Worth Any Price (22 page)

“Wait,” Nick demanded. “Finish what you were going to say!” But Sophia had already glided away with Sir Ross in tow, leaving Nick to seethe in frustration.

When Lottie was released from the duchess’s attentions, she took Nick’s arm and accompanied him as they mingled with various groups. She was adept at light social conversation, talking amiably without becoming drawn into a lengthy discussion, moving gracefully among the guests and remembering people they had met on previous occasions. It was clear that had Nick wished to leave her while he joined his friends in the smoking and billiards rooms, Lottie would have been perfectly comfortable. However, as Nick saw the number of covetous gazes following his wife’s every movement, he remained close beside her, occasionally resting his hand at the small of her back in a territorial gesture that was well understood by every man who saw it.

An ebullient melody filled the air, provided by an orchestra that was carefully concealed by a forest of potted plants in one of the upper balconies. As they made their way through the crowded ballroom, Lottie flirted with Nick discreetly, laying her hand on his chest in provocative little touches, rising to whisper in his ear until her lips brushed his skin. Semi-aroused and thoroughly fascinated, Nick breathed in the scent of white roses from her hair and stood close enough to see the faint dusting of perfumed powder that had collected in the gentle valley between her breasts.

Suddenly Lottie’s attention was caught by a small group of women, two of whom were staring at her with obvious excitement. “Nick, I see some friends that I haven’t set eyes on since I was at
Maidstone’s. I must speak with them—why don’t you join your gentlemen friends? You certainly don’t want to listen to us gossip about our school days.”

Nick was disgruntled by his wife’s clear desire to be rid of him. “Fine,” he said curtly. “I’ll go to the billiards room.”

Lottie shot him a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. “Promise you will come find me for the first waltz?”

Realizing that he was being adeptly managed, Nick grumbled an assent and watched Lottie glide toward the group of waiting women. To his astonishment, he stood there feeling completely bereft. He was so mesmerized by one small woman that he could scarcely think straight. He, who was so eternally self-assured, was in danger of being led around by the nose by his own wife.

Brooding over the alarming discovery, Nick heard his brother-in-law’s deep voice beside him.

“It happens to the best of us, Sydney.”

Nick turned to face Sir Ross. Uncannily, Sir Ross seemed to understand exactly what he was feeling. His gray eyes gleamed with amusement as he continued in a tone that was not unsympathetic. “No matter how strong our resolve, we eventually find ourselves enslaved by the compulsive preference for one particular woman. You’ve been caught, my friend. You may as well reconcile yourself to it.”

Nick did not bother trying to deny it. “I was going to be so much smarter than you,” he muttered.

Sir Ross grinned. “I prefer to think that intelligence has nothing to do with it. For if a man’s intellect is measured by his ability to remain untouched by love, I would be the greatest idiot alive.”

The word
love
made Nick flinch. “What would it take to make you shut your gob, Cannon?”

“A glass of 1805 Cossart-Gordon would probably do it,” came the amiable reply. “And if I’m not mistaken, they’ve just brought out a case in the billiards room.”

“Let’s go, then,” Nick said, and they strode from the ballroom together.

“Lottie Howard!” Two young women rushed over to her, and they clasped hands tightly, sharing grins of barely suppressed glee. Were it not for their strict training at Maidstone’s, the three of them would have squealed in a most unladylike manner.

“Samantha,” Lottie said warmly, gazing at the tall, attractive brunette who had always been like a kind older sister to her. “And Arabella!” Arabella Markenfield looked exactly the same as she had at school…pretty and a bit plump, with strawberry blond ringlets that were perfectly arranged on her porcelain forehead.

“I’m Lady Lexington now,” Samantha informed her with considerable pride. “I caught an earl, no less, with a good, sound fortune.” Slipping an arm around Lottie’s waist, she turned her slightly. “He’s standing right there, close to the conservatory doors. The tall, balding one. Do you see him?”

Lottie nodded as she caught sight of a somber-looking gentleman who appeared to be in his early forties, with large eyes that seemed slightly out of proportion to his long, narrow face. “He looks to be a very pleasant gentleman,” Lottie remarked, and Samantha laughed.

“Very tactful, dear. I’ll be the first to admit that the earl is not much to look at, and he has no sense of humor. However, men with a sense of humor often tend to grate on one’s nerves. And he is an impeccable gentleman.”

“I’m so glad,” Lottie said sincerely, knowing from past conversations with Samantha that such a marriage was very much what she had desired. “And you, Arabella?”

“I married into the Seaforths last year,” Arabella confided with a giggle. “You’ve heard of them, I’m sure…do you remember, one of the daughters was in the class ahead of us…”

“Yes,” Lottie said, recalling that the Seaforths were a great untitled family with a considerable quantity of rich farming land. “Don’t say you married her brother Harry?”

“Just so!” The girl’s ringlets danced merrily on her forehead as she continued with great animation. “Harry is quite fine-looking, though he’s grown as round as a bait-pot since our wedding. And he is ever so charming. Of course I’ll never have a title, but there are compensations…my own carriage…a real French lady’s maid, not one of those Cockney maids who throw out a see-voo-play or a bon-joor
every once in a while!” She giggled at her own wit, and sobered enough to regard Lottie with round, curious eyes. “Dear Lottie, is it true that you are Lady Sydney now?”

“Yes.” Lottie glanced in the direction of her husband, who was walking from the ballroom in the company of Sir Ross, their long legs matched at an equal pace. She felt an unexpected rush of pride at the sight of him, so virile and graceful, his bold good looks displayed to their best advantage in the elegant evening clothes.

“Handsome as the devil,” Samantha commented, following her gaze. “Is he as wicked as they say, Lottie?”

“Not in the least,” Lottie lied. “Lord Sydney is as mild-tempered and obliging a gentleman as could be found anywhere.”

It was a case of unfortunate timing that at that moment, Nick happened to glance in her direction. His gaze encompassed her in a smoldering sweep that threatened to singe her clothing to ashes. Knowing what that look meant, and what would happen in the evening hours after the ball, Lottie felt a thrill deep inside, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

Samantha and Arabella, meanwhile, had snapped open their fans and were employing them vigorously. “Good heavens,” Samantha exclaimed in a low voice, “the way he looks at you is positively indecent, Lottie.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Lottie said demurely, though she felt her own cheeks heating.

Arabella giggled behind her own painted silk fan. “The only time I’ve ever seen that expression on my Harry’s face is when a plate of Yorkshire pudding is set before him.”

Samantha’s dark eyes were keen with interest. “I was under the impression that Lord Radnor owned you part and parcel, Lottie. How did you escape him? And where have you been these past two years? And most of all, how in heaven’s name did you manage to catch a man like Nick Gentry—and is this long-lost-lord business some bit of trickery?”

“No,” Lottie said instantly, “he truly is Lord Sydney.”

“Did you know that he was a viscount when you married?”

“Well, no.” Lottie strove to offer the simplest explanation possible. “To start with, you know that I left school to avoid marrying Lord Radnor—”

“The definitive scandal of Maidstone’s,” Arabella interrupted. “They still talk of it, I’m told. None of the teachers or staff could conceive that sweet, obedient Charlotte Howard would simply disappear like that.”

Lottie paused in momentary embarrassment. She was far from proud of her actions—it was simply that she’d had no other choice. “To avoid being found, I changed my name and went to work as a companion to Lady Westcliff in Hampshire—”

“You
worked
?” Arabella repeated in awe. “My word, how you must have suffered.”

“Not unduly,” Lottie replied with a wry smile. “The Westcliffs were kind, and I liked the dowager countess quite well. It was while I was in her employ that I made the acquaintance of Mr. Gentry—er, Lord Sydney. He proposed quite soon after we met, and…” She paused, an image flashing in her mind of that evening in Lord Westcliff’s library, the firelight playing over Nick’s face as he bent to her breast…

“And I accepted,” she said hastily, feeling her face turn fiery red.

“Hmmm.” Samantha smiled at Lottie’s discomfiture, seeming to guess the reason behind it. “Apparently it was a memorable proposal.”

“Were your parents terribly put out with you?” Arabella asked.

Lottie nodded, reflecting with sad irony that “put out” was singularly inadequate to describe her family’s reaction.

Samantha’s face was grave with understanding. “They won’t be angry forever, dear,” she said with a pragmatism that was far more comforting than sympathy would have been. “If your husband is half as wealthy as the rumors indicate, the Howards will eventually prove more than happy to claim him as a son-in-law.”

The three of them conversed for a while, eagerly becoming reacquainted and making plans to call on each other soon. Lottie was unaware of time passing
until she heard the orchestra begin to play a newly popular waltz called “Blossoms in the Spring,” a melody that immediately inspired a host of eager couples to begin whirling through the room. Wondering if Nick would remember to dance the first waltz with her, Lottie decided to look for him at the side of the room. Excusing herself from the company of her friends, she walked along one of the first-floor galleries, which was separated from the dance floor by carved wooden railings and bowers of greenery and pink roses. A few couples were absorbed in private conversations, half-concealed by the massive flower arrangements, and Lottie averted her gaze with a slight smile as she passed them.

She was startled by a sudden touch on her arm, and she stopped with a jolt of anticipation, expecting that Nick had found her. But as she glanced down at the growing pressure on her gloved wrist, she did not see Nick’s large, square hand. A set of long, almost skeletal fingers had wrapped around her wrist, and with a shock of cold horror, she heard the voice that had haunted her nightmares for years.

“Did you think you could avoid me forever, Charlotte?”

Bracing herself, Lottie looked up into the face of Arthur, Lord Radnor. Time had wrought an astonishing difference in him, as if ten years had passed rather than two. He was unnaturally pale, his skin the color of sun-bleached bone, his dark brows and eyes standing out in jarring contrast. Harsh grooves of bitterness divided his face into angular sections.

Lottie had known the inevitability of seeing Lord Radnor someday. In the back of her mind, she had assumed that he would regard her with hatred. But what she saw in his eyes was far more alarming. Hunger. A voracity that had nothing to do with sexual desire but something far more consuming. Instinctively she understood that his longing to own her had only intensified during her absence, and
that her betrayal of him had given him the deadly resolve of an executioner.

“My lord,” she acknowledged, her voice steady even though her lips were trembling. “You are importunate. Release my arm, please.”

Ignoring her request, Radnor pulled her into the concealment of a greenery-laded column, his fingers tightening into a bruising vise. Lottie went with him easily, determined that this ugliness from her past would not result in a scene that would mar an evening so important for her husband. Ridiculous, that she should be so afraid in a room filled with people. Radnor certainly could not, would not, harm her here. If they were alone, however, she believed that he would feel absolutely justified in wrapping those long fingers around her throat and choking the last breath from her.

His gaze sliced over her. “My God, what has he turned you into? I can smell the lust on you. Only the thinnest veneer separated you from the ill-bred provincials you came from, and now it has vanished completely.”

“In that case,” Lottie replied, her imprisoned hand balling into a numb fist, “you will disassociate yourself from me at once, as I’m certain you will not wish to be contaminated by my presence.”

“Stupid girl,” Radnor whispered, his black eyes lit with cold fire, “you cannot begin to understand what you’ve lost. Do you know what you would be without me?
Nothing
. I
made
you. I lifted you from
the bowels of society. I was going to turn you into a creature of grace and perfection. And instead you betrayed me and turned your back on your family.”

“I did not ask for your patronage.”

“All the more reason you should have knelt to me in gratitude. You owe me everything, Charlotte. Your very life.”

Lottie saw that it would be pointless to debate his insane certainty. “Be that as it may,” she said softly, “I belong to Lord Sydney now. You have no claim on me.”

His mouth twisted in a malevolent sneer. “My claim on you goes far beyond some piddling marriage vows.”

“Have you deluded yourself into thinking that you could purchase me like some bit of goods in a shop window?” she asked scornfully.

“I own your very soul,” Radnor whispered, clenching her wrist until she felt the delicate bones flex, and tears of pain came to her eyes. “I purchased it at the expense of my own. I’ve invested more than ten years of my life in you, and I will be repaid.”

“How? I am another man’s wife. And I feel nothing for you now—not fear, not hatred—only indifference. What can you possibly think you will recoup from me?”

Just as Lottie thought her arm would break, she heard a quiet snarl from behind her. It was Nick, moving swiftly between them. His arm descended in a blur, and whatever he did, it caused Lord Radnor
to let go of her with a grunt of pain. The abrupt release sent Lottie stumbling backward, and Nick caught her hard against his chest. Automatically she turned into the crook of his arm, and she heard the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke to Lord Radnor.

“Don’t come near her again, or I’ll kill you.” It was a quiet statement of fact.

“Insolent swine,” Radnor said hoarsely.

Risking a glance at Radnor from the safety of her husband’s arms, Lottie saw a grayish-purple tide sweep over his pallid face. It was clear that the sight of Nick’s hands on her was more than he could bear. Nick touched the back of her neck and slid his fingers along the top of her spine, taunting the earl deliberately.

“Very well,” Radnor whispered. “I leave you to your debasement, Charlotte.”

“Leave,” Nick said.
“Now.”

Radnor walked away, his frame stiff with the righteous fury of a deposed monarch.

Cradling her throbbing wrist with her free hand, Lottie saw that they had drawn more than a few curious stares from people passing through the gallery. In fact, some guests in the ballroom were becoming keenly aware of the scene. “Nick—” she whispered, but he went into action before she needed to say another word.

Keeping a supportive arm around her, Nick motioned to a servant who was passing with a tray of empty glasses. “You,” he said tersely. “Come here.”

The dark-haired footman obeyed with haste. “Yes, my lord?”

“Tell me where I can find a private room.”

The footman thought rapidly. “If you proceed along that hallway, my lord, you will come to a music room that I believe is unoccupied at present.”

“Fine. Bring some brandy there. Quickly.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Dazedly Lottie went with Nick as he guided her through the hallway. Chaotic thoughts filled her mind, while the elegant din of the ballroom receded behind them. Her body was charged with peculiar battle-readiness. The long-dreaded confrontation with Lord Radnor had left her ill, elated, furious, and relieved. How was it possible to feel so many things at once?

The music room was quietly lit, the outlines of a piano, harp, and several assorted music stands casting deep shadows on the wall. Nick closed the door and turned to Lottie, his broad shoulders looming over her. She had never seen his face so hard.

“I’m all right,” Lottie said, and the unusually high pitch of her own voice actually drew a giggle from her throat. “Really, there’s no need to look so—” She paused with another uncontainable laugh, seeing that Nick clearly thought she had taken leave of her senses. She would never be able to explain the wild sense of freedom that flooded her, after having faced her greatest fear.

“I’m sorry,” she said giddily, even as tears of relief dampened her eyes. “It’s just…. I’ve been so afraid
of Lord Radnor for my entire life…but as I saw him just now, I realized that his power over me is gone. He can do nothing to me. I don’t feel any obligation to him wh-whatsoever…and I don’t even feel guilty about it. The burden of it is gone, as well as the fear, and it feels so strange…”

As she trembled and laughed and blotted her eyes with her gloved fingers, Nick took her into his arms and tried to soothe her. “Easy…Easy…,” he whispered, while his hands moved gently over her shoulders and back. “Take a deep breath. Hush, everything’s all right.” The warm brand of his mouth pressed against her forehead, her wet lashes, her cheeks. “You’re safe, Lottie. You’re mine, my wife, and I’ll take care of you. You’re safe.”

As Lottie tried to explain that she wasn’t afraid, he murmured for her to be quiet, to rest against him. She began to breathe deeply, as if she had just run for miles without stopping, and lay her head on the center of his chest. Nick tore off his gloves and placed his warm hands on her chilled skin, his strong fingers kneading the rigid muscles of her neck and upper shoulders.

Someone knocked at the door.

“The brandy,” Nick said quietly and guided Lottie to an armchair.

Lottie sank into the chair, listening to the footman’s appreciative exclamation as Nick gave him a coin in return for his trouble. Returning with a tray bearing a bottle and a snifter, Nick set it on a nearby table.

“I don’t need that,” Lottie said with a wan smile.

Ignoring her, Nick poured a finger of brandy into the snifter and held the bowl of the glass between his palms. After warming the spirits with his hands, he gave it to her. “Drink.”

Obediently Lottie took the snifter. To her surprise, her hands trembled so badly that she could barely hold it. Nick’s face darkened as he saw her difficulty. He sank to his knees before her, his muscular thighs spread on either side of her legs. Covering her fingers with his own, Nick steadied her hands and helped guide the rim of the snifter to her lips. She took a sip, grimacing as the brandy scalded her throat.

“More,” Nick murmured, forcing her to take another swallow, and another, until her eyes watered from the velvet fire.

“I think it’s a bit off,” she said scratchily.

Nick’s eyes flickered with sudden amusement. “It’s not off. It’s a Fin Bois ‘98.”

“It must have been a bad year.”

He grinned at that, his thumbs caressing the backs of her hands. “Someone should tell the wine merchants, then, as it usually goes for fifty pounds a bottle.”

“Fifty pounds?” Lottie echoed, aghast. Closing her eyes, she finished the brandy in a few determined gulps and coughed as she gave him the empty glass.

“Good girl,” Nick murmured, sliding a hand around the back of her neck and squeezing gently. She could not help reflecting that although Nick’s
hand was much larger and infinitely more powerful than Radnor’s, he had never caused her a single moment of pain. Nick’s touch had given her only pleasure.

She winced as she rested her sore wrist on the arm of the chair. Subtle as the movement was, Nick detected it immediately. He swore beneath his breath as he took her arm and began to peel away the long glove.

“It’s nothing,” Lottie said. “Really, I would prefer to leave the glove on…Lord Radnor did take hold of my arm, but it wasn’t all that—” She broke off with a gasp of discomfort as Nick eased the glove from her hand.

Nick froze as he saw the black finger marks that had been left by Lord Radnor’s vicious grip. The murderous fury that suffused his face caused Lottie to start in alarm. “I bruise quite easily,” she said. “You mustn’t look like that. The marks will be gone in a day or two, and then—”

“I’m going to kill him.” Nick bared his teeth in feral rage. “When I get through with him, all that will be left is a stain on the ground, damn him to everlasting hell—”

“Please.” Lottie laid a soft hand on his stiff cheek. “Lord Radnor intended to ruin this evening for both of us, and I refuse to let him succeed. I want you to bind my wrist with a handkerchief, and help me to put my glove back on. We must hurry back before we’re missed. Sir Ross will be making his speech, and we—”

“I don’t give a damn about that.”

“I do.” Regaining her composure, Lottie stroked his cheek with soft fingertips. “I want to go out there and waltz with you. And then stand by your side while Sir Ross tells everyone who you really are.” Her lashes lowered as she glanced at his mouth. “And then I want you to take me home and carry me to bed.”

As Lottie had intended, Nick was momentarily distracted. His savage gaze began to soften. “And then what?”

Before she could answer, the door vibrated with a demanding thump. “Sydney,” came a muffled voice from the other side.

“Yes,” Nick said, rising to his feet.

Sir Ross’s tall form filled the doorway. His face was expressionless as he looked at the two of them. “I was just told of Lord Radnor’s presence.” He went directly to Lottie, crouching before her much as Nick had. Seeing her bruised arm, Sir Ross gestured toward it carefully. “May I?” His voice was more gentle than she had ever heard it.

“Yes,” Lottie murmured, allowing him to take her hand in his. Sir Ross examined the darkened wrist with a gathering frown. His face was very close, and his gray eyes were so kind and concerned that Lottie wondered how she could have ever thought him aloof. She recalled his reputed compassion for women and children—a focal point of his magisterial career, Sophia had told her.

Sir Ross’s mouth flexed in a faint, reassuring
smile as he released her hand. “This won’t happen again—I can promise you that.”

“Wonderful party,” Nick said sarcastically. “Perhaps you can tell us who the hell included Lord Radnor on the guest list?”

“Nick,” Lottie interceded, “it’s all right, I am certain that Sir Ross did not—”

“It is not all right,” Sir Ross countered quietly. “I hold myself responsible for this, and I humbly beg your forgiveness, Charlotte. Lord Radnor was most certainly
not
included on the guest list that I approved, but I will find out how he managed to obtain an invitation.” His brow creased as he continued. “Lord Radnor’s behavior tonight was irrational as well as reprehensible…it bespeaks an obsession with Charlotte that will likely not end with this incident.”

“Oh, it’s going to end,” Nick said darkly. “I have several methods in mind that will cure Radnor’s obsession. To start with, if he hasn’t left the premises by the time I go back out there—”

“He’s gone,” Sir Ross interrupted. “Two of the runners are here—I bid them to remove him in as discreet a manner as possible. Calm yourself, Sydney—it will do no good for you to rampage like a maddened bull.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me how calm
you
would be if someone had left those bruises on Sophia.”

Sir Ross nodded with a short sigh. “Point taken.” His dark brows drew together as he continued. “Obviously
it is your right to deal with Radnor as you will, Sydney, and I would not presume to stop you, or to interfere. But you should be aware that I intend to approach him myself and make it clear that Charlotte is under my protection as well as yours. The fact that Radnor would dare accost a member of my family is an untenable outrage.”

Lottie was touched by his concern. She had never imagined that she would have two such powerful men to defend her from Lord Radnor—not only her husband but her brother-in-law as well. “Thank you, Sir Ross.”

“No one would blame you if you wished to go home now,” he told her. “As for the speech I had planned to give this evening, other arrangements can be made—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lottie said steadily. “And if you do not give your speech tonight, Sir Ross, I vow I will do it in your stead.”

He smiled suddenly. “All right, then. I would hate to gainsay your wishes.” He sent Nick a questioning look. “Will you return to the ballroom soon?”