Worth Any Price (25 page)

“He was buried in a mass grave near the docks, while I went free. And now his name is more real to me than my own.”

Lottie was overwhelmed. No wonder he had wanted to keep Nick Gentry’s name. In some way he must have felt that he could keep a part of him alive by retaining it. The name had been a talisman, a new beginning. She couldn’t begin to understand the amount of shame he had attached to his true identity, believing that he was responsible for his friend’s death. It wasn’t his fault, of course. But even if she could make him admit the flaws in his reasoning, she could never expunge his guilt.

Lottie slipped out of bed, the thick-piled wool carpeting
prickling beneath her bare soles. As she approached him, she was swamped in a sense of utter inadequacy. If she treated him with kindness, he would receive it as pity. If she said nothing, he would take it as a sign of scorn or disgust.

“Nick,” she said softly, but he would not face her. She went to stand before him, listening to the broken pattern of his breathing. “You did nothing wrong in calling out for help. And he wanted to help you, as any true friend would. Neither of you did anything wrong.”

He dragged his sleeve over his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “I stole his life.”

“No,” she said urgently. “He wouldn’t have wanted you to stay there—whom would it have served?” A hot trickle touched the corner of her lips, flavoring them with salt. How well she understood guilt, the self-hatred it caused, especially in the absence of forgiveness. And the person that Nick needed forgiveness from was dead. “He can’t be here to absolve you,” she said. “But I’m going to speak for him. If he could, he would tell you, ‘You’re forgiven. It’s all right now. I’m at peace, and you should be as well. And it is long past time for you to forgive yourself.’”

“How do you know he would say that?”

“Because anyone who cared for you would. And he did care for you, or he wouldn’t have risked his life to protect you.” Stepping forward, Lottie put her arms around his rigid neck. “I care for you, too.” She had to use her full weight to make him bend to her.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Please don’t turn me away.” And she brought her mouth to his.

It took a long time for him to respond to the soft pressure of her lips. He made a faint sound in his throat, and slowly his shaking hands came to her face, holding her still while his mouth molded over hers. His cheeks were wet with sweat and tears, and his kiss was bruising in its fervor.

“Does it help to hear those words?” Lottie whispered when his mouth lifted.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely.

“Then I’ll say them whenever you need to hear them, until you begin to believe.” She slid her hand behind his neck and tugged his head down for another kiss.

Nick startled her with his sudden wildness. Picking her up with frightening ease, he carried her to the bed and dropped her to the mattress. He tore his own clothes off, ripping plackets of buttons rather than take the time to unfasten them. Climbing over her swiftly, he straddled her and split the front of her gown with his hands. Dimly she realized that Nick’s need to be inside her was so violent that he had lost all self-control. Kneeing her legs wide apart, he pushed the head of his sex against her, demanding entry. Her body was unprepared, her flesh dry and tight despite her willingness to receive him.

Sliding down her body, Nick took her with his mouth, his large hands gripping her hips and pressing them firmly to the bed as she arched upward in surprise. His tongue plunged into her, wetting and
softening the tender flesh. Finding the delicate peak just above the vulnerable opening, he drew the flat of his tongue against it, over and over, until he caught the intimate scent of her desire. Levering his body upward, he mounted her again, and drove his hard organ inside her.

As soon as Nick entered her warm body, his blind ferocity seemed to drain away. He hung over her, his muscular arms braced on either side of her head, his chest moving in deep, irregular breaths. Lottie was pinned beneath him, her flesh throbbing around the thick shaft that impaled her.

His mouth came to hers again, this time gentle as he possessed her with long, teasing kisses, the tip of his tongue stroking the insides of her mouth. She had secretly cherished the memory of his other kisses, the sweetly fervent brushes of a stranger’s lips…but this was so different, dark and heady and powerful. She ached for his touch, gasping with relief at the soft tugs of his fingers on her nipples. He used all his skill to arouse her, teasing her with shallow strokes that enticed rather than satisfied. Wanting more, Lottie tried to pull him closer. He resisted, maintaining the languid rhythm, hushing her with kisses when she protested. Suddenly he plunged inside her with one long drive. Bewildered, Lottie stared at his intent face. “What are you doing?” she asked faintly.

His mouth brushed over hers with kisses of soft fire. And as he possessed her, she gradually came to understand the pattern he was working within
her…eight shallow thrusts, two deep…seven shallow, three deep…progressing until he finally gave her ten heavy, penetrating plunges. Lottie cried out with wrenching pleasure, her hips lifting against his sleek weight as she was filled with volatile sensation. When the burning delight had begun to fade, Nick altered their positions subtly, moving farther over her, nudging her knees wider, adjusting the angle of his sex. He thrust deeply, sealing their bodies together, and circled his hips in a slow, steady rhythm.

“I can’t,” Lottie said breathlessly, realizing what he wanted, knowing that it was impossible.

“Let me,” Nick whispered, tireless and wickedly adept as he continued the gentle circling, using his body to pleasure her.

She was astonished by how quickly the heat rose again, her senses welcoming the patient stimulation, her sex turning slick and swollen as he moved inside her, over her, against her. “Oh…oh…” The sounds were torn from her throat as she reached another crest, her limbs jerking, her cheek pressed hard against his shoulder.

And then he began the entire cycle again. Nine shallow, one deep…

Lottie lost count of how many times he brought her to ecstasy, or how much time passed while he made love to her. He whispered in her ear…endearments…intimate praise…telling her how hard she made him…how sweet she felt around him…how much he wanted to satisfy her. He gave
her more pleasure than it seemed possible to bear, until finally she begged him to stop, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Nick complied with reluctance, pushing deep inside one last time, releasing his pent-up desire with a shuddering groan. Compulsively he kissed her again, as he withdrew from her sated body. Lottie barely had the strength to lift her hand, but she caught at his arm and murmured thickly, “Will you stay?”

“Yes,” she heard him say. “Yes.”

Relieved and tired, she sank quickly into a fathomless sleep.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows, which Lottie had left open the night before to admit the cool air. She yawned and stretched, wincing uncomfortably at the strained muscles in her thighs and the unusual ache she felt in her—

Suddenly remembering the previous night, Lottie rolled over. A shiver of pleasure went through her as she saw Nick sleeping on his stomach beside her, his long muscular back gleaming in the rising light. His head was half-buried in a pillow, his lips slightly parted as he slumbered. The growth of a thick night-beard shadowed his jaw, lending a disreputable cast to his handsome face. Lottie had never experienced this kind of passionate interest in anyone or anything…this keen desire to know every detail of his mind, body, and soul…the pure delight of being in his presence.

Propping herself up on one elbow, Lottie realized that she’d never had the opportunity to view him at her leisure. The lines of his body were sleek and strong, his broad back tapering to a lean waist and hips, his flesh densely muscled yet smooth. She admired the solid curve of his buttocks, covered by the sheet that lay low on his hips.

And she wanted to see more of him. Glancing cautiously at his peaceful face, she reached down to the edge of the white linen and began to ease it away from his backside. Lower and lower…

With a swiftness that made her gasp, Nick reached out and seized her wrist. His eyes opened to study her drowsily, and a smile lit the depths of warm blue. When he spoke, his voice was sleep-roughened. “It’s not fair to ogle a man while he’s asleep.”

“I wasn’t ogling,” Lottie said impishly. “Women don’t ogle.” She gave him a boldly appraising glance. “But I do like the way you look in the morning.”

Releasing her, Nick shook his head with a snort of disbelief, scrubbing his fingers through his disheveled hair. He rolled to his side, revealing a chest covered with thick dark curls.

Tempted beyond her ability to resist, Lottie wriggled closer to him, until her breasts were pressed into the wealth of warm fur. “Did you ever spend the night with your friend?” she asked, entwining her legs with his.

“You mean with Gemma? God, no.”

“Then I’m the first woman you’ve ever slept with,” she said, pleased.

He touched her softly, his fingertips tracing the silken curve of her shoulder. “Yes.”

Lottie made no protest as he rolled her to her back, his head lowering to her breasts. They were tender and sensitive from his attentions, and she gasped as she felt his hot, gentle tongue swirling over the rosy nipple. Relaxing beneath him, she luxuriated in the tangle of sunshine and white linen, her arms curving around his dark head…

“Nick, we can’t,” she said suddenly. Her gaze shot to the clock on the mantel. “Good Lord, we’re late!”

“Late for what?” he asked in a muffled voice, resisting as she attempted to push his heavy body away.

“Sophia and Sir Ross promised to be here at ten o’clock. There’s barely enough time to bathe and dress—oh, do get off me, I must hurry!”

With a surly frown, Nick allowed her to squirm out from beneath him. “I want to stay in bed.”

“We can’t. We’re going to tour the house with Sophia and Sir Ross, and you’re going to make yourself agreeable and praise your sister for the splendid job she’s done, and thank them both for their generosity. And then we’ll entertain them for an early supper, after which they will return to Silverhill.”

Nick lounged on his side as he watched her descend from the bed. “That’s going to be at least twelve hours from now. I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off of you for that long.”

“Then you’ll have to devise some means of—” Lottie broke off and inhaled sharply as she stood upright.

“What is it?” he asked alertly.

Lottie blushed from her head to her toes. “I’m sore. In…in places that I’m not usually sore.”

Nick understood immediately. An abashed grin touched his lips, and he hung his head in an unconvincing effort at penitence. “I’m sorry. An aftereffect of Tantric lovemaking.”

“Is that what it was?” Lottie hobbled to a chair near the hearth, where she had left her robe. Hastily she wrapped it around herself.

“An ancient Indian art form,” he explained. “Ritualized methods designed to prolong intercourse.”

Lottie’s high color persisted as she recalled the things he had done to her in the night. “Well, it certainly was prolonged.”

“Not really. Tantric experts often have sexual relations for nine or ten hours at a time.”

She gave him an appalled glance. “Could you do that, if you wished?”

Standing from the bed, Nick walked over to her, completely unself-conscious in his nakedness. He took her into his arms and nuzzled her soft blond hair, playing with the loose braid that hung down her back. “With you, I wouldn’t mind trying,” he said, smiling against her temple.

“No, thank you. I can barely walk as it is.” She searched through the tantalizing hair on his chest,
finding the point of his nipple. “I’m afraid I’m not going to encourage any of your Tantric practices.”

“That’s all right,” he replied amiably. “There are other things we can do.” His voice lowered seductively. “I haven’t begun to show you the things I know.”

“I was afraid of that,” she said, and he laughed.

His big hand cupped around the back of her head, tilting it until her face was lifted to his. Lottie was amazed by the expression in his eyes, the heat that smoldered in the fathomless blue wells. His mouth lowered to hers slowly, as if he thought she might twist away. She realized that he feared her willingness to kiss him might have evaporated with the morning light. Holding still for him, she let her eyes close as she felt the velvety warmth of his mouth cover hers.

Nick hardly recognized himself in the days that followed. His confession to Lottie, and her astonishing reaction to it, had changed everything. She should have been repulsed by the things he had told her, and instead she had embraced him, accepted him, without hesitation. He didn’t understand why. He watched her carefully for signs of regret, thinking that she would come to her senses. But the expected rejection did not come. Lottie opened herself to him in every way, sexually and emotionally. Her trust terrified him. His own need for her terrified him. God, to realize the extent to which his independence had been compromised…

However, he could not seem to stop it from happening.

Faced with this inevitability, Nick had no choice but to give in to it. And day after day, he let it drift farther inside him—this precarious, giddy warmth that he could only identify as happiness. He was no longer bedeviled and driven, no longer hungry for things he couldn’t have. For the first time in his life, he was at peace. Even his nightmares seemed to have retreated. He slept more deeply than he ever had in his life, and if his dreams began to trouble him, he awakened to find Lottie’s small body snuggled against his, her silken hair trailing over his arm. He had never been this idle…lazing in bed, making love to his wife, taking long rides or walks with her, even going on a damned picnic and enjoying himself despite the feeling that he should be in London with Morgan and the runners, doing something useful.

It began to bother him, though…the old familiar urge to prowl the rookeries, the addictive excitement of pursuit and capture. He did not know how to be a viscount, and he felt vaguely out of place here, at his own childhood home. No magical change had occurred with the arrival of the writ of summons. Blue blood or no, he was a product of the streets.

“I’ve been thinking about what you need,” Lottie told him one morning as they strode away from the house along a paved rose walk that overlooked a long, formal pool adorned with water lilies. Beyond
the pool, a broad curving lawn led to a chain of artificial lakes bordered by a forest of cedar and elm. Nick had taken her on a shortcut he had used often as a boy, circumventing the lawn by jumping over a short stone wall and heading straight into the forest.

Smiling at Lottie’s statement, Nick lifted his arms to help her descend from the wall. Although she could easily have jumped by herself, she accepted his help, resting her hands on his shoulders as he took hold of her waist.

“What is it that I need?” he asked, letting her slide down his front until her feet touched the ground.

“A cause.”

“A what?”

“Something worthwhile for you to pursue. Something not related to estate management.”

Nick let his gaze wander blatantly over Lottie’s small, trim form, clad in a peach-colored walking-dress trimmed with chocolate brown. “I already have that,” he said and settled his mouth over hers. He felt her smile before she accommodated the warm pressure of his mouth, opening for the gentle exploration of his tongue.

“I mean something that would keep you busy in your spare time,” she said breathlessly when he ended the kiss.

He slid his hand along the side of her uncorseted waist. “So do I.”

Lottie pulled away from him with a laugh, her flat ankle boots tromping on the carpet of leaves as she strode into the forest. Thin shafts of sunlight filtered
through the ancient canopy of foliage-laden branches overhead, catching the pale gleam of her pinned-up hair and making it flash like silver. “Sir Ross has his interest in judicial reform,” she pointed out, “as well as his concerns for the rights of women and children. If you were to take up some pursuit that would benefit the public in some manner, you could put your seat in the Lords to some good use—”

“Wait,” he said warily, following her through the maze of trees. “If you’re going to start comparing me to my saintly brother-in-law—”

“I merely used him as an example, not as a basis for comparison.” Stopping beside a huge elm, she ran her hand along the deep furrows of mottled gray bark. “The point is, you have spent the past few years of your life serving the public and helping people, and for you to stop so suddenly—”

“I haven’t been helping people,” Nick interrupted, affronted. “I’ve been rubbing elbows with felons and whores, and chasing fugitives from Tyburn to East Wapping.”

Lottie gave him a wry stare, her dark brown eyes filled with an inexplicable tenderness. “And in doing so, you’ve made London safer, and brought justice to those who deserved it. For heaven’s sake, why are you offended at the implication that you may have actually done something good now and then?”

“I don’t want to be portrayed as something I’m not,” Nick said curtly.

“I see you exactly for what you are,” she informed him, “and I would be the last to call you a saint.”

“Good.”

“On the other hand…your work as a runner
did
serve to benefit other people, whether you choose to admit it or not. Therefore, you will now need to find some meaningful activity to occupy your time.” Casually Lottie walked on, stepping over a fallen branch.

“You want me to turn into a reformist?” he asked in disgust, following her.

Deliberately ignoring his sudden bad humor, Lottie continued through the trees until the forest opened to reveal a small, glittering lake. “There must be
some
issue that concerns you. Something you want to fight for. What about improving the horrid condition of the Thames…. or the workhouses in which the elderly, children, and the insane are all mixed together with no one to tend them…”

“Next you’ll want me to make speeches in Parliament and give charity balls.” He scowled at the thought.

Lottie continued listing problems that needed to be addressed. “Insufficient public education, the cruelty of blood sports, the plight of orphans, or discharged prisoners—”

“You’ve made your point,” Nick interrupted, coming to stand beside her.

“What about prison reform? There’s a subject that you can address with some conviction.”

Nick froze, unable to believe that Lottie had dared
to say it to him. He kept that part of his past closed in some distant part of his mind. For her to mention it in such a relaxed manner was like an attack. A betrayal. But as he stared into her upturned face and struggled to reply, he saw the absolute gentleness in her expression.
Be comfortable with me
, the soft light in her eyes entreated.
Let me share some of your burden
.

He tore his gaze away, the flare of defensive rage melting into alarm. Holy hell, he wanted to believe in her. To give her the last part of his soul that the world had not yet stained and shredded and ruined. But how could he let himself be that vulnerable?

“I’ll think about it,” he heard himself say raspily.

Lottie smiled, reaching out to stroke his chest. “I’m afraid that if you don’t apply yourself to a worthy cause, you’ll go mad from inactivity. You’re not a man to spend all of your time pursuing idle amusements. And now that you are no longer working at Bow Street…” She paused, seeming troubled by something she saw in his eyes. “You miss it, don’t you?”

“No,” he said lightly.

“The truth,” she insisted with a frown.

Catching her hand in his, Nick drew her along the path beside the lake.

“I do miss it,” he admitted. “I’ve been a thief-taker for too long. I like the challenge of it. I like the feeling of outwitting those bastards on the streets. I know how they think. Each time I hunt down an escaped murderer, or some filthy rapist, and throw him into the Bow Street strongroom, it gives me a
satisfaction like nothing else. I…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I’ve won the game.”

“Game?” Lottie repeated carefully. “Is that how you think of it?”

“All the runners do. You have to, if you’re going to outfox your opponent. You need to stay detached, otherwise you’ll get distracted.”

“It must have been quite difficult at times, to maintain your detachment.”

“Never,” he assured her. “It’s always been easy for me to shut away my feelings.”

“I see.”

But while Lottie seemed to understand what he was telling her, there was a barely perceptible edge of skepticism in her tone. As if she doubted that he still had the ability to remain completely emotionless. Troubled and annoyed, Nick fell silent as they continued around the lake. And he told himself that he could hardly wait to leave the idyllic scenery of Worcestershire and return to London.