Page 8 of A Story of Love

“Aye, Mr. Gregg.” The huge man’s low voice seemed to vibrate the very cobbles.

Lori’s eyes narrowed; ah, so that’s who this man was: Piers Amory Gregg, Lord Severn’s former first mate. She had seen his name in the newspaper whenever their ship, the Vixen, had seized other vessels.

Barker strode behind her, tossed the broken pile of lumber aside as if it were tissue paper, and then jerked on the gray wool.

Lori briefly squeezed her eyes shut at the sound of fabric tearing. “You oaf! If I had wished to rend it to shreds then I could have done it myself.” Cool air on her bottom told her the rip was substantial. She scowled up at the giant while trying to hold both her bodice and her skirt in place.

Gregg chuckled. “She’s got the wind up her sails, Barker. You’d best carry her.”

Before she could open her mouth to object to both his vulgar assessment and his order, the giant bent low and scooped her up, holding her cradled in arms that felt as huge and hard as the thick wooden piers that secured the docks.

“Put me down immediately!” she ordered, squirming and twisting.

Barker shifted slightly to get a better grip.

Lori slapped away the big paw that brushed against her bosom. “Watch where you put your hand!”

“Sorry, miss.”

“Barker, are you getting fresh with the lady?”

“No, Mr. Gregg.”

Gregg came close enough for her to see the details of his face. He was lean and tall and reminded her of a knife with his aquiline nose, well-defined chin, and angular cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut glass. His eyes were heavy lidded and coffee brown, a shade that should have been warm but instead glittered coldly. The combination of brown eyes and ash blond hair was quite rare and striking. She would have thought him attractive if not for the annoying smirk twisting his thin lips.

He was close enough that she could smell a hint of bay rum and see the prickles of his ashy blond night beard. “I take it you wanted to see his lordship?” he asked.

“I don’t know who you mean,” she said.

The other three found her attempt at innocence laughable.

Gregg’s teeth briefly flashed in the dim light. “You didn’t need to risk life and limb to see Lord Severn, did she, lads?”

A chorus of no’s answered him.

“You could have just walked right up to the front door and knocked,” Gregg said.

“It is a brothel and I am a female. I could scarcely just stride right in.”

Another smile slid across his sharp face, this one slow and wicked. “Women are allowed inside.”

“Not as customers,” she retorted, refusing to allow him to cow her into submission just because the subject was salacious.

Her answer made all the men roar with laughter.

Lori glared from Gregg to the sniggering men behind him. She shifted in the giant’s arms, sitting up straighter. “I fail to see what is so amusing. No decent woman would step foot in such a place.”

“Now, now, miss, I wouldn’t be so cocksure about that if I were you.”

She felt a prickle of interest at Gregg’s words. “What are you saying?”

He just chuckled and shook his head. “His lordship spent time in America and some of those egalitarian notions they have over there rubbed off on him.”

Lori’s face flamed. Was he saying that Lord Severn’s brothel serviced women?

Surely not.

She had spent a great deal of time lurking in the less savory parts of London but had never heard of such a thing.