Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(28)

"Have a room readied, and tell the cook to prepare something for Miss Howard," he said to Mrs. Trench.

"Will you require a plate as well, sir?"

Gentry shook his head. "I intend to leave soon, to make some arrangements."

"Yes, sir." The housekeeper hurried to follow his wishes.

Glancing down at Lottie, Gentry tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. "I will be gone for only a short time. You're safe here, and the servants will do exactly as you tell them."

Did he think she might be distressed by his absence? Surprised by his concern, Lottie nodded. "Of course."

"Tell Mrs. Trench to show you the house in my absence." He hesitated briefly. "Naturally I will have no objection if you wish to change anything that is not to your liking."

"I'm certain that I shall find it acceptable." Their surroundings were tasteful and elegant-the entranceway, with its marble floor patterned in geometric designs, the little staircase hall beyond, and a set of paneled mahogany doors opening to reveal a low-ceilinged drawing room. The walls were tinted a pale shade of green and hung with a few simple groupings of paintings, while the furniture had clearly been chosen for ease and comfort in lieu of formality. It was a handsome, elegant house, far superior to the one she had grown up in. "Who decorated the house? Not you, surely."

He smiled at that. "My sister Sophia. I told her it wasn't necessary, but she seemed to be of the opinion that my judgment is lacking in such matters."

"Didn't it cause gossip, for her to visit your home?"

"She always brought Sir Ross with her." The twist of his mouth conveyed how little he had enjoyed those visits. "The two of them also undertook to choose a household staff for me, as they weren't especially fond of my hirelings from the flash house. They particularly didn't like Blueskin or Wapping Bess."

"Wapping? What does that mean?"

He looked both amused and perturbed by her ignorance of the word. "It means swiving. Frigging." At her continuing puzzlement, he shook his head ruefully. "Having sexual relations."

Her confusion rapidly transformed into disapproval. "What in heaven's name would you have employed her for in this house? No, don't tell me, I'm sure I should be sorry to know." She frowned at his amusement. "How many servants do you have?"

"Eight, including Mrs. Trench."

"You led me to believe that you were a man of limited means."

"I am, compared to Lord Westcliff. But I can keep you in a comfortable style."

"Do the other runners live in this manner?"

That made him laugh. "Some do. In addition to the assignments from Bow Street, most of us take private commissions. It would be impossible to live exclusively on the salary the government allots."

"Commissions such as the one from Lord Radnor?" The thought of him made Lottie's stomach twist with anxiety. Now that she was in London, easily within Radnor's reach, she felt like a rabbit that had been flushed from its burrow. "Has he already paid you for finding me? What will you do with the money?"

"I'll return it to him."

"What about my family?" she whispered apologetically. "Might something be done for them? Lord Radnor will withdraw his patronage..."

Gentry nodded. "I had already considered that. Of course I will take care of them."

Lottie hardly dared to believe her ears. It was asking a great deal of any man to support his wife's entire family, and yet Gentry seemed to accept the burden without apparent resentment. "Thank you," she said, nearly breathless with sudden relief. "That is kind of you."

"I can be very kind," he replied softly, "given the right incentive."

Lottie stood still as he fingered her earlobe and stroked the hollow just behind it. A rush of heat spread over her face...such a small, almost innocuous caress, and yet he had found a place so susceptible that she gasped at the brush of his fingertip. He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her face away. He could have anything he wanted of her, except that. To her, a kiss held a meaning beyond the physical, and she did not want to give that part of herself to him.

His lips touched her cheek instead, and she felt the warm curve of his smile. Once again, he showed an uncanny ability to read her thoughts. "What can I do to earn a kiss from you?"

"Nothing."

His mouth slid lightly over the edge of her cheekbone. "We'll see about that."

To most people, the dingy, well-worn Bow Street public office, smelling of sweat, brass polish, and charge-books, was not an inviting place. But during the past three years, Nick had become so familiar with every inch of the office that it felt like home. An outside visitor would be hard-pressed to believe that the small, unassuming buildings-Bow Street Nos. 3 and 4-were the center of criminal investigation in England. Here was where Sir Grant Morgan held court and directed the force of eight runners under his command.

Wearing a relaxed smile, Nick returned the greetings of clerks and constables as he made his way through No. 3 Bow Street. It had not taken long for the force at Bow Street to appreciate his finer points, most particularly his willingness to go to the rookeries and flash houses that no one else dared to venture into. He didn't mind taking the most dangerous assignments, as he had no family of his own to consider, and he wasn't particular in any case. In fact, through some quirk of his character that even Nick didn't understand, he required a frequent amount of risk, as if danger were an addictive drug that he had no hope of renouncing. The past two months of tame investigative work had filled him with a raw energy that he could barely contain.