Worth Any Price Read online

  Lottie murmured in surprise, awakening fully as she felt him loop something around each wrist. Before she realized what was happening, the bonds were secured to the headboard, stretching her tautly beneath him. Her breath stopped in amazement. Nick moved over her, crouching like a cat, his breath coming in rough surges. He touched her body over the cotton veil of her gown, his fingers slipping beneath the curve of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the swell of her hip and thigh. His weight shifted, and his mouth sought her breast, wetting the gown, licking the rising peak of her nipple. He was naked, the scent and heat of warm male skin surrounding her.

  Dazedly Lottie realized that he wanted to take her like this, with her hands fastened over her head. The idea made her fearful. She did not like being restrained in any way. But at the same time she understood what he wanted…her helplessness, her absolute trust…the knowledge that he could do anything he wanted to her without restrictions. He rolled her distended nipple against his tongue, excited the tight peak with long, dragging licks, and sucked hard through the wet cotton until she gasped. She squirmed in a mute plea for him to remove her gown, but he only slid farther down her body, his muscular arms braced on either side of her.

  Curling her thumb and forefinger over one of the bonds that fastened her wrists, Lottie discovered that Nick had used her silk stockings. The light tension on her arms seemed to intensify her response to him, sensation racing through her in electric charges.

  His mouth was at her stomach, his breath burning through the delicate gown. He nibbled at her body, his caresses languid, while the pace of his breathing betrayed his excitement. He made a space between her thighs, pushing them apart with his hands. His mouth rooted gently between her legs, against the cotton fabric. Lottie strained toward him, her fingers opening and closing helplessly, her heels digging hard into the mattress. He played with her leisurely, then rose again to find her breasts, kissing and fondling her through the clinging nightrail until she thought she would go mad if he didn’t remove it. Every inch of her skin was hot and oversensitive, the fine fabric seeming to chafe her unbearably.

  “Nick,” she said frantically, “my gown, take if off, please take it…”

  He hushed her with his fingers, resting two of them lightly against her lips. When she quieted, his thumb brushed over the curve of her cheek in a whisper-soft caress. Reaching for the hem of the gown, he pulled it upward, and she sobbed with gratitude. Her legs twitched as they were exposed to the cool air, and her wrists tugged at the silken bonds as she writhed to help him. The cotton was raised over her chest, catching slightly at the stiff tips of her nipples.

  Nick’s hand slid carefully over her stomach, traveling to the tender flesh of her inner thighs. His fingertip stroked through the curly hair, found the welling moisture, and brushed softly against the smoldering, delicate flesh. Her legs spread, her body throbbing with anticipation. She gave a pleading sob as his hand left her. The tip of his middle finger traced the sensitive edge of her upper lip. His finger was damp with the salty elixir of her own body, leaving the fragrance wherever he touched. Suddenly her nostrils were filled with the scent of her own arousal, filling her lungs with every breath.

  Slowly Nick turned her to her side, his hand running over her arms to check their tension. His body settled behind hers, his mouth caressing the back of her neck. Lottie strained backward, her bottom pressing into his turgid shaft. She wanted to touch hil, to twist around and stroke the coarse, thick hair on his chest, and then to grasp the hard weight of his sex and let the silken barrel of it push through the circle of her fingers. But her position made movement impossible, and her only choice was to wait helplessly for his pleasure.

  He hooked one arm beneath her top leg, lifting it slightly, and she felt the swollen tip of his sex nudge inside her. He entered her only an inch, teasing her, withholding the full possession she craved. Lottie trembled violently, pleading with wordless gasps as he kissed the back of her neck. With the head of his shaft lodged just inside her entrance, his hand wandered over her…an exquisite tug at her nipple, a circling stroke of her navel. Gradually his caresses became more purposeful, his gentle, clever fingers delving into the thicket of curls.

  Sweating, moaning, Lottie undulated against his sweetly provoking fingertips. She felt his shaft slide all the way inside her, filling her completely, and she cried out sharply, her body shaken with tremors of delight.

  Nick waited until she quieted. He began to pump inside her, his movements steady and deliberate, flooding her with pleasure. She breathed in openmouthed sighs, her wrists pulling hard at the silk loops as she climaxed again with a long, shuddering moan. He thrust harder then, his loins meeting hers in delicious impacts, his breath rushing through his clenched teeth. The bed shook from his movements. Lottie felt at once vulnerable and strong, possessing him as surely as he did her, with her heart beating against his hand, and her flesh surrounding his. He tensed inside her, his organ jerking and pulsing, his lips parting as he gasped against her neck.

  For a long time she lay against his large, hard body, giving a soft moan when he released her wrists. He rubbed them gently, and then his hand came down to cup her wet sex. His breathing slowed, and at the thought that he was drifting to sleep beside her, Lottie quivered in longing. Suddenly nothing was more desirable in the world than to have him stay in her bed for an entire night. But he rose eventually, leaning to kiss her breast, his tongue swirling around the tender peak.

  As Nick left the bed, Lottie bit her lip to keep from asking him to stay, knowing that he would only deny her as always. The door closed, leaving her in solitude. And although her body was sated and weary and her flesh tingled pleasantly, she felt tears welling behind her eyelids. She felt sorrow…not for herself, but for him. And longing…the dangerous need to comfort him, even though he would bitterly resent her for doing so. And last of all, a deep tenderness for a man she barely knew—a man who needed to be rescued far worse than she ever had.

  The following morning a parcel arrived from Sir Ross, containing a sheaf of documents bearing elaborate seals and an invitation to a ball to be held in one week’s time. As Lottie entered the dining room, she saw Nick sitting alone at the table, a half-finished breakfast plate before him. His gaze lifted from the thick sheet of parchment in his hand, his eyes darkening as he saw her. He rose to his feet, staring at her without blinking.

  Lottie felt a brilliant tide of red sweep over her face. On the mornings after an unusually passionate evening, Nick usually teased her, or smiled as he made some commonplace remark to ease her discomfort. Today, however, his face was taut and his eyes were bleak. Something had changed between them—the ease of their former interactions was gone.

  Awkwardly she gestured to the paper in his hand. “It has arrived?”

  There was no need to clarify what “it” was.

  Nick nodded briefly, his gaze returning to the summons.

  Striving to maintain an appearance of normalcy, Lottie went to the sideboard and served herself from the covered dishes. Nick helped her into the chair beside him and resumed his seat. He regarded the remains of his breakfast with unusual concentration, while a maid came to set a cup of steaming tea before Lottie.

  They were both silent until the maid left the room.

  “The ball will be given next Saturday,” Nick said brusquely, not looking at her. “Will you have an appropriate gown by then?”

  “Yes. I’ve already been fitted for a ballgown, and there were only a few minor alterations to be made.”

  “Good.”

  “Are you angry?” Lottie asked.

  He picked up his knife and regarded it moodily, scraping the tip of the blade against the calloused pad of his thumb. “I’m beginning to feel oddly resigned to the situation. Now the news is leaking from the offices of the Crown and the Lord Chancellor. It’s all been set in motion, and there is nothing anyone could do to stop it now. Sir Ross will introduce us at the ball as Lord and Lady Sydney…and from then on, Ni
ck Gentry will be dead.”

  Lottie stared at him intently, struck by his odd phrasing. “You mean the name will no longer be used,” she said. “You, as Lord Sydney, will be very much alive. Shall I begin to call you John in private?”

  A scowl pulled at his features, and he set the knife down. “No. I’ll be Sydney to the rest of the world, but in my own home I’ll answer to the name that I choose.”

  “Very well…Nick.” Lottie stirred a generous lump of sugar into her tea and sipped the hot, sweet liquid. “The name has served you well for many years, hasn’t it? I daresay you’ve given it far more renown than the original Gentry ever would have.” Her idle remark earned a peculiar glance from him, somehow rebuking and beseeching at the same time. A sudden realization flashed through her mind—the real Nick Gentry, the boy who had died of cholera aboard the prison hulk, was at the heart of the secret that tormented her husband. Lottie stared absently into her tea, striving to keep her tone casual as she asked, “What was he like? You haven’t yet told me.”

  “He was an orphan, whose mother was hanged for thievery. He lived in the streets for most of his life, starting as a pudding shammer and eventually acquiring his own gang of ten.”

  “Pudding shammer,” Lottie repeated, puzzled.

  “Stealing food to survive. That’s the lowest of the low, except for beggars. But Gentry learned fast, and he became a proficient thief. Finally he was caught robbing a house, and he was sentenced to the prison hulk.”

  “And then you became friends,” Lottie prompted.

  Nick’s expression became distant as long-buried memories recalled him to the past. “He was strong, shrewd…with sharp instincts from living so long in the streets. He told me things I needed to know to stay alive in the hulk…protected me sometimes…”

  “Protected you from what?” Lottie whispered. “The guards?”

  Nick jerked out of his trance, blinking the remoteness from his eyes. He glanced down at his hand, which was gripping the knife handle too tightly. Carefully he set the gleaming object on the table and pushed his chair back.

  “I’m going out for a while,” he said, his voice stripped of all nuance. “I expect I will see you at dinner this evening.”

  Lottie responded in the same carefully neutral tone. “Very well. Have a pleasant day.”

  During the week that ensued, the days and nights were dizzying in their contrast. Lottie’s daytime hours were occupied with errands and small practical matters. She was never quite certain when she would see Nick, for he came and went at will. At supper they would discuss meetings that he’d had with investment partners and bankers, or his occasional visits to Bow Street, as Sir Grant occasionally consulted with him on matters pertaining to past cases. In the daytime, Lottie’s interactions with Nick were cordial, the conversation pleasant and yet slightly impersonal.

  The nights, however, were a far different story. Nick made love to her with an almost desperate intensity. He did things that shocked her, leaving no part of her body untouched in his passion. At times their lovemaking was urgent and primitive, while other times it was languid and slow, with both of them reluctant to let it end. There were also unexpected moments of humor, as Nick played with her, teased her, and coaxed her to try positions so undignified that she dissolved into mortified giggles.

  No matter what enjoyment the nights held, however, each day brought them closer to the time when Sir Ross would make the announcement that would change the course of their lives. Lottie knew that her husband dreaded the ball, and that the months afterward would be quite difficult as he tried to adjust to his new circumstances. She was certain, however, that she could be of some help to him. When she had entered into the marriage, she had never suspected that he might need her in any way, nor had she thought that she would take any satisfaction in helping him. And yet, she felt very much like a helpmate…a partner…and sometimes, for just a moment or two, a wife.

  As the night of the ball finally arrived, Lottie was thankful that she’d accepted Sophia’s advice at the dressmaker’s. Sophia had helped her choose styles that were youthful but ladylike, in soft colors that flattered her immensely. The gown Lottie had decided to wear tonight was a pale blue satin overlaid with white tulle, with a daring scooped neckline that bared the tops of her shoulders. Lottie stood in the center of the bedroom while Mrs. Trench and Harriet pulled the billowing gown over her head and helped guide her arms through the puffed sleeves of stiffened satin. It was a gown as beautiful—no, more beautiful—than any she had seen during the parties in Hampshire. Thinking of the ball she was about to attend, and Nick’s reaction when he saw her, Lottie was nearly giddy with excitement.

  Her light-headedness was no doubt encouraged by the fact that her corset was laced with unusual tightness, to enable Mrs. Trench to fasten the close-fitting gown. Wincing in the confinement of stays and laces, Lottie stared into the looking glass as the two women adjusted the ballgown. The transparent white tulle overslip was embroidered with sprays of white silk roses. White satin shoes, long kid gloves, and an embroidered gauze scarf were the final touches, making Lottie feel like a princess. The only flaw was her stick-straight hair, which refused to hold a curl no matter how hot the tongs were. After several fruitless attempts to create a pinned-up mass of ringlets, Lottie opted for a simple braided coil atop her head, encircled with fluffy white roses.

  When Harriet and Mrs. Trench stood back to view the final results of their labors, Lottie laughed and did a quick turn, making the blue skirts whirl beneath the floating white tulle.

  “You look beautiful, my lady,” Mrs. Trench commented with obvious pleasure.

  Pausing in mid-whirl, Lottie stared at her with a wondering smile. As Nick had not brought himself to make any kind of announcement to the servants about reclaiming his family name and title, it had been left to Lottie to tell them about their master’s noble origins. After their initial amazement had faded, the servants had seemed more than a little pleased by the turn of events. If they were to become servants of a peer’s household, their own status in the world would be greatly enhanced.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Trench,” Lottie replied. “As always, you have been invaluable this evening. We couldn’t manage without you, especially in the days to come.”

  “Yes, my lady.” The housekeeper wore an expression of frank anticipation. As they had previously discussed, a brand-new household would have to be established in Worcestershire, with at least thirty servants to start with. Mrs. Trench would be largely responsible for selecting and hiring the new staff.

  Lottie left the room, her gown swishing and rustling as she moved. As she descended the grand staircase, she saw Nick waiting in the entrance hall, his body as tense as that of a panther about to strike. His broad-shouldered form was dressed to perfection in the formal scheme of a dark coat, silver waistcoat, and a charcoal silk necktie. With his dark brown hair neatly brushed and his face gleaming from a close shave, he was both virile and elegant. His head turned toward her, and suddenly his narrow-eyed impatience was replaced by an arrested expression.

  Lottie felt a rush of elation at the look in his eyes. She deliberately took her time about reaching him. “Do I look like a viscountess?” she asked.

  His lips quirked wryly. “No viscountess I’ve ever seen looks like you, Lottie.”

  She smiled. “Is that a compliment?”

  “Oh, yes. In fact…” Nick took her gloved hand and assisted her down the last step. He held her gaze compulsively, his fingers tightening around hers, and he answered her light question with a gravity that stunned her. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said huskily.

  “The world?” she repeated with a laugh.

  “When I say you’re beautiful,” he murmured, “I refuse to qualify the statement in any way. Except to add that the only way you could be more so is if you were naked.”

  She laughed at his audacity. “I am afraid that you will have to reconcile yourself to the fact that I’m going to re
main fully clothed tonight.”

  “Until after the ball,” he countered. He tugged at the fingertips of her left glove, loosening them one by one.

  “What are you doing?” Lottie asked, suddenly breathless.

  His blue eyes taunted her. “Removing your glove.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To admire your hand.” Drawing the glove completely away, he draped it over the nearby banister of the stairs and lifted her tapered fingers to his mouth. Lottie watched as he kissed them each in turn, his lips warm on her skin. By the time he finished with a soft kiss in the center of her palm, her entire arm was tingling. Lowering her hand, Nick regarded it thoughtfully. “It lacks something.” Reaching into his pocket, he murmured, “Close your eyes.”

  Lottie obeyed with a slight smile. She felt something cool and heavy slide over her fourth finger, fitting snugly at the base. Realizing what it was, she opened her eyes and caught her breath.

  The ring was a huge, dome-shaped sapphire, a blue that nearly approached the dark, sparkling depth of her husband’s eyes. The gem was set in gold, with a ring of smaller diamonds surrounding it. What made the sapphire so remarkable, however, was the star that danced on the silky surface of the gem, appearing to slide across it with the light. Awestruck, Lottie looked up into Nick’s dark face.

  “Does it please you?” he asked.

  Words eluded her. She tightened her fingers on his, her mouth opening and closing before she could manage to speak. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely. I didn’t expect anything like this. Oh, how generous of you!” Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

  Nick’s arms closed around her. She felt his hot breath on the side of her neck, while his hand drew gently over her lace-covered back. “Don’t you know that I would give you anything you wanted?” he said softly. “Anything at all.”

  Afraid to let him see her expression, Lottie remained close against him, her face averted. He had spoken without thinking. Either that, or the words could not possibly reveal what she thought they did. Nick stiffened, as if realizing what he had just said, and he stepped back from her quickly. Risking a glance at him, Lottie saw the careful blankness of his face, and she remained silent, giving him control of the moment.