Page 84 of A Story of Love

Lori rooted through the bag, relieved when she saw not only fresh undergarments but her two favorite day dresses. Wearing nothing but a fancy dressing gown did not do anything for her morale.

Nor your morals, either.

She scowled at the taunt and looked up to find Gregg leaning against the doorframe, his expression strangely pensive as he stared at the scattered newspapers and half-eaten meal on her breakfast tray.

“What do you want now?” she demanded rudely, hoping her angry tone hid the nervous quaver in her voice.

“Where is the butterknife?”

“What butterknife?”

He strode directly to the window, lifted the corner of the heavy velvet drape, and made a tsking sound as he turned to face her. “You’ll never get those bolts out of the wall. The knife, Miss Fontenot.”

She gave an exasperated growl. “On the bed, under the cushion.”

He found the knife, tossed it onto the tray, and then strode to the door and opened it, handing the tray to whomever was waiting outside before turning back to her. “I want you to stop trying to escape.”

“No.”

He laughed. “Would you really have tried to climb out the window if you’d managed to get the bars off?”

“Yes.”

“Even if the man I put on guard had fallen sound asleep and didn’t see you—which wouldn’t happen, by the by—you might have broken your neck in the fall. Or been scooped up by some shifty character.”

“You’re one to talk of shifty characters.”

“Stop trying to escape.”

“All right. I’ll stop.”

He blinked and his lips parted, the expression of startlement making his almost sinister features look boyish.

Lori smirked and added, “If you let me walk out the door.”

“No. Tell me about Lady Sedgewick.”

“What?”

“You heard me; I want to know about her.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing nefarious.”

Lori snorted. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He lifted a hand and laid it over his heart. “You have my word.”

“Why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m asking nicely” He gave her a smile that wasn’t entirely pleasant. “And because you could use a friend right now, and it seems I’m the likeliest candidate.”

“A friend who keeps me prisoner? I don’t think I need that kind of friend.”

“A person can always use more friends.” He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

There was movement at his feet and the black cat who’d knocked her off the stack of crates rubbed against his calf.