His Harlot (Victorian Decadence Series Book 1) by S.M. LaViolette

Author:S.M. LaViolette [LaViolette, S.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crooked Sixpence Press
Published: 2020-05-04T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

For once, Nora managed to slip out of the house without one of the Thomases following her. She simply did not want them reporting to Edward that she’d visited Lord Anthony Howell, a prominent politician and the son of one duke and uncle of another. Edward would know immediately the only way that Nora would have met such a man.

So, she’d put on her old gray cloak, which Mary had stuffed in the far back of a wardrobe and hurried toward the prestigious address on the letter.

She had plenty of money to hail a ride, but she needed to walk after last night. If she was wise, she’d keep walking as far as she had to in order to get out of Edward’s reach.

Cat had fallen asleep after a shocking number of orgasms and Nora had hated to rouse her, but she needed to at least get dressed. If Cat was found asleep in Nora’s bed that could be easily explained—everyone knew them to be friends. If she was found naked in Nora’s bed …

She’d been adorably shy, her deep flush making her even more beautiful. Nora had enjoyed Cat’s body, which was lush and sweet and responsive, but the worshipful look in Cat’s eyes had made her question the wisdom of what she’d done more than ever.

“Cat,” she’d said just before the girl left. “You must hide this from Edward, you know that—don’t you?”

She’d smiled, her lovely face radiant, “It will be our secret, Nora.”

Nora had wanted to cry—and start packing; she’d have more luck hiding a volcanic eruption in the house than Cat’s euphoria. If ever Nora had seen a well-pleasured woman, it was Cat that morning.

She chewed her lip as she scurried along, dodging early morning delivery wagons, domestics, and a host of other people heading to work. Nora had decided she’d best be able to hide her excursion the earlier she left. She often painted in the morning, so she’d left a note on the bed for Mary telling her she was painting and did not want to be disturbed. And then she’d frantically searched for the key she’d never used before and locked the sunroom door. Not that she was sure what that would achieve in the—albeit unlikely—event that Edward came looking for her. If Edward wanted in and she didn’t answer him, he’d break down the door. No part of her, she knew, was off-limits in his mind.

Nora knew before she even walked up the steps to Lord Anthony’s town house what had happened: a black wreath was on the door and all the drapes were drawn. It was a house of mourning.

Nora’s eyes glazed with tears; she was too late. She squeezed her eyes shut, aware she must look odd standing on the middle of the sidewalk staring up at the house, but unable to move.

“Nora?”

She jolted at the voice, her eyes flying open.

“Oh, I say—sorry to startle you.”

She looked up at a vaguely familiar face.

He smiled shyly, his pale cheeks flushing. “You might not recall me.

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