Worth Any Price

CHAPTER 7

As Lottie consumed a plate of salty mutton stew, she enjoyed the serene atmosphere of the small dining room, the shining floorboards redolent with beeswax, the sideboard loaded with good white china.

Mrs. Trench appeared in the doorway, a comfortable presence with a sturdy physique, her pleasant expression tempered by a touch of wariness. Lottie sensed the questions in the woman's mind...the housekeeper was wondering if she was truly going to marry Nick Gentry, if a trick was being played on her, if the match had been made out of love, convenience, or necessity...if Lottie was a figure to be pitied or a force to be reckoned with.

"Is your dinner satisfactory, Miss Howard?"

"Yes, thank you." Lottie gave her a friendly smile. "How long have you worked for Mr. Gentry, Mrs. Trench?"

"For three years," came the ready reply. "Ever since he began working at Bow Street. Sir Ross himself interviewed me for the position, as he wished to help the master establish a proper household. Mr. Gentry is a protege of Sir Ross's, you might say."

"Why would Sir Ross take such an interest in him, I wonder?" Lottie asked, trying to discern if the housekeeper knew about the secret kinship between them.

Mrs. Trench shook her head, seeming genuinely perplexed. "It's a great mystery, especially as they were once bitter enemies. Many people criticized Sir Ross for bringing Mr. Gentry to Bow Street. But Sir Ross's judgment has since been proven right. Mr. Gentry is the one they call for when there is the most danger involved. He fears nothing. A cool head and fast feet-that's what Sir Grant says about him. No one cares to find himself the object of Mr. Gentry's pursuit."

"Indeed," Lottie said dryly, but the sardonic note in her voice escaped the housekeeper.

"A brave, bold man, Mr. Gentry is," Mrs. Trench continued, "and no one would dispute that now, after the Barthas fire."

"What fire?"

"You didn't hear of it? Not long ago, the master saved a wine merchant and his entire family in a house fire. They would have perished for certain, had Mr. Gentry not rushed in to find them. TheTimes reported the story, and the master was the most talked-about man in London. Why, even the queen commended him and requested that he guard the prince consort at the annual Literary Fund dinner."

"Mr. Gentry didn't mention a word about it," Lottie said, finding it difficult to reconcile the information with what she already knew of him.

It appeared that Mrs. Trench desired to say more, but she kept her silence on the subject. "If you will excuse me, Miss Howard, I will make certain that the guest room has been properly aired and that your things have been put away."

"Yes, of course." After finishing her stew, Lottie drank a glass of watered-down wine. Nick Gentry, risking his life for someone else...it was difficult to imagine. How much easier it would have been to think of Gentry as purely a villain. Good Lord, one could ruminate about him for weeks and still not come to a definite conclusion-was he a good man acting as a bad one, or a bad man acting as a good one?

The wine made her drowsy. Eyes half-closed, Lottie leaned back in her chair as a footman appeared to clear the table. A humorless smile grazed the corners of her lips as she reflected on the oddity of marrying one man to avoid marrying another. The prospect of being Mrs. Nick Gentry was far more appealing than continuing to hide from Lord Radnor and his henchmen. Moreover, as Gentry had demonstrated, the arrangement would not be without its pleasures.

As she thought of his hands on her body, heat prickled across her face and deep in her stomach. She couldn't help remembering the touch of his mouth on her breast. The silky brush of his hair against her inner arms. The long, rough-textured fingers slipping gently over- "Miss Howard."

Stiffening, she turned to the door. "Yes, Mrs. Trench?"

"The guest room is ready. If you are finished with your meal, a maid will help you to change from your traveling clothes."

Lottie nodded in thanks. "I would like a bath, if possible." Although she did not wish to trouble the maids with the task of running up and down stairs with ewers of hot water, she was dusty and sore from traveling, and she longed to be clean.

"Certainly. Shall you wish to take a shower-bath, miss? Mr. Gentry has installed one in the bathing room upstairs, with piped hot and cold water."

"Has he?" Lottie was intrigued, as she had heard of many well-to-do households that featured shower-baths, but she had never actually seen one. Even Stony Cross Park, with all its amenities, had not yet been fitted with hot-water piping. "Yes, I would very much like to try it!"

The housekeeper smiled at her enthusiasm. "Harriet will attend you."

Harriet was a bespectacled young housemaid with a white mobcap covering her dark hair. She was polite but friendly as she showed Lottie to the upstairs rooms. The dressing and bathing rooms branched off from the largest bedchamber, which clearly belonged to the master of the household. It contained a bed with polished, exposed wooden framework and columns supporting the amber silk canopy above. Although the bed was large, the base was lower than usual, requiring no steps to climb up to the mattress. Stealing a glance at the lavish arrangement of pillows and bolsters, Lottie felt a cramp of nervousness in her stomach. Her attention moved to the walls, which were covered with hand-painted paper featuring Chinese birds and flowers. A porcelain washstand on a tripod foot was positioned beside a tall mahogany wardrobe, topped with a small, square looking glass. It was a handsome and very masculine room.

A subtle fragrance drifted through the air, luring her to investigate. She discovered that the source of the smell was his shaving soap, contained in a marble box on the washstand. As she replaced the top on the box, a bit of soap residue transferred to her fingers, leaving them aromatic and spicy. She had inhaled this scent before, from the warm, slightly prickly skin of Nick Gentry's jaw.

Good God, in less than a week, she had been wrenched from her hideaway and brought to London...she was standing in a stranger's bedroom, already familiar with the scent of his body. Suddenly she could no longer be certain of who she was, or where she belonged. Her inner compass had been damaged somehow, and she was unable to negotiate between what was wrong and what was right.

The maid's voice broke through her uneasy pondering. "Miss Howard, I've started the water. Shall I 'elp you into the shower-bath? The 'eat doesn't last long."

Obeying the prompting, Lottie ventured into the blue-and-white tiled bathing room, noting the porcelain tub with its exposed pipes, a dressing-stand and a chair, and the shower-bath neatly fitted into the space of a tall but narrow cupboard. The tight confines of the room explained why the washstand remained in the bedchamber.

With Harriet's help, Lottie undressed quickly and let down her hair. Covered in only a blush, she stepped over the raised threshold of the shower-bath. Viewing the steaming water that poured lavishly from the perforated projection directly overhead, she hesitated. A cold draft curled around her, raising gooseflesh on her skin.

"Go on, miss," the maid encouraged, seeing her irresolution.

Taking a breath, Lottie walked straight into the fall of water, while the door closed gently behind her. A startling suffusion of heat, a moment of watery blindness, until she maneuvered far enough that her face was no longer directly in the spray. Wiping her streaming eyes with her hands, Lottie laughed in sudden pleasure. "It's like standing in the rain," she exclaimed.

The loud spattering of water on tile made the housemaid's reply inaudible. Standing still, Lottie absorbed the exhilarating sensation, the needling warmth on her back, the steam that saturated her lungs. The door opened a crack, and a bar of soap and a sponge were extended to her. She soaped her hair and body and turned in slow circles, her face uplifted, eyes and mouth tightly closed. Hot water slid everywhere, over her breasts and stomach, down her thighs, between her toes. It was a surprisingly sensual experience, making her feel at once enervated and relaxed. She wanted to stand there for hours. However, all too soon the water began to cool. With a regretful sigh, Lottie stepped away from the shower-stream before she became completely chilled.

"It's cold now," she called to Harriet, who twisted the valve outside the door before handing her a towel that had been warmed on the hot-water pipe.

Shivering in the cool air, Lottie blotted her face and hair, and wrapped the towel around herself. "If only it could have lasted a bit longer," she said wistfully, making Harriet smile.

"In three hours, there will be enough hot water for another, miss."

Lottie followed the maid to the adjoining dressing room, where her dark blue dress and fresh linens had been set out for her on a narrow daybed. "It would almost be worth marrying Mr. Gentry just for his shower-bath," she said.

The remark earned a cautiously inquiring glance from Harriet. "It's true, then, miss? You are going to marry the master?"

"It would seem so."

It was obvious that the housemaid was eaten up with curiosity but somehow managed to remain respectfully silent. Lottie dropped her wet towel and pulled on her drawers and chemise with modest haste. When she was decently covered, she sat on the velvet-covered daybed and began to tug her thick cotton stockings over her calves. She couldn't help wondering how many women had bathed and dressed and slept here. Gentry's bed must be as busy as a brothel. "I suppose you've attended quite a few female guests at Mr. Gentry's home," she commented, reaching for a garter.

Harriet stunned her by saying, "No, Miss 'Oward."

Lottie nearly dropped the garter in surprise. "What?" She raised her brows as she stared at the housemaid. "Surely I am not the first woman that he has brought here."

"Ye are as far as I know, miss."

"But that can't be true." She paused and added with deliberate bluntness, "I am certain that Mr. Gentry has entertained no less than a harem's worth in his bedroom."

The housemaid shook her head. "I've never seen any ladies visit the 'ouse...not in that way. O' course, after the Barthas fire, many lady admirers sent letters an' made calls." A sly grin touched Harriet's lips. "The 'ole street was filled with carriages, an' poor Mr. Gentry couldn't go through 'is own front door, as a crowd waited for 'im ewery morning."

"Hmmph." Lottie fastened her garter neatly over her stocking and reached for the other one. "But he's never brought a mistress here?"

"Oh, no, miss."

Evidently Gentry was more scrupulous than she had expected-or at least, he wished to keep his home completely private. It must be that he satisfied his sexual needs at a brothel, or-distasteful thought-perhaps his appetites were base enough that he sought the services of alleyway prostitutes. But he seemed more discerning than that. The way he touched her bespoke the appreciation of a connoisseur rather than a simple brute. Her face flamed, and she tried, as she dressed, to cover her discomfiture by asking further questions of the housemaid.

Lottie quickly discovered that Harriet was far more voluble on the subject of Gentry than Mrs. Trench had been. According to the housemaid, Gentry was something of a mystery even to his own servants, as one never knew what to expect from him. He comported himself like a gentleman in private but did not shrink from the violence of his profession. He could be scathing or kind, brutal or gentle, his moods infinitely mercurial. Like the other Bow Street runners, Gentry kept odd hours and could be summoned at any moment to assist at some disaster, or investigate a murder, or apprehend a particularly dangerous fugitive. There was little structure or routine to his days, and he did not like to make plans. And curiously, he did not sleep well, and was occasionally tormented by nightmares.

"Nightmares about what?" Lottie asked, fascinated.

"He won't say, not even to 'is valet, Dudley. But he makes the most fearsome noises in 'is sleep sometimes, and then 'e wakes 'imself, and won't go back to bed for the rest o' the night. Dudley says it must be from things that Mr. Gentry remembers from..." Pausing, Harriet glanced at Lottie warily.

"From his days in the underworld?" Lottie asked calmly. "Yes, I am aware of Mr. Gentry's criminal past."

"'E weren't a criminal, miss. Not 'xactly. 'E was a thief-taker. But 'e owned a flash house near Fleet Ditch, and 'e was put in the stone jug a time or two."

"Imprisoned, you mean?"

Harriet nodded, adding with a boastful note in her voice, "Escaped twice, Mr. Gentry did. They say there's not a prison that can 'old 'im. The second time, 'e was weighted wiv three 'undred pounds o' chains, right in the Devil's Closet, in the center o' Newgate. An' 'e slipped out an' shuttered off easy as ye please."

Lottie was not surprised by the information, knowing what she did of Gentry's unusual agility, physical strength, and wily nature. Perhaps the image of her soon-to-be husband as a hardened criminal should have alarmed her, but instead it was oddly reassuring. She was more convinced than ever that he would not be intimidated or easily outwitted by Lord Radnor. He was quite possibly the best protection she could have enlisted.

Yawning, she went with Harriet to the guest room, a room with soft blue walls, an exquisite tent bed enclosed with gray-and-blue curtains, and a large Hepplewhite wardrobe with a row of cunning little drawers for gloves, stockings, and other small necessities. She found her comb in one of the drawers, and she approached the hearth as the housemaid lit a fire in the grate. "Thank you, that is lovely," she said. "That will be all for now, Harriet."

"Yes, miss. The bellpull is there, if ye needs anyfing."

Sitting beside the hearth, Lottie combed her fine, straight hair until the long blond strands were warm from the heat of the fire. From somewhere in the house, a clock chimed four times. As she glanced at the gray sky outside the window and the raindrops that scattered against the glass panes, she shivered. For just a little while, she would push away her concerns about the future. Setting aside the comb, she crawled onto the bed, drew the hangings closed, and rested against the pillows.

She fell asleep rapidly, swimming through a haze of pleasant images...walking through the forest in Hampshire...dangling her feet in a cool pond on a hot day...pausing in the kissing gate, while the smell of sun-warmed meadowsweet rose thickly to her nostrils. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin upward, relishing the sultry rays, while a butterfly's wings brushed lightly against her cheek. Entranced by the delicate tickle, she held very still. The silken strokes moved over the tip of her nose, the sensitive periphery of her upper lip, the tender corners of her mouth.

Searching blindly, she lifted her face to the brushes of warmth and was rewarded by a gentle pressure that opened her lips and drew a moan from the upper part of her lungs. Lord Sydney was standing with her in the kissing gate, his arms trapping her against the painted ribs of latticework. His mouth searched hers so gently, his body firm against hers, and she writhed in a mute plea for him to hold her more tightly. Seeming to know exactly what she wanted, he pushed his knee into her skirts, right against the place that felt swollen and yearning. Gasping, she curled her fingers in his glossy hair, and he whispered for her to relax, that he would take care of her, satisfy her- "Oh." Blinking hard, she stirred from the sensuous dream as she realized that she was not alone. The bed curtains had been drawn aside, and Nick Gentry's long body was entangled with hers. One large hand was cupped beneath her hips, while his leg wedged more intimately between hers. His breath surged against her ear, filling the shell with moist heat, and then his lips wandered back to hers in a searing path. He absorbed her protest as he kissed her, his tongue searching her mouth, his body levering over hers. She felt the hard length of his erection, nudging against the cleft between her thighs until she could feel it distinctly through the layers of their clothing...a restrained thrust...another...another...each rhythmic insinuation was so maddeningly good that she could not bring herself to stop him. She was filled with a physical agitation that penetrated to her soul, and every part of her demanded that she pull him harder, closer, tighter.

Instead Lottie pushed at him, ripping her mouth free with a sob. "No."

He released her, and she rolled to her stomach, resting on her clenched fists. As her lungs moved in violent inhalations, she was aware of him right behind her, the powerful length of his body pressing against her from neck to heels.

"You took advantage of me while I was sleeping," she said breathlessly. "That's not fair."

Gentry's hand moved over her hip in a slow circle. "I seldom play fair. It's usually easier to cheat."

A sudden laugh bubbled in Lottie's throat. "You are the most shameless man I've ever encountered."

"Probably," he conceded, pushing her hair aside and lowering his smiling mouth to the back of her neck. She inhaled sharply as she felt him nuzzle the fragile wisps of hair at her nape. "How soft you are," he breathed. "Like silk. Like kitten fur."

The touch of his lips sent a ripple through the overheated core of her body. "Nick, I-"

"Mrs. Trench told me that you tried the shower-bath." His hand coasted from her hip to the indentation of her waist. "Did you like it?"

"It was very refreshing," Lottie managed to say.

"I'm going to watch you the next time."

"Oh, no you won't!"

He laughed quietly and offered, "I'll let you watch me, then."

Before she could stop herself, Lottie imagined him standing in the shower-bath, the water coursing and gliding over his skin, darkening his hair, steam veiling his sapphire eyes. The image was a vague one, as she had never seen a naked man, only the engraved images in an anatomy book she had found in Lord Westcliff's library. She had pored over the drawings with fascination, wishing that certain details had been more fully articulated.

Soon she would not have to wonder.

He seemed to read her thoughts. "It's not wrong to like it," he said, stroking her midriff with his palm. "Whom will it benefit if you deny yourself pleasure? You're paying the price for my protection-you may as well get some enjoyment out of it."

"But you're a stranger," she said ruefully.

"What husband isn't a stranger to his wife? Courtship consists of a dance at a ball, a chaperoned drive through the park, and a conversation or two in the garden. Then the parents agree on the match, the ceremony is performed, and the girl finds herself in bed with a man she hardly knows. There isn't much difference between that scenario and ours, is there?"

Lottie frowned and rolled to face him, knowing there was a flaw in his reasoning, but she was unable to identify it. Gentry was reclining on his side, propped up on one elbow, the broad outline of his shoulders obscuring most of the light shed by the bedside lamp. His body was so large and sheltering, his self-confidence so substantial, that it seemed as if she could wrap it around herself like a blanket and stay safe forever.

Shrewdly, he understood her Achilles' heel-that terrible need for sanctuary-and he did not hesitate to make use of it. He slid his arm over her waist, his hand resting on the middle of her back, his thumb brushing along the stiff arc of her spine. "I'll take care of you, Lottie. I'll keep you safe and provide all the comforts you require. All I want in return is for you to enjoy yourself with me. That isn't so terrible, is it?"

He had Lucifer's own skill of making what he wanted sound perfectly reasonable. Discerning her weakness, he leaned over until the solid weight of his body was poised above her and his thigh pressed into the mattress between her legs. "Kiss me," he whispered. The sweet, drugging spice of his breath and skin sent her thoughts scattering like dry leaves in the wind.

She shook her head, even though the most tender parts of her body had begun to throb in acute longing.

"Why not?" he asked, his fingertips teasing the edge of her hairline.

"Because a kiss is something that a woman gives to a sweetheart...something you are not."

He trailed the backs of his fingers lightly over her throat, between her breasts, down over her stomach. "You kissed me at Stony Cross Park."

A fierce blush enveloped her. "I didn't know who you were then."

His hand settled perilously low on her stomach. Were she not clothed, his fingers would have been resting at the top of the triangle between her thighs. "I'm the same man, Lottie." His hand began to stray even lower, until she caught at his wrist and shoved it away.

Gentry chuckled, and then sobered as he moved back to look at her. "I saw Lord Radnor today."

Although Lottie had expected it, she still felt a chill of alarm. "What happened? What did you tell him?"

"I returned his money, informed him of your decision to marry me, and warned him not to bother you or your family in the future."

"How angry was he?"

He held his thumb and forefinger a mere millimeter apart. "He was this close to apoplexy."

The thought of Radnor's anger filled her with satisfaction, but at the same time, she could not quell a sudden shiver. "He won't give up. He'll cause trouble for both of us, in every way possible."

"I've dealt with worse characters than Radnor," he said evenly.

"You don't know him as well as you think you do."

His lips parted as he prepared to argue. But as he saw the trembling of her chin, the aggressive gleam faded from his eyes. "Don't be afraid." He startled her by settling his palm on her chest, on the smooth reach between her throat and her breasts. She inhaled deeply, her chest rising beneath the soothing weight of his hand. "I meant it when I told you that I would take care of you and your family," he said. "You're giving Radnor more importance than he merits."

"You couldn't possibly understand the way he has overshadowed my entire life. He-"

"I do understand." His fingers drifted to her throat, stroking the tender place where he could feel her swallowing. Such a powerful hand-he could crush her so easily, and yet he touched her with incredible gentleness. "And I know that you've never had anyone to defend you from him. But from now on I will. So stop turning pale every time his name is mentioned. No one is ever going to dominate you again, least of all Radnor."

"No one exceptyou , you mean."

He smiled at the pert accusation, toying with a lock of her hair. "I have no desire to dominate you." Leaning over her, he kissed the tiny pulse in her throat and touched it with his tongue. Lottie held very still, her toes curling inside her stockings. She wanted to put her arms around him, touch his hair, press her breasts upward into his chest. The effort to hold back made her entire body stiffen.

"After we wed tomorrow, I'll take you to meet my sister Sophia," he said against her neck. "Will that be agreeable?"

"Yes, I would like that. Will Sir Ross be there as well?"

Gentry lifted his head. "Probably." He sounded distinctly less than thrilled by the prospect. "I received a warning today that my brother-in-law is hatching some plan, as usual, and wants to see me."

"Is there no liking at all between you?"

"God, no. Sir Ross is a manipulative bastard who has plagued me for years. Why Sophia saw fit to marry him is still beyond any hope of understanding."

"Does she love him?"

"I suppose," he said reluctantly.

"Do they have children?"

"One daughter, so far. A tolerable brat, if one likes children."

"And is Sir Ross faithful to your sister?"

"Oh, he's a saint," Gentry assured her dourly. "When they met, he was a widower who had been celibate ever since the death of his wife. Too honorable to lie with a woman outside of wedlock."

"He sounds quite chivalrous."

"Yes. Not to mention honest and ethical. He insists that everyone around him follow the rules...hisrules. And as his brother-in-law, I receive an ungodly amount of his attention."

Having a fair idea of how well Gentry received Sir Ross's attempts to reform him, Lottie bit the inside of her lower lip to suppress a sudden smile.

Seeing the twitch of her lips, Gentry gave her a glance of mock warning. "That amuses you, does it?"

"Yes," she admitted, and yelped in surprise as he nudged a sensitive spot beneath her ribs. "Oh, don't! I'm ticklish there. Please."

He moved over her with easy grace, his thighs straddling her hips, his hands catching at her wrists to pull them over her head. Lottie's amusement disappeared at once. She felt a pang of fear, as well as a confusing rush of excitement, as she stared at the large male above her. She was stretched beneath him in a primal position of submission, helpless to prevent him from doing whatever he wanted. Despite her anxiety, however, she did not ask him to release her, only waited tensely with her gaze locked on his dark face.

His grip on her wrists loosened, and his thumbs dipped gently into the humid cups of her palms. "Shall I come to you tonight?" he whispered.

Lottie had to lick her dry lips before she could answer. "Are you posing a question to me or yourself?"

A smile flickered in his eyes. "You, of course. I already know what I want."

"I'd rather you stayed away, then."

"Why prolong the inevitable? One more night isn't going to make a difference."

"I would prefer to wait until after we are married."

"Principle?" he mocked, his thumbs tracing slowly along her inner arms.

"Practicality," Lottie countered, unable to prevent a gasp as he touched the delicate creases inside her elbows. How was it that he could elicit sensation from such ordinary parts of her body?

"If you think I might change my mind about marrying you after one night of lovemaking...you're wrong. My appetite isn't satisfied nearly that easily. In fact, having you once is only going to make me want you more. It's a pity that you're a virgin. That will limit the number of things I can do with you...for a while, at least."

Lottie scowled. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience."

Gentry grinned at her annoyance. "That's all right. We'll do the best we can, in light of the circumstances. Perhaps it will be less of a hindrance than I expect. Never having had a virgin before, I won't know until I try one."

"Well, you will have to wait until tomorrow night," she said firmly, wriggling beneath him in an effort to free herself.

For some reason he froze and caught his breath at the movement of her hips beneath his.

Lottie frowned. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

Shaking his head, Gentry rolled away from her. He dragged a hand through his gleaming brown hair as he sat up. "No," he muttered, sounding a bit strained. "Although I may be permanently debilitated if I don't get some relief soon."

"Relief from what?" she asked, while he left the bed and fumbled with the front of his trousers.

"You'll find out." He glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes containing both a threat and a delicious promise. "Put yourself to rights, and let's have supper downstairs. If I can't satisfy one appetite, I may as well attend to the other."