the mundane. He wanted a woman who could provide the sexual intensity he needed. Such a woman would either be inordinately experienced in the bedroom...or not experienced at all.
Reaching over the side of the bed, Nick searched in the discarded heap of his clothes and found the miniature. With an expertise born of habit, he pressed the catch of the enameled case and flipped it open. Settling on his back, he stared into Charlotte's exquisite little face.
Is it you?he thought, tracing the line of her cheek with his fingertip. Desire filled his cock and caused it to stiffen unmercifully. His lashes lowered slightly as he continued to watch the tiny painted face, and his hand slid down to the aching jut of his arousal.
As was her daily habit, Lottie took an early-morning walk across the landscape of Stony Cross, over steep hills covered in heather or forest, past bogs and ponds and glades that teemed with life. Most of the guests at the manor, including Lady Westcliff, slept late and took breakfast at the hour of ten. However, Lottie had never been able to adapt to such a schedule. She needed some form of exercise to rid herself of an excess of nervous energy. On the days when it was too cold or stormy to walk, she fidgeted inside until Lady Westcliff erupted in exasperation.
Lottie had devised three or four different walks, each lasting approximately an hour. This morning she chose the one that began along Hill Road, crossed through a medieval oak and hazel forest, and passed the source of a local spring called the Wishing Well. It was a cool, damp morning typical of the beginning of May, and Lottie drew in deep breaths of the earth-scented air. Dressed in a gown with loose ankle-length skirts, her feet shod in sturdy mid-calf boots, Lottie trod energetically away from Westcliff Manor. She followed a sandy track that led into the forest, while natterjack toads hopped out of the path of her oncoming boots. The trees rustled overhead, the wind carrying the cries of nuthatches and whitethroats. A huge, ungainly buzzard flapped its way toward the nearby bogs in search of breakfast.
Suddenly Lottie caught sight of a dark shape ahead. It was a man, roaming through the forest, his outline partially obscured in the mist. A poacher, perhaps. Although Lottie stopped at some distance, he had unusually sharp hearing. His head turned as a twig snapped beneath her boot.
Lottie held her ground as he approached. She recognized him at once, the fluid, almost catlike grace of his movements. He was casually dressed in shirt-sleeves and a black waistcoat, with boots and decidedly ancient breeches. Lord Sydney...looking disreputable and indecently handsome. She was surprised to see him there, when all the other guests at Westcliff Manor were still abed. Even more surprising was her own reaction to him, a surge of excitement and gladness.
'Good morning,' Lord Sydney said, a faint smile playing on his lips. His dark hair was disheveled, and his cravat had been carelessly tied.
'I wouldn't have expected you to be out at this hour,' she said cheerfully.
'I never sleep past sunrise.'
Lottie nodded toward the path he had been contemplating. 'Were you planning to go that way? I wouldn't advise it.'
'Why not?'
'That path leads to marshy ponds and very deep bogs. One unfortunate step, and you could find yourself drowning in mud-that is, if you haven't been done in by raft spiders or snakes.' She shook her head in feigned regret. 'We've lost some very nice guests that way.'
He smiled lazily. 'I don't suppose you would care to recommend an alternate route?'
'If you go the other way, you'll come to a bridle path that leads to a sunken lane. Follow it to the gatehouse garden, go through the opening in the hedge, and you'll find a path that takes you to the top of a hill. From there you can see lakes, villages, forests, all spread before you...the view is breathtaking.'
'Is that where you're headed?'
She shook her head and replied impudently, 'No, I am going in the opposite direction.'
'But who will save me from the bogs?'
She laughed. 'You can't accompany me, my lord. It would neither be seemly nor wise.'
If they were seen together, it would cause gossip. And it would most certainly displease Lady Westcliff, who had warned her never to take a 'follower,' as it was politely called.
'Do you wish to be alone?' Lord Sydney asked. A new expression crossed his face, so quick and subtle that hardly anyone would have noticed it. 'Forgive me. Once again I have trespassed on your solitude.'
Lottie wondered at what she had seen in his eyes for that fragment of a second...a desolation so vast and impenetrable that it shocked her. What could have caused it? He had everything a person required to be content...freedom, wealth, looks, social position. There was no reason for him to be anything other than ecstatic over his lot in life. But he was unhappy, and everything in her nature compelled her to offer him comfort. 'I am rather too accustomed to solitude,' she said softly. 'Perhaps some company would be a pleasant change.'
'If you're certain-'
'Yes, come along.' She gave his athletic form a deliberately challenging glance. 'I only hope that you'll be able to keep pace with me.'
'I'll try,' he assured her wryly, falling into step beside her as she continued her walk.
They approached the trunk of a huge oak that had fallen across the path. Insects buzzed lazily through the rays of strengthening sunlight that streamed in from above. 'Look,' Lottie said, gesturing to a dragonfly as it flew and dipped before them. 'There are more than a dozen varieties of dragonfly in this forest, and at least a hundred different moths. If you come at dusk, you can see purple hairstreak butterflies-they gather right there at the tops of the tr-'
'Miss Miller,' he interrupted, 'I'm a Londoner. We don't care about insects, except to consider how they may best be exterminated.'
Lottie heaved a theatrical sigh, as if vexed by his lack of interest in the subject. 'All right, then. I will refrain from describing the many varieties of aquatic beetle we have here.'
'Thank you,' came his fervent reply. 'Here, allow me to help you over that oak-'
'No need.'
Lottie hopped onto the fallen trunk and walked along the gnarled surface, showing off her physical coordination with no trace of modesty. When her efforts were greeted with silence, she glanced over her shoulder and discovered Sydney walking right behind her, his footing as sure and easy as a cat's. A startled laugh escaped her as she made her way to the end of the trunk. 'You are quite agile for a gentleman of your size.'
Lord Sydney let the comment pass, his mouth twisting to indicate that his agility was of no consequence. 'Why did you become a lady's companion?' he asked as Lottie jumped to the ground, her feet rustling through the brittle layer of leaves. He followed her, landing in the same spot she had. Curiously, he did not make nearly as much noise as she had, despite the fact that he was easily twice her weight.
Lottie chose her words with great care. She disliked talking about her past-not only was it dangerous but the subject filled her with melancholy. 'My family is poor. There was no other choice for me.'
'You could have married.'
'I've never met anyone that I wanted to marry.'
'Not even Lord Westcliff?'
'Lord Westcliff?' she repeated in surprise. 'Why would I have designs on him?'
'He's wealthy and titled, and you've resided beneath his roof for two years,' came Sydney's sardonic reply. 'Why wouldn't you?'
Lottie frowned thoughtfully. It wasn't as if the earl was unappealing-quite the opposite, in fact. Westcliff was an attractive man who shouldered his responsibilities and considered it unmanly to complain about them. In addition to his own strict morality, Lord Westcliff possessed a dry wit and a carefully concealed sense of compassion, and as Lottie had discreetly observed, he employed his courteous manners as skillfully as a weapon. Women were drawn to him, although Lottie was not one of them. She sensed that she did not have the key to unlock his innate reserve...nor had she ever been tempted to trust him with the reason for her uncompromising solitude.
'Naturally a man of Westcliff's position would never entertainthat kind of interest in a lady's companion,' she said in reply to Lord Sydney's question. 'But even if we were on the same social footing, I am certain that the earl would never regard me in that way, nor I him. Our relationship-if one could call it that-does not possess that particular...' She paused, searching for an appropriate word. 'Alchemy.'
