“He’s goin’ up to the door, the cur!”
“Bethie! That is my husband you are speaking about.” Lorelei felt silly defending the “cur” when said “cur” was walking into the house of the most infamous member of the demimonde. Still, it was Lorelei who married to the bastard.
Bethie had the courtesy to appear chagrined. “’e’s gone inside.”
Lorelei drummed gloved fingers on her knee. What should she do? Wait, she decided. If he hadn’t gone there to… to satisfy his lust, then he should be but a moment. After all, he was answering Miss Hollerfield’s summons.
But seconds dragged into minutes, and minutes into… well, surely an hour had passed. And still he hadn’t reappeared. Each passing second was an eon that Lorelei studied the house. And each passing second, she fumed. She was so angry it was a wonder the carriage did not combust.
A light flickered to life in tall windows facing Lorelei and Bethie. A curvaceous woman looked out, then spun around. Lorelei gasped for breath as the woman’s bosom almost spilled from her elegant, low-cut gown.
She swallowed back a lump of tears. Her own bosom barely filled her husband’s hands. She’d never realized how lacking she was until that moment. Shaking the thought from her head, she concentrated on the scene. Something about Miss Hollerfield’s demeanor seemed, well, out of place. Her body was as tense as a violin string. Lorelei narrowed her eyes.
Unable to stand it any longer, Lorelei flipped the latch and lashed out with her foot, sending the door crashing against the outer carriage wall. She hopped down as gracefully as her skirts allowed. “Wait here,” she told Bethie.
“Over my dead body.”
Ignoring Bethie’s grumble, Lorelei strode down the street, past caring if anyone saw her. Besides, the sky was no longer light with the soft gray clouds of early evening, but pitch-black but for a sliver of moon attempting to break through. Only a lamppost offered illumination barely reaching a three-foot perimeter. Her focus was riveted on the woman at the window.
As Lorelei drew closer, she could see the woman raging at someone. Though she couldn’t see whom, she knew it was Thorne—he certainly had the ability to drive a woman mad.
Bethie huffed beside her.
“I told you to wait,” she said furiously.
“Hmph.”
“I am no longer the child you raised, Bethie. I am a woman grown.”
“Aye, and yer actions show how much good sense ye ’tained after all my teachins’.” Bethie was panting heavily now.
Shame clawed Lorelei, and she slowed. “Shush.” If her husband could manage to keep Miss Hollerfield’s attention for just a moment longer, Lorelei could edge alongside the hedges and possibly hear some of their conversation.
To her relief, Bethie obliged her request, for once, shoving wayward tree limbs aside and allowing Lorelei closer access. She could just make out Bethie’s compressed lips, courtesy of the soft glow from the window. Bethie had obviously assessed something of the situation.Good.
Guilt squeezed Lorelei’s chest. Bethie would just as soon chop off his protruding parts if her expression was anything to go by.
“But, darling, youdorealize your marriage will never recover?” The presumption in Miss Hollerfield’s tone grated on Lorelei’s last nerve.
“I shall worry about my marriage,darling.” Thorne’s anger carried through the night air, controlled but furious. It warmed Lorelei’s heart. “When is the child expected?”
“Two months.”
Spots dotted the edge of Lorelei’s vision.Child?
Three
T
horne reined in his temper. Rowena had some nerve.
Two months!He eyed her protruding middle, somewhat mortified. What the hell was he supposed to do with a pregnant ex-mistress? It wasn’t as if he could walk up and put the question to his cronies at White’s.My dear sir, how does one go about hiding a bastard?He grimaced. Though no doubt more than half of them had one or two stashed away somewhere.
“What are you after, Rowena?”
“My child’s well-being, of course.” Rowena tipped her head in a stately manner, not unlike Princess Caroline. The effect was grand, making her appear older than her age. Her gown of dark-green silk failed to hide the fact that she was definitely with child, though yards of fabric in her skirts helped to disguise exactly how far along she was. Not that he would know. He and Lorelei hadn’t been so blessed in a decade of marriage.
Thorne paused for a time, frowning. “You’re certain the child is Harlowe’s?”
