Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(37)

"Some of the alleyways are so narrow," he told her as their carriage traveled to Sir Ross's home, "that a man has to turn sideways to squeeze between the buildings. Many times I've lost a fugitive simply because he was thinner than I. And then there are masses of buildings that are connected-roof, yard, and cellar-so a thief can slip through them like a rabbit in a warren. I usually accompany the new constables who don't have much experience, as they can get lost in less than a minute. And once a runner is lost, he can stumble right into a trap."

"What kind of trap?"

"Oh, a group of thieves or costers will be waiting to bash a pursuing officer's skull, or stab him. Or they'll cover a cesspool with a few rotten boards, so when he sets a foot on it, he'll drown in a vat of sewage. That kind of thing."

Her eyes widened. "How dreadful!"

"It's not dangerous when you learn what to expect," he assured her. "I've been in every corner of every rookery in London, and I know every dodge and trap there is."

"You almost seem to enjoy your work...but you couldn't possibly."

"I don't enjoy it." He hesitated before adding, "I need it, though."

Lottie shook her head in confusion. "Are you referring to the physical exertion?"

"That's part of it. Jumping over walls, climbing onto rooftops, the feeling of catching a fugitive and bringing him to the ground..."

"And the fighting?" Lottie asked. "Do you enjoy that part of it?" Although she expected him to deny it, he nodded briefly.

"It's addictive," he said. "The challenge and excitement...even the danger."

Lottie twined her fingers together in her lap, reflecting that someone needed to tame him enough so that he could live in a peaceful manner someday-or his prediction of being short-lived would fulfill itself rather quickly.

The carriage traveled along a drive lined with plane trees, their intricately lobed leaves providing dense cover for the underplantings of white snowdrops and spiky green-stemmed cornuses. They stopped before a large house, handsome in its stately simplicity, the entrance guarded by wrought-iron railings and arched lamp standards. The pair of attentive footmen, Daniel and George, helped Lottie alight from the carriage and went to alert the household of their arrival. Noticing that the letterC had been worked into the designs of wrought iron, Lottie paused to trace it with her fingers.

Gentry smiled sardonically. "The Cannons aren't members of the peerage, but one wouldn't know it to look at them."

"Is Sir Ross a very traditional sort of gentleman?"

"In some regards, yes. But politically speaking, he's a progressive. Fights for the rights of women and children, and supports every reformist cause you can name." With a short sigh, Gentry guided her toward the front steps. "You'll like him. All women do."

As they ascended the stone staircase, Gentry surprised Lottie by fitting his arm behind her back. "Take my hand. That step is uneven." He navigated her carefully over the irregular surface, releasing her only when he was certain that her balance was perfect.

They walked into a large entrance hall painted in eggshell shades, with gleaming gold ormolu swags that bordered the lofty ceiling. A half-dozen doorways connected the hall to six principal rooms, while a horseshoe-shaped staircase led to the private apartments above. Lottie scarcely had time to appreciate the graceful design of the house's interior before they were approached by a lovely woman.

The woman's blond hair was much darker than her own, the color of aged honey. It had to be Lady Cannon, whose face was a delicate copy of Gentry's severely handsome features. Her nose was less bold, her chin defined but not quite as decisive as her brother's, her complexion fair instead of tanned. The eyes, however, were the same distinctive blue; rich, dark, and fathomless. Lady Cannon was so youthful in appearance that one would never have guessed that she was older than her brother by four years.

"Nick," she exclaimed with an exuberant laugh, coming forward and lifting up on her toes to receive his kiss. He enclosed her in a brief hug, rested his chin on the crown of her head, then drew back to look at her appraisingly. In that one instant, Lottie saw the remarkable depth of feeling between the two, which had somehow survived years of distance, loss, and deception.

"You're expecting another one," Gentry said after a moment, and his older sister laughed.

"How did you know? Sir Grant must have told you."

"No. But your waist is thicker-or else your corset strings have come loose."

Pulling away, Lady Cannon laughed and swatted at his chest. "You tactless wretch. Yes, my waist is thicker, and will continue to increase until January, at which time you'll have a new niece or nephew to dandle on your knee."

"God help me," he said with feeling.

Lady Cannon turned toward Lottie, her face softening. "Welcome, Charlotte. Nick sent word to me about you yesterday-I have been terribly impatient to meet you." She smelled like tea and roses, a fragrance that was as soothing as it was alluring. Sliding a slender arm around Lottie's shoulders, she turned to address Gentry. "What a lovely sister you've brought me," she remarked. "Mind you treat her well, Nick, or I shall invite her to live here with me. She appears far too well-bred to keep company with the likes of you."

"So far, I have no complaints about Mr. Gentry's treatment of me," Lottie replied with a smile. "Of course, we've only been married for an hour."