Page 31 of Worth Any Price
“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 Eight
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 hadjust 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.
The carriage traveled along a drive lined with plane trees, their intricately lobed leaves providing dense cover for the underplantings of white snowdrops and spiky green-stemmed cornuses. They stopped before a large house, handsome in its stately simplicity, the entrance guarded bywrought-iron railings and arched lamp standards. The pair of attentive footmen, Daniel and George, helped Lottie alight from the carriage and went to alert the household of their arrival. Noticing that the letterChad been worked into the designs of wrought iron, Lottie paused to trace it with her fingers.
Gentry smiled sardonically. “The Cannons aren’t members of the peerage, but one wouldn’t know it to look at them.”
“Is Sir Ross a very traditional sort of gentleman?”
“In some regards, yes. But politically speaking, he’s a progressive. Fights for the rights of women and children, and supports every reformist cause you can name.” With a short sigh, Gentry guided her toward the front steps. “You’ll like him. All women do.”
