stating that he preferred to sleep alone, and they would both be more comfortable that way.
Lottie quickly discovered that certain subjects set off Nick's temper like a flame held to gunpowder. She learned never to question him about any part of his boyhood, and that any reference to the days before he took the name of Nick Gentry would earn his certain wrath. When he became angry, he did not shout or throw things, but instead was coldly quiet and left the house, and did not return until long after she had gone to bed. She learned also that Nick never allowed himself to be vulnerable in any way. He preferred to stay in complete control of himself and his environment. He considered it unmanly for someone not to be able to hold his liquor-she had yet to see him drink to excess. Even sleep seemed to be a luxury he did not like to indulge in too often, as if he could not afford to relax into unguarded slumber. In fact, according to Sophia, Nick had never even allowed physical injuries to hamper him-he stubbornly refused to yield to pain or weakness.
'Why?' Lottie had asked Sophia in genuine bewilderment, as they went for dress fittings and waited for the gowns to be brought out. 'What does he fear, that he cannot allow himself to be unprotected for one moment?'
For a moment, Nick's older sister had stared at her with an obvious longing to reply. Her deep blue eyes were filled with sadness. 'I hope that someday he will confide in you,' she said softly. 'It is a great burden to bear alone. I am certain that he fears your reaction, once you are told.'
'Told what?' Lottie persisted, but to her frustration, Sophia would not answer.
Some great fearful secret. Lottie could not fathom what it might be. She could only suppose that he had killed someone, perhaps in a fury-that was the worst thing she could think of. She knew that he had committed crimes in his past, that he had done things that would probably horrify her. He was so guarded and self-possessed that it seemed she would never come to know him fully.
In other ways, however, Nick was an unexpectedly tender and generous husband. He coaxed her to tell him all the rules that had been drilled into her at school, and then he proceeded to make her break every single one of them. There were nights when he launched a gentle assault on her modesty, undressing her in the lamplight and making her watch as he kissed her from head to toe...and others when he made love to her in exotic ways that shamed and excited her beyond bearing. He could arouse her with a single glance, a brief caress, a soft word whispered in her ear. It seemed to Lottie that entire days passed in a haze of sexual desire, her awareness of him simmering beneath everything they did.
After the crates of books she had ordered arrived, she read to Nick in the evenings, as she sat in bed and he lounged beside her. Sometimes while he listened, Nick would pull her legs into his lap and massage her feet, running his thumbs along her instep and playing gently with her toes. Whenever Lottie paused in her reading, she always found his gaze fastened securely on her. He never seemed to tire of staring at her...as if he were trying to uncover some mystery that was hidden in her eyes.
One evening he taught her to play cards, claiming sexual liberties as forfeits each time she lost. They ended up on the carpeted floor in a tangle of limbs and clothing, while Lottie breathlessly accused him of cheating. He only grinned in reply, thrusting his head beneath her skirts until the issue was entirely forgotten.
Nick was an exciting companion-a fascinating storyteller, a superb dancer, a skilled lover. He was playful but not at all boyish, never quite losing the seasoned look that proclaimed he had seen and done enough to last several lifetimes. He escorted Lottie around London with an energy that far eclipsed her own, seeming to know and be known by practically everyone. More than once, at a subscription dance, or a private party, or even walking through the park, Lottie could not help but be aware of the attention he attracted. Nick was regarded as either a hero or a devil, depending on one's view, and everyone wanted to be seen with him regardless. Innumerable men came to shake his hand, and to seek his opinions on various matters. Women, on the other hand, trembled and giggled and flirted shamelessly with him, even in Lottie's presence. Lottie witnessed such overtures with surprised disgruntlement, realizing that she felt very much like a jealous wife.
At the invitation of some friends, Nick and Lottie attended a play at Drury Lane that staged naval battles using complicated machinery and light displays to thrilling effect. Actors dressed like sailors hurled themselves from the sides of the 'ship' in perfect conjunction with the bursts of cannon-fire, their shirts blotched with red paint to resemble blood. The results were so realistic that Lottie clapped her hands over her ears and hid her face against Nick's chest, disregarding his laughing efforts to make her watch the action.
Perhaps it was the violence of the display, or the aftereffects of the wine she had drunk with supper, but Lottie felt apprehensive as they left their box seats at the first intermission. Theatergoers mingled in the hall downstairs, partaking of refreshments and chattering excitedly about the graphic onstage battles they had just witnessed. As the atmosphere in the crowded room became stifling, Nick left Lottie in the company of friends as he went to fetch her a glass of lemonade. Lottie forced a smile to her lips as she half-listened to the conversation around her, hoping that he would return soon. How quickly she had become accustomed to Nick's reassuring presence beside her, she thought.
It was ironic. After so many years of being told that she belonged to Lord Radnor, she had never been able to accept it. And yet it felt entirely natural to belong to a virtual stranger. She remembered Lord Westcliff's warning about Nick Gentry.He is not to be trusted, Westcliff had said. But the earl had been wrong. Regardless of Nick's shadowy past, he had been gentle and considerate with her, and more than worthy of her trust.
As Lottie cast a glance around the assemblage, hoping to catch sight of him, her attention was caught by a figure standing several yards away from her.
Radnor, she thought, while a shower of icy needles seemed to rain down on her. Every muscle locked...she was frozen with the same fear she had felt during two years of being hunted. His face was partially averted from her horrified gaze, but she saw his iron-gray hair, the haughty tilt of his head, the black slashes of his brows. And then he turned in her direction, as if he sensed her presence in the crowded hall.
Immediately her silent terror turned to bewilderment...no, it was not Radnor, only a man who resembled him. The gentleman nodded and smiled to her, as strangers sometimes did when their gazes happened to meet. He turned back to his companions, while Lottie looked down at her clenched hands in their pale pink gloves and tried to calm the thrashing of her heart. The aftereffects of the shock hit her...a touch of nausea, a dousing of cold sweat, a trembling that refused to abate.How ridiculous you are , she told herself, disgusted by the fact that the mere glance of a man who looked like Radnor could have elicited such an overreaction.
'Mrs. Gentry,' came a nearby voice. It was Mrs. Howsham, a pleasant and soft-spoken woman whom Lottie had only recently met. 'Are you feeling ill, dear? You look rather queer.'
She looked into Mrs. Howsham's face. 'It's rather stifling in here,' she whispered. 'And I think I've laced a bit too tightly this evening.'
'Ah, yes,' the woman said in wry understanding, familiar with the complaints that corset strings often induced. 'The perils of fashion we must suffer...'
To Lottie's relief, Nick appeared at her side, a glass of lemonade in hand. Instantly perceiving that something was wrong, he slid a supportive arm behind her. 'What is it?' he asked, staring alertly at her pale face.
Mrs. Howsham took it upon herself to answer. 'Tight-lacing, Mr. Gentry...I suggest that you take her somewhere a bit more secluded than this. A breath of fresh air often helps.'
Keeping his arm around Lottie, Nick guided her through the hall. The night air caused Lottie to shiver as her sweat-soaked garments turned clammy. Carefully Nick drew her to the lee of a massive column that blocked the light and noise coming from inside the building.
'It was nothing,' Lottie told him sheepishly. 'Nothing at all. I feel like an idiot, making a fuss for no reason.' Accepting the lemonade from him, she drank thirstily, not stopping until the glass was drained.
Nick bent to set the empty glass on the ground and rose to face Lottie once more. His face was taut as he took a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the trickling perspiration from her cheeks and forehead. 'Tell me what happened,' he said quietly.
Lottie flushed in embarrassment. 'I thought I saw Lord Radnor in there. But it was only a man who looked like him.' She sighed tensely. 'Now I've revealed myself to be an utter coward. I'm sorry.'
'Radnor rarely goes out in public,' Nick murmured. 'It's not likely that you would encounter him at an event like this.'
'I know,' she said ruefully. 'Unfortunately I didn't stop to think about that.'
'You're not a coward.' There was concern in his dark blue eyes...concern overlaying some richer, more mysterious emotion underneath.
'I reacted like a child who's afraid of the dark.'
