by Lisa Kleypas
Westcliff’s face was grim. “You’re not cynical or hardened enough to tolerate such an arrangement.”
“Unfortunately, my lord, I am indeed that hardened. Because of Lord Radnor, I’ve never had the hopes and dreams that many other women do. I’ve never expected to be happy in marriage.”
“You still deserve better than this,” he insisted.
She smiled without humor. “Do you think so? I’m not so certain.” Breaking away from him, Lottie strode to the center of the study and stared at Gentry expectantly. She made her manner brisk. “When shall we leave?”
Gentry emerged from the corner. She saw from the flicker in his eyes that he had half-expected her to change her mind after speaking with Westcliff. Now that her choice had been reaffirmed, there was no turning back.
“Now,” he said softly.
Her lips parted in the beginnings of an objection. Gentry intended to sweep her away without allowing any opportunity to say good-bye to anyone in the household, not even Lady Westcliff. On the other hand, it would be easier for her to simply disappear without having to explain anything to anyone. “Isn’t it rather dangerous to travel at night?” she asked, then quickly answered her own question. “Never mind. If we met with a highwayman, I would probably be safer with him than you.”
Gentry grinned suddenly. “You may be right.”
His momentary amusement was wiped away by Lord Westcliff’s crisp announcement. “If I cannot change Miss Howard’s mind, I will at least require proof that the ceremony is legal. I will also demand evidence that she will be satisfactorily provided for.”
Lottie realized that in all her considerations, she had actually not given a thought as to what kind of life she would have with Gentry. Good Lord. What kind of a living did a Bow Street runner earn? No doubt his salary was minimal, but surely with private commissions, he would make enough to live in a decent style. She did not require much—a room or two in a safe area of London would be sufficient.
“I’ll be damned if I have to account for my ability to provide for my own wife,” Gentry said. “All you need to know is that she won’t starve, and she’ll have a roof over her head.”
The journey to London would last approximately twelve hours, which meant they would travel through the night and arrive in early afternoon. Lottie rested against the rich brown velvet upholstery of Gentry’s well-appointed vehicle. Once they were on their way, Gentry moved to extinguish the small carriage lamp that illuminated the interior. “Do you want to sleep?” he asked. “It’s a long time until morning.”
Lottie shook her head. Despite her weariness, she was too agitated to relax.
Shrugging, Gentry left the lamp burning. He rested one of his legs on the upholstery, grimacing slightly. Clearly it was uncomfortable for a man of his size to be confined in a relatively small area.
“Is this yours?” Lottie asked. “Or did you hire it as part of your deception?”
Realizing that she referred to the carriage, he gave her a mocking smile. “It’s mine.”
“I wouldn’t have thought a professional man could afford such a vehicle.”
The runner played idly with the fringed edge of the little window curtain nearby. “My work requires frequent travel. I prefer to do it in comfort.”
“Do you often use an assumed name when you go about your investigations?”
He shook his head. “Most of the time there is no need.”
“I wonder that you didn’t choose a better disguise,” she said. “One that could not be disproved so easily. It did not take long for Lord Westcliff to discover that there is no Viscount Sydney.”
A strange expression crossed his face, amusement interlaced with discomfort, and he seemed to engage in a silent debate about whether or not to tell her something. Finally his mouth twisted, and he let out a brief sigh. “Westcliff was wrong. There is a Viscount Sydney. At least, there is a legitimate successor to the title.”
Lottie regarded him skeptically. “Who is he? And if what you say is true, why has he not come forward to claim his title and property?”
“Not everyone wants to be a peer.”
“Of course they do! Besides, a peer isn’t given the choice. One either is, or isn’t. He can’t deny his birthright any more than he can change his eye color.”
“Damned if he can’t,” came his scowling reply.
“There is no need to be cross,” Lottie said. “And you haven’t yet told me who and where this mysterious viscount is, which leads me to believe that you’re making it up.”
Gentry changed position, shifting uncomfortably, his gaze carefully averted from hers. “It’s me.”
“What? Are you trying to fool me into thinking that you are some long-lost peer? You, a crime lord and thief-taker, are a secret viscount?” Lottie shook her head decisively. “I don’t think so.”
“I don’t give a damn if you believe it or not,” Gentry said evenly. “Especially when it has no bearing on the future, as I will never claim the title.”
Lottie stared at his hard profile in astonishment. He certainly seemed to believe what he was saying. But how could it be possible? If there was any truth to his claim, how had a son of the aristocracy come to this turn? One did not begin life as a member of the nobility and end up as a…whatever he was. She couldn’t keep from pelting him with questions. “You are John, Lord Sydney? The son of the Viscount Sydney who died twenty years ago, supposedly without an heir? Do you have any proof of this? Is there anyone who would corroborate it?”
“My sister, Sophia. And her husband, Sir Ross Cannon.”
“The magistrate? The former head of Bow Street is your brother-in-law?”
Gentry responded with a single nod. Lottie was utterly confounded. She supposed she had no choice but to believe him, since the story could easily be discredited if it were untrue. But it was so fantastical, so absurd, that she couldn’t begin to make sense of it.
“I was seven years old, perhaps eight, when my parents died,” Gentry explained gruffly. “Other than me, there were no male relatives who could lay legitimate claim to the title or lands. Not that there was much to inherit, as my father was in debt, and the estate was in disrepair. My older sister Sophia and I knocked about the village for a while, until she was finally taken in by a distant cousin. But I had become a hellion, and the cousin was understandably reluctant to take me under her roof. So I ran off to London, and became a footpad, until I was imprisoned for my crimes. When another boy died in prison, I took his name so that I could gain early release.”
“He must have been the real Nick Gentry, then,” Lottie said.
“Yes.”
“And you took his identity and let everyone believe that you had died?”
A defiant gleam entered his eyes. “He had no more use for the name.”
“But certainly later you must have thought about reclaiming your true name…your rightful position in society…”
“I have exactly the position in society that I want. And Nick Gentry has become my name more than it ever was his. I intend to let Sydney rest in peace.” He smiled sardonically. “Sorry for the loss of prestige, but you’re going to be known as Mrs. Nick Gentry, and no one save my sister and her husband will be aware of the truth. Do you understand?”
Lottie nodded with a puzzled frown. “I don’t care about a loss of prestige. If I did, I would have married Lord Radnor.”
“You don’t mind being the wife of a commoner, then,” Gentry said, watching her intently. “One with limited means.”
“I am used to living in humble circumstances. My family is of good blood, but as I mentioned once before, we are poor.”
Gentry studied the polished tips of his boots. “Lord Radnor was a damned stingy benefactor, if the condition of Howard House is anything to judge by.”
Lottie inhaled swiftly. “You’ve been to my family’s home?”
He glanced into her wide eyes. “Yes, I visited your parents to question them. They knew that I was search
ing for you.”
“Oh,” Lottie said in dismay. Of course her parents would have cooperated with the investigation. They had been aware that Lord Radnor wanted to find her, and as always, they had acceded to his wishes. The news should not have come as a surprise. And yet she could not help feeling betrayed. Had they taken even one moment to consider her interests, rather than Radnor’s? Her throat tightened, and she could not seem to swallow properly.
“They answered every question in detail,” Gentry continued. “I’ve seen the dolls you once played with, the storybook you drew in…I even know the size of your shoes.”
Filled with terrible vulnerability, Lottie wrapped her arms around herself. “It seems odd that you have seen my family, when I have been away from them for two years. H-how are my sisters and my brothers? How is Ellie?”
“The sixteen-year-old? Quiet. Pretty. In good health, it seems.”
“Sixteen,” Lottie murmured, unsettled by the realization that her siblings had grown older, just as she had. They had all changed during the time they had been apart. Her head ached suddenly, and she rubbed her forehead. “When my parents spoke of me, did they seem to…”
“What?”
“Do they hate me?” she asked distractedly. “I’ve so often wondered…”
“No, they don’t hate you.” His voice became oddly gentle. “They’re concerned for their own hides, of course, and they seem to entertain a sincere belief that you would benefit from a marriage to Radnor.”
“They’ve never understood what he is really like.”
“They don’t want to. They’ve profited far more by deceiving themselves.”
Lottie was tempted to rebuke him even though she had thought the same thing a thousand times before. “They needed Lord Radnor’s money,” she said dully. “They have expensive tastes.”
“Is that how your father lost the family fortune? By living outside his means?”
“I don’t believe there was much of a fortune to begin with. But my parents certainly spent whatever was available. I remember that when I was a child, we had the best of everything. And then when the money was gone, we nearly starved. Until Lord Radnor intervened.” She continued to rub her forehead, letting her fingers drift to her aching temples. “The argument could easily be made that I’ve benefitted from his interest. Because of Radnor, I was sent to the most exclusive girls’ school in London, and he paid for my food, my clothes, and even hired a maid to attend me. I thought he wanted to make a lady of me. At first I was even grateful that he took such care to prepare me for being his wife.”
“But it became more complicated than that,” Gentry murmured.
She nodded. “I was treated like a pet on a leash. Radnor decided what I could read, what I was allowed to eat…he instructed the teachers that my baths were to be ice cold, as he believed it was more conducive to good health than hot water. My diet was limited to broth and fruit whenever he decided that I needed slimming. I had to write a letter to him every day, to describe my progress on the subjects he wished me to study. There were rules for everything…I was never to speak unless my thoughts were well formed and gracefully expressed. I was never to offer an opinion about anything. If I fidgeted, my hands were tied to the seat of my chair. If I became sun-browned, I was kept indoors.” She let out a strained sigh. “Lord Radnor wanted to make me into another person entirely. I could not fathom what it would be like to live with him as his wife, or what would happen when he finally realized that I could never attain the standards of perfection he set.” Lost in the dark memories, Lottie twisted her fingers together and spoke without being fully aware of what she revealed. “How I dreaded coming home on holidays. He was always there, waiting for me. He barely allowed me time to see my brothers and sisters before I had to go with him and…”
She stopped suddenly, realizing that she had been about to confide the secret that had caused her parents to erupt in fury when she had tried to tell them. It had seethed at the bottom of her soul for years. They had somehow made it clear without words that the family’s survival, and hers, depended entirely on her silence. Choking back the forbidden words, Lottie closed her eyes.
“You had to go with him and…” Gentry prompted.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Tell me.” His voice was soft. “I assure you, nothing you say could shock me.”
Lottie regarded him cautiously, realizing it was true. With all that Gentry had seen and heard and done, nothing would disgust him.
“Go on,” he murmured.
And Lottie found herself telling him what no one had ever wanted to hear.
“Every time I came home, I had to go into a private room with Radnor, and account to him for my behavior at school, and answer his questions about my studies and my friends, and…” She stared into Gentry’s inscrutable face, finding that his lack of reaction made it easy for her to continue. “He made me sit on his lap while we talked. He touched me, on my chest and beneath my skirts. It was repulsive, allowing him to…but I couldn’t stop him, and my parents…” She shrugged helplessly. “They wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell them. It went on for years. My mother slapped me once, and told me that I belonged to Lord Radnor, and that he was going to marry me anyway. She said I must let him do as he liked. The family’s safety depended on his pleasure and goodwill.” Shame infused her voice as she added, “And then I ran from him anyway, and by doing so I threw them all to the wolves.”
Gentry spoke carefully, as if she were still an innocent child rather than a woman of twenty. “Did it go farther than touching, Lottie?”
She stared at him without comprehension.
His dark head tilted slightly, his voice remaining soft as he persisted. “Did he bring you or himself to climax, while you sat on his lap?”
Her face turned hot as she understood what he was referring to…the mysterious ecstatic culmination that some of the girls had described with naughty laughs. A physical pleasure that she certainly could never have felt with Radnor. “I don’t think so.”
“Believe me, you would know if either of you had,” he said sardonically.
Lottie thought of the way that Gentry had touched her in the firelight, the coiling sensation she had felt in her breasts and loins and stomach, the sweet aching frustration that had tormented her so. Had that been climax, or was there more she had yet to experience? She was sorely tempted to ask her companion, but she kept silent out of fear that he might mock her for her ignorance.
The sway of the well-sprung carriage lulled her, and she yawned tightly behind her hand.
“You should rest,” Gentry said quietly.
Lottie shook her head, reluctant to abandon herself in slumber while he watched. How silly to fear that small intimacy after all that had happened between them. She sought for a new topic of conversation.
“Why did you become a Bow Street runner? I can’t believe you chose such a profession willingly.”
A laugh rustled in his throat. “Oh, I was willing enough, considering the alternative. I made a deal with my brother-in-law, Sir Ross, three years ago. At the time he was chief magistrate of Bow Street, and he had evidence in his possession that would have had me dancing in the wind, had it ever been presented at a trial.”
“Dancing in the wind,” Lottie repeated, puzzled by the unfamiliar expression.
“Hanging. Dangling at the end of a rope. Believe me, I should have been drawn and quartered for some of the things I did in my underworld career.” Pausing to observe the effect of his words, Gentry smiled slightly at her obvious unease. “In an effort to avoid the uncomfortable position of having to execute his wife’s brother,” he continued, “Sir Ross offered to conceal the damning evidence against me, if I would double-cross my underworld associates and become a runner.”
“For how long?”
“Indefinitely. Naturally I agreed, as I had no loyalty to my former companions, and I didn’t fancy having my neck stretched.”
Lottie frowned. “Why did Sir Ross want you to become a runner?”
“I believe he had the mistaken impression that a few years of public service would reform me.” Gentry grinned suddenly. “It hasn’t yet.”
“Isn’t it rather hazardous for you to hunt criminals in such places, after you have betrayed them?”
“More than a few people would like my head on a silver platter,” he admitted with reckless confidence. “In fact, you may not have to endure me for long. Everyone who knows me will vouch for the fact that I’m going to die young.”
“I probably won’t be that fortunate,” she said sardonically. “But one can hope.”
Immediately after Lottie said the words, she was inundated with shame. It wasn’t like her to stoop to such nastiness. “I’m sorry,” she said at once. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“That’s all right,” he said easily. “I’ve inspired people to say much worse, with less cause.”
“That I can believe,” she replied, and he laughed.
“I’m going to snuff the light,” he said. “I have to take my rest when and where I can find it. And tomorrow promises to be busy.”
The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable. Lottie settled into the corner, exhausted and dazed by the unforeseen direction her life had taken. She had expected that sleep would be elusive, with all the thoughts buzzing through her mind. However, a deep slumber soon overtook her, and she sagged against the seat cushions. Shifting, twisting restlessly, she sought a more comfortable position. She felt herself being gathered up and held like a child, and the dream was so soothing that she couldn’t help but surrender to the insidious pleasure. Something soft brushed her forehead, and the last few pins that anchored her coiffure were gently drawn from her hair. She inhaled a wonderful scent, the crispness of wool and shaving soap overlaying the essence of clean male skin.
Realizing that she was lying in Gentry’s arms, snuggled in his lap, she stirred groggily. “What…what…”
“Sleep,” he whispered. “I won’t harm you.” His long fingers moved through the loose locks of her hair.
