Page 44 of Worth Any Price (Bow Street #3)

Bracing herself, Lottie looked up into the face of Arthur, Lord Radnor.

Time had wrought an astonishing difference in him, as if ten years had passed rather than two.

He was unnaturally pale, his skin the color of sun-bleached bone, his dark brows and eyes standing out in jarring contrast. Harsh grooves of bitterness divided his face into angular sections.

Lottie had known the inevitability of seeing Lord Radnor someday.

In the back of her mind, she had assumed that he would regard her with hatred.

But what she saw in his eyes was far more alarming.

Hunger. A voracity that had nothing to do with sexual desire but something far more consuming.

Instinctively she understood that his longing to own her had only intensified during her absence, and that her betrayal of him had given him the deadly resolve of an executioner.

“My lord,” she acknowledged, her voice steady even though her lips were trembling. “You are importunate. Release my arm, please.”

Ignoring her request, Radnor pulled her into the concealment of a greenery-laded column, his fingers tightening into a bruising vise.

Lottie went with him easily, determined that this ugliness from her past would not result in a scene that would mar an evening so important for her husband.

Ridiculous, that she should be so afraid in a room filled with people.

Radnor certainly could not, would not, harm her here.

If they were alone, however, she believed that he would feel absolutely justified in wrapping those long fingers around her throat and choking the last breath from her.

His gaze sliced over her. “My God, what has he turned you into? I can smell the lust on you. Only the thinnest veneer separated you from the ill-bred provincials you came from, and now it has vanished completely.”

“In that case,” Lottie replied, her imprisoned hand balling into a numb fist, “you will disassociate yourself from me at once, as I’m certain you will not wish to be contaminated by my presence.”

“Stupid girl,” Radnor whispered, his black eyes lit with cold fire, “you cannot begin to understand what you’ve lost. Do you know what you would be without me?

Nothing . I made you. I lifted you from the bowels of society.

I was going to turn you into a creature of grace and perfec tion.

And instead you betrayed me and turned your back on your family. ”

“I did not ask for your patronage.”

“All the more reason you should have knelt to me in gratitude. You owe me everything, Charlotte. Your very life.”

Lottie saw that it would be pointless to debate his insane certainty. “Be that as it may,” she said softly, “I belong to Lord Sydney now. You have no claim on me.”

His mouth twisted in a malevolent sneer. “My claim on you goes far beyond some piddling marriage vows.”

“Have you deluded yourself into thinking that you could purchase me like some bit of goods in a shop window?” she asked scornfully.

“I own your very soul,” Radnor whispered, clenching her wrist until she felt the delicate bones flex, and tears of pain came to her eyes. “I purchased it at the expense of my own. I’ve invested more than ten years of my life in you, and I will be repaid.”

“How? I am another man’s wife. And I feel nothing for you now—not fear, not hatred—only indifference. What can you possibly think you will recoup from me?”

Just as Lottie thought her arm would break, she heard a quiet snarl from behind her.

It was Nick, moving swiftly between them.

His arm descended in a blur, and whatever he did, it caused Lord Radnor to let go of her with a grunt of pain.

The abrupt release sent Lottie stumbling backward, and Nick caught her hard against his chest. Automatically she turned into the crook of his arm, and she heard the deep rumble of his voice as he spoke to Lord Radnor.

“Don’t come near her again, or I’ll kill you.” It was a quiet statement of fact.

“Insolent swine,” Radnor said hoarsely.

Risking a glance at Radnor from the safety of her husband’s arms, Lottie saw a grayish-purple tide sweep over his pallid face.

It was clear that the sight of Nick’s hands on her was more than he could bear.

Nick touched the back of her neck and slid his fingers along the top of her spine, taunting the earl deliberately.

“Very well,” Radnor whispered. “I leave you to your debasement, Charlotte.”

“Leave,” Nick said. “Now.”

Radnor walked away, his frame stiff with the righteous fury of a deposed monarch.

Cradling her throbbing wrist with her free hand, Lottie saw that they had drawn more than a few curious stares from people passing through the gallery.

In fact, some guests in the ballroom were becoming keenly aware of the scene.

“Nick—” she whispered, but he went into action before she needed to say another word.

Keeping a supportive arm around her, Nick motioned to a servant who was passing with a tray of empty glasses. “You,” he said tersely. “Come here.”

The dark-haired footman obeyed with haste. “Yes, my lord?”

“Tell me where I can find a private room.”

The footman thought rapidly. “If you proceed along that hallway, my lord, you will come to a music room that I believe is unoccupied at present.”

“Fine. Bring some brandy there. Quickly.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Dazedly Lottie went with Nick as he guided her through the hallway.

Chaotic thoughts filled her mind, while the elegant din of the ballroom receded behind them.

Her body was charged with peculiar battle-readiness.

The long-dreaded confrontation with Lord Radnor had left her ill, elated, furious, and relieved.

How was it possible to feel so many things at once?

The music room was quietly lit, the outlines of a piano, harp, and several assorted music stands casting deep shadows on the wall. Nick closed the door and turned to Lottie, his broad shoulders looming over her. She had never seen his face so hard.

“I’m all right,” Lottie said, and the unusually high pitch of her own voice actually drew a giggle from her throat.

“Really, there’s no need to look so—” She paused with another uncontainable laugh, seeing that Nick clearly thought she had taken leave of her senses.

She would never be able to explain the wild sense of freedom that flooded her, after having faced her greatest fear.

“I’m sorry,” she said giddily, even as tears of relief dampened her eyes.

“It’s just.... I’ve been so afraid of Lord Radnor for my entire life.

.. but as I saw him just now, I realized that his power over me is gone.

He can do nothing to me. I don’t feel any obligation to him wh-whatsoever.

.. and I don’t even feel guilty about it.

The burden of it is gone, as well as the fear, and it feels so strange. ..”

As she trembled and laughed and blotted her eyes with her gloved fingers, Nick took her into his arms and tried to soothe her.

“Easy... Easy...” he whispered, while his hands moved gently over her shoulders and back.

“Take a deep breath. Hush, everything’s all right.

” The warm brand of his mouth pressed against her forehead, her wet lashes, her cheeks.

“You’re safe, Lottie. You’re mine, my wife, and I’ll take care of you. You’re safe.”

As Lottie tried to explain that she wasn’t afraid, he murmured for her to be quiet, to rest against him.

She began to breathe deeply, as if she had just run for miles without stopping, and lay her head on the center of his chest. Nick tore off his gloves and placed his warm hands on her chilled skin, his strong fingers kneading the rigid muscles of her neck and upper shoulders.

Someone knocked at the door.

“The brandy,” Nick said quietly and guided Lottie to an armchair.

Lottie sank into the chair, listening to the footman’s appreciative exclamation as Nick gave him a coin in return for his trouble. Returning with a tray bearing a bottle and a snifter, Nick set it on a nearby table.

“I don’t need that,” Lottie said with a wan smile.

Ignoring her, Nick poured a finger of brandy into the snifter and held the bowl of the glass between his palms. After warming the spirits with his hands, he gave it to her. “Drink.”

Obediently Lottie took the snifter. To her surprise, her hands trembled so badly that she could barely hold it.

Nick’s face darkened as he saw her difficulty.

He sank to his knees before her, his muscular thighs spread on either side of her legs.

Covering her fingers with his own, Nick steadied her hands and helped guide the rim of the snifter to her lips.

She took a sip, grimacing as the brandy scalded her throat.

“More,” Nick murmured, forcing her to take another swallow, and another, until her eyes watered from the velvet fire.

“I think it’s a bit off,” she said scratchily.

Nick’s eyes flickered with sudden amusement. “It’s not off. It’s a Fin Bois ’98.”

“It must have been a bad year.”

He grinned at that, his thumbs caressing the backs of her hands. “Someone should tell the wine merchants, then, as it usually goes for fifty pounds a bottle.”

“Fifty pounds?” Lottie echoed, aghast. Closing her eyes, she finished the brandy in a few determined gulps and coughed as she gave him the empty glass.

“Good girl,” Nick murmured, sliding a hand around the back of her neck and squeezing gently. She could not help reflecting that although Nick’s hand was much larger and infinitely more powerful than Radnor’s, he had never caused her a single moment of pain. Nick’s touch had given her only pleasure.

She winced as she rested her sore wrist on the arm of the chair. Subtle as the movement was, Nick detected it immediately. He swore beneath his breath as he took her arm and began to peel away the long glove.