Page 19 of Worth Any Price
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. Thereisa 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 giventhe 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.”
