was nothing like the room she’d visited last time, that erotic bower where she’d briefly witnessed his lordship in the midst of pleasure.

Lori experienced the annoying clenching between her thighs that always assaulted her whenever she thought about that night.

“What is wrong?” Severn asked, as if he possessed a sixth sense that alerted him when a woman was entertaining thoughts of him. “You look like you just sucked on a lemon.”

“Nothing is wrong,” she snapped.

He lifted his eyebrows at her hostile reply.

Lori forced a civil tone into her voice. “It is just that this room is very… different from the last one.”

“Do you want to go to the last one?”

“Absolutely not!” she retorted, and then noticed the smile lurking in his pale eyes. “Very droll, my lord.”

He merely pulled the servant cord, and then gestured to a table with several decanters and asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

He poured two glasses without comment.

“So…what is this room?”

“Part of my living quarters—a study of sorts.” His eyelids lowered slightly. “You’ve already visited my bedchamber.”

“I like this décor a great deal more,” she said, refusing to be drawn.

He hesitated, and then said, “I have had this room made over to suit my taste.”

“Hmmm.”

“You think the red, black, and gold bedchamber more suitable for a man of my sort?”

Lori didn’t, but she needed to get her jabs in where she could, so she said, “You looked very much at home in that other room.”

He chuckled and held out her glass. “Here. Sip it slowly as you are unaccustomed to it.”

“How do you know what I’m accustomed to?”

“Do you drink whiskey often?”

She met his amused gaze, and an answering smile formed on her own lips before she could stop it. “No. This is the first time.” As tempted as she was to be a contrarian and toss the contents back in one gulp, she wisely took a small sip.

“Well?” he asked.

“It is surprisingly pleasant and invigorating, but not something one should quaff.”