Worth Any Price

CHAPTER 9

Lottie went upstairs with him, her hand caught fast in his, her legs feeling like rubber when they finally reached his bedroom. The curtains were parted, admitting soft gray light through the windows. She would have much preferred darkness. The thought of being naked in the unforgiving daylight caused her to shake all over.

"Easy," Nick murmured, standing behind her. His hands closed gently around her upper arms. His voice was lower, thicker than usual. "I'll be careful. I can make it pleasant for you, if..."

"If?"

"If you'll trust me."

They were both still and silent. Lottie moistened her lips, reflecting that she hadn't trusted anyone in years. And to put her faith in Nick Gentry...the most unscrupulous man she had ever met...it was not folly, it was insanity. "Yes," she said, surprising herself. "Yes, I will trust you."

He made a soft sound, as if the words had caught him off guard.

Gradually his hand slid across the upper part of her chest, exerting a gentle pressure that caused her to lean back against him. She felt his mouth on the back of her neck, his lips playing through the tender wisps at her nape. He tasted the downy skin, then pressed the edge of his teeth in a sensitive spot that made her squirm against him in pleasure. Working his way to the side of her neck, he nibbled his way to the tip of her earlobe, while his hands moved over the front of her gown. The bodice parted, the sides listing to reveal the framework of the light corset beneath. His fingertips drifted to her throat, caressed the vulnerable curve, then traveled to the wing of her collarbone.

"You're beautiful, Lottie," he whispered. "The way you feel and taste...your skin, your hair..." He took the pins from her hair, sent them skittering to the carpet, and sank his fingers into the pale silken locks that fell over her shoulder. Bringing her hair to his face, he rubbed it against his cheek and chin. Heat played in her body, rising, intensifying, and she leaned back against the solid form behind her.

He eased her gown to her waist, helping her to extract her arms from the sleeves, his fingertips running lightly from her elbows to her underarms. Turning her to face him, Nick deftly unhooked the corset, releasing her from the wrapping of stays and laces. Her breasts, which had been propped artificially high in the boned supports, were left unconfined, the tips hardening against the thin crushed muslin of her chemise. His hand lifted, and he touched her through the sheer fabric. Sliding his fingers beneath the fullness of her breast, he drew his thumb over the shape of her nipple. His touch was very light, lingering at the tip until it burned.

Gasping, Lottie grasped his shoulders for balance. He slid a solid arm behind her back as he continued to toy gently with her body, taking the peak in his fingers, stroking softly. An ache of pleasure formed deep in her stomach as he cupped her breast in his hand, containing the roundness in his palm. Suddenly she wanted him to touch her other breast. She wanted his mouth on her, everywhere, and to slide her own lips across the heat of his skin, and to feel his unclothed body against hers. Frustrated and eager, she tugged at his coat, until his choppy laugh ruffled through her hair.

"Slowly," he whispered. "There's no need to hurry." He removed his coat...waistcoat...stockings and shoes...trousers...shirt...and finally the linens that had obscured the startling sight of his erection.

Suddenly Lottie didn't know where to look. He should have appeared vulnerable in his nakedness, but he seemed more powerful now than when he'd had his clothes on. His body was hewn with brutal grace, large and muscular and superbly fit. His bronze tan ended at his waistline, fading into the paler skin of his hips. A wealth of thick dark hair covered his chest, and there was another heavy patch of it at his groin, around the dark, upthrust length of his erection.

Nick's fingertip traced the side of her scarlet cheek. "Do you know what is going to happen?"

Lottie nodded jerkily. "Yes, I think so."

He stroked the underside of her chin, his fingertip leaving a trail of fire. "Who told you about it? Your mother?"

"Oh, no. She was going to explain everything to me the night before my wedding to Lord Radnor. But of course that never transpired." Lottie closed her eyes as he caressed the side of her neck, his hand warm and a bit raspy from callouses. "I heard gossip at school, though. A few of the girls had...done things...and they told the rest of us about it."

"Done what things?"

"Met in private with gentlemen friends, or cousins, and allowed them liberties." Lottie opened her eyes and met his smiling gaze, refusing to look below the level of his collarbone.

"How far did the liberties go? As far as we went the other night?"

"Yes," she forced herself to admit.

"Did you enjoy the way I touched you?" he asked softly.

Color blazed in her face, and she managed a jerking nod.

"You'll enjoy the rest of it, too," he promised, reaching for the hem of her chemise.

Obeying his wordless urging, she lifted her arms and let him strip away the garment. She kicked off her slippers and stood before him in her long drawers and stockings, with her arms crossed over her bare breasts.

He stood over her, his hand trailing over her back, raising gooseflesh on every inch of her skin. "Put your arms around me, Lottie."

She obeyed awkwardly, bringing her body fully against his. Her nipples sank into the coarse mat of curls on his chest. His body was incredibly hot, his erection burning through the muslin drawers. It prodded against her stomach, until he slid his hand beneath her buttocks and hitched her upward. His hand slid between her buttocks to hold her compactly against him, and she felt him press against her sex. A shock of sensation went through her, followed by a surge of lust so acute that she could hardly bear it. Gripping his neck, she pushed her face against the dense muscle of his shoulder. His fingers slid farther between her thighs. The linen beneath his fingers became damp as he stroked the soft furrow in a lazy rhythm. For a long, blissful minute he held her like that, warming her with his own body until she began to strain against the ridge of his erection.

Reaching between their bodies, he pulled at the tapes of her drawers. He let the garment drop to the floor and picked her up, carrying her to the bed with astonishing ease. As Lottie reclined on the embroidered counterpane, Nick's gaze slid over her. A smile tugged at his lips. "I've never seen anyone blush from head to toe before."

"Well, I've never been naked in front of a man," Lottie said, abashed. It was inconceivable that she should be conversing with someone while she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing, except for her stockings.

His hand closed gently around her ankle. "You're adorable," he whispered, and climbed over her.

He tugged at one of her garters with his teeth, loosening the ribbon that fastened it. She gasped as he kissed the red marks left by the tie, and soothed them with his tongue. Unrolling the stockings from her legs, he pushed her thighs wide apart. Increasingly uncomfortable, Lottie used her hand to conceal herself from his view. His head moved over her, his hot breath fanning her skin. His thumbs swept over the pulse in the fragile crease between her thigh and groin.

"Don't cover yourself," he coaxed.

"I can't help it," she said, wriggling to evade the tiny flicks of his tongue, which ventured in places she had never imagined a man would want to put his mouth. Somehow she managed to dislodge the bedclothes enough to dive beneath them in search of sanctuary. She shivered at the cool slickness of the linens against her naked body.

Following with a low laugh, Nick slid beneath the bedclothes, until they tented over the broad outline of his shoulders. His head disappeared, and she felt his hands on her knees, pushing them apart once more.

Lottie stared blindly at the dark canopy overhead. "Nick," she asked raggedly, "is this the usual way that people h-have relations?"

His voice was muffled. "What is the usual way?"

She inhaled sharply as he nipped at the inner curve of her thigh. "I'm not entirely certain. But I don't think this is it."

His voice thickened with amusement. "I know what I'm doing, Lottie."

"I was not implying that you didn't...oh, please don't kiss me there!"

Then she felt him shake with suppressed laughter. "For someone who has never done this before, you're rather opinionated. Let me make love to you the way I want, hmmn? The first time, at least." He grasped both her wrists and pinned them at her sides. "Lie still."

"Nick..." She started as his mouth descended to the nest of blond curls. "Nick..."

But he did not listen, completely absorbed in her salt-scented female flesh. His breath filled the moist cleft with steamy heat. A moan rose in her throat, and her wrists twisted in his grasp. His tongue searched through the springy curls until he reached the rosy lips hidden beneath. He licked one side of her sex, then the other, the tip of his tongue teasing delicately.

His mouth ravished her so gently, his tongue slipping over her melting flesh to find the secret entrance to her body, filling her with silky heat...withdrawing...filling. Lottie went weak all over, her sex pulsing urgently. As he nuzzled and played with her, she tried to angle her body so that he would touch the peak that throbbed so desperately. He seemed not to understand what she wanted, licking all around the sensitive spot but never quite reaching it.

"Nick," she whispered, unable to find words for what she wanted. "Please. Please."

But he continued to deny her, until she realized that he was doing it deliberately. Frustrated beyond bearing, she reached down to his head, and she felt the puff of his brief laugh against her. Immediately his mouth slid away and traveled downward, tasting the damp creases of her knees, moving to the hollows of her ankles. By the time he made his way back to her loins, her entire body was sweltering. His head hovered over the place between her legs again. Lottie held her breath, aware of a hot trickle of moisture from her body.

His tongue brushed the peak of her sex in a tentative lap. Lottie could not hold back a wild cry as she arched into his mouth.

"No," he murmured against her damp flesh. "Not yet, Lottie. Wait just a little longer."

"I can't, can't, oh, don't stop..." She pulled at his dark head frantically, groaning as he feathered his tongue over her once more.

Catching her wrists, Nick pulled them over her head and settled his body between her thighs, taking care not to crush her. His shaft was cradled in the hot valley between her legs. His dark blue eyes stared directly into hers as he released her hands. "Leave them there," he said, and she obeyed with a sob.

He kissed her breasts, moving from one to the other. With each incendiary swirl of his tongue, she nearly rose off the sheet. His sex slid against her in disciplined thrusts that teased and rubbed and tormented, while his mouth drew hungrily on her nipples. She arched upward with supplicating moans. Stunning pleasure built inside her, gaining intensity...she hovered on the brink, waiting, waiting...oh, please...until the culmination was finally upon her. She cried out in bashful amazement as rich spasms spread from the center of her body.

"Yes," he whispered against her taut throat, his hips working gently over hers. The sensation eased into long shivers as he smoothed her hair back from her damp forehead.

"Nick," she told him between deep gulps of air, "s-something happened..."

"Yes, I know. You climaxed." His voice was tender and vaguely amused. "Shall I do it again?"

"No," she said instantly, making him laugh.

"Then it's my turn." He slid an arm beneath her neck so that her head rested in the crook of his elbow. He mounted her again, the muscular weight of his thighs pushing between hers, and she felt the broad head of his shaft press against the vulnerable cove between her legs. He skimmed it through the moisture in deliberate circles, then nudged against her until Lottie felt a slight burn. Instinctively she shrank from the pressure. Holding still, Nick gazed down at her, his face suddenly taut and intent. He bent his head and touched his mouth to the delicate space between her brows. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Why-" she began, and gasped as he invaded her in a single determined thrust. She recoiled from the pain, her legs closing instinctively, but she could do nothing to prevent him from sliding deeper. She was trapped beneath his body, impaled with hardness and heat.

Carefully he pushed farther. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I thought it might be easier for you if I did it quickly."

It hurt more than Lottie had expected. It was a curious sensation, having part of someone else's body inside her own. It was so remarkable that she almost forgot the pain. She sensed the effort it took for him to hold still. He was trying to wait until she became accustomed to him, she realized. But the discomfort persisted, and she knew that no matter how much time he gave her, it was not going to improve. "Nick," she said unsteadily, "would it be possible for you to finish this part of it right away?"

"God," he muttered ruefully. "Yes, I can do that." Cautiously he tightened his hips, and Lottie realized in consternation that he was advancing even deeper. As the crown of his shaft pressed against her womb, she flinched in distress. Immediately he drew back a little, his hand stroking from her breast to her hip. "The next time will be better," he said, keeping his thrusts shallow. "You're so warm, Lottie, so sweet..." He became breathless, his eyes closing tightly, his hands clenching against the mattress. Despite the pain his movements caused, Lottie experienced a curious feeling of protectiveness...of tenderness, even. Her hands slid over his back, following the deep arch of his spine. She tightened her knees on his hips as she contained his large body, hugging him to herself, listening to the way his breath hitched. Suddenly he buried his entire length inside her and held still. She felt him jerk violently as he released his passion with a harsh groan. Stroking his back, she let her inquisitive fingers wander lower, lower, until she found the tightly muscled curves of his buttocks, harder than she had thought human flesh could be.

Finally Nick sighed and opened his eyes, a blaze of unearthly blue in his passion-flushed face. The way he murmured her name sent shivers down her back. After tucking the linen neatly beneath her arms, Nick rose on one elbow to look down at her. A small frown pleated the space between his thick brows. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." A drowsy smile curved her lips. "It wasn't bad at all. Until the end, I thought it was even better than a shower-bath."

He made a sound of amusement. "Yes, but was it as good as chocolate?"

Lottie reached up to stroke the high plane of his cheekbone. She couldn't resist teasing him. "Not quite."

Another chuckle escaped him. "My God, you're hard to please." He turned his mouth into her hand, kissing the damp hollow of her palm. "As for me, I'm more content than a sailor at fiddler's green."

Lottie continued to explore the bold contours of his face with her fingertips. With a flush lingering high in his cheeks, and the brackets around his mouth softened, he looked younger than usual. "What is fiddler's green?" she asked.

"A place in heaven for sailors. Nothing but wine, women, and song all day and night."

"What is your idea of heaven?"

"I don't believe in heaven."

Lottie's eyes widened. "I'm married to a pagan?" she asked, and he grinned.

"You may yet be sorry you didn't marry Radnor."

"Don't joke about that," she said, turning away from him. "It's not a subject for humor."

"I'm sorry," he interrupted, his arm sliding around her waist. He pulled her into the shelter of his body, her back fitting against his hairy chest. "I didn't mean to nettle you. Here, rest against me." He nuzzled into the pale streamers of her hair. "What a fiery little wench you are."

"I'm not fiery," Lottie protested, for that quality was hardly something that befitted a ladylike graduate of Maidstone's.

"Yes, you are." His hand curved possessively over her hip. "I've known it from the moment we met. It's one of the reasons I wanted you."

"You said you wanted me merely for convenience."

"Well, there is that," he said with a grin, and reacted swiftly as she tried to elbow him. "But in truth, convenience had nothing to do with it. I wanted you more than any woman I've ever met."

"Why did you insist on marriage, when I offered to be your mistress?"

"Because being a mistress wasn't good enough for you." He paused before adding quietly, "You deserve everything I can give you, including my name."

A sobering thought dimmed Lottie's pleasure in the compliment. "After everyone learns that you are Lord Sydney, you will be quite sought after," she said. A man with his looks, a fortune, and a title to boot was an irresistible combination. He would undoubtedly receive a great deal of attention from women who would want to tempt him into having an affair.

"I won't stray from you," Nick said, surprising her with his perceptiveness.

"You can't be certain. A man with your personal history..."

"What do you know of my personal history?" He pressed her flat on her back and loomed over her, one long leg sliding between hers.

"It is obvious that you are very experienced in the bedroom."

"I am," he admitted. "But that doesn't mean that I've been indiscriminate. In fact..."

"In fact?" Lottie prompted.

He looked away. "Nothing."

"You were going to tell me that you haven't had all that many women, I suppose." Her tone was loaded with skepticism. "Although the concept is obviously subjective. What is 'many' for you, I wonder? A hundred? Fifty? Ten?"

"It doesn't matter," he said with a scowl.

"I wouldn't believe you if you claimed anything less than twenty."

"You would be wrong, then."

"How far off the mark would I be, then?"

"I've been with only two women," he said curtly. "Including you."

"You have not," she exclaimed with a disbelieving laugh.

"Believe what you like," he muttered, rolling away from her.

He was clearly annoyed, as if he regretted what he had just told her. As he left the bed and strode to the wardrobe, Lottie watched him in slack-jawed astonishment. She couldn't quite bring herself to accept his claim, and yet there was no reason for him to lie to her. "Who was the other one?" she couldn't resist asking.

His broad, well-muscled back flexed as he shrugged into a burgundy velvet robe. "A madam."

"French, you mean?"

"No, the kind of madam that owns a whorehouse," he replied bluntly.

Lottie nearly toppled from the edge of the bed. She managed to keep her face relatively composed as he turned toward her. "Was it a long...friendship?"

"Three years."

Lottie absorbed the information silently. She realized with dismay that the heaviness in her chest was caused by jealousy. "Were you in love with her?" she brought herself to ask.

"No," he said without hesitation. "But I liked her. I still do."

A frown worked across her forehead. "Why do you no longer see her?"

Nick shook his head. "After a while, Gemma believed there was nothing more to be gained on either side by continuing the arrangement. I've since come to realize that she was right. And I haven't slept with anyone else, until you. So you see, I don't have a problem keeping my trousers buttoned."

A tide of relief swept over her. Just why she was so pleased at the notion that she might be able to keep him all to herself was not something she wished to ponder too closely. Leaving the bed, she hurried to pick up her discarded dress from the floor, and held it over her front. "I will admit that I am surprised," she said, trying to appear casual with her nudity. "You are certainly not predictable in any regard."

He approached her and closed his hands over her bare shoulders. "Neither are you," he replied. "I never expected to receive such pleasure from a rank novice." Taking the dress from her hands, Nick dropped it to the floor and pressed her body against the velvet front of his robe. Her skin tingled at the plush softness that caressed her from breasts to knees. "Maybe it's because you're mine," he mused, his hand covering her pale, round breast. "No one's ever belonged to me before."

Lottie smiled wryly. "You make me sound like a horse you've just bought."

"A horse would have been cheaper," he replied, and grinned as she attacked him in mock outrage.

She pounded at his chest, and he twisted her wrists neatly behind her back, causing her breasts to thrust forward. "Save your strength," he advised, smiling against her hair. Releasing her wrists, he rubbed the small of her back with one hand. "You must be sore. I'll draw a hot bath for you. When you finish, we'll have something to eat."

A hot bath would be wonderful. However, the thought of lacing herself into a corset and dressing for dinner was distinctly unappealing.

"Shall I have a supper tray sent up here?" Nick asked.

"Yes," Lottie said immediately and gave him a quizzical glance. "How do you do that? You always seem to know what I'm thinking."

"Your face shows everything." Removing his robe, he placed it around her, the heavy velvet warming her with the lingering heat of his body.

"I've only eaten in my bedroom once, when I was ill," she told him as he tied the robe around her. "And that was years ago."

Nick bent to whisper in her ear. "My passionate bride...later I'll show you that the bedroom is the best possible place to dine."

He bathed her himself, kneeling by the tub with the sleeves of his robe rolled up to reveal the wet, dark hair of his forearms. Eyes half-closed, Lottie let her gaze drift from the tanned column of his throat to the dark hair that filled the open vee of his robe. He was such a robustly masculine creature, and yet he touched her with incongruous gentleness. Veils of steam rose from the water, making the air hot and iridescent. She felt drugged with heat and sensuality as his strong, soapy hands glided into the intimate places of her body.

"Does it hurt here?" he asked, his fingers slipping over the swollen entrance of her sex.

"A little." She leaned back against his arm, her head lolling on the polished wooden rim of the huge porcelain bathtub.

Nick kneaded lightly with his fingertips, as if he could heal her with his touch. "I tried to be gentle."

"You were," she managed to say, her thighs floating apart.

Nick's thick lashes lowered as he stared at the shimmering blur of her body beneath the water. His handsome features were carved with such severity that his face could have been molded from bronze. The edge of his rolled-up sleeve dragged in the water, the velvet turning hot and sodden.

"I won't ever hurt you again," he said. "That's a promise."

Lottie caught her breath as he parted the tender folds between her thighs and investigated the fragile plumpness they had concealed. Her hips lifted, while her hands fought for purchase on the slippery surface of the tub. He slid a supportive arm behind her back, holding her securely.

"Lean back," he murmured. "Let me pleasure you."

No, she thought skeptically, not in a bathtub, with a thick wall of porcelain between them. But she relaxed in his hold and opened for him as his free arm moved across her body. She grasped his wrist lightly, feeling the movement of tendons and muscles as he ran his thumb over each side of her vulva. He rubbed the silken flanges of her inner lips together, his touch tender and light. Softly he spread her, stroking his middle fingertip along the tender seam, brushing the rosy nub of her sex each time. He smiled slightly as he saw bright patches of color appear on her face and chest. "The Chinese call this the jewel terrace," he whispered. Gently his finger slipped inside her, advancing only an inch, circling softly. "And here, the lute strings...and here..." He reached to the most secret recesses of her body. "The flower heart. Does it hurt when I touch you this way?"

"No," she gasped.

His lips brushed her ear. "The next time we lie together, I'll show you a position called Stepping Tigers. I'll enter you from behind and go deep inside...and rub against the flower heart over and over..." He suckled her earlobe, catching it lightly between his teeth. A hum of pleasure climbed from Lottie's chest to her throat. She was floating, weightless, yet clasped securely by the arm at her back and the hand between her thighs.

"How do you know such things?" she asked unsteadily.

"Gemma collects books on erotic techniques. One of her favorites is a translation of a text written during the Tang dynasty. The book counsels men to increase their stamina by forestalling their own pleasure as long as possible." His finger withdrew, and he stroked her inner thighs with the lightness of butterfly wings. "And it gives prescriptions for health benefits...to strengthen the bones...enrich the blood...ensure long life."

"Tell me some of them," Lottie said, swallowing hard as his hand cupped over her, the base of his palm nudging rhythmically into the place where she was most sensitive.

He nuzzled her cheek. "There's the Soaring Phoenix, which is said to make a hundred illnesses disappear. And Cranes Entwining Necks-reputedly very good for promoting healing."

"How many have you tried?"

"Only about forty. The ancient masters would consider me a novice."

Lottie drew back to stare at him in astonishment, her movement causing a wave to slosh close to the rim of the tub. "How many are there, for heaven's sake?"

"Fifteen coital movements applied to thirty-six basic positions...which provides about four hundred variations."

"That s-seems rather excessive," she managed to say.

Amusement curled through his voice. "It would keep us busy, wouldn't it?"

Lottie winced as she realized that he was trying to slide two fingers inside her. "Nick, I can't-"

"Take a deep breath and exhale slowly," he whispered. "I'll be gentle." And as she obeyed, he eased his middle fingers past the tight entrance. His thumb teased her sex and swirled in a steady rhythm.

Moaning, Lottie buried her face against his velvet-covered arm while her inner muscles grasped helplessly at the gentle invasion. After the initial sting faded, she began to squirm and gasp at each penetrating glide. "You hold me so sweetly in here," Nick said huskily. "I want to go deeper and deeper...lose myself in you..."

His words were drowned out by the thundering of her own heartbeat, and she was racked with shudders of bliss, her senses lit with white-hot fire.

A long time later, after the bath had cooled, Lottie dressed in a fresh white nightgown and approached the bedroom table, where Nick was standing. She felt herself color as he stared at her with a half-smile. "I like the way you look in this," he said, brushing his fingers over the high-necked bodice of the gown. "Very innocent."

"Not any longer," Lottie said with an abashed smile.

He lifted her against his body, his face rubbing into the cool dampness of her hair. His beguiling mouth found her neck. "Oh, yes, you are," he said. "It's going to require a great deal of time and effort to debauch you completely."

"I have every faith you'll succeed," she said, and sat before a plate loaded with ham, vegetable pudding, potatoes, and open-faced tarts.

"To our marriage," Nick said, pouring a glass of wine for her. "May it continue in a better vein than it started."

They raised their glasses and clinked the crystal gently. Lottie sipped cautiously, discovering a rich, spicy flavor that balanced the saltiness of the ham.

Setting his glass aside, Nick took her hand in his and regarded her bare fingers thoughtfully. "You have no ring. I'm going to remedy that tomorrow."

Lottie experienced a shameful spark of interest in the idea. She had never owned a piece of jewelry. However, it had been drilled into her at Maidstone's that a lady should avoid the appearance of acquisitiveness. She managed to adopt an impassive expression that would have pleased her former teachers excessively. "It isn't necessary," she said. "Many married women do not wear rings."

"I want anyone who looks at you to know that you're taken."

Lottie gave him a brilliant smile. "If you insist, I suppose I can't stop you."

He grinned at her obvious eagerness. His thumb brushed over the fine points of her knuckles. "What kind of stone would you like?"

"A sapphire?" she suggested hopefully.

"A sapphire it is." He kept her hand as they talked, absently toying with the tips of her fingers and the close-trimmed crescents of her nails. "I suspect you'll want to see your family soon."

Lottie's attention was immediately diverted from the subject of the ring. "Yes, please. I fear that Lord Radnor may have already told my parents about what I've done. And I don't want them to worry that they'll be left destitute now that I have married someone else."

"There is no need to look so guilty," Nick said, tracing the thin veins inside of her wrist. "You had no part in making the bargain-it wasn't your fault that you didn't wish to uphold it."

"But I benefitted from it," Lottie pointed out reluctantly. "All those years at Maidstone's...my education cost a great deal. And now Lord Radnor has nothing in return."

He arched a dark brow. "If your point is that Radnor has been ill used-"

"No, it's not that, precisely. It's just...well, I didn't do the honorable thing."

"Yes, no doubt you should have fallen on the sword for the rest of the family," he said sardonically. "But your parents will be just as well served this way. I couldn't possibly be a worse son-in-law than Radnor."

"You are certainly preferable as a husband," she said.

He smiled at that, lifting her fingers to his mouth. "You would preferanyone to Radnor as a husband-you've made that quite clear."

Lottie smiled, thinking privately that in marrying Nick, she had ended up with a far different husband than she had expected. "What will you do tomorrow?" she asked, remembering their earlier confrontation with Sir Ross. She was certain that Nick would not relinquish his position at Bow Street without objection.

Releasing her hand, Nick frowned. "I'm going to visit Morgan."

"Do you think that he will take your side against Sir Ross's?"

"Not a chance in hell. But I'll at least have the satisfaction of telling Morgan what a damned rotten traitor he is."

Lottie leaned forward to touch the lapel of his robe. "Have you considered the possibility that they both are doing what they think is best for you? That it might be in your own interests to reclaim the title?"

"How could it be? My God, I'll be living in a gilded cage."

"I'll be there with you."

He stared at her, seemingly arrested by the words. He looked at her so intensely, for so long, that Lottie was finally moved to ask, "What? What are you thinking?"

Nick smiled without humor. "I was just reflecting on how much better prepared you are for my life than I am."

Although Lottie had tentatively invited him to stay the night with her, Nick left after supper, retreating to the guest room a few doors away.

I'll be there with you.Her words had affected Nick curiously, just as her casual remarks at the wishing well had. She possessed a terrible knack of unraveling him with a simple phrase...words so commonplace, and yet invested with significance.

He didn't know what to make of Lottie. Despite the way he had deceived her initially, she seemed fully prepared to act as his partner. She responded to him with passion and generosity, and in her arms he had been able to forget the secrets that had haunted him for fourteen years. He craved more of that sweet oblivion. The past few hours had been extraordinarily different from what he had experienced with Gemma. When he made love to Lottie, his lust was enmeshed with a deep tenderness that made his physical responses unbearably acute.

She kept reaching through his defenses without even seeming to know what she was doing, and he could not allow anyone that kind of intimacy. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before Lottie discovered the demons that lurked inside him. And if that happened, she would withdraw from him in horror. He had to keep a certain distance between them, otherwise she would eventually come to regard him with disgust. Or pity. The thought made his skin crawl.

He had to maintain his detachment, while even now he longed to go back to her. In all his twenty-eight years, he had never felt this painful need for someone. Just to be in the same room with her.

My God,he thought with dull horror, going to the window and staring blindly into the night.What is happening to me?

Sir Grant Morgan looked up from his desk as Nick burst into his office before morning sessions. There was no trace of apology in his hard green eyes. "I see you've spoken to Sir Ross," he said.

Nick proceeded to give vent to his outrage in the coarsest words ever conceived in the history of the English language, leveling accusations that would have caused any other man either to cower in terror or to reach for the nearest pistol. Morgan, however, listened as calmly as if Nick were offering a description of the weather.

After an extensive rant speculating on the likelihood that Morgan was nothing but a puppet while Sir Ross pulled the strings, the chief magistrate sighed and interrupted.

"Enough," he said shortly. "You're beginning to repeat yourself. Unless you have anything new to add, you may as well spare yourself the breath. As to your last charge-that this situation is all of Sir Ross's making-I can assure you that the decision to remove you from the force was fully as much mine as his."

Until that moment, Nick had never realized that Morgan's opinion was so important to him. But he experienced a genuine stab of pain, a killing sense of betrayal and failure. "Why?" he heard himself ask hoarsely. "Was my performance so unsatisfactory? What more could I have done? I solved every case and caught almost every man you sent me after-and I did it by the rules, the way you wanted. I did everything you asked. More, even."

"There has never been a problem with your performance," Morgan said quietly. "You've discharged your duties as ably as anyone could have. I've never seen any man match you for bravery or wits."

"Then back me against Sir Ross," Nick said roughly. "Tell him to shove that writ of summons up his arse-that you need me at Bow Street."

Their gazes clashed and held, and then something in Morgan's face changed. Damned if he didn't look almost fatherly, Nick thought with sullen fury, despite the fact that Morgan was only about ten years older than he.

"Have a seat," Morgan said.

"No, I don't-"

"Please." The invitation was uttered with steely politeness.

Please?Nick occupied the nearest chair, practically reeling in shock. Morgan had never used that word before-Nick wouldn't have thought it was part of his vocabulary. Gripping the arms of the scarred leather chair, Nick gazed at him warily.

The magistrate began to speak. In their three-year acquaintance, Morgan had never talked to him like this, with a friendly, rather paternal, concern. "I don't want you at Bow Street any longer, Gentry. God knows it has nothing to do with your effectiveness. You're the best runner I've ever seen. Since you came here, I've tried to offer what modicum of guidance I thought you'd accept, and I've watched you change from a self-serving bastard into a man I consider to be both dependable and responsible. But there is one thing that I regret to say has not altered. From the beginning, you've taken suicidal risks in the course of your work because you don't give a damn about yourself or anyone else. And in my opinion, you'll continue to do so if you remain here-at the cost of your own life."

"Why do you give a damn?"

"I was a runner for ten years, and I've seen many men die in the course of their duties. I myself came close to it more than once. There comes a time when a man has tweaked the devil's nose once too often, and if he's too stubborn or slow-witted to realize it, he'll pay with his own blood. I knew when to stop. And so must you."

"Because of your famous instincts?" Nick mocked angrily. "Damn it, Morgan, you stayed a runner until you were thirty-five! By that count, I still have seven years to go."

"You've tempted fate many more times in the last three years than I did in ten," the magistrate countered. "And unlike you, I didn't use the job as a means to exorcize demons."

Nick remained expressionless, while the frantic questionWhat does he know? buzzed and stung in his head. Sophia was the only one who knew about the full ugliness of his past. She had probably told Cannon, who in turn might have said something to Morgan- "No, I don't know what those demons are," Morgan said softly, his eyes warming with a flicker of either pity or kindness. "Although I can make a competent guess. Unfortunately I have no advice to offer about how to reconcile yourself with the past. All I know is that this way hasn't worked, and I'll be damned if I let you kill yourself on my watch."

"I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about."

Morgan continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I'm rather inclined to agree with Sir Ross's opinion that you'll never find peace until you stop living behind the shield of an assumed name. As difficult as it may be to face the world as Lord Sydney, I think it for the best-"

"What am I supposed to do as a viscount?" Nick asked with an ugly laugh. "Collect snuffboxes and neckties? Read papers at the club? Advise the tenants? Christ, I know as much about farming as you do!"

"There are thousands of ways a man can be of use to the world," Morgan said flatly. "Believe me, no one expects or desires for you to lead an indolent life." He paused and took an ink blotter in his huge hand, regarding it thoughtfully. "The runners will be disbanded soon, in any event. You would eventually have had to find something else to do. I'm merely precipitating the matter by a few months."

Nick felt the color drain from his face. "What?"

Morgan grinned suddenly at his expression. "Come, that should be no surprise to you, even in light of your disinterest in politics. When Cannon left the magistracy, it was only a matter of time until the runners were dismissed. He was the heart and spirit of this place-he devoted every waking moment to it for years, until..." He paused tactfully, leaving Nick to fill the silence.

"Until he met my sister," Nick said sourly. "And married her."

"Yes." Morgan did not seem at all regretful about Cannon's departure from the public office. In fact, his blade-hard features softened, and his smile lingered as he continued. "The best thing that ever happened to him. However, it was hardly a boon for Bow Street. Now that Cannon has retired, there is a movement in Parliament to strengthen the Metropolitan Police Act. And many politicians believe that the New Police would become more popular with the public if the runners weren't here to compete with them."

"They intend to leave all of London to that bunch of half-wits?" Nick asked incredulously. "Good God-half of the New Police have no experience to speak of, and the other half are black sheep or idiots-"

"Be that as it may, the public will never fully support the New Police while the runners remain. The old instruments cannot be installed in the new machine."

Stunned by the finality in the chief magistrate's voice, Nick fixed him with an accusing stare. "You're not going to fight for this place? You have an obligation-"

"No," the chief magistrate said simply. "My only obligation is to my wife. She and my children are more important to me than anything else. I made it clear to Cannon that I would never surrender my soul to Bow Street the way he did for so long. And he understood that."

"But what will become of the runners?" Nick asked, thinking of his comrades...Sayer, Flagstad, Gee, Ruthven...talented men who had served the public with courage and dedication, all for a mere pittance.

"I imagine one or two will join the New Police, where they are much needed. Others will turn to other professions entirely. I may open a private investigative office and employ two or three for a while." Morgan shrugged. Having made a relative fortune in his years at Bow Street, he had no need to work, other than at his own whim.

"My God, I left to attend toone private case, and I've come back to find the entire damned public office falling apart!"

The magistrate laughed softly. "Go home to your wife, Sydney. Start making plans. Your life is changing, no matter how you try to prevent it."

"I will not be Lord Sydney," Nick growled.

The green eyes gleamed with friendly irreverence. "There are worse fates, my lord. A title, land, a wife...if you can't make something of that, there is indeed no hope for you."