Worth Any Price (21 page)

“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.

“The
world
?” 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.”