Worth Any Price

CHAPTER 15

Lottie did not fully regain her senses until she felt herself being half-dragged, half-carried into Lord Radnor's London home. Her head pounded viciously, and her throat ached as she struggled against his unrelenting grasp. Somewhere beneath her fear and fury, she was aware of a deep relief that Ellie had been spared. Her sister was safe, and now everything had boiled down to the confrontation that Lottie had always known would happen, between her and the man who had dominated most of her life.

Although Lottie was aware of a few exclamations from nearby servants, none of them dared to interfere. They were all fearful of Radnor, and they would not lift a finger to prevent him from doing as he wished. She wondered what his purpose was in bringing her here. His London residence was the first place that would be investigated when it was discovered that she was missing. She would have expected him to take her to a remote place where they could not easily be found.

Radnor hauled her to the library, locked the door shut, and shoved Lottie into a chair. Holding one hand to her bruised throat, she crumpled into the seat. A few moments later, she felt something hard and cold prod against her temple, while one of his hands pulled her head to the back of the chair.

Lottie's heart stopped beating as she understood the reason that Lord Radnor had brought her here. Since he could not have her, he intended to destroy her.

"I loved you," Radnor said quietly, sounding perfectly sane, even as the end of the pistol barrel trembled against her head. "I would have given you everything."

Strangely, Lottie found that she was able to answer in just as rational a tone, as though they were having an ordinary conversation and her life was not about to end with the pull of his finger on the trigger. "You never loved me." It hurt her throat to speak, but she forced herself to continue. "You don't know the meaning of the word."

The pistol shook harder. "How can you say that after all that I have sacrificed for you? Are you really so ignorant?"

"In all the years that we've known each other, you've demonstrated domination, obsession, and desire...but those things aren't love."

"Then tell me what love is." His voice was thick with scorn.

"Respect. Acceptance. Selflessness. All the things my husband has shown me in just a few short weeks. My flaws don't matter to him. He loves me without conditions. And I love him the same way."

"You owe your love tome," he said harshly.

"Perhaps I could have felt something for you had you ever tried to be kind." Lottie paused, closing her eyes as she felt the pistol nudge harder into her temple. "Strange, but I've never thought it mattered to you, whether I cared for you or not."

"It does," Radnor said furiously. "I deserve that much from you, at least!"

"How ironic." A humorless smile tugged at her dry lips. "You demanded perfection from me-something I could never attain. And yet the one thing I might have given you-affection-you never seemed to want."

"I want it now," Radnor stunned Lottie by saying. Keeping the pistol pressed to her head, he moved in front of her and knelt until their faces were level. His face was ruddy with color that burned not on the surface of his skin but from deep underneath. His eyes were black with rage, or perhaps despair, and his thin mouth was contorted by some powerful emotion. Lottie had never seen him like this. She did not understand what moved him, why he should seem so ravaged by loss, when she knew to the bottom of her soul that he was not capable of love.

His clawlike hand took hers, brought her resisting fingers to his perspiring cheek. She realized with amazement that he was trying to make her caress him...here, like this, with a gun held to her head. "Touch me," he muttered feverishly. "Tell me that you love me."

Lottie kept her fingers still and lifeless in his. "I love my husband."

Radnor flushed with baffled anger. "You cannot!"

She almost pitied him as she stared into his uncomprehending eyes. "I'm sorry for you," she said. "You can't conceive of loving anyone who is less than perfect. What a lonely fate that must be."

"Idid love you," he shouted, his voice striated with rage. "I did, damn your cheating soul!"

"Then you loved someone who never existed. You loved an impossible ideal. Not me." She licked at the beads of sweat on her upper lip. "You don't know anything about me, my lord."

"I know you better than anyone," he said vehemently. "You would be nothing without me.You belong to me ."

"No. I am Lord Sydney's wife." She hesitated before giving voice to the thought that had occurred to her more than once in the past few days. "And I am fairly certain that by now I am carrying his child."

Lord Radnor's eyes became two wells of utter darkness in a face that was skull white. She perceived that she had shocked him deeply, that the thought of her being pregnant with another man's child had never even occurred to him.

Delicately Radnor's fingers withdrew from hers, and he stood. The cold barrel of the gun never left Lottie's temple as he moved behind her once more. She felt the perspiring flat of his palm catch slightly on her hair as he caressed it. "You've ruined everything," he said in a curiously flat tone. The pistol cocked, the heavy click reverberating against her skin. "There's nothing left for me. You'll never be what I wanted."

"No," Lottie agreed softly. "It was always futile." Cold sweat trickled down her face as she waited for him to pull the trigger. In the face of such absolute defeat, Radnor would surely kill her. But she was not going to spend the last moments of her life cowering in fear. She closed her eyes and thought of Nick...his kisses, his smiles, the warmth of his arms around her. Tears of regret and gladness prickled behind her lids. If only she could have had a little more time with him...if only she could have made him understand what he meant to her. A slow sigh escaped her, and she waited almost peacefully for Radnor to act.

At the sound of her exhalation, the barrel of the pistol lifted from her head. In the weighty silence that followed, Lottie opened her eyes, perplexed by the absolute stillness. Had she not heard the faint rasp of Radnor's breathing, she would have thought that he had left the room. As she began to turn, she was suddenly assaulted with an explosive sound that made her ears ring. She fell backward, her backside hitting the floor, while a curious hot splatter landed on her skirts and arms.

Dazed, she tried to catch her breath, and wiped numbly at the red droplets on her arms until they made long, wine-colored smears. Blood, she thought in amazement, and looked at Radnor's crumpled form. He was lying on the floor a few feet away from her, his body spasming in the throes of death.

Agreeing reluctantly that they would have to report to Morgan, Nick and Sayer went to Bow Street. Nick was in considerable pain, the strained muscles on his side burning, his broken fingers swelling beneath the handkerchief he had bound them with. He was tired and aching, and he could hardly wait to go home to Lottie.

As soon as they entered the comfortably shabby building on Bow Street, they headed straight for Sir Grant's office in the hopes that he had returned from the afternoon court session. The court clerk, Vickery, jumped up from his desk as Nick and Sayer approached. His bespectacled face registered astonishment at their filthy appearance. "Mr. Sayer, and Mr.... er, Lord Sydney..."

"We had a bit of an altercation near Fleet Ditch," Sayer said. "Is Morgan available to see us, Vickery?"

For some reason, the clerk gave Nick an odd stare. "He is questioning someone at the moment," he replied.

"How long will that take?" Nick asked with annoyance.

"I have no idea, Lord Sydney. The matter appears to be one of some urgency. Actually the visitor is your footman, my lord."

Nick shook his head as if he hadn't heard correctly. "What?"

"Mr. Daniel Finchley," Vickery clarified.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Instantly concerned, Nick went to Morgan's office and opened the door without knocking.

Morgan's face was grim as he glanced at Nick. "Come in, Sydney. Your arrival is well timed. What happened to your hand?"

"Never mind about that," Nick said impatiently. He saw that the visitor was indeed Daniel, his face bruised and one eye blackened, his livery torn. "Who did that to you?" he asked with a frown of concern. "Why are you here, Daniel?"

"I couldn't find you at home, my lord," the footman replied in agitation. "I didn't know what to do, so I came to tell Sir Grant. Something has happened to Lady Sydney."

A jolt of alarm went through Nick, and he felt his face turn white. "What?"

"Lady Sydney went to visit her family this morning, to fetch her sister. She bade me accompany her, and warned me that there might be some kind of struggle, as the Howards would not want to relinquish the girl." He fumbled in his pocket and produced a crumpled note, handing it to Nick. "Lady Sydney left this in the carriage."

Rapidly Nick scanned the note, his gaze lingering on the first line.

Please help me. Mama says that Lord Radnor is coming to take me away...

Cursing, Nick lifted his gaze to the footman's pale face. "Go on," he growled.

"Just a few moments after Lady Sydney and I arrived at the Howards' home, Lord Radnor appeared. He entered the house, and when he came out, he seemed to have taken leave of his senses. He had his arm around Lady Sydney's throat, and he forced her into his carriage. I tried to stop him, but his footmen overpowered me."

A wave of icy horror rolled over Nick. He knew the depth of the earl's dark obsession. His wife was at the mercy of the man she feared most...and he was not there to help her. The realization made him insane.

"Where did he take her?" Nick snarled, seizing the footman's coat with his uninjured hand. "Where are they, Daniel?"

"I don't know," the footman replied, trembling.

"I'll kill him," Nick raged, striding to the door. He was going to tear London apart, starting with Radnor's town estate. He was only sorry that a man couldn't be killed more than one time, as he wanted to visit a thousand deaths on the bastard.

"Sydney," Morgan interrupted harshly, moving so swiftly that he made it to the door at the same time that Nick did. "You're not going to rush out of here like a raving lunatic. If your wife is in danger, she needs you to keep a cool head."

Nick let out an animal-like growl. "Get out of my way!"

"I'm going to organize a search. I can dispatch four runners and at least thirty constables in approximately five minutes. Tell me the most likely places Radnor could have taken your wife, as you have more knowledge of him than I do." Morgan's steady gaze met Nick's, and he seemed to understand his bottomless terror, for his voice softened as he added, "You're not alone in this, Sydney. We'll find her, I swear it."

Just then, a brief tap sounded at the door. "Sir Grant," came Vickery's muffled voice, "you have another visitor."

"Not now," Morgan said curtly. "Tell him to return tomorrow."

There was a brief pause. "Er...Sir Grant?"

"What the hell is it, Vickery?" Morgan sent an incredulous glance at the closed door.

"I don't think you want to send this one away."

"I don't give a damn who he is, just tell him..." Morgan's voice trailed away as the door swung gently open.

Nick's anguished gaze shot to the visitor, and he nearly fell to his knees at the sight."Lottie."

Bedraggled and bloodstained, Lottie managed a wan smile as she saw her husband's stark white face. "I've been rather busy today," she said.

The sound of her voice seemed to unleash a flood of savage emotion. Groaning her name, Nick reached her in two strides. He hauled her against him in a brutal embrace that threatened to smother her.

"Blood-" he said incoherently, his large hand moving over her in a frantic search.

"It's not mine. I'm just fine, except for a few-" Lottie broke off, her eyes widening as she saw the bandaged hand he held at his side. "Nick, you've been hurt!"

"It's nothing." Nick tugged her head back, his tormented gaze raking over her face. His trembling fingertips traced the line of her cheek and jaw. "My God. Lottie..." As his panicked exploration continued, he discovered the bruises on her throat, and he uttered a cry of fury. "Holy hell! Your neck. He dared to...I'm going toslaughter that bastard-"

Lottie placed her fingers over his mouth. "I'm all right," she said gently. Feeling the way his large body shook, she drew her hand over his chest in a calming stroke. After the traumatic events of the past hours, it was so wonderful to be with him that her lips curved in a wobbly smile. She gazed into his dusty, sweat-streaked face with concern. "In fact, I believe I may be in better condition than you, my darling."

A primitive groan came from his throat, and he clutched her with his right arm, bending over her hungrily. "I love you," he said in a low, shaken voice. "I love you so much, Lottie." His lips covered hers in a fiercely ardent kiss.

Clearly he was too unsettled to recall that there were others in the room. Lottie turned her face away with a muffled laugh. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Not here, darling. Later, with more privacy, we can-" She was silenced as Nick seized her mouth once more. Suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall by six feet of aroused, overwrought male. Realizing that there was no hope of subduing him, Lottie stroked his broad back in an effort to soothe him. He possessed her with deep, fervent kisses, while his lungs worked so violently that she could feel his rib cage expanding with each breath. She tried to comfort him, gently rubbing the back of his neck as his mouth worked roughly over hers. His breath came in ragged shivers, and in between kisses he breathed her name as if it were a prayer. "Lottie...Lottie..." Each time she tried to answer, he dove for her mouth again.

"Sydney," Sir Grant said after some prolonged throat-clearing had failed to capture his attention. "Ahem. Sydney..."

After a long time, Nick finally lifted his head.

Lottie pushed at his chest, making him loosen his grip on her. Red-faced and breathless, she saw that Sayer had developed a keenly absorbing interest in the weather outside the window, while Daniel had excused himself to wait outside.

"I am sorry to interrupt your reunion with Lady Sydney, my lord," Sir Grant said ruefully. "However, I must insist on hearing what has occurred with Radnor, and where he is at the moment, especially in light of the condition of Lady Sydney's garments."

Realizing that he was referring to the bloodstains on her dress, Lottie nodded. Nick continued to hold her while she explained. "Lord Radnor died by his own hand," she told the magistrate. "He brought me to his home, and after we talked for a few minutes, he took his own life."

"In what manner?" Sir Grant asked calmly.

"He used a pistol." Lottie felt the tremor that went through Nick's body at the words. "I am at a loss to explain his actions, except to say that he seemed altogether mad. I told his servants to leave his body exactly as it was and not to touch anything, as you might wish to send a runner to investigate the scene."

"Well done, my lady," Sir Grant said. "May I prevail on you to answer just a few more questions?"

"Tomorrow," Nick said roughly. "She's been through enough today. She needs to rest."

"I would be more than happy to tell you every detail," Lottie replied to Sir Grant, "if you will send for a doctor to attend to Lord Sydney's hand, and also have a look at our footman."

The magistrate's green eyes crinkled charmingly at the corners. "We'll send for Dr. Linley at once."

"I'll fetch him," Sayer volunteered and left the office quickly.

"Excellent," Morgan commented, his gaze returning to Nick. "And while we wait for Linley, my lord, perhaps you can explain to me how you came by your injuries-and why you look and smell like you've been tromping through Fleet Ditch."

Much later, when they were at home in bed and had talked for what seemed to be hours, Nick told Lottie about the thoughts he'd had in the perilous moments when he'd thought he would fall to his death in the warehouse. As Lottie listened, she snuggled in the crook of his arm, gently circling her fingertips through the hair on his chest. His voice was deep and drowsy from the effects of the pain medication that Dr. Linley had insisted on giving him before setting and splinting his fingers. Nick had taken it only because the alternative was the undignified prospect of being held to the floor by Sayer and Morgan while the doctor poured the medicine down his throat.

"I never wanted to live so much as I did right then, hanging onto that rotting timber," Nick said. "I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. All I want is time with you. To spend the rest of my life with you. I don't care about anything else."

Murmuring her love to him, Lottie kissed the hard silken skin of his shoulder.

"Remember when I told you once that I needed to be a runner?" he asked.

Lottie nodded. "You said that you were addicted to the challenge and the danger."

"I'm not any longer," he said vehemently.

"Thank God for that," Lottie said with a smile, lifting herself up on one elbow. "Because I have become rather addicted toyou ."

Nick traced the moonlit curve of her back with his fingers. "And I finally know what to wish for."

Puzzled, she gazed down at him while the long locks of her hair trailed over his chest and shoulders. "What?"

"The wishing well," he reminded her.

"Oh, yes..." Lottie lowered her face to his chest and nuzzled the soft fur, recalling that morning in the forest. "You wouldn't make a wish."

"Because I didn't know what I wanted. And now I do."

"What do you want?" she asked tenderly.

His hand slipped behind her head, pulling her mouth down to his. "To love you forever," he whispered just before their lips met.

Epilogue

An hour after Master John Robert Cannon was born, Sir Ross carried his infant son to the parlor, where friends and family waited. A chorus of soft, delighted exclamations greeted the sight of the sleeping baby wrapped in a lace-trimmed blanket. Surrendering the bundle to his beaming mother, Catherine, Sir Ross made his way to a chair and lowered himself into it with a long sigh.

Studying his brother-in-law, Nick reflected that he had never seen him look so exhausted and unnerved. Sir Ross had defied convention by staying with his wife while she was in labor, as he was unable to wait outside while she was undergoing the trauma of delivery. With his black hair rumpled and his supreme self-assurance temporarily gone, Sir Ross appeared far younger than usual...an ordinary man who was badly in need of a drink.

Nick poured a brandy at the sideboard and brought it to him. "How is Sophia?" he asked.

"A damned sight better than I am," Sir Ross admitted and received the snifter gratefully. "Thank you." Closing his eyes, he took a deep swallow of the brandy, letting it soothe his overwrought nerves. "Good God, I don't know how women do it," he muttered. Being completely unacquainted with the feminine realm of childbirth, Nick sat in a nearby chair and regarded him with a puzzled frown. "Did Sophia have a difficult time of it?"

"No. But even the easiest of childbirths seems a Herculean effort to me." Seeming to relax slightly, Sir Ross drank more of the brandy. He surprised Nick with his unusual candor. "It makes a husband fearful of ever going back to his wife's bed, knowing what it will all eventually lead to. While she was in labor, I could hardly believe that I was responsible for putting her through that." He smiled wryly. "But then, of course, a man's baser nature eventually wins out."

Nick glanced at Lottie in sudden consternation. Like the other women, she was cooing over the baby, her face soft and radiant. One of her hands rested gently on the curve of her own stomach, where their child was growing. Sensing his stare, Lottie looked up with a smile and wrinkled her nose impishly.

"Damn," Nick muttered, realizing that he was going to be in no better condition than Sir Ross, when his own child was born.

"You'll survive," Sir Ross assured him with a sudden grin, reading his thoughts. "And I'll be there to pour the brandy for you afterward."

They exchanged a friendly stare, and Nick felt an unexpected flicker of liking for the man who had been his adversary for so many years. Shaking his head with a rueful smile, he extended his hand to Sir Ross. "Thank you."

Sir Ross shook his hand in a brief, hard clasp, seeming to understand what Nick was thanking him for. "It was all worth it, then?" he asked quietly.

Settling back in his chair, Nick looked once more at his wife, loving her with an intensity that he never would have believed himself capable of. For the first time in his life he was at peace with himself and the world, no longer haunted by shades of the past. "Yes," he said simply, his soul alight with gladness as Lottie looked back at him once more.

END