Kleypas, Lisa.
Bow Street Runner.
Worth Any Price.
Prologue.
London, 1839
He was twenty-four, and it was the first time he had ever visited a brothel. Nick Gentry d.a.m.ned himself for the icy sweat that had broken out on his face. He was burning with desire, cold with dread. He had avoided this for years, until he had finally been driven to it out of desperate carnal need. The urge to mate had finally become stronger than fear.
Forcing himself to keep moving, Nick ascended the steps of Mrs. Bradshawas red brick establishment, the exclusive business that catered to well-heeled clients. It was common knowledge that a night with one of Mrs. Bradshawas girls would cost a fortune, as they were the best-trained prost.i.tutes in London.
Nick would easily be able to pay any price that was required. He had made a great deal of money as a private thief-taker, and on top of that, he had garnered a fortune from his dealings in the underworld. And he had earned a great deal of notoriety in the process. Although he was popular with most of the public, he was feared by the underworld and detested by the Bow Street runners, who regarded him as an unprincipled rival. On that point the runners were correcta"he was indeed unprincipled. Scruples had a way of interfering with business, and therefore Nick had no use for them.
Music drifted from the windows, where Nick could see elegantly dressed men and women mingling as if they were at an upper-crust soiree. In reality, they were prost.i.tutes conducting business transactions with their patrons. This was a world far removed from his flash house near Fleet Ditch, where b.u.t.tock-and-file wh.o.r.es serviced men in the alleys for shillings.
Squaring his shoulders, Nick used the lionas-head bra.s.s knocker to rap sharply on the door. It opened to reveal a stone-faced butler, who asked what business he was about.
Isnat that obvious?Nick wondered irritably. aI want to meet one of the women.a aI am afraid that Mrs. Bradshaw is not accepting new patrons at this time, sira"a aTell her that Nick Gentry is here.a Nick shoved his hands into his coat pockets and gave the butler a grim stare.
The manas eyes widened, betraying his recognition of the infamous name. He opened the door and inclined his head courteously. aYes, sir. If you will wait in the entrance hall, I will inform Mrs. Bradshaw of your presence.a The air was lightly scented with perfume and tobacco smoke. Breathing deeply, Nick glanced around the marble-floored hall, which was lined with tall white pilasters. The only adornment was a painting of a naked woman regarding herself in an oval mirror, one delicate hand resting lightly at the top of her own thigh. Fascinated, Nick stared at the gold-framed picture. The female image in the mirror was slightly blurred, the triangle between her legs painted with hazy brush strokes. Nickas stomach felt as if it were filled with cold lead. A servant wearing black breeches crossed through the hall with a tray of gla.s.ses, and Nickas gaze dropped swiftly from the painting.
He was intensely aware of the door behind him, of the fact that he could turn and leave right now. But head been a coward for too long. Whatever happened this night, he was going to see it through. Clenching his fists in his pockets, he stared at the gleaming floor, the swirls of white and gray marble reflecting the glow of the chandelier overhead.
Suddenly a womanas voice broke lazily through the air. aWhat an honor it is to receive the celebrated Mr. Gentry. Welcome.a His gaze traveled from the hem of a blue velvet gown to a pair of smiling sherry-colored eyes. Mrs. Bradshaw was a tall, wonderfully proportioned woman. Her pale skin was lightly dotted with amber freckles, and her auburn hair was pinned up in loose curls. She was not beautiful in any conventional sensea"her face was too angular, and her nose was large. However, she was stylish and impeccably groomed, and there was something so appealing about her that beauty seemed entirely superfluous.
She smiled in a way that caused Nick to relax in spite of himself. Later he would learn that he was not alone in this reaction. All men relaxed in Gemma Bradshawas agreeable presence. One could tell just by looking at her that she didnat mind coa.r.s.e words or booted feet on the table, that she loved a good joke and was never shy or disdainful. Men adored Gemma because she so clearly adored them.
She gave Nick a conspiratorial smile and curtsied low enough to display her magnificent cleavage. aDo say youave come here for pleasure, rather than business.a At his brief nod, she smiled once more. aHow delightful. Come take a turn through the drawing room with me, and we will discuss how you may best be served.a She came forward to slip her arm through his. Nick jerked slightly, checking the instinctive impulse to fling off her hand.
The madam could hardly fail to notice the rigidity of his arm. Her hand fell away, and she continued to chat comfortably, as if nothing untoward had occurred. aThis way, if you please. My guests often like to play cards or billiards, or relax in the smoking room. You may chat with as many girls as you wish before deciding on one. Then she will show you to one of the upstairs rooms. You will be charged an hourly rate for her company. I have trained all the girls myself, and you will find that each has her own special talent. Of course, you and I will discuss your preferences, as some of the girls are more willing than others to engage in rough play.a As they entered the drawing room, a few of the women cast Nick flirtatious glances. They all looked healthy and well tended, entirely different from the wh.o.r.es he had seen near Fleet Ditch and Newgate. They flirted, chatted, negotiated, all with the same relaxed manner that Mrs. Bradshaw possessed.
aIt would be my pleasure to introduce you to a few of them,a came Mrs. Bradshawas gentle voice in his ear. aDoes anyone catch your eye?a Nick shook his head. He was usually known for his jaunty arrogance, for having the smooth, easy banter of a confidence trickster. However, in this foreign situation, words had deserted him.
aShall I make a few suggestions? That dark-haired girl in the green gown is exceedingly popular. Her name is Lorraine. She is charming and lively, and possesses a quick wit. The one standing near her, the blondathat is Mercia. A more quiet sort, with a gentle manner that appeals to many of our patrons. Now, Nettiea"that is the little one by the looking gla.s.sa"is practiced in the more exotic artsaa Mrs. Bradshaw paused as she observed the stiff set of Nickas jaw. aDo you prefer the illusion of innocence?a she suggested softly. aI can provide you with a country la.s.s who makes a most convincing virgin.a Nick was d.a.m.ned if he knew his preferences. He glanced at them all, dark-haired, blond, slim, voluptuous, every shape, size, and hue imaginable, and suddenly the sheer variety overwhelmed him. He tried to imagine going to bed with any of them, and fresh sweat broke out on his forehead.
His gaze returned to Mrs. Bradshaw. Her eyes were a clear, warm brown, surmounted with ruddy brows a few shades darker than her hair. Her tall body was an inviting playground, and her mouth looked plush and soft. But it was the freckles that decided him. The amber flecks decorated her pale skin in a festive spray that made him want to smile.
aYouare the only one here worth having,a Nick heard himself say.
The madamas fiery lashes swept downward, concealing her thoughts, but he sensed that he had surprised her. A smile curved her lips. aMy dear Mr. Gentry, what a delightful compliment. However, I do not sleep with the patrons of my establishment. Those days are long past. You must allow me to introduce you to one of the girls, anda"a aI wantyou ,a he insisted.
As Mrs. Bradshaw saw the raw honesty in his eyes, a faint wash of pink spread across her cheeks. aGood Lord,a she said, and laughed suddenly. aIt is quite a trick to make a woman of thirty-eight blush. I thought I had forgotten how.a Nick did not smile back at her. aI will pay any price.a Mrs. Bradshaw shook her head in wonder, still smiling, then stared at his shirtfront with concentration, as if struggling with some weighty matter. aI never do anything on impulse. Itas a personal rule of mine.a Slowly Nick reached for her hand, touched it with great care, drew his fingertips across her palm in a cautious, intimate stroke. Although she had long hands befitting a woman of her height, his were much larger, his fingers twice as thick as her slender ones. He caressed the damp little creases on the insides of her fingers. aEvery rule should be broken once in a while,a he said.
The madam lifted her gaze, seeming fascinated by something she saw in his world-weary face. Abruptly she seemed to make a decision. aCome with me.a Nick followed her from the drawing room, heedless of the gazes that pursued them. She led him through the entrance hall and up a curved staircase that led to a private suite of rooms. Mrs. Bradshawas apartments were elaborate but comfortable, the furniture deeply cushioned, the walls covered in French paper, the hearth glowing with a generously stocked fire. The sideboard in the receiving room was laden with a collection of glittering crystal decanters and gla.s.ses. Mrs. Bradshaw picked up a snifter from a silver tray and glanced at him expectantly. aBrandy?a Nick nodded immediately.
She poured golden-red liquid into the snifter. Expertly she struck a match and lit a candle on the sideboard. Holding the snifter by its stem, she turned the bowl of the gla.s.s over the candle flame. When the brandy was warmed to her satisfaction, she gave it to him. Head never had a woman do that for him before. The brandy was rich and nut-flavored, its gentle spice drifting to his nostrils as he drank.
Glancing around the receiving room, Nick saw that one wall was lined with bookshelves, every available inch of s.p.a.ce occupied with leather-bound volumes and folios. He drew closer to the shelves, investigating. Although he could not read well, he discerned that most of the books were about s.e.x and human anatomy.
aA hobby of mine,a Mrs. Bradshaw said, her eyes gleaming with friendly challenge. aI collect books about s.e.xual techniques and customs of different cultures. Some of the books are quite rare. Over the past ten years, I have acc.u.mulated a vast wealth of knowledge about my favorite subject.a aI suppose itas more interesting than collecting snuffboxes,a he said, and she laughed.
aStay here. Iall be just a moment. While I am gone, you are welcome to view my library.a She went from the receiving room to the adjoining room, where the end of a poster bed was visible.
The leaden feeling returned to Nickas stomach. Finishing his drink in one gulp of smooth fire, he set the gla.s.s aside and went to the bookshelves. A large volume bound in red leather caught his attention. The antique leather creaked slightly as he opened the book, which was filled with hand-painted ill.u.s.trations. His seething insides tangled in a huge knot as he saw drawings of bodies writhing in s.e.xual positions more peculiar than anything he could have imagined. His heart hammered against his ribs even as his c.o.c.k surged with aggravated desire. Hastily he closed the book and shoved it back onto the shelf. Going back to the sideboard, he poured another brandy and downed it without tasting it.
As Mrs. Bradshaw had promised, she returned soon, coming to stand in the doorway. She had changed into a thin dressing gown trimmed with lace, the long sleeves draping in medieval points. The white silk garment revealed the pointed crests of her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and even the shadow of hair between her thighs. The madam had a magnificent body, and she knew it. She stood with one knee eased forward, protruding through the opening of the dressing gown to display the long, sleek line of her leg. Her blazing hair rippled over her shoulders and down her back, making her look younger, softer.
A shiver of longing chased down Nickas spine, and he felt his chest rising and falling in a labored rhythm.
aIall have you know that I am selective about my lovers.a The madam gestured for him to come to her. aA talent such as mine should never be squandered.a aWhy me?a Nick asked, his voice turning raspy. He drew nearer, close enough to realize that she wore no perfume. She smelled like soap and clean skin, a fragrance far more arousing than jasmine or roses.
aIt was the way you touched me. You instinctively found the most susceptible places on my handathe center of the palm and the insides of the knuckles. Few men have such sensitivity.a Rather than feeling flattered, Nick experienced a flare of panic. The madam had expectations of hima"expectations that he was guaranteed to disappoint. He kept his face expressionless, but his heart dropped in a sickening plunge as she drew him into the warm, firelit bedroom. aMrs. Bradshaw,a he said awkwardly as they approached the bed, aI should tell youa"a aGemma,a she murmured.
aGemma,a he repeated, every coherent thought scattering as she pushed his coat from his shoulders and helped him remove it.
Untying the knot of his sweat-dampened cravat, the madam smiled up at his flushed face. aYou are shaking like a boy of thirteen. Is the notorious Mr. Gentry so intimidated by the thought of bedding the famous Mrs. Bradshaw? I wouldnat have expected it of such a worldly man. Certainly you are not a virgin, at your age. A man ofatwenty-three?a aTwenty-four.a He was dying inside, knowing there was no way he could deceive her into believing that he was a man of experience. Swallowing hard, he said hoa.r.s.ely, aIave never done this before.a The ruddy arcs of her brows inched upward. aNever visited a brothel?a Somehow he forced the words up from his aching throat. aNever made love to a woman.a Gemmaas expression did not change, but he sensed her astonishment. After a long, diplomatic pause, she asked tactfully, aYou have been intimate with other men, then?a Nick shook his head, staring at the patterned wallpaper. The heavy silence was broken only by the drumming in his ears.
The madamas curiosity was almost palpable. She ascended the moveable wooden step that had been placed beside the tall bed, and climbed onto the mattress. Slowly she reclined on her side, relaxed and catlike. And in her infinite understanding of the male s.e.x, she remained silent and waited patiently.
Nick tried to sound matter-of-fact, but a tremor broke through his voice. aWhen I was a boy of fourteen, I was sentenced to ten months on a prison hulk.a He saw from Gemmaas expression that she understood immediately. The wretched conditions on the hulks, the fact that men were chained together with boys in one large cell, was hardly a secret. aThe men on the ship tried to force themselves on you, of course,a she said. Her tone was neutral as she asked. aDid any of them succeed?a aNo. But since thenaa Nick paused for a long moment. He had never told anyone about the past that had haunted hima"his fears were not easy to put into words. aI canat bear to be touched,a he said slowly. aNot by anyone, in any way. Iave wantedaa He paused for a moment, floundering. aAt times I want a woman so badly I almost go mad with it. But I canat seem toaa He fell helplessly silent. It seemed impossible to explain that for him, s.e.x and pain and guilt were plaited together, that the simple act of making love to someone seemed as impossible as making himself jump off a cliff. The touch of another person, no matter how innocuous, triggered a perilous need to defend himself.
Had Gemma displayed a dramatic reaction of horror or sympathy, Nick would have bolted. However, she only regarded him thoughtfully. In a graceful movement, she swung her long legs over the bed and slid to the floor. Standing before him, she began to unb.u.t.ton his waistcoat. Nick stiffened but did not move away. aYou must have fantasies,a Gemma said. aImages and thoughts that excite you.a Nickas breath turned shallow and quick as he shrugged off his waistcoat. Remnants of volatile dreams swirled through his headalewd thoughts that had left his body charged and aching in the empty darkness. Yes, head had fantasies, visions of women bound and moaning beneath him, their legs spread wide open as he worked himself between them. He could not possibly confess such shameful things. But Gemma Bradshawas brown eyes contained an invitation that was nearly irresistible. aIall tell you mine first,a she offered. aWould you like that?a He nodded cautiously, heat spreading through his groin.
aI fantasize about being naked before an audience of men.a Gemmaas voice was low and molten as she continued. aI choose one that captures my fancy. He joins me on the stage, and performs any s.e.xual act I wish. After that, I select another, and another, until I am completely satisfied.a She tugged the hem of his shirt from his trousers. Nick lifted it over his head and dropped the damp garment to the floor. His c.o.c.k throbbed painfully as Gemma stared at his bare torso. She touched the heavy pelt of hair on his chest, much darker than the brown hair on his head. An appreciative sound came from Gemmaas throat. aYouare quite muscular. I like that.a Her fingertips ventured through the matted curls and stroked the hot skin beneath, and Nick took an instinctive backward step. Lazily Gemma gestured for him to come back. aIf you want to make love, my dear, Iam afraid you canat avoid being touched. Stand still.a She reached for the top b.u.t.ton of his trousers. aNow tell meyour fantasy.a Nick stared at the ceiling, the wall, the velvet-draped windows, anything to avoid the sight of her hands at his crotch. aIawant to be in control,a he said hoa.r.s.ely. aI imagine tying a woman to a bed. She canat move or touch meashe canat stop me from doing anything I want.a aMany men have that fantasy.a The backs of Gemmaas fingers brushed the stiff underside of his c.o.c.k as she attended to the last b.u.t.tons. Suddenly Nick forgot to breathe. The madam leaned closer, her breath whisking through the curls on his chest. aAnd what do you do to the woman, after she is tied?a she murmured.
His face darkened with a flush of mingled arousal and embarra.s.sment. aI touch her everywhere. I use my mouth and fingersaI make her beg me to take her. I make her scream.a He set his jaw and groaned in his throat as her long, cool fingers encircled his shaft and freed it from the trousers. aG.o.da"a aWell,a she purred, her clever fingers tracing him down to the hilt and back up to the tightly swollen head. aYou are a most generously endowed young man.a Nick closed his eyes, reeling from a powerful onslaught of sensation. aDoes that please a woman?a he asked unsteadily.
Gemma continued to stroke him as she replied. aNot all women. Some cannot comfortably accommodate a man your size. But that can be managed.a She released him gently and went to a large mahogany box on the bedside table, lifting the lid and searching through its contents. aRemove the rest of your clothes,a she said without looking at him.
Fear and l.u.s.t clashed violently inside him. Eventually the l.u.s.t won out. He shed his clothes, feeling vulnerable and painfully impa.s.sioned. Gemma located what she was looking for, turned, and tossed something lightly to him.
Reflexively Nick caught the object in his fist. It was a rope made of claret-colored velvet.
Perplexed, he watched as Gemma untied her dressing gown and let it fall to her feet. Every inch of her strong, supple body was exposed, including the wealth of vibrant hair at her groin. With a provocative smile, she climbed onto the bed, revealing her generously rounded backside in the process. Leaning back on her elbows, she nodded toward the length of velvet clenched in his fist. aI believe you know what to do next,a she said.
Nick was amazed and bewildered that she would make herself so completely defenseless to a stranger. aYou trust me enough to let me do that?a Her voice was very soft. aThis will require trust on both our parts, wonat it?a Nick joined her on the bed, his hands trembling as he tied her wrists together and anch.o.r.ed them to the headboard. Her sleek body was completely at his mercy. Climbing over her, he bent his head and kissed her mouth. aHow can I please you?a he whispered.
aPlease yourself this time.a Her tongue touched his lower lip in a light, silken stroke. aYou can attend to my needs later.a Nick explored her slowly, his apprehensions dissolving in a flood of heat. l.u.s.t roared through him as he found places that made her writheathe hollow of her throat, the insides of her elbows, the tender undersides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He stroked, tasted, nibbled at her skin, becoming drunk on her smoothness, her female fragrance. Finally, when his pa.s.sion built to an unbearable height, he lowered himself between her thighs and pushed into the wet, warm depths he craved so badly. To his eternal humiliation, he climaxed with only one thrust, before he had satisfied her. His body shook with unbearable pleasure, and he buried his face in the ma.s.s of her flaming hair as he groaned harshly.
Gasping in the aftermath, he fumbled at Gemmaas tethered wrists. When she was freed, he rolled to his side, away from her, and stared blindly at the shadows on the wall. He was dizzy with relief. For some unfathomable reason, the corners of his eyes stung, and he closed his eyes tightly against the hideous threat of tears.
Gemma moved behind him, her hand settling lightly on his naked hip. Nick flinched at her touch but did not move away. Her mouth pressed against the top of his spine, a sensation that shot down to his groin. aYou have promise,a she murmured. aIt would be a shame for your abilities to go undeveloped. I am going to extend a rare invitation to you, Nick. Come visit me from time to time, and I will share my knowledge with you. I have a great deal to teach. No payment will be necessaryaonly bring me a gift now and then.a When he did not move, she bit gently at his nape. aAfter Iam through with you, no woman in the world will be able to resist you. What do you say to that?a Nick rolled over and pinned her to the mattress, staring down at her smiling face. aIam ready for the first lesson,a he said, and covered her mouth with his own.
Chapter One.
Three Years Later.
As was his long-standing habit, Nick entered Gemmaas private suite without knocking. It was Sunday afternoon, the time they met almost every week. By now the familiar scent of the placea"leather, liquor, the hint of fresh flowersa"was all it took to begin the low hum of arousal in his body. His desire was unusually strong today, as his work had kept him away from Gemma for a fortnight.
Since the first night they had met, Nick had followed Gemmaas rules without question. There had been no other choice, if he wanted to continue seeing her. They were friends, of a sort, but their interactions were strictly physical. Gemma had evinced no interest in what was in his heart, or even whether he had one. She was a kind woman, and yet on the rare occasions when Nick had tentatively spoken of matters other than the superficial, head been gently dismissed. It was just as well, he had realized. He had no wish to expose her to the ugliness of his past or the complex tangle of emotions he kept locked inside.
And so once a week they joined each other in bed with their secrets safely intactathe instructor and her ardent student. In the luxurious coc.o.o.n of Gemmaas gold-papered bedroom Nick had learned more about lovemaking than he had ever thought possible. Head gained an appreciation of female s.e.xuality that few men acquiredathe intricacy of a womanas pleasure, the ways to excite her mind as well as her body. He learned to employ his fingers, his tongue, teeth, lips, and c.o.c.k with both delicacy and strength. Most of all he learned about discipline, and how patience and creativity could make even the experienced Mrs. Bradshaw cry out until she was hoa.r.s.e. He knew ways to keep a woman balanced on the edge of ecstasy for hours at a time. He also knew how to make a woman climax with nothing more than his mouth on her nipple, or with the lightest brush of his fingertip.
The last time they had met, Gemma had challenged him to bring her to o.r.g.a.s.m without touching her at all. He had whispered in her ear for ten minutes, painting s.e.xual images that became ever more exquisitely lurid until she had flushed and shivered beside him.
Thinking of her lush body, Nick turned warm with antic.i.p.ation, and he strode into her parlor. He stopped short as he saw a young blond man seated on the velvet-upholstered chaise, dressed only in a wine silk robe. It was, Nick noted dazedly, the same robe that he made use of whenever he came to visit Gemma.
She had made no promises of fidelity to him, and he had no illusion that he had been her only lover for the past three years. Still, Nick was startled by the sight of another man in her receiving room and the unmistakable tang of s.e.x in the air.
Seeing him, the stranger flushed and sat up from his relaxed position. He was a stocky, fair-skinned youth, with enough innocence remaining to be embarra.s.sed by the situation.
Gemma walked out of her bedroom, wearing a transparent green negligee that barely covered the crests of her rose-brown nipples. She smiled as she saw Nick, seeming not at all perturbed by his unexpected arrival. aOh, h.e.l.lo, dear,a she murmured, as relaxed and friendly as always. Perhaps she had not planned for him to discover her newcher ami in precisely this manner, but neither was she distressed about it.
Turning toward the blond man, she spoke to him softly. aWait for me in the bedroom.a He threw her a glance of heated adulation as he obeyed.
As Nick watched the man disappear into the next room, he was reminded of himself as he had been three years earlier, callow and burning and dazzled by Gemmaas sensual arts.
Gemma lifted a graceful hand to stroke Nickas dark hair. aI didnat expect you to return from your investigation so quickly,a she said without a trace of chagrin. aAs you can see, I am entertaining my new protg.a aAnd my replacement,a Nick said rather than asked, while a cold feeling of abandonment crept over him.
aYes,a Gemma said softly. aYou have no more need of my instruction. Now that you have learned all I can teach you, it is only a matter of time before our friendship becomes stale. I would prefer to end it while it is still enjoyable.a It was surprisingly difficult for him to speak. aI still want you.a aOnly because I am safe, and familiar.a Smiling affectionately, Gemma leaned over to kiss his cheek. aDonat be a coward, dear. It is time for you to find someone else.a aNo one could follow you,a he said gruffly.
That earned a tender laugh and another kiss. aThat shows you still have much to learn.a A wicked smile gleamed in her clear brown eyes. aGo find a woman who is deserving of your talents. Take her to bed. Make her fall in love with you. A love affair is something everyone should experience at least once.a Nick gave her a sullen glance. aThat is thelast d.a.m.n thing I need,a he informed her, making her laugh.
Drawing back, Gemma casually unfastened her hair and shook it free. aNo good-byes,a she said, depositing the hairpins onto the table by the chaise. aI much preferau revoir . Now if youall excuse me, my pupil is waiting. Have a drink before you leave, if you like.a Stunned, Nick stood immobile as she drifted into the bedroom and closed it with a firm click. aJesus,a he muttered. An incredulous laugh escaped him at having been so lightly dispensed with after all they had done together. Yet he couldnat summon any anger. Gemma had been too generous, too kind, for him to feel anything but grat.i.tude.
Go find another woman, he thought numbly. It seemed an impossible task. Oh, there were women everywhere, cultured, common, plump, lean, dark, fair, tall, short, and he found something to appreciate in all of them. But Gemma had been the only one with whom he had ever dared to unleash his s.e.xuality. He could not imagine how it would be with someone else.
Make someone love him? Nick smiled bitterly, thinking for the first time that Gemma didnat know what the h.e.l.l she was talking about. No woman could love himaand if one ever did, she would be the greatest fool alive.
Chapter Two.
She was here. He was certain of it.
Nick surveyed the party guests intently as they milled in the gardens behind Stony Cross Park. His hand slid into the pocket of his coat, finding the miniature case that contained Charlotte Howardas portrait. Slowly his thumb caressed the glossy enameled side of the case while he continued to gaze at the crowd.
His two-month search for Charlotte had led him to Hampshire, a place of heather-carpeted hills, ancient hunting forests, and treacherous valley bogs. The western county was prosperous, its twenty market towns abundantly filled with wool, timber, dairy products, honey, and bacon. Among the Hampshireas renowned estates, Stony Cross Park was considered to be the finest. The manor house and private lake were situated in the fertile Itchen River valley. Not a bad place to hide, Nick thought wryly. If his suspicions proved to be correct, Charlotte had found employment in the earl of Westcliffas household, serving as a companion to his mother.
In his pursuit of Charlotte, Nick had learned everything he could about her, trying to understand how she thought and felt, how others perceived her. Interestingly, the accounts of Charlotte had been so contradictory that Nick had wondered if her friends and family were describing the same girl.
To her parents, Charlotte had been an obedient daughter, eager to please, fearful of disapproval. Her disappearance had been a staggering surprise, as they had believed that she was resigned to the fate of becoming Lord Radnoras bride. Charlotte had known since early childhood that the well-being of her family depended on it. The Howards had made a bargain with the devil, trading their daughteras future for the financial benefits Radnor could provide. They had enjoyed his patronage for over a decade. But just as it had come time to give the devil his due, Charlotte had fled. The Howards had made it clear to Nick that they wanted Charlotte found and given to Radnor without delay. They did not understand what had prompted her to run, as they believed she would be well served as Lady Radnor.
Apparently Charlotte had not shared their views. Her friends at Maidstoneas, the upper-crust boarding school Charlotte had attended, most of them now married, had reluctantly described a girl who had become increasingly resentful of the way Radnor supervised every aspect of her existence. Apparently the school staff, desirous of the generous financial endowments Radnor provided, had been happy to enforce his wishes. Charlotteas curriculum had differed from everyone elseas; Radnor had chosen the subjects for her to study. He had mandated that she was to retire to bed an hour earlier than the other students. He had even determined how much food she should be allotted, after observing during one of her visits home that she had gained weight and needed slimming.
Although Nick understood Charlotteas rebellion, he felt no sympathy. He had no sympathy for anyone. Long ago he had accepted the unfairness of life, the cruel twists of fate that no one could avoid forever. The tribulations of a schoolgirl were nothing compared to the ugliness that he had seen and experienced. He would have no compunction about bringing Charlotte to Radnor, collecting the remainder of his fee, then putting all thought of the luckless bride-to-be completely out of his mind.
His gaze chased restlessly over the scene, but so far there had been no sign of Charlotte. The great house was filled with at least three dozen families, all of whom were attending what amounted to a month-long house party. The annual event was hosted by Lord Westcliff. The daytime hours were devoted to hunting, shooting, and field sports. Each evening had entertainment, such as soirees musicales, and dances.
Although it was nearly impossible to gain one of the sought-after invitations to Stony Cross Park, Nick had managed to with the help of his brother-in-law, Sir Ross Cannon. Nick had decided to pose as a bored aristocrat who needed to refresh himself with a few weeks in the country. At the request of Sir Ross, the earl of Westcliff had extended an invitation, having no idea that Nick was a Bow Street runner on the hunt for a runaway bride.
The myriad of lights hung from the oak branches caused the womenas jewels to glitter madly. A wry smile tugged at one side of Nickas mouth as he reflected how easy it would be to strip these pigeons of their finery. Not long ago he would have done exactly that. He was an even better thief than he was a thief-taker. But now he was a runner, and he was supposed to be honorable.
aLord Sydney.a A manas voice interrupted his thoughts, and Nick turned away from the terrace to face Marcus, Lord Westcliff. The earl possessed a formidable presence. Although he was of only average height, his form was broad and exceedingly muscular, almost bullish in its heavily developed power. His features were bold and decisively formed, his shrewd black eyes set deep in his swarthy face.
Westcliff looked nothing like the slender, fair peers who occupied the first circles of society. Were he not dressed in elegant evening clothes, one would a.s.sume he was a dock-worker or journeyman. However, Westcliffas blood was unquestionably blue. He had inherited one of the most ancient earldoms of the peerage, a coronet that had been won by his ancestors in the late 1300s. Ironically, it was rumored that the earl was not an ardent supporter of the Monarchy, nor even of hereditary peerage, as he believed that no man should be insulated from the toils and concerns of ordinary life.
Westcliff continued in his distinctive gravel-scored voice. aWelcome to Stony Cross, Sydney.a Nick executed a shallow bow. aThank you, my lord.a The earl regarded him with an openly skeptical glance. aYour sponsor, Sir Ross, mentioned in his letter that you suffer from ennui.a His tone made it clear that he had little tolerance for a wealthy manas complaint of excessive boredom.
Neither did Nick. He chafed inwardly at the necessity of affecting ennui, but it was part of his ruse. aYes,a he said with a world-weary smile. aA debilitating condition. I have become decidedly melancholy. I was advised that a change of scene might help.a A surly grunt came from the earlas throat. aI can recommend an excellent cure for boredoma"simply apply yourself to some useful activity.a aAre you suggesting that Iwork ?a Nick summoned an expression of distaste. aPerhaps that would do for someone else.My kind of ennui, however, requires a careful balance of rest and entertainment.a Contempt flickered in Westcliffas black eyes. aWe shall endeavor to provide you with satisfactory amounts of both.a aI look forward to it,a Nick murmured, taking care to keep his accent clean. Although he had been born a viscountas son, too many years spent in the London underworld had given him a lower-cla.s.s cadence and woefully soft consonants. aWestcliff, at the moment what would please me most is to have a drink, and to find company with some delightful temptress.a aI have an exceptional Longueville Armagnac,a the earl muttered, clearly eager to escape Nickas company.
aThat would be most welcome.a aGood. Iall send a servant to fetch you a gla.s.s.a Westcliff turned and began to stride away.
aAnd the temptress?a Nick persisted, smothering a laugh at the way the manas back stiffened.
aThat, Sydney, is something you will have to obtain for yourself.a As the earl left the terrace, Nick allowed himself a swift grin. So far he was playing the part of spoiled young n.o.bleman with great success. He had managed to annoy the earl beyond bearing. Actually, he rather liked Westcliff, recognizing the same hard-driven will and cynicism that he himself possessed.
Thoughtfully Nick left the terrace and wandered down to the gardens, which had been designed with both enclosed and open s.p.a.ces, providing countless pockets of intimacy. The air was dense with the smells of heather and bog myrtle. Ornamental birds trapped in an aviary chirped wildly at his approach. To most it was doubtless a cheerful clamor, but to Nick the ceaseless trills made a desperate sound. He was tempted to open the door and set the d.a.m.ned things free, but it would have little effect, as their wings had been clipped. Stopping at the riverside terrace, he surveyed the dark sparkling flow of the Itchen River, the moonlight that washed through swaying filaments of willow and cl.u.s.ters of beech and oak.
The hour was late. Perhaps Charlotte was inside the house. Casually exploring his surroundings, Nick wandered to the side of the manor, a residence built of honey-colored stone and cornered with four towers that reached six stories in height. It was fronted with a distinctively large courtyard sided with stabling, a laundry, and low buildings to house the servants. The front of the stables had been designed to mirror the chapel on the other side of the courtyard.
Nick was fascinated by the magnificence of the stables, unlike anything he had seen before. He entered through one of the ground-floor archways and found a covered court hung with gleaming harnesses. A pleasant mixture of smells filled the air; horses, hay, leather, and polish. There was a marble drinking fountain for horses at the back of the court, sided by separate entrances to the horse stalls. Nick walked across the stone-flagged floor with the light, almost soundless step that was habitual for all Bow Street runners. Despite his quietness, horses shuffled and snorted warily at his approach. Glancing through the archway, Nick discovered rows of stalls filled by at least five dozen horses.
It seemed that the stables were empty save for the animals, and Nick left through the west entrance. Immediately he was confronted with an ancient ironstone wall almost six feet high. There was no doubt that it had been built to protect unwary visitors from falling over the steep bluff overlooking the river below. Nick stopped in his tracks at the unexpected sight of a small, slim figure poised atop the wall. It was a woman, standing so still that at first glance he thought she was a statue. But a breeze stirred the hem of her skirts and teased a lock of pale blond hair free of her loose topknot.
Fascinated, he drew closer, his gaze riveted on her.
Only a reckless fool would balance on that uneven wall, with certain death awaiting if she lost her footing. She did not seem to recognize the fatal drop looming before her. The tilt of her head indicated that she was staring straight ahead, at the night-darkened horizon. What in G.o.das name was she doing? Two years earlier, Nick had seen a man standing with that peculiar stillness just before he had jumped to his death from a bridge over the Thames.