And Lottie found herself telling him what no one had ever wanted to hear.
'Every time I came home, I had to go into a private room with Radnor, and account to him for my behavior at school, and answer his questions about my studies and my friends, and...' She stared into Gentry's inscrutable face, finding that his lack of reaction made it easy for her to continue. 'He made me sit on his lap while we talked. He touched me, on my chest and beneath my skirts. It was repulsive, allowing him to...but I couldn't stop him, and my parents...' She shrugged helplessly. 'They wouldn't listen when I tried to tell them. It went on for years. My mother slapped me once, and told me that I belonged to Lord Radnor, and that he was going to marry me anyway. She said I must let him do as he liked. The family's safety depended on his pleasure and goodwill.' Shame infused her voice as she added, 'And then I ran from him anyway, and by doing so I threw them all to the wolves.'
Gentry spoke carefully, as if she were still an innocent child rather than a woman of twenty. 'Did it go farther than touching, Lottie?'
She stared at him without comprehension.
His dark head tilted slightly, his voice remaining soft as he persisted. 'Did he bring you or himself to climax, while you sat on his lap?'
Her face turned hot as she understood what he was referring to...the mysterious ecstatic culmination that some of the girls had described with naughty laughs. A physical pleasure that she certainly could never have felt with Radnor. 'I don't think so.'
'Believe me, you would know if either of you had,' he said sardonically.
Lottie thought of the way that Gentry had touched her in the firelight, the coiling sensation she had felt in her breasts and loins and stomach, the sweet aching frustration that had tormented her so. Had that been climax, or was there more she had yet to experience? She was sorely tempted to ask her companion, but she kept silent out of fear that he might mock her for her ignorance.
The sway of the well-sprung carriage lulled her, and she yawned tightly behind her hand.
'You should rest,' Gentry said quietly.
Lottie shook her head, reluctant to abandon herself in slumber while he watched. How silly to fear that small intimacy after all that had happened between them. She sought for a new topic of conversation.
'Why did you become a Bow Street runner? I can't believe you chose such a profession willingly.'
A laugh rustled in his throat. 'Oh, I was willing enough, considering the alternative. I made a deal with my brother-in-law, Sir Ross, three years ago. At the time he was chief magistrate of Bow Street, and he had evidence in his possession that would have had me dancing in the wind, had it ever been presented at a trial.'
'Dancing in the wind,' Lottie repeated, puzzled by the unfamiliar expression.
'Hanging. Dangling at the end of a rope. Believe me, I should have been drawn and quartered for some of the things I did in my underworld career.' Pausing to observe the effect of his words, Gentry smiled slightly at her obvious unease. 'In an effort to avoid the uncomfortable position of having to execute his wife's brother,' he continued, 'Sir Ross offered to conceal the damning evidence against me, if I would double-cross my underworld associates and become a runner.'
'For how long?'
'Indefinitely. Naturally I agreed, as I had no loyalty to my former companions, and I didn't fancy having my neck stretched.'
Lottie frowned. 'Why did Sir Ross want you to become a runner?'
'I believe he had the mistaken impression that a few years of public service would reform me.' Gentry grinned suddenly. 'It hasn't yet.'
'Isn't it rather hazardous for you to hunt criminals in such places, after you have betrayed them?'
'More than a few people would like my head on a silver platter,' he admitted with reckless confidence. 'In fact, you may not have to endure me for long. Everyone who knows me will vouch for the fact that I'm going to die young.'
'I probably won't be that fortunate,' she said sardonically. 'But one can hope.'
Immediately after Lottie said the words, she was inundated with shame. It wasn't like her to stoop to such nastiness. 'I'm sorry,' she said at once. 'I shouldn't have said that.'
'That's all right,' he said easily. 'I've inspired people to say much worse, with less cause.'
'That I can believe,' she replied, and he laughed.
'I'm going to snuff the light,' he said. 'I have to take my rest when and where I can find it. And tomorrow promises to be busy.'
The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable. Lottie settled into the corner, exhausted and dazed by the unforeseen direction her life had taken. She had expected that sleep would be elusive, with all the thoughts buzzing through her mind. However, a deep slumber soon overtook her, and she sagged against the seat cushions. Shifting, twisting restlessly, she sought a more comfortable position. She felt herself being gathered up and held like a child, and the dream was so soothing that she couldn't help but surrender to the insidious pleasure. Something soft brushed her forehead, and the last few pins that anchored her coiffure were gently drawn from her hair. She inhaled a wonderful scent, the crispness of wool and shaving soap overlaying the essence of clean male skin.
Realizing that she was lying in Gentry's arms, snuggled in his lap, she stirred groggily. 'What...what...'
'Sleep,' he whispered. 'I won't harm you.' His long fingers moved through the loose locks of her hair.
The part of Lottie's mind that protested such a circumstance grappled with the rest of her brain, which pointed out that she was exhausted, and at this point it hardly mattered what liberties she allowed him. However, she stubbornly tugged free of him and pushed away from the inviting warmth of his body. He released her easily, his eyes a dark glitter in the shadows.
'I'm not your enemy, Lottie.'
'Are you my friend?' she parried. 'You haven't behaved like one so far.'
'I haven't forced you to do anything you didn't want to do.'
'If you hadn't found me, I would still be residing happily at Stony Cross Park-'
'You weren't happy there. I'll wager you haven't been happy a day in your life since you met Lord Radnor.'
Oh, how she longed to contradict him! But it was pointless to lie, when the truth was obvious.
'You'll find life a hell of a lot more enjoyable as my wife,' Gentry continued. 'You won't be anyone's servant. You can do as you please, within reasonable limits. And you won't have to fear Lord Radnor any longer.'
'All for the price of sleeping with you,' she muttered.
He smiled, all velvety arrogance as he replied. 'You may come to enjoy that part of it most of all.'
CHAPTER 6
When Lottie emerged from her slumber, daylight was leaking through the gaps in the window curtains. Bleary-eyed, disheveled, she glanced at her husband-to-be, whose clothes were rumpled but who was remarkably alert.
'I don't require much sleep,' he said, as if reading her thoughts. Reaching for her hand, he deposited her hairpins in her palm. Her fingers curled around the bits of wire, which had retained the heat of his skin. Mechanically she proceeded to braid and coil her hair with an efficiency born of long-standing habit.
Drawing aside the curtain, Gentry glanced at the swarming city outside the carriage window. A stray shaft of sunlight caught his eyes, turning them to a shade of blue that seemed almost unnatural. Even sitting in an enclosed carriage, Lottie could sense his familiarity with the city, the fearlessness that made no corner or rookery too dangerous for him to venture into.
No aristocrat she had ever encountered-and there had always been plenty of them at Stony Cross Park-had ever possessed such a street-seasoned look, the hardened demeanor that suggested he would be willing to do anything, no matter how abhorrent, to accomplish his goals. Well-bred men were able to draw the line at certain matters...they had principles and standards...things that Gentry had so far not displayed.
If he was indeed a peer, Lottie thought it was wise of him to reject his heritage and 'let Sydney rest in peace,' as he had put it. She was certain that had he chosen otherwise, he would have found it difficult, even impossible, to make a place for himself in London's rarefied upper crust.
'Lord Westcliff told me that you were the head of a corporation of thieves,' she commented. 'He also said that you-'
