by Lisa Kleypas
"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."
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br /> 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."
CHAPTER 8
As a wedding to Lord Radnor had figured prominently in Lottie's nightmares for years, she had inevitably come to regard such a ceremony with suspicion and dread. She was gratified, therefore, that the rite in the superintendent-registrar's office turned out to be fast and efficient, consisting of signing her name, exchanging obligatory vows, and paying a fee. There were no kisses, no long glances, no hint of emotion to color the businesslike atmosphere, and for that she was grateful. However, she felt no more married upon leaving the registrar's office than she had when entering it.
She had just become the wife of a man who did not love her and was probably incapable of such an emotion. And by marrying him, she had just removed all possibility of ever finding love for herself.
However, there would be consolations in this union, the greatest one being her escape from Lord Radnor. And truth be told, Nick Gentry was fascinating company. He did not bother to conceal his faults as everyone else did but instead boasted about them, as if there were some merit in being amoral and mercenary. He was a foreigner to her, coming from a world she had only heard about in whispers...a world populated with scavengers, thieves, dispossessed people who resorted to violence and prostitution. Gentlemen and ladies were
supposed to pretend that the underworld did not exist. But Nick Gentry answered Lottie's questions with stunning frankness, explaining exactly what occurred in the rookeries of London, and the difficulties the Bow Street runners encountered in trying to bring criminals to justice.
"Some of the alleyways are so narrow," he told her as their carriage traveled to Sir Ross's home, "that a man has to turn sideways to squeeze between the buildings. Many times I've lost a fugitive simply because he was thinner than I. And then there are masses of buildings that are connected-roof, yard, and cellar-so a thief can slip through them like a rabbit in a warren. I usually accompany the new constables who don't have much experience, as they can get lost in less than a minute. And once a runner is lost, he can stumble right into a trap."
"What kind of trap?"
"Oh, a group of thieves or costers will be waiting to bash a pursuing officer's skull, or stab him. Or they'll cover a cesspool with a few rotten boards, so when he sets a foot on it, he'll drown in a vat of sewage. That kind of thing."
Her eyes widened. "How dreadful!"
"It's not dangerous when you learn what to expect," he assured her. "I've been in every corner of every rookery in London, and I know every dodge and trap there is."
"You almost seem to enjoy your work...but you couldn't possibly."
"I don't enjoy it." He hesitated before adding, "I need it, though."
Lottie shook her head in confusion. "Are you referring to the physical exertion?"
"That's part of it. Jumping over walls, climbing onto rooftops, the feeling of catching a fugitive and bringing him to the ground..."
"And the fighting?" Lottie asked. "Do you enjoy that part of it?" Although she expected him to deny it, he nodded briefly.
"It's addictive," he said. "The challenge and excitement...even the danger."
Lottie twined her fingers together in her lap, reflecting that someone needed to tame him enough so that he could live in a peaceful manner someday-or his prediction of being short-lived would fulfill itself rather quickly.