Worth Any Price

CHAPTER 8

As a wedding to Lord Radnor had figured prominently in Lottie's nightmares for years, she had inevitably come to regard such a ceremony with suspicion and dread. She was gratified, therefore, that the rite in the superintendent-registrar's office turned out to be fast and efficient, consisting of signing her name, exchanging obligatory vows, and paying a fee. There were no kisses, no long glances, no hint of emotion to color the businesslike atmosphere, and for that she was grateful. However, she felt no more married upon leaving the registrar's office than she had when entering it.

She had just become the wife of a man who did not love her and was probably incapable of such an emotion. And by marrying him, she had just removed all possibility of ever finding love for herself.

However, there would be consolations in this union, the greatest one being her escape from Lord Radnor. And truth be told, Nick Gentry was fascinating company. He did not bother to conceal his faults as everyone else did but instead boasted about them, as if there were some merit in being amoral and mercenary. He was a foreigner to her, coming from a world she had only heard about in whispers...a world populated with scavengers, thieves, dispossessed people who resorted to violence and prostitution. Gentlemen and ladies were supposed to pretend that the underworld did not exist. But Nick Gentry answered Lottie's questions with stunning frankness, explaining exactly what occurred in the rookeries of London, and the difficulties the Bow Street runners encountered in trying to bring criminals to justice.

"Some of the alleyways are so narrow," he told her as their carriage traveled to Sir Ross's home, "that a man has to turn sideways to squeeze between the buildings. Many times I've lost a fugitive simply because he was thinner than I. And then there are masses of buildings that are connected-roof, yard, and cellar-so a thief can slip through them like a rabbit in a warren. I usually accompany the new constables who don't have much experience, as they can get lost in less than a minute. And once a runner is lost, he can stumble right into a trap."

"What kind of trap?"

"Oh, a group of thieves or costers will be waiting to bash a pursuing officer's skull, or stab him. Or they'll cover a cesspool with a few rotten boards, so when he sets a foot on it, he'll drown in a vat of sewage. That kind of thing."

Her eyes widened. "How dreadful!"

"It's not dangerous when you learn what to expect," he assured her. "I've been in every corner of every rookery in London, and I know every dodge and trap there is."

"You almost seem to enjoy your work...but you couldn't possibly."

"I don't enjoy it." He hesitated before adding, "I need it, though."

Lottie shook her head in confusion. "Are you referring to the physical exertion?"

"That's part of it. Jumping over walls, climbing onto rooftops, the feeling of catching a fugitive and bringing him to the ground..."

"And the fighting?" Lottie asked. "Do you enjoy that part of it?" Although she expected him to deny it, he nodded briefly.

"It's addictive," he said. "The challenge and excitement...even the danger."

Lottie twined her fingers together in her lap, reflecting that someone needed to tame him enough so that he could live in a peaceful manner someday-or his prediction of being short-lived would fulfill itself rather quickly.

The carriage traveled along a drive lined with plane trees, their intricately lobed leaves providing dense cover for the underplantings of white snowdrops and spiky green-stemmed cornuses. They stopped before a large house, handsome in its stately simplicity, the entrance guarded by wrought-iron railings and arched lamp standards. The pair of attentive footmen, Daniel and George, helped Lottie alight from the carriage and went to alert the household of their arrival. Noticing that the letterC had been worked into the designs of wrought iron, Lottie paused to trace it with her fingers.

Gentry smiled sardonically. "The Cannons aren't members of the peerage, but one wouldn't know it to look at them."

"Is Sir Ross a very traditional sort of gentleman?"

"In some regards, yes. But politically speaking, he's a progressive. Fights for the rights of women and children, and supports every reformist cause you can name." With a short sigh, Gentry guided her toward the front steps. "You'll like him. All women do."

As they ascended the stone staircase, Gentry surprised Lottie by fitting his arm behind her back. "Take my hand. That step is uneven." He navigated her carefully over the irregular surface, releasing her only when he was certain that her balance was perfect.

They walked into a large entrance hall painted in eggshell shades, with gleaming gold ormolu swags that bordered the lofty ceiling. A half-dozen doorways connected the hall to six principal rooms, while a horseshoe-shaped staircase led to the private apartments above. Lottie scarcely had time to appreciate the graceful design of the house's interior before they were approached by a lovely woman.

The woman's blond hair was much darker than her own, the color of aged honey. It had to be Lady Cannon, whose face was a delicate copy of Gentry's severely handsome features. Her nose was less bold, her chin defined but not quite as decisive as her brother's, her complexion fair instead of tanned. The eyes, however, were the same distinctive blue; rich, dark, and fathomless. Lady Cannon was so youthful in appearance that one would never have guessed that she was older than her brother by four years.

"Nick," she exclaimed with an exuberant laugh, coming forward and lifting up on her toes to receive his kiss. He enclosed her in a brief hug, rested his chin on the crown of her head, then drew back to look at her appraisingly. In that one instant, Lottie saw the remarkable depth of feeling between the two, which had somehow survived years of distance, loss, and deception.

"You're expecting another one," Gentry said after a moment, and his older sister laughed.

"How did you know? Sir Grant must have told you."

"No. But your waist is thicker-or else your corset strings have come loose."

Pulling away, Lady Cannon laughed and swatted at his chest. "You tactless wretch. Yes, my waist is thicker, and will continue to increase until January, at which time you'll have a new niece or nephew to dandle on your knee."

"God help me," he said with feeling.

Lady Cannon turned toward Lottie, her face softening. "Welcome, Charlotte. Nick sent word to me about you yesterday-I have been terribly impatient to meet you." She smelled like tea and roses, a fragrance that was as soothing as it was alluring. Sliding a slender arm around Lottie's shoulders, she turned to address Gentry. "What a lovely sister you've brought me," she remarked. "Mind you treat her well, Nick, or I shall invite her to live here with me. She appears far too well-bred to keep company with the likes of you."

"So far, I have no complaints about Mr. Gentry's treatment of me," Lottie replied with a smile. "Of course, we've only been married for an hour."

Lady Cannon frowned at her brother. "Marrying this poor girl in the registrar's office, of all places! I wish to heaven you had waited and allowed me to arrange something here. Why, you haven't even given her a ring! Honestly, Nick-"

"I didn't want to wait," he interrupted brusquely.

Before Lady Cannon could reply, a small child toddled into the entrance hall, followed by an aproned nanny. The dark-haired little girl, with her blue eyes and dimpled cheeks, could not have been much older than two. "Unca Nick!" she shrieked, rushing at him headlong, her curls flying in a wild, tangled mass.

Gentry caught her and swung her up in the air, grinning at her screams of delight. As he hugged her close, his strong affection for the child was more than obvious, belying his earlier description of her as a "tolerable brat."

Wrapping her plump arms around his neck, the little girl growled playfully, kissing him and pulling at his hair.

"God, what a savage," Gentry said, laughing. He turned her upside down, making the child squeal in excitement.

"Nick," his sister reproved, although she was laughing as well. "Don't, you'll drop her on her head."

"I will not," he said lazily, righting the child and holding her against his chest.

"Candy," the little girl demanded, plunging inside his coat as busily as a ferret. Finding what she had been searching for, she extracted a small paper parcel and crowed with excitement as her uncle opened it for her.

"What are you giving her this time?" Lady Cannon asked with resignation.

"Cinder toffee," he said cheerfully, while his niece popped a large sugary wad into her cheek. His eyes continued to sparkle as he glanced at Lottie. "Would you like some?"

She shook her head, while her heart gave a peculiar extra thump. Just now, when he had looked at her that way, his face gentle, his smile quick and easy, he had been so devastatingly handsome that Lottie had felt a shot of pleasure from the back of her neck down to her toes.

"Amelia," Gentry murmured, bringing her to Lottie. "Say hello to your aunt Charlotte. I married her this very morning."

Suddenly shy, the little girl laid her head on Gentry's shoulder and smiled at Lottie. Lottie smiled back at her, uncertain of what to say. She had little experience with children, as she had lived away from home for so many years.

Lady Cannon came to retrieve her sticky-faced daughter, smoothing back her knotted curls. "My darling," she murmured. "Won't you let Nanny brush your hair?"

The round little chin protruded obstinately. "No," she said around the mouthful of cinder toffee, punctuating her refusal with a drooling grin.

"If you won't let her brush out the tangles, they'll become so impossible that we'll have to cut them out."

Gentry added in a coaxing tone, "Let Nanny brush your hair, sweets. And the next time I come to visit, I'll bring you a pretty blue ribbon."

"And a doll?" Amelia asked hopefully.

"A doll as big as you," he promised.

Squirming down from her mother's arms, the little girl tottered off to the waiting nanny.

"She is a beautiful child," Lottie remarked.

Lady Cannon shook her head with a rueful smile, her eyes filled with maternal pride. "And spoiled beyond reason." Returning to Lottie, she took her hand. "You must call me Sophia," she said warmly. "Let's not bother with formal terms of address."

"Yes, my...yes, Sophia."

"My husband will be joining us quite soon in the parlor-"

"Oh, splendid," came Gentry's surly voice from behind them.

Sophia continued as if she hadn't heard him. "-and I will send for some refreshments. I have just acquired an exquisite chocolate service-do you like chocolate, Charlotte?"

Lottie accompanied her newfound sister-in-law to a sumptuous parlor, one side of which was lined with glass panels that provided a view of a lushly planted indoor conservatory. "I've never had it before," she replied. The beverage had never been served at Maidstone's-and even if it had been, Lord Radnor would never have allowed her to have it. And certainly the servants at Stony Cross Park had rarely, if ever, enjoyed such luxuries. Butter and eggs were seldom allotted to servants, much less something as dear as chocolate.

"Never? Well, then, you shall try some today." Sophia's smile contained an impish quality as she added, "I happen to be a great authority on the subject."

The parlor was decorated in warm shades of burgundy, gold, and green, the heavy mahogany furniture upholstered in brocade and velvet. Small tables with leather tops were scattered throughout the room, bearing tempting loads of folio books, novels, and newspapers. At Sophia's direction, Lottie sat on an overstuffed couch, against a row of pillows embroidered in patterns of animals and flowers. Nick sat beside her after Sophia took a nearby chair.

A housemaid approached Sophia, received a few whispered directions, and left the room discreetly.

"My husband will be here momentarily," Sophia informed them serenely. "Now, Charlotte, do tell me how you and Nick met. His note was quite brief, and I am eager for details." Lottie opened and closed her mouth like a landed fish, unable to form a reply. She did not want to lie to Sophia, but the truth-that their marriage was a cold, practical arrangement-was too embarrassing to admit. Gentry answered for her, his large hand covering hers.

"We met in Hampshire during an investigation," he told his sister, playing with Lottie's fingers as he spoke. "Lottie was affianced to Lord Radnor, and she went into hiding to avoid him. He hired me to find her, and when I did..." He shrugged and let Sophia draw her own conclusions.

"But Lord Radnor is at least three decades older than Charlotte," Sophia said, wrinkling her nose. She glanced at Lottie with frank sympathy. "And having met him on one or two occasions, I find him to be quite odd. No wonder you didn't suit." She glanced at Gentry. "And were you immediately taken with Charlotte, when you found her?"

"Who wouldn't be?" Gentry parried with a bland smile. He drew a slow circle on Lottie's palm, stroked the insides of her fingers, brushed his thumb over the delicate veins of her wrist. The subtle exploration made her feel hot and breathless, her entire being focused on the fingertip that feathered along the tender flesh of her upper palm. Most disconcerting of all was the realization that Gentry didn't even know what he was doing. He fiddled lazily with her hand and talked with Sophia, while the chocolate service was brought to the parlor and set out on the table.

"Isn't it charming?" Sophia asked, indicating the flowered porcelain service with a flourish. She picked up the tall, narrow pot and poured a dark, fragrant liquid into one of the small cups, filling the bottom third. "Most people use cocoa powder, but the best results are obtained by mixing the cream with chocolate liquor." Expertly she stirred a generous spoonful of sugar into the steaming liquid. "Not liquor as in wine or spirits, mind you. Chocolate liquor is pressed from the meat of the beans, after they have been roasted and hulled."

"It smells quite lovely," Lottie commented, her breath catching as Gentry's fingertip investigated the plump softness at the base of her thumb.

Sophia turned her attention to preparing the other cups. "Yes, and the flavor is divine. I much prefer chocolate to coffee in the morning."

"Is it a st-stimulant, then?" Lottie asked, finally managing to jerk her hand away from Gentry. Deprived of his plaything, he gave her a questioning glance.

"Yes, of a sort," Sophia replied, pouring a generous amount of cream into the sweetened chocolate liquor. She stirred the cups with a tiny silver spoon. "Although it is not quite as animating as coffee, chocolate is uplifting in its own way." She winked at Lottie. "Some even claim that chocolate rouses the amorous instincts."

"How interesting," Lottie said, doing her best to ignore Gentry as she accepted her cup. Inhaling the rich fumes appreciatively, she took a tiny sip of the shiny, dark liquid. The robust sweetness slid along her tongue and tickled the back of her throat.

Sophia laughed in delight at Lottie's expression. "You like it, I see. Good-now I have found an inducement to make you visit often."

Lottie nodded as she continued to drink. By the time she reached the bottom of the cup, her head was swimming, and her nerves were tingling from the mixture of heat and sugar.

Gentry set his cup aside after a swallow or two. "Too rich for my taste, Sophia, although I compliment your skill in preparing it. Besides, my amorous instincts need no encouragement." He smiled as the statement caused Lottie to choke on the last few drops of chocolate.

"Would you like some more, Charlotte?" Sophia offered.

"Oh, yes, please."

Before Sophia poured more of the magical liquid, however, a tall, black-haired man entered the room. He spoke in an extraordinary voice, deep and gently abraded, his accent exquisitely cultured. "Pardon me for taking so long to join you. It was necessary to conclude some business with my estate agent."

Somehow Lottie had expected that Sir Ross would be settled and solid and pompously middle-aged. He was, after all, in his early forties. However, Sir Ross appeared to be more fit and virile than most men half his age. He was handsome in an aloof way, his natural authority so potent a force that Lottie instinctively shrank backward into the cushions. He was tall and lean, possessing a combination of self-assurance and vitality that made callow youth seem entirely graceless. His innate elegance would have been apparent even if he had been dressed in rustic peasant garb. As it was, he was clad in a crisply tailored black coat and matching trousers, with a charcoal silk necktie knotted deftly around his collar. His gaze swept over the scene, touching briefly on Lottie, lingering a bit longer on Gentry, then settling on his wife. What strange eyes he had...a gray so piercing and brilliant that it made her think of lightning trapped in a bottle.

Amazingly, Sophia spoke to the remarkable creature as if he were an ordinary man, her tone decidedly flirtatious. "Now that you're here, I suppose we'll have to discuss something dull, like politics or judicial reform."

Sir Ross laughed as he bent to kiss her cheek. It would have been an ordinary husbandly gesture except for the way he finished the kiss with a soft, nearly imperceptible nuzzle. Sophia's eyes closed briefly, as if the feel of his mouth on her skin recalled tantalizing memories.

"I'll try to be entertaining," he murmured with a caressing smile. As he straightened, the light played on the ebony blackness of his hair and picked out the silver streaks at his temples.

Gentry was stone-faced as he stood to shake his brother-in-law's hand. "Sir Grant told me that you wished to see me," he said without preamble. "What are you planning, Cannon?"

"We'll discuss that later. First I wish to become acquainted with your intrepid young bride."

Lottie laughed at Sir Ross's implication-that any woman would have to be intrepid, to marry such a notorious man as Nick Gentry. She curtsied as the former magistrate came around the table to her. Taking her hands in his large, warm ones, Sir Ross spoke with engaging gentleness. "Welcome to the family, Mrs. Gentry. Be assured that if you ever require assistance of any kind, you have only to ask. I am at your disposal."

As their gazes met, Lottie knew instinctively that he meant what he said. "Thank you, Sir Ross. I regret the necessity of keeping our kinship a secret, as I would be quite proud to claim you and Lady Cannon as relatives."

"Perhaps we can do something about that," he replied enigmatically.

Suddenly Lottie felt Gentry's hands close around her waist, and he tugged her away from Sir Ross. "I doubt it," Gentry said to his brother-in-law. "Since there is no way in hell that I would ever allow such information to be made public."

Sophia interceded quickly. "Since it is rather too late to have the traditional wedding breakfast, I propose that we enjoy a wedding luncheon. Cook is preparing lamb cutlets, early-season asparagus, and several varieties of salad. And pineapple cream for dessert."

"How wonderful," Lottie said, joining her in the effort to keep the atmosphere tranquil. She sat once more on the couch and carefully arranged her skirts. "I've never had asparagus, and I've always wanted to try it."

"Never had asparagus?" Sophia asked in disbelief.

As Lottie searched for a way to explain her unfamiliarity with such delicacies, Gentry sat beside her and took her hand again. "I'm afraid my wife was served a rather spartan diet at school," he told his sister. "She attended Maidstone's for several years."

Sir Ross occupied a chair beside Sophia's and gazed at Lottie intently. "A well-known institution, with the reputation of turning out very accomplished young ladies." His tone became gently encouraging. "Tell me, did you enjoy your years there, Mrs. Gentry?"

"Please call me Lottie," she invited with a shy smile. As she proceeded to describe her experiences at the school, Sir Ross listened attentively, although Lottie had no idea why the subject would be of such interest.

Soon luncheon was served in the conservatory, at a table laden with glittering crystal and flowery china, while two footmen attended them. Lottie was delighted by the indoor trees and the lavish spills of delicate tea roses that scented the air. Even Gentry's mood seemed to lighten in the convivial atmosphere. Relaxing back in his chair, he regaled them with stories about the Bow Street office, including an account of how the runners had been assigned to inspect the dirty undergarments and shirts of prisoners being held in the strong room. Apparently the prisoners often penciled secret messages in their clothes, which were then given to relatives, who brought new garments for them to wear when they saw the magistrate. The condition of the prisoners' clothing was often so foul that the runners had resorted to drawing straws to decide who should be given the disgusting task. By the time Gentry had finished describing the fury of a particular runner who always seemed to draw the short straw, even Sir Ross was laughing richly.

Eventually Sir Ross and Gentry launched into a conversation about the problems concerning the "New Police," which had been created approximately ten years earlier. Since then, Bow Street had remained separate from the New Police, as Sir Grant's force of constables and runners were far better trained and more effective than the "raw lobsters."

"Why are the New Police called raw lobsters?" Lottie could not resist asking.

Sir Ross replied with a faint smile. "Because raw lobsters are blue-the color of the new uniforms-and lobsters also pinch."

The comment made Gentry laugh.

As the police discussion continued, Sophia drew closer to Lottie. "Do you think that my brother will wish to continue at Bow Street, now that you've married?"

"He gave me the impression that he has no choice," Lottie replied carefully. "The bargain with Sir Ross..."

"Yes, but that arrangement was never intended to last forever. And now that Nick has married, perhaps Sir Ross will release him from the agreement."

"Why would our marriage have any effect on Mr. Gentry's position at Bow Street?"

Sophia glanced cautiously at the men across the table. "The answer to that is too private-and complicated-to discuss now. May I call on you soon, Lottie? We could have a nice long chat-and perhaps we'll go on a shopping excursion."

Lottie smiled. She had never expected that Gentry's sister would turn out to be so personable. And it seemed that Sophia was quite willing to shed some light on Gentry's mysterious past, which would help Lottie understand him much better. "Yes, I would like that very much."

"Lovely. I expect we shall have great fun."

Overhearing his sister's last remark, Gentry arched a dark brow. "What are you arranging, Sophia?"

"Oh, a simple stroll along Oxford Street," she replied cheerfully.

Gentry snorted. "There are at least a hundred and fifty shops on Oxford. I suspect you'll do more than simply stroll."

Sophia laughed. "You must open accounts for Charlotte at the drapers, and Wedgwood, and naturally the jewelers, as well as the bookshop and-"

"Oh, my lady...er, Sophia," Lottie interrupted uncomfortably, wondering why she didn't seem to realize that their finances were quite meager, compared to the Cannons' affluence. "I'm certain it will not be necessary to open accounts on my behalf."

Gentry spoke to Sophia with a slight smile. "Lottie may have credit wherever she likes. But first take her to your dressmaker. To my knowledge, she has no wedding trousseau."

"I don't need any new gowns," Lottie protested. "Perhaps one nice gown, but that is all." The last thing she desired was for Gentry to spend a great deal on clothes for her. Her memories of her parents' extravagant spending habits, and their resulting descent into poverty, were still very clear in her mind. She had an instinctive fear of spending large amounts of money, and she knew better than anyone how even a comfortable fortune could be squandered in a short time. "Please, I must insist that you don't-"

"It's all right," Gentry interrupted, touching her shoulder. His gaze conveyed the message that now was not the time to debate the issue.

Flushing, Lottie fell silent. His hand lingered at her shoulder, then slid to her elbow, squeezing lightly.

Thankfully, the silence at the table was relieved by the appearance of a footman, who cleared the dishes while another set out plates of dessert and tiny glasses of sweet wine. The dessert plates were arranged with delicate biscuits and pineapple cream served in cunning little glazed pots.

Sir Ross introduced a new topic of conversation concerning some recently proposed amendments to the Poor Law, which both he and Gentry supported. Surprisingly, Sophia offered her own opinions on the subject, and the men listened attentively. Lottie tried to conceal her astonishment, for she had been taught for years that a proper woman should never express her opinions in mixed company. Certainly she should say nothing about politics, an inflammatory subject that only men were qualified to debate. And yet here was a man as distinguished as Sir Ross seeming to find nothing wrong in his wife's speaking her mind. Nor did Gentry seem displeased by his sister's outspokenness.

Perhaps Gentry would allow her the same freedom. With that pleasant thought in her mind, Lottie consumed her pineapple cream, a rich, silky custard with a tangy flavor. Upon reaching the bottom of the pot, she thought longingly of how nice it would be to have another. However, good manners and the fear of appearing gluttonous made it unthinkable to request seconds.

Noticing the wistful glance Lottie gave her empty dish, Gentry laughed softly and slid his own untouched dessert to her plate. "You have even more of a taste for sweets than little Amelia," he murmured in her ear. His warm breath caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.

"We didn't have desserts at school," she said with a sheepish smile.

He took his napkin and dabbed gently at the corner of her mouth. "I can see that I'll have a devil of a time trying to compensate for all the things you were deprived of. I suppose you'll want sweets with every meal now."

Pausing in the act of lifting her spoon, Lottie stared into the warm blue eyes so close to hers, and suddenly she felt wreathed in heat. Ridiculous, that all he had to do was speak with that caressing note in his voice, and she could be so thoroughly undone.

Sir Ross studied the pair of them with an all-engulfing glance. "Gentry, there is a matter I would take up with you. Undoubtedly there are better ways to reveal my thoughts concerning your future, but I confess that I can't think of them. Your circumstances are unusual." He paused and smiled ruefully. "That is an understatement, of course. The twists and turns of your life have been nothing if not bizarre."

Gentry sat back with languid grace, appearing relaxed, but Lottie sensed the apprehension that coiled inside him. "I haven't asked you to consider my future."

"I have, nonetheless. During the past three years that I have followed your career-"

"Followed?" Gentry interrupted dryly. "More like manipulated, meddled, and interfered."

Inured to semantics after so many years on the bench, Sir Ross shrugged. "I've done as I thought best. Bear in mind that in my dealings with you, I've also had Sophia's interests to consider. She is the only reason I kept you from the gallows. She believed there was potential for goodness in you. And though I didn't see it back then, I am willing to admit now that she was right. You are not the complete villain I thought you to be."

Gentry smiled coolly, aware that he was being damned with faint praise. "In return, let me say that you are not completely the hypocritical cold fish I thought you to be."

"Nick," Sophia scolded, and laid her slender hand over Sir Ross's large one. "My husband has never had a hypocritical thought in his life. And as for his being a cold fish, I can assure you most definitely that he is not. Furthermore-"

"Sophia," Sir Ross interrupted softly, "you don't have to defend me, my love."

"Well, you're not, " she insisted.

His hand turned palm up to grip hers, and for just a moment the pair stared at their interlaced fingers with a shared pleasure that seemed unspeakably intimate. Lottie felt a peculiar ache in her chest. What must it be like to love that way? The two of them seemed to take such enormous delight in each other.

"All right," Gentry said impatiently. "Let's get to the point, Cannon. I have no desire to spend my entire wedding day with you."

That elicited a grin from the former magistrate. "Very well, I will try to be succinct. Ever since you joined the Bow Street force, Sir Grant has kept me informed of your accomplishments; the detective operations, the work with the foot patrols, the pursuits that you've undertaken at the hazard of your life. But it wasn't until the Barthas house fire that I realized how much you have changed."

"I haven't changed," Gentry said warily.

"You've learned to value others' lives as much as your own," Sir Ross continued. "You've met the challenge I presented to you three years ago, and you've contributed greatly to the public welfare. And now you've even taken a wife. Interestingly enough, she is the kind of young woman you might have married had circumstances not deprived you of your title and position so long ago."

Gentry's eyes narrowed. "I never gave a damn about the title. And God knows I have no use for it now."

The older man toyed with his spoon, wearing an expression befitting a chess player in the middle of a long game. "There is something you've never quite understood about your title. It's yours, whether you want it or not. A title doesn't disappear merely because one chooses to ignore it."

"It does if one chooses to become someone else."

"But you're not someone else," Sir Ross rejoined. "The real Nick Gentry died fourteen years ago. You are Lord Sydney."

"No one knows that."

"That," Sir Ross said calmly, "is about to change."

Gentry went very still as he absorbed the statement. "What the hell does that mean?"

"After a great deal of deliberation, I decided to begin the process of dignification on your behalf. Recently I explained the particulars of your situation to the offices of the Crown and the Lord Chancellor. Not only did I assure them that you are indeed the long-lost Lord Sydney, I also confirmed that you are financially equipped to manage the title. In approximately a fortnight, the Clerk of the Crown will issue a Writ of Summons, calling you to the House of Lords. At which time I will introduce you publicly as Lord Sydney, at a ball that will be given in your honor."

Gentry shot up from the table, his chair falling back and clattering to the floor. "Go to hell, Cannon!"

Lottie started at the burst of hostility. Gentry reacted as if his very life were being threatened. However, the danger he faced was not the physical peril he was accustomed to...it was intangible, insidious...the one prison he could not escape. Lottie sensed the thoughts that writhed behind his set expression, the way his clever mind analyzed the sudden predicament and considered various ways to evade it.

"I'll deny everything," Gentry said.

Sir Ross made a temple of his hands, regarding him steadily. "If you do, I will respond with depositions from myself, Sir Grant, your sister, and even your wife, testifying to the fact that you have privately confessed yourself to be Lord Sydney. Those, combined with circumstantial oddities such as missing burial records and inconsistent reports of your death, form what is known in English law as afecundatio ab extra -a rare but not impossible occurrence."

Gentry looked as if he wanted to murder the former Bow Street magistrate. "I'll petition the House of Lords to be allowed to renounce the title. God knows they'll be overjoyed to get rid of me."

"Don't be a fool. Do you really believe they would ever allow you to disclaim your title? To their minds, such a renunciation would challenge the very institution of the peerage. They would fear that the distinctions between the classes-no, the monarchy itself-would be threatened."

"You don't believe in privilege based on birth," Gentry shot back. "Why force a damned title on me?I don't want it. "

"This has nothing to do with my political beliefs. This is a matter of simple fact. You are Sydney, no matter what you call yourself. You are not going to be able to overturn seven hundred years of hereditary principle, nor will you be able to avoid your obligations as Lord Sydney any longer."

"Obligations to what?" Gentry sneered. "To an estate that has been held in abeyance for fourteen years?"

"You have a responsibility to the tenants who are trying to eke out a living on ramshackle government-managed lands. To the House of Lords, where your seat has gone vacant for two decades. To your sister, who is obligated to keep her relationship with her own brother a secret. To your wife, who will enjoy far more respect and social advantage as Lady Sydney than she ever would as Mrs. Gentry. To the memory of your parents. And to yourself. For half of your life you've been hiding behind a false name. It is time for you to acknowledge who you are."

Gentry's hands clenched. "That's not for you to decide."

"If I don't force the issue, you'll spend the rest of your life avoiding it."

"That is my right!"

"Perhaps. But regardless, you will find it impossible to remain a runner. Sir Grant concurs with my opinion, and therefore he will no longer require your services at Bow Street."

A wash of color spread over Gentry's face. His throat worked violently as he realized that his days as a runner had just come to an end. "Then I'll spend my time taking private commissions."

"That would be a novelty, wouldn't it?" Sir Ross asked sardonically. "The crime-solving viscount."

"Nick," Sophia broke in softly, "you know what Papa and Mama would have wanted."

He appeared bitter and miserable, and above all, outraged. "I've been Nick Gentry too long to change."

Sophia replied with great care, seeming to understand why he would consider it impossible. "It will be difficult. No one would deny that. But you have Lottie to assist you."

Nick did not spare Lottie a glance but made a scornful sound.

"Lottie, dear," Sophia said with a gentle inflexibility that betrayed the strong will beneath her delicate facade. "How many years did you attend Maidstone's?"

"Six," Lottie said, casting a wary glance at her husband's hard profile.

"If Maidstone's reputation holds true, those six years were filled with an education that included rigorous training in deportment, grace, the art of polite entertaining, the skills of household budgeting and management, the elements of style and good taste, the rituals of morning calls and after-dinner assemblies...the thousands of little points of etiquette that separate the first tier from the other layers of society. I suspect you could easily regulate a household of any size, no matter how large. No doubt you were also taught how to dance, ride, play a musical instrument, speak French and perhaps a smattering of German...am I mistaken?"

"You are correct," Lottie said shortly, hating the sudden feeling that she was part of the trap that was closing around Gentry. He was being forced to become something he had no desire to be, and she understood his feelings all too well.

Nodding in satisfaction, Sophia turned to her glowering brother. "Lottie is a great asset to you. She will prove invaluable in helping you adjust to your new life-"

"I'm not going to adjust to a damned thing," he growled and threw a commanding glance to Lottie. "Come, we're leaving. Now."

She rose automatically, and Sir Ross stood as well. Troubled, Lottie glanced at her brother-in-law. There was no glint of victory in his eyes. She did not believe that his motives had anything to do with vengeance or ill will. She was certain that Sir Ross-and Sophia-thought it quite necessary that Gentry reclaim his former identity. She longed to discuss the matter with them, but it was clear that Gentry was barely maintaining his self-control. Any other man would have been gratified to recover his title, his lands, and family possessions. However, it was obvious that to Gentry this was a nightmare.

Lottie held her silence during the carriage ride home. Her husband was utterly still, trying to contain his explosive outrage, and most likely struggling to comprehend the suddenness with which his life had changed. Not unlike her own mood upon leaving Stony Cross Park, she thought wryly.

The moment they arrived at the house on Betterton Street, Gentry practically leapt from the carriage, leaving Lottie to accept the footman's help in descending from the vehicle. By the time she reached the front door, he was nowhere to be seen.

The housekeeper was in the entrance hall, her perplexed expression betraying that she had just seen Gentry storm inside the house.

"Mrs. Trench," Lottie said calmly, "did you happen to see where Mr. Gentry went?"

"I believe he is in the library, miss. That is...Mrs. Gentry."

Good Lord, how strange it was to be called that. And it was stranger still to contemplate the very strong possibility that before long she would be called Lady Sydney. Frowning, Lottie glanced from the staircase to the hall leading toward the library. Part of her wanted to retreat to the safety and seclusion of her room. However, the other part was irresistibly drawn to find Gentry.

After Mrs. Trench took her bonnet and gloves, Lottie found herself walking to the library. She knocked at the closed door before entering. The library was paneled in dark cherrywood, and fitted with carpets woven with gold medallions on a brown background. Multipaned windows stretched up to the top of the ceiling, which was at least eighteen feet high.

Gentry's broad-shouldered form was at one of the windows, his back tensing visibly as he heard her approach. A brandy snifter was clenched in his hand, the delicate bowl of the glass looking as if it might shatter in his long fingers.

Lottie hesitated beside one of the towering cherrywood bookshelves, noticing that the library was strangely bereft of volumes.

"Your library is nearly empty," she commented.

Gentry stood at the window, his stare brooding and vacant. He tossed back the remainder of his brandy with a stiff-wristed motion. "Buy some books, then. Fill it from floor to ceiling if you like."

"Thank you." Encouraged by the fact that he had not yet told her to leave, Lottie ventured closer. "Mr Gentry..."

"Don't call me that," he said in a burst of irritation.

"I'm sorry. Nick." She drew closer to him. "I wish to correct something that Sir Ross said-you have no responsibility to make me Lady Sydney. As I told you before, I do not care if you are a peer or a commoner."

He was quiet for a long time, then he let out a tense sigh. Striding to the sideboard, he poured another brandy.

"Is there any way of stopping Sir Ross from carrying out his plans?" Lottie asked. "Perhaps we might seek some legal counsel-"

"It's too late. I know Sir Ross-he has thought of every possible countermove. And his influence extends everywhere; the judiciary, law enforcement, Parliament, the Crown office...that writ of summons is going to arrive, no matter what the hell I do to avoid it." He uttered an unfamiliar word that sounded quite foul. "I'd like to break every bone in Cannon's body, the insufferable ass."

"What can I do?" she asked quietly.

"You heard my sister, didn't you? You're going to play lady of the manor and help me pretend to be a viscount."

"You managed quite well at Stony Cross Park," she pointed out. "You gave a convincing appearance of nobility."

"That was only for a few days," he said bitterly. "But now it appears I'll have to play the role for the rest of my life." He shook his head in furious disbelief. "God! I don't want this. I'm going to kill someone before long."

Lottie tilted her head as she regarded him speculatively. No doubt she should fear him when he was in this mood. He did indeed look as though he was ready to commit murder, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. But curiously she was filled with sympathy, and even more than that, a sense of partnership. They were both floundering, both facing a life they had neither planned nor asked for.

"How did you feel at Stony Cross Park, when you introduced yourself as Lord Sydney?" she asked.

"At first I found it amusing. The irony of masquerading as myself. But after the first day, it became a weight on my shoulders. The mere mention of the name annoys the hell out of me."

Lottie wondered why he was so antagonized by the name he had been born with. There had to be some reason other than the ones he had given so far.

"Nick, what did Sir Ross mean when he said that you were financially equipped to manage the title?"

His mouth twisted. "He meant that I could afford the cost of maintaining a large estate and the kind of lifestyle required of a peer."

"How could he know such a thing?"

"He doesn't know for certain."

"He is wrong, of course."

"No," Nick muttered, "he's not wrong. Before I came to Bow Street, I made a few investments, and I have some holdings here and there. All in all, I have about two hundred put away."

Silently Lottie reflected that two hundred pounds in savings was not bad, but it did not offer the kind of security one could have wished for. She only hoped that his investments would not depreciate in value. "Well, that seems quite satisfactory," she said, not wishing to hurt his feelings. "I think we shall do fairly well if we economize. But I do not think the circumstances allow for a wedding trousseau. Not at this time. Perhaps in the future-"

"Lottie," he interrupted, "we don't need to economize."

"Two hundred pounds is a fine sum, but it will be difficult to maintain a household with-"

"Lottie." He glanced at her with an odd expression. "I was referring to thousands. Two hundred thousand pounds."

"But...but..." Lottie was astonished. It was an immense sum, a fortune by anyone's standards.

"And about five thousand a year from investments and private commissions," he added, stunning her further. His face darkened. "Although it seems my days of private commissions are over."

"Why, you must be as rich as Lord Radnor," she said dazedly.

He made a choppy gesture with his hand, as if consideration of money was completely irrelevant, compared to his far greater problem. "Probably."

"You could afford a dozen houses. You could have anything you-"

"I don't need a dozen houses. I can only sleep under one roof at a time. I can only eat three meals a day. And I don't give a damn about impressing anyone."

Lottie was surprised by the realization that he was not motivated to acquire wealth. His fortune had come as a consequence of his need to outwit everyone from the underworld to Bow Street. And now that the profession of law enforcement had been taken from him, he would be in urgent need of something to do. He was a tremendously active man, not at all suited for the cultivated indolence of aristocratic life. How in heaven's name was he going to adjust to living as a peer?

His thoughts must have mirrored hers, for he gave a groan of hopeless anger and raked his hand roughly through his hair. A stray lock fell on his forehead, and Lottie was startled by her sudden urge to play with the thick chocolate-colored strands, smooth them back, slide her fingers into the warm silk.

"Lottie," he said gruffly, "I'm going out for a while. I probably won't be back until morning. You have a reprieve for tonight."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet." He stepped back from her with a restlessness that contained an edge of panic, as if a heavy net had dropped over him.

Lottie knew that she should not care if he went out and drank, or struck up a fight with someone, or did any of the numerous foolish things that men in search of amusement did. She should not want to soothe his barely contained fury. But she did.

Without allowing herself time to consider her actions, Lottie approached him, touching the fine broadcloth of his coat with her palm. Her hand smoothed over the fabric and eased inside. His waistcoat was the same inky black as his coat, but the material was silkier, slipping a little over the hard delineation of his chest muscles. She thought of how hot his skin must be, to impart such warmth to the thick garment.

Nick was suddenly motionless, his breath changing to a slower, deeper rhythm. Lottie did not look at his face but concentrated instead on the knot of his gray necktie as her fingers explored the snowy, fragrant folds of his shirt.

"I don't want a reprieve," she said eventually and tugged at the knot until it slid loose.

As the necktie unraveled, it seemed that his self-control became similarly undone. He breathed more heavily, and his hands clenched at his sides. Inexpertly she unfastened the stiff collar of his shirt and spread it wide to reveal the amber sheen of his throat. She glanced up at his face and saw with a quake of sudden nervousness that his fury was transforming rapidly into pure sexual need. Color crept across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, a burnished glow that made his eyes look like blue fire.

His head lowered very slowly, as if he were giving her every opportunity to flee. She stayed where she was, her eyes closing as she felt the barely perceptible touch of his mouth on the side of her neck. His lips brushed the sensitive skin, parted, and the silken tip of his tongue stroked her in a delicate, hot circle. With a shaky sigh, Lottie leaned forward into his body as her legs wobbled beneath her. He did not touch her with his hands, only continued to explore her neck with exquisite leisure. She held onto him, her arms locking around his lean waist.

His hands came to her shoulders, gripping softly. He seemed undecided as to whether he wanted to pull her closer or push her away. His voice was hoarse as he asked, "What are you doing, Lottie?"

Her heart was hammering so wildly that she could barely summon the breath to speak. "I suppose I am encouraging you to finish what you started in Lord Westcliff's library."

"Be certain," he said roughly. "I haven't had a woman in six months. If you suddenly decide to stop, I'm not going to take it well."

"I won't tell you to stop."

He stared at her, his gaze fever-bright, his face hard. "Why now, when you didn't want to last night?"

That was beyond her ability to explain. After the events of this afternoon, he suddenly seemed vulnerable to her. She was beginning to see the ways in which he needed her, needs that went beyond sexual desire. And the challenge of taming him, matching his powerful will with her own, was too tempting to resist.

"We're married now," she said, seizing on the first excuse she could think of. "And I would prefer to...to have done with this, so that I won't have to dread it."

She saw the predatory flicker in his eyes. He wanted her. He did not waste time asking questions, only extended his hand. "Come upstairs, then."

Carefully Lottie placed her hand in his. "Nick, there is just one thing..."

"What?"

"It's not dark yet."

"And?"

"Is it appropriate to do this in the afternoon?"

The question pulled an unsteady laugh from him. "I don't know. And I damn well don't care." Keeping her hand in his, he guided her from the library to the entrance hall, and up the grand staircase.