Page 9 of Worth Any Price
“Not even Lord Westcliff?”
“Lord Westcliff?” she repeated in surprise. “Why would I have designs on him?”
“He’s wealthy and titled, and you’ve resided beneath his roof for two years,” came Sydney’s sardonic reply. “Why wouldn’t you?”
Lottie frowned thoughtfully. It wasn’t as if the earl was unappealing—quite the opposite, in fact. Westcliff was an attractive man who shouldered his responsibilities and considered it unmanly to complain about them. In addition to his own strict morality, Lord Westcliff possessed a dry wit and a carefully concealed sense of compassion, and as Lottie had discreetly observed, he employed his courteous manners as skillfully as a weapon. Women were drawn to him, although Lottie was not one of them. She sensed that she did not have the key to unlock his innate reserve... nor had she ever been tempted to trust him with the reason for her uncompromising solitude.
“Naturally a man of Westcliff’s position would never entertainthatkind of interest in a lady’s companion,” she said in reply to Lord Sydney’s question. “But even if we were on the same social footing, I am certain that the earl would never regard me in that way, nor I him. Our relationship—if one could call it that—doesnot possess that particular...” She paused, searching for an appropriate word. “Alchemy.”
The word hovered gently in the air, dispelled only by the sound of Sydney’s quiet voice.
“Surely alchemy pales in comparison to the safety that he could offer you.”
Safety. The thing she wanted most, and could never have. Lottie stopped and stared into his dark face. “What makes you think that I am in need of safety?”
“You’re alone. A woman needs someone to protect her.”
“Oh, I have no need of protection. I have a very pleasant life at Stony Cross Park. Lady Westcliff is quite kind, and I want for nothing.”
“Lady Westcliff won’t live forever,” Sydney pointed out. Although his words were blunt, his expression was strangely understanding. “What will you do after she is gone?”
The question caught Lottie by surprise. No one ever asked her such things. Perturbed, she took her time about replying. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I suppose I never let myself think about the future.”
Sydney’s gaze was riveted on her, his eyes an almost unnatural shade of blue. “Neither do I.”
Lottie didn’t know what to make of her companion. It had been easy at first to think of him as a spoiled young aristocrat, with his beautifully tailored clothes and perfect features. But on closer inspection, there were signs that conveyed the opposite. The deep-cut shadows beneath his eyes betrayed countless sleepless nights. The harsh grooves on either side of his mouth gave him acynical look that was odd for a man so young. And in unguarded moments such as this, she saw in his eyes that he was no stranger to pain.
His expression changed like quicksilver. Once again he was a lazy rogue with mocking eyes. “The future is too boring to contemplate,” he said lightly. “Shall we continue, Miss Miller?”
Disconcerted by his swift change of mood, Lottie led him out of the forest to a sunken road. The morning sun rose higher, chasing the lavender from the sky and warming the meadows. The field they passed was filled with heather and emerald sphagnum moss, and dotted with tiny red sundew rosettes. “They don’t have views like this in London, do they?” Lottie remarked.
“No,” Lord Sydney agreed, although he seemed distinctly unenchanted by the quiet rural beauty around them.
“I gather you prefer town life,” Lottie said with a smile. “Tenements, cobbled streets, factories, coal smoke, and all that noise. How could anyone choose that overthis?”
The sunlight touched on the mahogany and gold highlights in his brown hair. “You keep your beetles and bogs, Miss Miller. I’ll take London any time.”
“I’ll show you something that London doesn’t have.” Triumphantly Lottie led him across the sunken road. They came to a deep muddy basin filled with water that spilled from the bank beside it.
“What is that?” Lord Sydney asked, viewing the sloshing hole dubiously.
“A wishing well. Everyone in the village visits it.” Busily Lottie searched the pockets of her walking skirts. “Oh, curse it, I haven’t got any pins.”
“What do you need pins for?”
“To drop in the well.” She gave him a chiding smile. “I thought everyone knew that you can’t make a wish without a pin.”
“What do you want to wish for?” he asked huskily.
“Oh, it isn’t for me. I’ve made dozens of wishes here. I wanted you to have one.” Giving up her search for a pin, Lottie glanced up at him.
There was a strange look on Lord Sydney’s face... blank, painfully surprised... as if he had just been kicked in the stomach. He didn’t move or blink, just stared at her as if he couldn’t quite comprehend her words. The silence between them became thick, and Lottie waited in helpless fascination for him to break it. Wrenching his gaze away, Lord Sydney gazed at the field of heather with puzzling intensity, as if his mind were striving to wrap itself around something that didn’t make sense.
“Do make a wish,” Lottie said impulsively. “I’ll throw a pin in the well for you the next time I come.”
Lord Sydney shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was oddly hoarse. “I wouldn’t know what to wish for.”
They continued in silence, making their way over a muddy patch and following the sunken road to a footbridge that covered a small stream. On the other side of the stream, a dampmeadow beckoned, blazing with waist-high yellow meadowsweet bushes. “This way,” Lottie said, lifting her skirts to her knees as they traversed grass and heather and approached a barrier of hedge and fence. “Beyond the hedge, the footpath leads back through the forest to Stony Cross Park.” She pointed to the tall arched gate, so narrow that it would allow only one person to pass through at a time. Glancing at Lord Sydney, she was relieved to see that he had recovered his composure. “The only way through is that kissing gate.”
