Chapter Seventeen
Chapter
Seventeen
Sharing
Loren
She sat across from him at his breakfast table in the
conservatory, the beams of the sun gilding her hair, her face aimed to the
windows, watching the birds at their bath.
He was dressed, but she was wrapped in his dressing gown. It
was too big for her. But it was all they had for the now as he refused to
button her into a gown she’d worn just the day before. He’d sent word to
Corliss to have her maid, her apparel and her toilette directed to his townhome
so she could face the day fresh, preparing to do so there.
More importantly, this also meant he got to keep her longer.
“Stop watching me,” she told the window. “It’s ridiculously
romantic. I’m melting in a puddle over here.”
He grinned at his coffee cup, his attention remaining on her
over the rim as he took a sip.
She turned in the midst of this, watched his actions, and
her gaze heated yet again.
“You’re a walking, talking, eating, drinking-coffee, sex-god
hero from a romance novel,” she groused.
“I love you think that, though I’m perplexed as to why this
seems to put you in a foul mood,” he noted, returning his cup to its saucer.
“I can’t jump you over the table due to your injury, that’s
why,” she explained.
He raised a brow. “Did I not prove my creativity this
morning?”
“The bit where you were on your knees could have torn your
stitches.”
The tone of her response communicated she was now being very
serious.
“Again, darling, I’m fine,” he said in the same tone.
“How worried should I be about this bordello woman you’ve
angered?” she asked.
And there it was.
“You shouldn’t worry at all.”
“Loren—”
He went about picking up his fork in order to go about
consuming his eggs, saying, “I’m now aware that she holds ill will with the
intent to do something about it and will thus be prepared in the future.”
“What actually happened?”
His head was slightly bent to his plate, and he kept it that
way as he lifted his gaze to her.
“Oh boy,” she said when she caught his eyes. “That bad?”
He took a bite of some eggs, chewed, swallowed, and
answered, “We’ll just say I made a statement, though, apparently, not a big
enough one.”
“Mom told me what you did to the baddie who was guarding
her.”
Loren grew motionless.
“It’s okay, honey,” she assured. “That guy was rough with
Mom, and he was gearing up to…well…”
Loren kept her pegged with his eyes.
If they were sharing—and this had finally begun between them
with depth and honesty, and as far as Loren was concerned, there was no
stopping now—thus, she would too.
“Violate Maxine,” she whispered. Then quickly, likely seeing
and maybe even feeling his reaction to those words, she reminded him, “He’s
very dead. You yourself made him that way.”
“I should have perhaps taken more time in that endeavor,” he
murmured, cutting into his sausage.
She released a surprised giggle, and he returned his
attention to her.
She waved a hand in front of her face, shifted fully to her
plate, reached for her coffee (a surprise she drank that with her breakfast, as
he did, an unusual thing for a lady, they customarily drank tea), and said, “I
know, I know. I shouldn’t think it’s funny that you murdered someone. But I
can’t call up any remorse for a man who would stand guard over captive women,
not allowing them to bathe, eat properly, and, it needn’t be said, all the
rest.”
“We share a similar sense of justice,” he noted.
This time, Satrine pegged him with
her eyes.
And she agreed, “We absolutely do.”
When she gave him this, Loren made a decision, set his fork
down and straightened in his chair.
“Winnow Dupont, the madam of the bordello running the
extortion scheme, ruined lives. How frank would you like me to be?”
“As frank as you can,” she invited.
He accepted her invitation.
“Farrell perhaps gave in to a moment of weakness,
regardless, he behaved poorly. He had a favorite, and he assured me his intent
in being there was to say good-bye to her prior to his nuptials.”
He lifted his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt.
Then he carried on.
“Agreed. He could have done that in a café. But he did not.
And we both know why. He bears responsibility. But in that scenario, two hearts
were broken by Dupont’s greed, not simply one. And then there are others. Some
who should not have been unfaithful to their wives. Some who simply have
proclivities that are no one’s business. She made them the business of people
who were in the position to react and had the power to do something about it.
Men lost wives, loves, but also employment, status, stature, not to mention
quite a bit of money. I carry no judgment as to how a man finds his pleasure.
Others, sadly, do. If he enjoys being tied up, or the company of another man,
or a woman taking control, this means nothing to me. But men have slunk away in
shame, and at least one took his own life, because it means something to
others.”
“Took his own life?”
Loren nodded.
Satrine let that settle before she
angrily stabbed at her eggs, asking, “Are the police involved in taking down
this scheme?”
He knew the word “police,” he’d just never heard it used in
that manner.
They had constabularies and constables. If reduced to slang
it was bobby or copper.
The verb was to police, not the noun.
As this was more than likely another indication of how she
used language unexpectedly due to the fact her circle had been egregiously
small her entire life, he didn’t remark on this.
“Yes. It’s my understanding Dupont is currently awaiting her
own trial. But even in jail, people can scheme and issue orders. With the money
she earned, she can buy quite a bit of loyalty.”
She swallowed her bite and asked, “Is it true what Marlow
said? About you leaving this loose end because she’s a woman?”
“Darling, I think you understand now when I say the others
who confronted me that night were neutralized. So yes, I draw the line at doing
that to a woman.”
“That’s sweet,” she whispered.
He smiled at her.
“And totally short-sighted.”
He frowned.
She speared more egg, and before putting it in her mouth,
announced, “We have to defuse her.”
His voice was dangerous when he asked, “We?”
She swallowed, opened her mouth, and…
“Jolly good!” Ansley decreed, strolling in.
They both turned in his direction and watched as Loren’s
father went direct to Satrine, bent and kissed the
side of her head.
“Dear daughter, good morning,” he bid. He turned to Loren.
“Son. You look well this morning. Very well. Considering.”
Before Loren could reply, Ansley turned and headed to the
covered dishes on the sideboard.
“Your grace, I—” Satrine began,
and Loren took in the pink tingeing her cheeks, and he knew it was about the
dressing gown…and how that referenced Loren’s earlier creativity.
Ansley scooped eggs and declared, “This is the best start to
the day I’ve had in six months, maybe a year. Coming upon two people I love at
my breakfast table.”
Satrine’s eyes came to him, her
cheeks pinker, but Loren sensed they were now thus for a different reason.
She’d had a detestable father.
And now she had Ansley.
Loren settled contentedly in that knowledge as Ansley
finished his plate and sat at the round table with them.
“That was a lovely thing to say,” Satrine
told him.
Ansley reached for the coffeepot, his regard on her.
“What is mine is my son’s, and it’s soon to be yours, and I
enjoy sharing it.”
Loren suspected, even if his father was regarding Satrine, that remark was, in part, aimed at Loren.
The next definitely was.
“So I hope Loren doesn’t go about the realm buying his own
properties where we already have them so you both can be at home in
your homes and keep me company well into the future when we’re near to
each other.”
“And that’s even lovelier,” she replied.
Ansley poured coffee. “I’m further pleased at your
demonstration of patience and loyalty, my dear, but I hope a certain someone at
this table learned his lesson last night.”
Loren sighed, sat back, and reached for his own cup.
“I did my best,” Satrine chirped,
looking at him and winking.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered.
“Son, a lady is in our midst,” Ansley admonished.
“Father, my intended not only enjoys my foul mouth, she has
one of her own that I feel it’s safe to say I enjoy far more.”
Satrine choked on a bite of
sausage.
“Good gods,” Ansley groaned.
Now Loren was grinning.
It died when he pointed out, “Though, I didn’t enjoy Satrine sharing with me how generous you were with the
knowledge of my service.”
“Loren.” Now Satrine was
admonishing,
And she was correct.
This was not for the breakfast table and should be between
him and his father.
Or that was the case yesterday.
She was now theirs, so she’d have to learn to sit through
this kind of thing, for his father and he did it often.
“Did your betrothed rush to your side last night?” Ansley
asked.
Loren knew were this was going and elected not to reply.
“Is she sitting with us right now, gracing our table?”
Ansley pressed on.
Loren spared his fiancée a glance and saw she was grinning
into her coffee cup.
She knew where it was heading too.
“Would that you have children who think you’re a fool well
into adulthood,” Ansley bid.
“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Loren retorted. “I simply
think you have a big mouth.”
“You are recovered. You are yourself. Satrine
is here,” Ansley recounted the evidence. “There will be a day you will
acknowledge I know what I’m doing. I simply hope that day comes when I’m still
breathing.”
“And I never contended you don’t know what you’re doing,”
Loren returned. “You’re the wisest man I know, and you are that to me in a
manner I know you always will be. This doesn’t mean, from the time I was a
child, you being thus wasn’t supremely annoying.”
When he finished, his father’s face was warm, his mouth
soft.
But it was Satrine who spoke.
“You two are incredibly cute.”