Worth Any Price

CHAPTER 11

London was so vastly different from the serenity of Hampshire that Lottie could scarcely believe it was in the same country. It was a world of high fashion and endless amusements, with a sharp juxtaposition of poverty and wealth, and crime-ridden alleys tucked behind the streets of prosperous markets and shops. There was the area past Temple Bar called the City, and the west side, referred to as "town," and an abundance of gardens, walks, concert halls, and shops featuring luxuries that she could never have imagined.

As the second week of their marriage began, Nick seemed to find it amusing to indulge Lottie as if she were a child he was bent on spoiling. He took her to a confectioner's shop at Berkeley Square and bought her an ice made of pureed chestnuts mixed liberally with candied cherries. Afterward they proceeded to Bond Street, where he purchased her a selection of French powders and scented waters, and a dozen pairs of embroidered silk stockings. Lottie tried to stop him from buying a fortune's worth of white gloves and handkerchiefs from the linen-draper's, and she objected strongly to a pair of pink silk shoes with gold tassels that would have cost a full month's tuition at Maidstone's. However, Nick ignored her protests as he continued to purchase whatever caught his fancy. Their final stop was at a tea shop, where he ordered a half-dozen exotic teas in beautiful jars, bearing intriguing names such as "gunpowder," "congou," or "souchong."

Envisioning the mountain of packages that would be delivered later that day to the house on Betterton, Lottie begged him to desist. "I need nothing else," she said firmly, "and I refuse to set foot in one more shop. There is no reason for such immoderation."

"Yes, there is," Nick replied, escorting her to their waiting carriage, piled high with parcels and boxes.

"Oh? What is it?"

He responded with a maddening smile. Surely he didn't think that he was purchasing her sexual favors, as she had been more than acquiescent in that regard. Perhaps he simply wanted her to feel obligated to him? But why?

Life with Nick Gentry was turning out to be quite puzzling, consisting of moments of searing closeness interspersed with small reminders that they were still complete strangers in most regards. She did not understand why Nick left her bed every night after making love to her, never allowing himself to drift to sleep beside her. After everything else they had shared, that seemed harmless enough. But he refused her awkward invitations to stay, stating that he preferred to sleep alone, and they would both be more comfortable that way.

Lottie quickly discovered that certain subjects set off Nick's temper like a flame held to gunpowder. She learned never to question him about any part of his boyhood, and that any reference to the days before he took the name of Nick Gentry would earn his certain wrath. When he became angry, he did not shout or throw things, but instead was coldly quiet and left the house, and did not return until long after she had gone to bed. She learned also that Nick never allowed himself to be vulnerable in any way. He preferred to stay in complete control of himself and his environment. He considered it unmanly for someone not to be able to hold his liquor-she had yet to see him drink to excess. Even sleep seemed to be a luxury he did not like to indulge in too often, as if he could not afford to relax into unguarded slumber. In fact, according to Sophia, Nick had never even allowed physical injuries to hamper him-he stubbornly refused to yield to pain or weakness.

"Why?" Lottie had asked Sophia in genuine bewilderment, as they went for dress fittings and waited for the gowns to be brought out. "What does he fear, that he cannot allow himself to be unprotected for one moment?"

For a moment, Nick's older sister had stared at her with an obvious longing to reply. Her deep blue eyes were filled with sadness. "I hope that someday he will confide in you," she said softly. "It is a great burden to bear alone. I am certain that he fears your reaction, once you are told."

"Told what?" Lottie persisted, but to her frustration, Sophia would not answer.

Some great fearful secret. Lottie could not fathom what it might be. She could only suppose that he had killed someone, perhaps in a fury-that was the worst thing she could think of. She knew that he had committed crimes in his past, that he had done things that would probably horrify her. He was so guarded and self-possessed that it seemed she would never come to know him fully.

In other ways, however, Nick was an unexpectedly tender and generous husband. He coaxed her to tell him all the rules that had been drilled into her at school, and then he proceeded to make her break every single one of them. There were nights when he launched a gentle assault on her modesty, undressing her in the lamplight and making her watch as he kissed her from head to toe...and others when he made love to her in exotic ways that shamed and excited her beyond bearing. He could arouse her with a single glance, a brief caress, a soft word whispered in her ear. It seemed to Lottie that entire days passed in a haze of sexual desire, her awareness of him simmering beneath everything they did.

After the crates of books she had ordered arrived, she read to Nick in the evenings, as she sat in bed and he lounged beside her. Sometimes while he listened, Nick would pull her legs into his lap and massage her feet, running his thumbs along her instep and playing gently with her toes. Whenever Lottie paused in her reading, she always found his gaze fastened securely on her. He never seemed to tire of staring at her...as if he were trying to uncover some mystery that was hidden in her eyes.

One evening he taught her to play cards, claiming sexual liberties as forfeits each time she lost. They ended up on the carpeted floor in a tangle of limbs and clothing, while Lottie breathlessly accused him of cheating. He only grinned in reply, thrusting his head beneath her skirts until the issue was entirely forgotten.

Nick was an exciting companion-a fascinating storyteller, a superb dancer, a skilled lover. He was playful but not at all boyish, never quite losing the seasoned look that proclaimed he had seen and done enough to last several lifetimes. He escorted Lottie around London with an energy that far eclipsed her own, seeming to know and be known by practically everyone. More than once, at a subscription dance, or a private party, or even walking through the park, Lottie could not help but be aware of the attention he attracted. Nick was regarded as either a hero or a devil, depending on one's view, and everyone wanted to be seen with him regardless. Innumerable men came to shake his hand, and to seek his opinions on various matters. Women, on the other hand, trembled and giggled and flirted shamelessly with him, even in Lottie's presence. Lottie witnessed such overtures with surprised disgruntlement, realizing that she felt very much like a jealous wife.

At the invitation of some friends, Nick and Lottie attended a play at Drury Lane that staged naval battles using complicated machinery and light displays to thrilling effect. Actors dressed like sailors hurled themselves from the sides of the "ship" in perfect conjunction with the bursts of cannon-fire, their shirts blotched with red paint to resemble blood. The results were so realistic that Lottie clapped her hands over her ears and hid her face against Nick's chest, disregarding his laughing efforts to make her watch the action.

Perhaps it was the violence of the display, or the aftereffects of the wine she had drunk with supper, but Lottie felt apprehensive as they left their box seats at the first intermission. Theatergoers mingled in the hall downstairs, partaking of refreshments and chattering excitedly about the graphic onstage battles they had just witnessed. As the atmosphere in the crowded room became stifling, Nick left Lottie in the company of friends as he went to fetch her a glass of lemonade. Lottie forced a smile to her lips as she half-listened to the conversation around her, hoping that he would return soon. How quickly she had become accustomed to Nick's reassuring presence beside her, she thought.

It was ironic. After so many years of being told that she belonged to Lord Radnor, she had never been able to accept it. And yet it felt entirely natural to belong to a virtual stranger. She remembered Lord Westcliff's warning about Nick Gentry.He is not to be trusted, Westcliff had said. But the earl had been wrong. Regardless of Nick's shadowy past, he had been gentle and considerate with her, and more than worthy of her trust.

As Lottie cast a glance around the assemblage, hoping to catch sight of him, her attention was caught by a figure standing several yards away from her.

Radnor, she thought, while a shower of icy needles seemed to rain down on her. Every muscle locked...she was frozen with the same fear she had felt during two years of being hunted. His face was partially averted from her horrified gaze, but she saw his iron-gray hair, the haughty tilt of his head, the black slashes of his brows. And then he turned in her direction, as if he sensed her presence in the crowded hall.

Immediately her silent terror turned to bewilderment...no, it was not Radnor, only a man who resembled him. The gentleman nodded and smiled to her, as strangers sometimes did when their gazes happened to meet. He turned back to his companions, while Lottie looked down at her clenched hands in their pale pink gloves and tried to calm the thrashing of her heart. The aftereffects of the shock hit her...a touch of nausea, a dousing of cold sweat, a trembling that refused to abate.How ridiculous you are , she told herself, disgusted by the fact that the mere glance of a man who looked like Radnor could have elicited such an overreaction.

"Mrs. Gentry," came a nearby voice. It was Mrs. Howsham, a pleasant and soft-spoken woman whom Lottie had only recently met. "Are you feeling ill, dear? You look rather queer."

She looked into Mrs. Howsham's face. "It's rather stifling in here," she whispered. "And I think I've laced a bit too tightly this evening."

"Ah, yes," the woman said in wry understanding, familiar with the complaints that corset strings often induced. "The perils of fashion we must suffer..."

To Lottie's relief, Nick appeared at her side, a glass of lemonade in hand. Instantly perceiving that something was wrong, he slid a supportive arm behind her. "What is it?" he asked, staring alertly at her pale face.

Mrs. Howsham took it upon herself to answer. "Tight-lacing, Mr. Gentry...I suggest that you take her somewhere a bit more secluded than this. A breath of fresh air often helps."

Keeping his arm around Lottie, Nick guided her through the hall. The night air caused Lottie to shiver as her sweat-soaked garments turned clammy. Carefully Nick drew her to the lee of a massive column that blocked the light and noise coming from inside the building.

"It was nothing," Lottie told him sheepishly. "Nothing at all. I feel like an idiot, making a fuss for no reason." Accepting the lemonade from him, she drank thirstily, not stopping until the glass was drained.

Nick bent to set the empty glass on the ground and rose to face Lottie once more. His face was taut as he took a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the trickling perspiration from her cheeks and forehead. "Tell me what happened," he said quietly.

Lottie flushed in embarrassment. "I thought I saw Lord Radnor in there. But it was only a man who looked like him." She sighed tensely. "Now I've revealed myself to be an utter coward. I'm sorry."

"Radnor rarely goes out in public," Nick murmured. "It's not likely that you would encounter him at an event like this."

"I know," she said ruefully. "Unfortunately I didn't stop to think about that."

"You're not a coward." There was concern in his dark blue eyes...concern overlaying some richer, more mysterious emotion underneath.

"I reacted like a child who's afraid of the dark."

His fingers slid beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's conceivable that you will encounter Radnor someday," he said softly. "But I'll be with you when or if that happens, Lottie. You don't have to fear him anymore. I'll keep you safe."

She felt a rush of wonder at the tender gravity of his expression. "Thank you," she replied, taking a full breath for the first time since they had left the hall.

Continuing to stare into her pale, damp face, Nick shook his head with a slight frown, as if the sight of her distress was painful to him. Seeming unable to help himself, he reached out and pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her as he tried to comfort her with his body. There was nothing sexual about the embrace, but somehow it was more intimate than anything they had ever done together. His arms were strong and possessive, holding her steady while his breath fell in moist, hot surges against her neck.

"Shall I take you home?" he whispered.

Lottie nodded slowly, while a lifetime of loneliness transformed into a sense of inconceivable comfort. A home...a husband...things she had never let herself hope for. Surely this illusion couldn't last-somehow, someday, it would be taken away from her. But until that happened, she would cherish every moment.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled against his coat. "Let's go home."

Gradually emerging from a deep sleep, Lottie became aware of odd noises in the house. Thinking that perhaps the sounds were a remnant of a dream, she blinked and sat up slowly in bed. It was the middle of the night, and the bedroom was pitch black. There it was again...a growl, a garbled phrase...as if someone were in the midst of an argument. Recalling that Nick was occasionally troubled by nightmares, Lottie sprang from the bed. Carefully she lit a lamp, replaced the glass, and carried it with her down the hall.

Shadows fled before her as she approached the guest room where Nick slept. Pausing at the closed door, she tapped on it cautiously. There was no reply. After a moment, she heard a violent rustling from within. Lottie turned the knob and entered the bedroom.

"Nick?"

He was stretched out on the bed, lying on his stomach with the sheet twisted at his hips. Breathing rapidly, he clenched his fists and muttered incoherently, his dark face gleaming with sweat. Staring at him in puzzled concern, Lottie wondered what unseen monsters could cause his long body to twitch with what was either suppressed rage, or fear, or both. She set the lamp on the bedside table and approached him.

"Nick, wake up. It's only a dream." Reaching out to him, she laid a gentle hand on the brutal curve of his shoulder. "Nick-"

Suddenly she was caught in an explosion of violence. A startled cry escaped her as she was seized and flung halfway across the bed. Nick was on her in an instant, straddling her with his powerful thighs. Hearing a murderous growl, Lottie looked up into the harsh, shadowed mask of his face and saw one huge hand draw back in a fist.

"No!" she gasped, shielding her face with her arms.

The strike never came. All went still. Trembling, Lottie lowered her arms and looked up to see Nick's face change, the nightmarish mask dropping, sanity and awareness creeping back into his expression. He lowered his fist and stared at it blankly. Then his gaze fell to Lottie's slim form, and the fury and terror in his eyes made her cringe.

"I could have killed you," he snarled, his white teeth gleaming like an animal's. "What are you doing here? Don't ever touch me while I'm sleeping, damn you!"

"I didn't know, I...what in heaven's name were you dreaming about?"

He rolled away from her in a lithe movement and left the bed, panting. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"I thought you needed something-"

"All I need is for you to stay the hell away from me," he snapped. Finding his discarded clothes on a chair, he jerked his trousers on.

Lottie felt as if she had been struck. She hated it that his words had the power to hurt her. Even more than that, she was anguished for him, wishing he did not have to bear such torment alone.

"Get out of here," he said, pulling his shirt and coat on, not bothering with a waistcoat or necktie.

"Are you leaving?" Lottie asked. "There is no need. I will go back to bed, and-"

"Yes, I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know." He didn't spare her a glance as he picked up his stockings and shoes. "And don't ask when I'll return. I don't know that, either."

"But why?" Lottie took a halting step toward him. "Nick, please stay and tell me-"

He shot her a warning glance, his eyes bright with the ferocity of a wounded animal. "I told you to get out."

Feeling the blood drain from her face, Lottie nodded and went to the door. Pausing at the threshold, she spoke without a backward glance. "I'm sorry."

He made no reply.

Lottie bit the insides of her lips, damning herself as she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. She left swiftly, retreating to her room with the shreds of her dignity.

Nick did not return all the next day. Anxious and bewildered, Lottie tried to find ways to occupy herself. However, no distraction proved sufficient to stop her from worrying. She took a long walk with a footman in tow, attended to needlework, read, and helped Mrs. Trench make tallow candles.

The housekeeper and servants were quietly deferential to Lottie. Predictably, not one word was mentioned about the previous night, although they were all certainly aware that some disturbance had taken place. Servants knew everything, but none of them would ever admit to knowledge of the intimate details of their master's life.

Wondering where her husband had gone, Lottie feared that perhaps he had done something reckless. She consoled herself that he was quite good at taking care of himself, but that did not ease her distress. He had been so very upset, and she suspected that his anger had stemmed from the fear that he might have hurt her.

However, she was his wife, and she deserved better than to be abandoned with no explanation. The day was relentlessly long, and Lottie was relieved when evening finally approached. After dining alone, she took a long bath, donned a fresh white nightrail, and read from a stack of periodicals until she finally felt able to sleep. Exhausted by the endless circling of her thoughts and the tedium of the past hours, she sank into deep slumber.

Long before morning, she was roused from the thick mist of sleep by the realization that the weight of the blankets had been drawn from her. Stirring, she became aware of a solid presence behind her, the mattress dipping slightly. Nick, she thought in drowsy relief, yawning as she turned toward him. The room was so dark that she could not quite distinguish him. The familiar warmth of his hands pressed her back to the bed, one large palm resting gently on the center of her chest...and then he drew her wrists over her head.

Lottie murmured in surprise, awakening fully as she felt him loop something around each wrist. Before she realized what was happening, the bonds were secured to the headboard, stretching her tautly beneath him. Her breath stopped in amazement. Nick moved over her, crouching like a cat, his breath coming in rough surges. He touched her body over the cotton veil of her gown, his fingers slipping beneath the curve of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the swell of her hip and thigh. His weight shifted, and his mouth sought her breast, wetting the gown, licking the rising peak of her nipple. He was naked, the scent and heat of warm male skin surrounding her.

Dazedly Lottie realized that he wanted to take her like this, with her hands fastened over her head. The idea made her fearful. She did not like being restrained in any way. But at the same time she understood what he wanted...her helplessness, her absolute trust...the knowledge that he could do anything he wanted to her without restrictions. He rolled her distended nipple against his tongue, excited the tight peak with long, dragging licks, and sucked hard through the wet cotton until she gasped. She squirmed in a mute plea for him to remove her gown, but he only slid farther down her body, his muscular arms braced on either side of her.

Curling her thumb and forefinger over one of the bonds that fastened her wrists, Lottie discovered that Nick had used her silk stockings. The light tension on her arms seemed to intensify her response to him, sensation racing through her in electric charges.

His mouth was at her stomach, his breath burning through the delicate gown. He nibbled at her body, his caresses languid, while the pace of his breathing betrayed his excitement. He made a space between her thighs, pushing them apart with his hands. His mouth rooted gently between her legs, against the cotton fabric. Lottie strained toward him, her fingers opening and closing helplessly, her heels digging hard into the mattress. He played with her leisurely, then rose again to find her breasts, kissing and fondling her through the clinging nightrail until she thought she would go mad if he didn't remove it. Every inch of her skin was hot and oversensitive, the fine fabric seeming to chafe her unbearably.

"Nick," she said frantically, "my gown, take if off, please take it..."

He hushed her with his fingers, resting two of them lightly against her lips. When she quieted, his thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek in a whisper-soft caress. Reaching for the hem of the gown, he pulled it upward, and she sobbed with gratitude. Her legs twitched as they were exposed to the cool air, and her wrists tugged at the silken bonds as she writhed to help him. The cotton was raised over her chest, catching slightly at the stiff tips of her nipples.

Nick's hand slid carefully over her stomach, traveling to the tender flesh of her inner thighs. His fingertip stroked through the curly hair, found the welling moisture, and brushed softly against the smoldering, delicate flesh. Her legs spread, her body throbbing with anticipation. She gave a pleading sob as his hand left her. The tip of his middle finger traced the sensitive edge of her upper lip. His finger was damp with the salty elixir of her own body, leaving the fragrance wherever he touched. Suddenly her nostrils were filled with the scent of her own arousal, filling her lungs with every breath.

Slowly Nick turned her to her side, his hand running over her arms to check their tension. His body settled behind hers, his mouth caressing the back of her neck. Lottie strained backward, her bottom pressing into his turgid shaft. She wanted to touch him, to twist around and stroke the coarse, thick hair on his chest, and then to grasp the hard weight of his sex and let the silken barrel of it push through the circle of her fingers. But her position made movement impossible, and her only choice was to wait helplessly for his pleasure.

He hooked one arm beneath her top leg, lifting it slightly, and she felt the swollen tip of his sex nudge inside her. He entered her only an inch, teasing her, withholding the full possession she craved. Lottie trembled violently, pleading with wordless gasps as he kissed the back of her neck. With the head of his shaft lodged just inside her entrance, his hand wandered over her...an exquisite tug at her nipple, a circling stroke of her navel. Gradually his caresses became more purposeful, his gentle, clever fingers delving into the thicket of curls.

Sweating, moaning, Lottie undulated against his sweetly provoking fingertips. She felt his shaft slide all the way inside her, filling her completely, and she cried out sharply, her body shaken with tremors of delight.

Nick waited until she quieted. He began to pump inside her, his movements steady and deliberate, flooding her with pleasure. She breathed in open mouthed sighs, her wrists pulling hard at the silk loops as she climaxed again with a long, shuddering moan. He thrust harder then, his loins meeting hers in delicious impacts, his breath rushing through his clenched teeth. The bed shook from his movements. Lottie felt at once vulnerable and strong, possessing him as surely as he did her, with her heart beating against his hand, and her flesh surrounding his. He tensed inside her, his organ jerking and pulsing, his lips parting as he gasped against her neck.

For a long time she lay against his large, hard body, giving a soft moan when he released her wrists. He rubbed them gently, and then his hand came down to cup her wet sex. His breathing slowed, and at the thought that he was drifting to sleep beside her, Lottie quivered in longing. Suddenly nothing was more desirable in the world than to have him stay in her bed for an entire night. But he rose eventually, leaning to kiss her breast, his tongue swirling around the tender peak.

As Nick left the bed, Lottie bit her lip to keep from asking him to stay, knowing that he would only deny her as always. The door closed, leaving her in solitude. And although her body was sated and weary and her flesh tingled pleasantly, she felt tears welling behind her eyelids. She felt sorrow...not for herself, but for him. And longing...the dangerous need to comfort him, even though he would bitterly resent her for doing so. And last of all, a deep tenderness for a man she barely knew-a man who needed to be rescued far worse than she ever had.

The following morning a parcel arrived from Sir Ross, containing a sheaf of documents bearing elaborate seals and an invitation to a ball to be held in one week's time. As Lottie entered the dining room, she saw Nick sitting alone at the table, a half-finished breakfast plate before him. His gaze lifted from the thick sheet of parchment in his hand, his eyes darkening as he saw her. He rose to his feet, staring at her without blinking.

Lottie felt a brilliant tide of red sweep over her face. On the mornings after an unusually passionate evening, Nick usually teased her, or smiled as he made some commonplace remark to ease her discomfort. Today, however, his face was taut and his eyes were bleak. Something had changed between them-the ease of their former interactions was gone.

Awkwardly she gestured to the paper in his hand. "It has arrived?"

There was no need to clarify what "it" was.

Nick nodded briefly, his gaze returning to the summons.

Striving to maintain an appearance of normalcy, Lottie went to the sideboard and served herself from the covered dishes. Nick helped her into the chair beside him and resumed his seat. He regarded the remains of his breakfast with unusual concentration, while a maid came to set a cup of steaming tea before Lottie.

They were both silent until the maid left the room.

"The ball will be given next Saturday," Nick said brusquely, not looking at her. "Will you have an appropriate gown by then?"

"Yes. I've already been fitted for a ballgown, and there were only a few minor alterations to be made."

"Good."

"Are you angry?" Lottie asked.

He picked up his knife and regarded it moodily, scraping the tip of the blade against the calloused pad of his thumb. "I'm beginning to feel oddly resigned to the situation. Now the news is leaking from the offices of the Crown and the Lord Chancellor. It's all been set in motion, and there is nothing anyone could do to stop it now. Sir Ross will introduce us at the ball as Lord and Lady Sydney...and from then on, Nick Gentry will be dead."

Lottie stared at him intently, struck by his odd phrasing. "You mean the name will no longer be used," she said. "You, as Lord Sydney, will be very much alive. Shall I begin to call you John in private?"

A scowl pulled at his features, and he set the knife down. "No. I'll be Sydney to the rest of the world, but in my own home I'll answer to the name that I choose."

"Very well...Nick." Lottie stirred a generous lump of sugar into her tea and sipped the hot, sweet liquid. "The name has served you well for many years, hasn't it? I daresay you've given it far more renown than the original Gentry ever would have." Her idle remark earned a peculiar glance from him, somehow rebuking and beseeching at the same time. A sudden realization flashed through her mind-the real Nick Gentry, the boy who had died of cholera aboard the prison hulk, was at the heart of the secret that tormented her husband. Lottie stared absently into her tea, striving to keep her tone casual as she asked, "What was he like? You haven't yet told me."

"He was an orphan, whose mother was hanged for thievery. He lived in the streets for most of his life, starting as a pudding shammer and eventually acquiring his own gang of ten."

"Pudding shammer," Lottie repeated, puzzled.

"Stealing food to survive. That's the lowest of the low, except for beggars. But Gentry learned fast, and he became a proficient thief. Finally he was caught robbing a house, and he was sentenced to the prison hulk."

"And then you became friends," Lottie prompted.

Nick's expression became distant as long-buried memories recalled him to the past. "He was strong, shrewd...with sharp instincts from living so long in the streets. He told me things I needed to know to stay alive in the hulk...protected me sometimes..."

"Protected you from what?" Lottie whispered. "The guards?"

Nick jerked out of his trance, blinking the remoteness from his eyes. He glanced down at his hand, which was gripping the knife handle too tightly. Carefully he set the gleaming object on the table and pushed his chair back.

"I'm going out for a while," he said, his voice stripped of all nuance. "I expect I will see you at dinner this evening."

Lottie responded in the same carefully neutral tone. "Very well. Have a pleasant day."

During the week that ensued, the days and nights were dizzying in their contrast. Lottie's daytime hours were occupied with errands and small practical matters. She was never quite certain when she would see Nick, for he came and went at will. At supper they would discuss meetings that he'd had with investment partners and bankers, or his occasional visits to Bow Street, as Sir Grant occasionally consulted with him on matters pertaining to past cases. In the daytime, Lottie's interactions with Nick were cordial, the conversation pleasant and yet slightly impersonal.

The nights, however, were a far different story. Nick made love to her with an almost desperate intensity. He did things that shocked her, leaving no part of her body untouched in his passion. At times their lovemaking was urgent and primitive, while other times it was languid and slow, with both of them reluctant to let it end. There were also unexpected moments of humor, as Nick played with her, teased her, and coaxed her to try positions so undignified that she dissolved into mortified giggles.

No matter what enjoyment the nights held, however, each day brought them closer to the time when Sir Ross would make the announcement that would change the course of their lives. Lottie knew that her husband dreaded the ball, and that the months afterward would be quite difficult as he tried to adjust to his new circumstances. She was certain, however, that she could be of some help to him. When she had entered into the marriage, she had never suspected that he might need her in any way, nor had she thought that she would take any satisfaction in helping him. And yet, she felt very much like a helpmate...a partner...and sometimes, for just a moment or two, a wife.

As the night of the ball finally arrived, Lottie was thankful that she'd accepted Sophia's advice at the dressmaker's. Sophia had helped her choose styles that were youthful but ladylike, in soft colors that flattered her immensely. The gown Lottie had decided to wear tonight was a pale blue satin overlaid with white tulle, with a daring scooped neckline that bared the tops of her shoulders. Lottie stood in the center of the bedroom while Mrs. Trench and Harriet pulled the billowing gown over her head and helped guide her arms through the puffed sleeves of stiffened satin. It was a gown as beautiful-no, more beautiful-than any she had seen during the parties in Hampshire. Thinking of the ball she was about to attend, and Nick's reaction when he saw her, Lottie was nearly giddy with excitement.

Her light-headedness was no doubt encouraged by the fact that her corset was laced with unusual tightness, to enable Mrs. Trench to fasten the close-fitting gown. Wincing in the confinement of stays and laces, Lottie stared into the looking glass as the two women adjusted the ballgown. The transparent white tulle overslip was embroidered with sprays of white silk roses. White satin shoes, long kid gloves, and an embroidered gauze scarf were the final touches, making Lottie feel like a princess. The only flaw was her stick-straight hair, which refused to hold a curl no matter how hot the tongs were. After several fruitless attempts to create a pinned-up mass of ringlets, Lottie opted for a simple braided coil atop her head, encircled with fluffy white roses. When Harriet and Mrs. Trench stood back to view the final results of their labors, Lottie laughed and did a quick turn, making the blue skirts whirl beneath the floating white tulle.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Mrs. Trench commented with obvious pleasure.

Pausing in mid-whirl, Lottie stared at her with a wondering smile. As Nick had not brought himself to make any kind of announcement to the servants about reclaiming his family name and title, it had been left to Lottie to tell them about their master's noble origins. After their initial amazement had faded, the servants had seemed more than a little pleased by the turn of events. If they were to become servants of a peer's household, their own status in the world would be greatly enhanced.

"Thank you, Mrs. Trench," Lottie replied. "As always, you have been invaluable this evening. We couldn't manage without you, especially in the days to come."

"Yes, my lady." The housekeeper wore an expression of frank anticipation. As they had previously discussed, a brand-new household would have to be established in Worcestershire, with at least thirty servants to start with. Mrs. Trench would be largely responsible for selecting and hiring the new staff.

Lottie left the room, her gown swishing and rustling as she moved. As she descended the grand staircase, she saw Nick waiting in the entrance hall, his body as tense as that of a panther about to strike. His broad-shouldered form was dressed to perfection in the formal scheme of a dark coat, silver waistcoat, and a charcoal silk necktie. With his dark brown hair neatly brushed and his face gleaming from a close shave, he was both virile and elegant. His head turned toward her, and suddenly his narrow-eyed impatience was replaced by an arrested expression.

Lottie felt a rush of elation at the look in his eyes. She deliberately took her time about reaching him. "Do I look like a viscountess?" she asked.

His lips quirked wryly. "No viscountess I've ever seen looks like you, Lottie."

She smiled. "Is that a compliment?"

"Oh, yes. In fact..." Nick took her gloved hand and assisted her down the last step. He held her gaze compulsively, his fingers tightening around hers, and he answered her light question with a gravity that stunned her. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world," he said huskily.

"Theworld ?" she repeated with a laugh.

"When I say you're beautiful," he murmured, "I refuse to qualify the statement in any way. Except to add that the only way you could be more so is if you were naked."

She laughed at his audacity. "I am afraid that you will have to reconcile yourself to the fact that I'm going to remain fully clothed tonight."

"Until after the ball," he countered. He tugged at the fingertips of her left glove, loosening them one by one.

"What are you doing?" Lottie asked, suddenly breathless.

His blue eyes taunted her. "Removing your glove."

"For what purpose?"

"To admire your hand." Drawing the glove completely away, he draped it over the nearby banister of the stairs and lifted her tapered fingers to his mouth. Lottie watched as he kissed them each in turn, his lips warm on her skin. By the time he finished with a soft kiss in the center of her palm, her entire arm was tingling. Lowering her hand, Nick regarded it thoughtfully. "It lacks something." Reaching into his pocket, he murmured, "Close your eyes."

Lottie obeyed with a slight smile. She felt something cool and heavy slide over her fourth finger, fitting snugly at the base. Realizing what it was, she opened her eyes and caught her breath.

The ring was a huge, dome-shaped sapphire, a blue that nearly approached the dark, sparkling depth of her husband's eyes. The gem was set in gold, with a ring of smaller diamonds surrounding it. What made the sapphire so remarkable, however, was the star that danced on the silky surface of the gem, appearing to slide across it with the light. Awestruck, Lottie looked up into Nick's dark face.

"Does it please you?" he asked.

Words eluded her. She tightened her fingers on his, her mouth opening and closing before she could manage to speak. "I've never seen anything so lovely. I didn't expect anything like this. Oh, how generous of you!" Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

Nick's arms closed around her. She felt his hot breath on the side of her neck, while his hand drew gently over her lace-covered back. "Don't you know that I would give you anything you wanted?" he said softly. "Anything at all."

Afraid to let him see her expression, Lottie remained close against him, her face averted. He had spoken without thinking. Either that, or the words could not possibly reveal what she thought they did. Nick stiffened, as if realizing what he had just said, and he stepped back from her quickly. Risking a glance at him, Lottie saw the careful blankness of his face, and she remained silent, giving him control of the moment.

Nick shook his head as he painstakingly reassembled his self-possession. When his gaze returned to hers, his eyes were bright with self-mockery. "Shall we depart, Lady Sydney?"

"Yes, Nick," she whispered, and reached for his proffered arm.

Sir Ross had prevailed on a friend in the first tier of society, the duke of Newcastle himself, to host the ball at which the long-lost Lord Sydney would be introduced. The duke and duchess were a distinguished pair, a well-respected couple who had been married for forty years. Their unimpeachable reputations would be quite useful in this situation, for a man as infamous as Nick would certainly need sponsors who were above reproach.

The duke's London estate featured what was tactfully referred to as an "important" house, one so mammoth in scale that visitors frequently lost their way from one circuit of rooms to another. There were innumerable parlors, rooms for breakfasting, supping, or taking coffee, a library, dining hall, and a hunting hall, rooms for studying, smoking, and music. The drawing room was floored with what seemed to be acres of highly polished parquet-work, reflecting light from a half-dozen celestial chandeliers hung two stories above. Lined with balconied galleries above and below, the room provided many pockets of privacy for gossip and intrigue.

The ball was attended by at least five hundred guests, many of them chosen for their glittering social status. As Sophia had remarked dryly to Nick, the invitations to this particular event had become such a mark of distinction that no one dared not to attend, in case it was perceived that they had not been asked.

Nick assumed a properly grateful expression as he was introduced to the duke and duchess, both of whom had known his parents. "You bear a striking resemblance to your late father," the duchess remarked as Nick bent over her gloved hand. She was a small but elegant woman, her silver head adorned with a diamond tiara, her neck weighted with ropes of pearls so massive that they threatened to topple her off-balance. "Had I not been told of your parentage," the duchess continued, "I would have known it at once, just by looking at you. Those eyes...yes, you are indeed a Sydney. Such a tragedy for you to lose both parents at once. A boating accident, was it not?"

"Yes, Your Grace." As Nick had been told, his mother had drowned when a boat had overturned at a water party. His father had died trying to save her.

"A great pity," the duchess said. "And such a devoted couple, as I recall. But perhaps in that light, it may have been a blessing for them to be taken together."

"Indeed," Nick said blandly, concealing a flare of annoyance. In the days just after his parents' death, the same sentiment had been voiced countless times-how kind fate had been in that regard, to let them die together. Unfortunately neither of the Sydneys' children had shared that romantic sentiment, wishing instead that at least one of their parents had survived. Nick's gaze shot to his sister, who stood nearby with Sir Ross. Overhearing the duchess's comment, Sophia's eyes narrowed slightly, and she exchanged a subtle, grim smile with Nick.

"Your Grace," Lottie murmured, smoothing over the moment, "how very kind it is of you to extend your hospitality to us. Lord Sydney and I will always attach the memory of your generosity to this special occasion."

Obviously flattered, the duchess paused to speak with Lottie for a few moments, while the duke favored Nick with a congratulatory smile. "An exceptional choice for a wife, Sydney," the elderly man remarked. "Poised, unaffected, and quite lovely. You are quite fortunate."

No one would have disagreed with that, least of all Nick. Lottie was a revelation this evening, her gown stylish but not too sophisticated, her smile easy, her posture as regal as that of a young queen. Neither the grandeur of their surroundings nor the hundreds of curious gazes seemed to disturb her composure. She was so polished and immaculately pretty that no one suspected the layer of steel beneath her exterior. No one would ever guess that she was the kind of young woman who would have defied her parents and lived by her own wits for two years...the kind of woman who could hold her own against a hardened Bow Street runner.

As the duke continued to receive guests, the duchess continued to speak with Lottie, the gray head inclined toward the pale golden one.

Sophia drifted closer to Nick, employing her fan to mask the movement of her lips as she murmured to him, "I told you so."

Nick smiled wryly, recalling his sister's claim that Lottie would prove to be a great asset to him. "Those are without doubt the four most irritating words in the English language, Sophia."

"She is a dear creature, and far too good for you," his sister informed him with amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I've never claimed otherwise."

"And she seems rather fond of you," Sophia continued, "so if I were you, I would not take my good fortune for granted."

"Fond," Nick repeated warily, aware of a sudden increase of his pulse. "Why do you say that?"

"Well, the other day she-" Sophia broke off as she caught sight of a newly arrived couple. "Oh, there is Lord Farrington! Excuse me, dear, as Lady Farrington has been ailing for the past month, and I want to ask after her health."

"Wait," Nick demanded. "Finish what you were going to say!" But Sophia had already glided away with Sir Ross in tow, leaving Nick to seethe in frustration.

When Lottie was released from the duchess's attentions, she took Nick's arm and accompanied him as they mingled with various groups. She was adept at light social conversation, talking amiably without becoming drawn into a lengthy discussion, moving gracefully among the guests and remembering people they had met on previous occasions. It was clear that had Nick wished to leave her while he joined his friends in the smoking and billiards rooms, Lottie would have been perfectly comfortable. However, as Nick saw the number of covetous gazes following his wife's every movement, he remained close beside her, occasionally resting his hand at the small of her back in a territorial gesture that was well understood by every man who saw it.

An ebullient melody filled the air, provided by an orchestra that was carefully concealed by a forest of potted plants in one of the upper balconies. As they made their way through the crowded ballroom, Lottie flirted with Nick discreetly, laying her hand on his chest in provocative little touches, rising to whisper in his ear until her lips brushed his skin. Semi-aroused and thoroughly fascinated, Nick breathed in the scent of white roses from her hair and stood close enough to see the faint dusting of perfumed powder that had collected in the gentle valley between her breasts.

Suddenly Lottie's attention was caught by a small group of women, two of whom were staring at her with obvious excitement. "Nick, I see some friends that I haven't set eyes on since I was at Maidstone's. I must speak with them-why don't you join your gentlemen friends? You certainly don't want to listen to us gossip about our school days."

Nick was disgruntled by his wife's clear desire to be rid of him. "Fine," he said curtly. "I'll go to the billiards room."

Lottie shot him a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. "Promise you will come find me for the first waltz?"

Realizing that he was being adeptly managed, Nick grumbled an assent and watched Lottie glide toward the group of waiting women. To his astonishment, he stood there feeling completely bereft. He was so mesmerized by one small woman that he could scarcely think straight. He, who was so eternally self-assured, was in danger of being led around by the nose by his own wife.

Brooding over the alarming discovery, Nick heard his brother-in-law's deep voice beside him.

"It happens to the best of us, Sydney."

Nick turned to face Sir Ross. Uncannily, Sir Ross seemed to understand exactly what he was feeling. His gray eyes gleamed with amusement as he continued in a tone that was not unsympathetic. "No matter how strong our resolve, we eventually find ourselves enslaved by the compulsive preference for one particular woman. You've been caught, my friend. You may as well reconcile yourself to it."

Nick did not bother trying to deny it. "I was going to be so much smarter than you," he muttered.

Sir Ross grinned. "I prefer to think that intelligence has nothing to do with it. For if a man's intellect is measured by his ability to remain untouched by love, I would be the greatest idiot alive."

The wordlove made Nick flinch. "What would it take to make you shut your gob, Cannon?"

"A glass of 1805 Cossart-Gordon would probably do it," came the amiable reply. "And if I'm not mistaken, they've just brought out a case in the billiards room."

"Let's go, then," Nick said, and they strode from the ballroom together.

"Lottie Howard!" Two young women rushed over to her, and they clasped hands tightly, sharing grins of barely suppressed glee. Were it not for their strict training at Maidstone's, the three of them would have squealed in a most unladylike manner.

"Samantha," Lottie said warmly, gazing at the tall, attractive brunette who had always been like a kind older sister to her. "And Arabella!" Arabella Markenfield looked exactly the same as she had at school...pretty and a bit plump, with strawberry blond ringlets that were perfectly arranged on her porcelain forehead.

"I'm Lady Lexington now," Samantha informed her with considerable pride. "I caught an earl, no less, with a good, sound fortune." Slipping an arm around Lottie's waist, she turned her slightly. "He's standing right there, close to the conservatory doors. The tall, balding one. Do you see him?"

Lottie nodded as she caught sight of a somber-looking gentleman who appeared to be in his early forties, with large eyes that seemed slightly out of proportion to his long, narrow face. "He looks to be a very pleasant gentleman," Lottie remarked, and Samantha laughed.

"Very tactful, dear. I'll be the first to admit that the earl is not much to look at, and he has no sense of humor. However, men with a sense of humor often tend to grate on one's nerves. And he is an impeccable gentleman."

"I'm so glad," Lottie said sincerely, knowing from past conversations with Samantha that such a marriage was very much what she had desired. "And you, Arabella?"

"I married into the Seaforths last year," Arabella confided with a giggle. "You've heard of them, I'm sure...do you remember, one of the daughters was in the class ahead of us..."

"Yes," Lottie said, recalling that the Seaforths were a great untitled family with a considerable quantity of rich farming land. "Don't say you married her brother Harry?"

"Just so!" The girl's ringlets danced merrily on her forehead as she continued with great animation. "Harry is quite fine-looking, though he's grown as round as a bait-pot since our wedding. And he is ever so charming. Of course I'll never have a title, but there are compensations...my own carriage...a real French lady's maid, not one of those Cockney maids who throw out a see-voo-play or a bon-joor every once in a while!" She giggled at her own wit, and sobered enough to regard Lottie with round, curious eyes. "Dear Lottie, is it true that you are Lady Sydney now?"

"Yes." Lottie glanced in the direction of her husband, who was walking from the ballroom in the company of Sir Ross, their long legs matched at an equal pace. She felt an unexpected rush of pride at the sight of him, so virile and graceful, his bold good looks displayed to their best advantage in the elegant evening clothes.

"Handsome as the devil," Samantha commented, following her gaze. "Is he as wicked as they say, Lottie?"

"Not in the least," Lottie lied. "Lord Sydney is as mild-tempered and obliging a gentleman as could be found anywhere."

It was a case of unfortunate timing that at that moment, Nick happened to glance in her direction. His gaze encompassed her in a smoldering sweep that threatened to singe her clothing to ashes. Knowing what that look meant, and what would happen in the evening hours after the ball, Lottie felt a thrill deep inside, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

Samantha and Arabella, meanwhile, had snapped open their fans and were employing them vigorously. "Good heavens," Samantha exclaimed in a low voice, "the way he looks at you is positively indecent, Lottie."

"I don't know what you mean," Lottie said demurely, though she felt her own cheeks heating.

Arabella giggled behind her own painted silk fan. "The only time I've ever seen that expression on my Harry's face is when a plate of Yorkshire pudding is set before him."

Samantha's dark eyes were keen with interest. "I was under the impression that Lord Radnor owned you part and parcel, Lottie. How did you escape him? And where have you been these past two years? And most of all, how in heaven's name did you manage to catch a man like Nick Gentry-and is this long-lost-lord business some bit of trickery?"

"No," Lottie said instantly, "he truly is Lord Sydney."

"Did you know that he was a viscount when you married?"

"Well, no." Lottie strove to offer the simplest explanation possible. "To start with, you know that I left school to avoid marrying Lord Radnor-"

"The definitive scandal of Maidstone's," Arabella interrupted. "They still talk of it, I'm told. None of the teachers or staff could conceive that sweet, obedient Charlotte Howard would simply disappear like that."

Lottie paused in momentary embarrassment. She was far from proud of her actions-it was simply that she'd had no other choice. "To avoid being found, I changed my name and went to work as a companion to Lady Westcliff in Hampshire-"

"You worked ?" Arabella repeated in awe. "My word, how you must have suffered."

"Not unduly," Lottie replied with a wry smile. "The Westcliffs were kind, and I liked the dowager countess quite well. It was while I was in her employ that I made the acquaintance of Mr. Gentry-er, Lord Sydney. He proposed quite soon after we met, and..." She paused, an image flashing in her mind of that evening in Lord Westcliff's library, the firelight playing over Nick's face as he bent to her breast...

"And I accepted," she said hastily, feeling her face turn fiery red.

"Hmmm." Samantha smiled at Lottie's discomfiture, seeming to guess the reason behind it. "Apparently it was a memorable proposal."

"Were your parents terribly put out with you?" Arabella asked.

Lottie nodded, reflecting with sad irony that "put out" was singularly inadequate to describe her family's reaction.

Samantha's face was grave with understanding. "They won't be angry forever, dear," she said with a pragmatism that was far more comforting than sympathy would have been. "If your husband is half as wealthy as the rumors indicate, the Howards will eventually prove more than happy to claim him as a son-in-law."

The three of them conversed for a while, eagerly becoming reacquainted and making plans to call on each other soon. Lottie was unaware of time passing until she heard the orchestra begin to play a newly popular waltz called "Blossoms in the Spring," a melody that immediately inspired a host of eager couples to begin whirling through the room. Wondering if Nick would remember to dance the first waltz with her, Lottie decided to look for him at the side of the room. Excusing herself from the company of her friends, she walked along one of the first-floor galleries, which was separated from the dance floor by carved wooden railings and bowers of greenery and pink roses. A few couples were absorbed in private conversations, half-concealed by the massive flower arrangements, and Lottie averted her gaze with a slight smile as she passed them.

She was startled by a sudden touch on her arm, and she stopped with a jolt of anticipation, expecting that Nick had found her. But as she glanced down at the growing pressure on her gloved wrist, she did not see Nick's large, square hand. A set of long, almost skeletal fingers had wrapped around her wrist, and with a shock of cold horror, she heard the voice that had haunted her nightmares for years.

"Did you think you could avoid me forever, Charlotte?"