Page 70 of Worth Any Price
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 thepale 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 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 runnerdidserve 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 besomeissue 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.Becomfortable 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’regoing 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.”
