Breathing fast, she rested her head back against his arm. With the hot water falling against his back, and the lush female body impaled on his, every lucid thought promptly evaporated. He filled her in heavy upward surges, again and again, until she cried out and clamped around him in luxurious contractions. Nick held still, feeling her quiver around him, the depths of her body becoming almost unbearably snug. Her spasms seemed to pull him deeper, drawing waves of pleasure from his groin, and he shuddered as he spent inside her.
Releasing her slowly, he let her drift down his body until her feet touched the tiled floor. He cupped a hand around her wet head and rubbed his mouth over her sodden hair, her saturated lashes, the round tip of her nose. Just as he reached her lips, she turned her face away, and he growled in frustration, dying for the taste of her. He had never wanted anything so badly. For a split second he was tempted to hold her head in his hands and crush his mouth on hers. But that wouldn't satisfy him...he could not get what he wanted from her with force.
Carrying Lottie from the shower-bath, he dried them both before the hearth in the bedroom and combed Lottie's long hair. The fine strands were dark amber when wet, turning to a pale shade of champagne when they were dry. Admiring the contrast of the shining locks against his velvet robe, he smoothed them with his fingers.
'What was said between you and Sir Grant?' Lottie asked, leaning back against his chest as they sat on the thick Aubusson rug. She was wearing another of his robes, which was at least three times her size.
'He supported Sir Ross's decision, naturally,' Nick said, inwardly surprised to realize that his bitter desperation of the morning had faded considerably. It seemed that his mind was reconciling itself to the prospect of what lay ahead, however unwillingly. He told her what Morgan had said about the runners being disbanded soon, and Lottie twisted to look at him with a thoughtful frown.
'London without the Bow Street runners?'
'Things change,' he said flatly. 'So I'm learning.'
Lottie sat to face him, unthinkingly curving her arm around his propped-up knee for support. 'Nick,' she said cautiously, 'as Sophia and I were talking today, she mentioned something that I believe you will wish to know, even though it is supposed to be a surprise.'
'I don't like surprises,' he muttered. 'I've had enough of them lately.'
'Yes, that's what I thought.'
Her eyes were clear, dark brown, like cups of shimmering caravan tea. Nick stared into her sweetly curved face, the chin too pointed, the nose too short. The little imperfections made her beauty unique and endlessly interesting, whereas more classically shaped features would have bored him quickly. His body reacted with pleasure to the pressure of the slim arm hooked around his leg and the side of her breast brushing his knee.
'What did my sister tell you?' he asked.
Lottie smoothed the loose folds of the silk robe. 'It concerns your family estate in Worcestershire. Sophia and Sir Ross are having it restored, as a gift to you. They are repairing the manor and landscaping the grounds. Sophia has taken great pains to select fabrics and paints and furnishings that closely resemble the ones she remembered. She says it is rather like taking a journey back in time...that when she walks through the front entrance, she half- expects to hear your mother's voice calling her, and to find your father smoking in the library-'
'My God,' Nick said through his teeth, rising to his feet.
Lottie remained before the fire, extending her hands toward its warmth. 'They want to take us there after the writ of summons arrives. I thought it best to give you advance warning, to allow you time to prepare yourself.'
'Thank you,' Nick managed to say tautly. 'Although no amount of time would be sufficient for that.' The family manor...Worcestershire...he had not been back there since he and Sophia had been orphaned. Was there no damned escape from this? He felt as if he were being hauled inexorably toward a bottomless pit. The Sydney name, the title, the estate, the memories...he wanted none of it, and it was being shoved upon him regardless.
A sudden suspicion spread through him. 'What else did my sister tell you?'
'Nothing of significance.'
Nick would have been able to see if his sister had confided in her. But it seemed that Sophia had not betrayed him in that way. And if she had not told Lottie by now, she would probably continue to hold her silence. Relaxing marginally, he scrubbed his fingers through his disheveled hair. 'Damn everyone and everything,' he said in a low voice. But as he saw the indignant expression on Lottie's face, he added, 'Except for you.'
'I should hope so,' she retorted. 'I am on your side, you know.'
'Are you?' he asked, drawn to the idea in spite of himself.
'Your life isn't the only one that's been turned topsy-turvy,' she informed him. 'And to think that I was worried about the problems thatmy family would cause!'
Nick was tempted to smile in the midst of his aggravation. He went to where she sat and lowered a hand to her. 'If the rain stops,' he said, pulling her up, 'we'll visit your parents tomorrow.'
Lottie's expressive face betrayed both consternation and eagerness. 'If it isn't convenient...that is, if you have other plans...I am willing to wait.'
'I have no plans,' Nick said, thinking briefly of his dismissal. 'Tomorrow will be as convenient as any other day.'
'Thank you. I do want to see them. I only hope-' Lottie fell silent, her brows knitting together. The hem of the robe dragged in a long train as Lottie went to the fire. Nick followed immediately, wanting very much to cuddle and reassure her, to kiss her lips until they softened beneath his.
'Try not to think about it,' he advised. 'Distressing yourself won't change anything.'
'It won't be a pleasant visit. I can't think of a situation in which two parties could feel more mutually betrayed. Although I am certain that most people would hold me at fault.'
Nick stroked the sides of her arms over the silk sleeves. 'If you had it to do over again, would you have stayed to marry Radnor?'
'Certainly not.'
Turning Lottie to face him, he smoothed her hair back from her forehead. 'Then I forbid you to feel guilty about it.'
'Forbid?'she repeated, arching her brows.
Nick grinned. 'You promised to obey me, didn't you? Well, do as I say, or face the consequences.'
'Which are?'
He unfastened her robe, dropped it to the floor, and proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he meant.
The Howard family lived in a hamlet two miles west of fashionable London, a residential outgrowth surrounded by farming land. Nick remembered the well-structured but shabby house from his much earlier visit, at the beginning of his search for Lottie. The irony of returning to them as their new, very much unwanted son-in-law would have made him smile, as the situation contained strong elements of farce. However, his private amusement was tamped down by Lottie's impenetrable silence. He wished he could spare her the difficulty of seeing her family. On the other hand, it was necessary for Lottie to face them and at least try to make peace.
The small Tudor-style home was one in a row of architecturally similar houses. It was fronted with small, overgrown garden plots, its red brick exterior sadly dilapidated. The front door was raised four steps from the ground, the narrow entrance leading to two downstairs rooms that served as parlors. Beside the entrance, another set of stone steps led to the cellar below, which contained a kitchen and a water-storage tank filled from the main in the road.
Three children played in the garden plots, brandishing sticks and running in circles. Like Lottie, they were flaxen blond, fair skinned, and slim of build. Having seen the children before, Nick had been told their names, but he could not recall them. The carriage stopped on the paved coachway, and the small faces appeared at the front gate, staring through the peeling slats as Nick helped Lottie descend from the carriage.
Lottie's face was outwardly calm, but Nick saw how tightly clenched her gloved fingers were, and he experienced something he had never known before-concern for someone else's feelings. He didn't like it.
Lottie stopped at the gate, her face pale. 'Hullo,' she murmured. 'Is that you, Charles? Oh, you've grown so, I can scarcely recognize you. And Eliza, and-good gracious, is that baby Albert?'
'I'm not a baby!' piped the toddler indignantly.
Lottie flushed, poised on the verge between tears and laughter. 'Why, no indeed. You must be three years old by now.'
'You're our sister Charlotte,' Eliza said. Her serious little face was sided by two long braids. 'The one who ran away.'
