Page 22 of Worth Any Price
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 haveto 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.
The part of Lottie’s mind that protested such a circumstance grappled with the rest of her brain, which pointed out that she was exhausted, and at this point it hardly mattered what liberties she allowed him. However, she stubbornly tugged free of him and pushed away from the inviting warmth of his body. He released her easily, his eyes a dark glitter in the shadows.
“I’m not your enemy, Lottie.”
“Are you my friend?” she parried. “You haven’t behaved like one so far.”
“I haven’t forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
“If you hadn’t found me, I would still be residing happily at Stony Cross Park—”
“You weren’t happy there. I’ll wager you haven’t been happy a day in your life since you met Lord Radnor.”
Oh, how she longed to contradict him! But it was pointless to lie, when the truth was obvious.
“You’ll find life a hell of a lot more enjoyable as my wife,” Gentry continued. “You won’t be anyone’s servant. You can do as you please, within reasonable limits. And you won’t have to fear Lord Radnor any longer.”
“All for the price of sleeping with you,” she muttered.
He smiled, all velvety arrogance as he replied. “You may come to enjoy that part of it most of all.”
Chapter Six
When Lottie emerged from her slumber, daylight was leaking through the gaps in the window curtains. Bleary-eyed, disheveled, she glanced at her husband-to-be, whose clothes were rumpled but who was remarkably alert.
“I don’t require much sleep,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. Reaching for her hand, he deposited her hairpins in her palm. Her fingers curled around the bits of wire, which had retained the heat of his skin. Mechanically she proceeded to braid and coil her hair with an efficiency born of long-standing habit.
Drawing aside the curtain, Gentry glanced at the swarming city outside the carriage window. A stray shaft of sunlight caught his eyes, turning them to a shade of blue that seemed almostunnatural. Even sitting in an enclosed carriage, Lottie could sense his familiarity with the city, the fearlessness that made no corner or rookery too dangerous for him to venture into.
No aristocrat she had ever encountered—and there had always been plenty of them at Stony Cross Park—had ever possessed such a street-seasoned look, the hardened demeanor that suggested he would be willing to do anything, no matter how abhorrent, to accomplish his goals. Well-bred men were able to draw the line at certain matters... they had principles and standards... things that Gentry had so far not displayed.
If he was indeed a peer, Lottie thought it was wise of him to reject his heritage and “let Sydney rest in peace,” as he had put it. She was certain that had he chosen otherwise, he would have found it difficult, even impossible, to make a place for himself in London’s rarefied upper crust.
“Lord Westcliff told me that you were the head of a corporation of thieves,” she commented. “He also said that you—”
“I regret to say that I wasn’t nearly as powerful a figure as everyone makes me out to be,” Gentry interrupted. “The stories are exaggerated more each time they’re told. A few chapbook writers have done their best to make me as menacing as Attila the Hun. Not that I’m claiming innocence, of course. I ran a hell of a good smuggling operation. And although I admit my methods were questionable, I was a better thief-taker than any of Cannon’s runners.”
“I don’t understand how you could direct thieves and smugglers and be a thief-taker at the same time.”
“I planted spies and informers all over London, and beyond. I had evidence on everyone from Gin Alley to Dead Man’s Lane. Whenever someone got in the way of what I wanted, I turned him in and collected the bounty. As a runner, I find the business of thief-taking a bit more difficult, as the chief magistrate insists that I do things his way. But I’m still the best man he’s got.”
“And not shy about saying so,” Lottie said dryly.
“I’m not one for false modesty. And it happens to be the truth.”
“I don’t doubt it. You managed to find me when Lord Radnor’s men failed after two years of trying.”
