on my shoulders. The mere mention of the name annoys the hell out of me.'
Lottie wondered why he was so antagonized by the name he had been born with. There had to be some reason other than the ones he had given so far.
'Nick, what did Sir Ross mean when he said that you were financially equipped to manage the title?'
His mouth twisted. 'He meant that I could afford the cost of maintaining a large estate and the kind of lifestyle required of a peer.'
'How could he know such a thing?'
'He doesn't know for certain.'
'He is wrong, of course.'
'No,' Nick muttered, 'he's not wrong. Before I came to Bow Street, I made a few investments, and I have some holdings here and there. All in all, I have about two hundred put away.'
Silently Lottie reflected that two hundred pounds in savings was not bad, but it did not offer the kind of security one could have wished for. She only hoped that his investments would not depreciate in value. 'Well, that seems quite satisfactory,' she said, not wishing to hurt his feelings. 'I think we shall do fairly well if we economize. But I do not think the circumstances allow for a wedding trousseau. Not at this time. Perhaps in the future-'
'Lottie,' he interrupted, 'we don't need to economize.'
'Two hundred pounds is a fine sum, but it will be difficult to maintain a household with-'
'Lottie.' He glanced at her with an odd expression. 'I was referring to thousands. Two hundred thousand pounds.'
'But...but...' Lottie was astonished. It was an immense sum, a fortune by anyone's standards.
'And about five thousand a year from investments and private commissions,' he added, stunning her further. His face darkened. 'Although it seems my days of private commissions are over.'
'Why, you must be as rich as Lord Radnor,' she said dazedly.
He made a choppy gesture with his hand, as if consideration of money was completely irrelevant, compared to his far greater problem. 'Probably.'
'You could afford a dozen houses. You could have anything you-'
'I don't need a dozen houses. I can only sleep under one roof at a time. I can only eat three meals a day. And I don't give a damn about impressing anyone.'
Lottie was surprised by the realization that he was not motivated to acquire wealth. His fortune had come as a consequence of his need to outwit everyone from the underworld to Bow Street. And now that the profession of law enforcement had been taken from him, he would be in urgent need of something to do. He was a tremendously active man, not at all suited for the cultivated indolence of aristocratic life. How in heaven's name was he going to adjust to living as a peer?
His thoughts must have mirrored hers, for he gave a groan of hopeless anger and raked his hand roughly through his hair. A stray lock fell on his forehead, and Lottie was startled by her sudden urge to play with the thick chocolate-colored strands, smooth them back, slide her fingers into the warm silk.
'Lottie,' he said gruffly, 'I'm going out for a while. I probably won't be back until morning. You have a reprieve for tonight.'
'What are you going to do?'
'I don't know yet.' He stepped back from her with a restlessness that contained an edge of panic, as if a heavy net had dropped over him.
Lottie knew that she should not care if he went out and drank, or struck up a fight with someone, or did any of the numerous foolish things that men in search of amusement did. She should not want to soothe his barely contained fury. But she did.
Without allowing herself time to consider her actions, Lottie approached him, touching the fine broadcloth of his coat with her palm. Her hand smoothed over the fabric and eased inside. His waistcoat was the same inky black as his coat, but the material was silkier, slipping a little over the hard delineation of his chest muscles. She thought of how hot his skin must be, to impart such warmth to the thick garment.
Nick was suddenly motionless, his breath changing to a slower, deeper rhythm. Lottie did not look at his face but concentrated instead on the knot of his gray necktie as her fingers explored the snowy, fragrant folds of his shirt.
'I don't want a reprieve,' she said eventually and tugged at the knot until it slid loose.
As the necktie unraveled, it seemed that his self-control became similarly undone. He breathed more heavily, and his hands clenched at his sides. Inexpertly she unfastened the stiff collar of his shirt and spread it wide to reveal the amber sheen of his throat. She glanced up at his face and saw with a quake of sudden nervousness that his fury was transforming rapidly into pure sexual need. Color crept across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, a burnished glow that made his eyes look like blue fire.
His head lowered very slowly, as if he were giving her every opportunity to flee. She stayed where she was, her eyes closing as she felt the barely perceptible touch of his mouth on the side of her neck. His lips brushed the sensitive skin, parted, and the silken tip of his tongue stroked her in a delicate, hot circle. With a shaky sigh, Lottie leaned forward into his body as her legs wobbled beneath her. He did not touch her with his hands, only continued to explore her neck with exquisite leisure. She held onto him, her arms locking around his lean waist.
His hands came to her shoulders, gripping softly. He seemed undecided as to whether he wanted to pull her closer or push her away. His voice was hoarse as he asked, 'What are you doing, Lottie?'
Her heart was hammering so wildly that she could barely summon the breath to speak. 'I suppose I am encouraging you to finish what you started in Lord Westcliff's library.'
'Be certain,' he said roughly. 'I haven't had a woman in six months. If you suddenly decide to stop, I'm not going to take it well.'
'I won't tell you to stop.'
He stared at her, his gaze fever-bright, his face hard. 'Why now, when you didn't want to last night?'
That was beyond her ability to explain. After the events of this afternoon, he suddenly seemed vulnerable to her. She was beginning to see the ways in which he needed her, needs that went beyond sexual desire. And the challenge of taming him, matching his powerful will with her own, was too tempting to resist.
'We're married now,' she said, seizing on the first excuse she could think of. 'And I would prefer to...to have done with this, so that I won't have to dread it.'
She saw the predatory flicker in his eyes. He wanted her. He did not waste time asking questions, only extended his hand. 'Come upstairs, then.'
Carefully Lottie placed her hand in his. 'Nick, there is just one thing...'
'What?'
'It's not dark yet.'
'And?'
'Is it appropriate to do this in the afternoon?'
The question pulled an unsteady laugh from him. 'I don't know. And I damn well don't care.' Keeping her hand in his, he guided her from the library to the entrance hall, and up the grand staircase.
CHAPTER 9
Lottie went upstairs with him, her hand caught fast in his, her legs feeling like rubber when they finally reached his bedroom. The curtains were parted, admitting soft gray light through the windows. She would have much preferred darkness. The thought of being naked in the unforgiving daylight caused her to shake all over.
'Easy,' Nick murmured, standing behind her. His hands closed gently around her upper arms. His voice was lower, thicker than usual. 'I'll be careful. I can make it pleasant for you, if...'
'If?'
'If you'll trust me.'
They were both still and silent. Lottie moistened her lips, reflecting that she hadn't trusted anyone in years. And to put her faith in Nick Gentry...the most unscrupulous man she had ever met...it was not folly, it was insanity. 'Yes,' she said, surprising herself. 'Yes, I will trust you.'
He made a soft sound, as if the words had caught him off guard.
Gradually his hand slid across the upper part of her chest, exerting a gentle pressure that caused her to lean
