Page 9 of A Story of Love

As much as she wanted to say something to wipe the superior smirk from his face, Lori knew that he was far more knowledgeable when it came to licentiousness than she could even imagine. Discretion truly was the better part of valor in such a situation, so she kept her mouth shut.

He clucked his tongue as his disconcertingly dark eyes wandered over her face and body. “A lady like you shouldn’t be out here at this time of night. Let’s get you inside.”

“If you really wanted to be of help you would go up there and fetch my cloak.”

All the men turned to look at the window. The cloak rippled lazily—almost mockingly—in the sluggish, malodorous breeze off the Thames.

“Any of you gents want to climb up to his lordship’s window?”

The men glanced at each other in silent communication.

“Naw, Guv,” one finally said.

Gregg shrugged his broad shoulders and shook his head at her. “Sorry, love, it looks like that offer has no takers. Now, quit squirming and allow Mr. Barker to carry you. It’s for the best,” he added, gesturing for Barker to proceed before Lori could argue.

Gregg strode along beside them. “Why have you developed such an obsession with Lord Severn? Didn’t that fracas last year about the child slavery ring teach you anything?”

Lori would have scowled at the slyly mocking man, but she was already scowling. “I do not have an obsession with him.”

Gregg ignored her heated words and said, “I daresay you might have got away with your creeping and spying tonight it if not for Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones.”

Lori frowned. “Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones?”

Gregg pointed to the sleek black cat trotting alongside them, just as if it were part of their group.

Lori narrowed her eyes at the beast. “You,” she hissed.

The big tomcat cut her a haughty look—as if she had knocked him off his perch instead of the other way round—and then glanced away, evidently deciding that Lori wasn’t interesting enough.

“Lord Severn would have invited you inside if you’d just asked nicely,” Mr. Gregg said. “You didn’t need to scale the building and risk life and limb.”

She forced a sweet smile. “If that is the case then why don’t you instruct your giant to put me down, loan me your coat, and I shall go knock on the front door as you suggested?”

The men chuckled.

“I believe we’ll escort you right to his lordship’s door, Miss Fontenot,” Gregg demurred. “I must say it is a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face after all this time.” When Lori didn’t return the compliment, he said, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for some time now.”

“What do you mean keeping an eye?”

“I will leave his lordship to explain that, miss.” He flashed her a grin that showed altogether too many teeth. “He’s almost as vexed with you as Old Joe is.”

“Who on earth is Old Joe?”

“The rag and bone man who usually works this alleyway. He considers the rubbish bin outside The King’s Purse to be his property. He said you’ve been riffling the bin and stealing all the choicest bits for days, now.”

“I have not stolen the choicest bits. I have not stolen any bits.” But not for lack of trying; she’d simply not found any papers worth taking.

“Is that how you find information for your stories? In a rubbish bin?” He chuckled.

Lori ignored him and seethed in silence.

“I’ve enjoyed reading your stories—you’ve got an awe-inspiring imagination. But his lordship”—Gregg broke off and clucked his tongue. “Well…”

“What about his lordship?” Lori asked before she could stop herself.

Gregg stopped in front of an inconspicuous door on the back side of the brothel and slid a key into the lock. Once the door was open, he motioned for Barker to go ahead of him.

“What about his lordship?” Lori repeated, twisting in Barker’s arms to stare over the big man’s shoulder at Gregg.