Welly whined and pushed his nose into Lorrie’s hand.
“I should forget him.” She laid her cheek on the coverlet and closed her eyes. A moment later they popped open again. “No. I should give him a piece of my mind.” She sat, and Welly bounced up too, his tail wagging. “He thinks he will just walk away? I won’t make it so easy.” She stood and bent to retrieve her half boots. Shoving them on, she ran to her dressing room to pull a cloak over the simple day dress in white with pink roses at the hem Nell had dressed her in after her bath. A glance in the mirror told her she looked a fright. Her hair was half pinned up and half falling down, and her nose was red, her eyes swollen. She didn’t care. If she was to play the part of the shrew, she might as well look like one.
She flung open the curtains of her window and blinked at the tree outside. “Wretched man,” she muttered, remembering that he’d had it trimmed to prevent her from sneaking out. She would have to take the servants’ stairs. They were busy serving the family dinner, so she need only worry about the valets and maids. If she was lucky, they would be occupied ironing clothing for the morrow or repairing hems or buttons that had come loose.
With a last pat for Welly, Lorrie crept out of her room, down the stairs, and out into the night.
The hackney moved faster than she had anticipated, and she arrived at the address on St. James’s Street before she had an adequate speech prepared. She’d never been on St. James’s at night, and she could not help but gawk at the young men prowling about and calling to the women on the street, who called right back to them.
She pulled her hood close about her face and hopped down when the driver opened the door. “Here you are, miss. Are you certain this is where you want to go?”
She pressed a few coins into his hand. “Yes, thank you.”
“Should I wait for you, miss?”
She shook her head. “No.”
Taking a deep breath, she entered the club. A man almost as large as Ewan immediately stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Arms folded over his chest, he watched the men coming and going with narrowed eyes. Lorrie scooted around him, almost wishing he had tried to stop her. Stepping into the gambling hell was like entering another world.
Smoke from cheroots hovered in the air, making everything look hazy and murky. The candles from the chandeliers twinkled almost too brilliantly, illuminating the too-bright eyes of the men and the too-red cheeks of the women. A few turned to look at her as she entered, but she kept her gaze down. Laughter rose up around her, making her jump, and a man wobbled back, drink in hand, almost ramming into her. Lorrie skidded around him and headed for the stairs.
Another man, wider than he was tall, blocked her way. “This area is closed.”
Lorrie hadn’t expected to be stopped. She took a step back. “But I have to pass.”
“No entry,” the man said.
“I’m a friend of Mr. Mostyn,” she said, pushing her hood back slightly so he might see her face. “Please.”
The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Does your mother know you’re here?”
Lorrie blinked. “Do you know my mother?”
“No, but if I did, she’d want me to send you back where you come from. Go home, little girl.”
“I will. After I see Mr. Mostyn. Please.”
The man gave her an exasperated look.
“Please.”
Blowing out a breath, the man glanced around. “Fine,” he said, his voice low. “Go quickly before you cause us all more trouble than you’re worth.”
“Thank you!”
“Go!”
She hurried up the stairs, holding her skirts out of her way. Trying to keep her head down in the vain hope she wouldn’t be seen, Lorrie hurried to Ewan’s room. Oh, she had done it now. Her father would murder her for this outrageous behavior, and he’d have every right to do it too. She halted outside Ewan’s door, took a moment to catch her breath, then rapped sharply on the thin wood.
No answer.
Lorrie rapped again. Oh Lord. What would she do if he were not here? She had not even considered that possibility. “Ewan!” she said, leaning close to the door. “Open the door.”
No sound but the laughter of the people below and the rattle of dice.
“Ewan!” she said louder.
The door flung open, and Ewan stared down at her, his pale blue eyes shooting her looks laced with white-hot fire.
“Don’t stand there.” Lorrie looked over her shoulder. “Let me in.” Not waiting for him to comply, she shouldered her way in, forcing him to take a step back. Once inside, she leaned on the door, closing it firmly.
The room was as bare as she remembered it, and Ewan was as starkly handsome as ever. His strong features—the sharp cheeks, the blunt nose, the wide eyes—were so familiar to her now that she almost did not fear the hot fury coming off him.
Almost.
Lorrie held up a hand. “Do not say anything.” She shook her head. “Oh, never mind. You never say anything. But hear me out before you throw me out.”
“Do I have a choice?”
She glared at him. “Now you choose to become loquacious? When I have something to say?”
He settled his hands on his hips, making the open V of his shirt part further and stretching the material across his chest. Looking past him, she noted his coat lay on the bed, as did a valise he seemed to be in the process of packing. “You always have something to say.”
“Is that why you won’t marry me?”
“No. I usually like hearing what you have to say.”
Lorrie had to restrain herself from diving into his arms. The taut material of his shirt was making her just a little light-headed. She knew what his chest looked like under that shirt, and she needed to press her cheek to it, her lips, her teeth, once or twice or a thousand times more.
“Then why?”
“I told you already.”
“Fine. Then I have come to tell you how ridiculous you are. How can you think you are not worthy of me? I’ve done nothing but been born to titled parents. I haven’t earned a thing I’ve been given, whereas you are a hero and a self-made man.”
He looked about the room. “I have not made much of myself.”
“By whose standards? You had the courage to thumb your nose at your father and all of Society. Can you not do it again? For me?” She pointed to the valise. “Don’t run away.”
“Yes.”
Lorrie blinked. “Yes what?”
“If you would ever ask a question and wait for an answer, our conversations might be easier.”
Lorrie caught her breath. “Are we to have more conversations then?”
He sighed. “And yet another question.”
She held out both hands, forestalling him—though he was unlikely to speak again. “One question.” She closed her eyes. This was the only question that mattered. “Do you love me?”
The silence seemed to drag on forever, and then she felt his warm hand take hers. She opened her eyes.
“Yes,” he said softly.
Lorrie’s heart hammered so hard she pitched forward. He caught her, and she pressed her cheek to his shirt, inhaling his clean scent. “Please do not go away.”
“I must.”