Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(54)

"I believe that he was too ashamed, after what had happened to him. He tried to forget that John, Lord Sydney, had ever existed. It was easier to close everything away and create a new life for himself as Nick Gentry."

"Afterwhat had happened?" Lottie asked, perplexed. "Are you referring to his imprisonment?"

Sophia's dark blue eyes searched hers. Seeming to realize that Lottie had not been told about something significant, she turned secretive. "Yes, his imprisonment," she said vaguely, and Lottie knew that Sophia was protecting her brother in some mysterious way.

"How did you learn that he was still alive?"

"I came to London," Sophia replied, "to take revenge on the magistrate who had sentenced him to the prison hulk. I blamed him for my brother's death. But to my dismay, I soon found myself falling in love with him."

"Sir Ross?" Lottie stared at her in amazement. "No wonder Nick dis-" Realizing what she had been about to say, she stopped abruptly.

"Dislikes him so?" Sophia finished for her with a rueful smile. "Yes, the two of them have no fondness for each other. However, that has not prevented my husband from doing everything he can to help Nick. You see, even after Nick joined the runners, he was...quite reckless."

"Yes," Lottie acknowledged cautiously, "he has quite a vigorous constitution."

Sophia smiled without humor. "I'm afraid it was more than that, my dear. For three years Nick has taken insane chances, not seeming to care if he lives or dies."

"But why?"

"Certain events in Nick's past have made him rather embittered and detached. My husband and Sir Grant have both endeavored to help him change for the better. I haven't always agreed with their methods. I can assure you, Sir Ross and I have engaged in some spirited debates on the matter. However, as time has passed, it seems that my brother has improved in many ways. And Lottie, I am very much encouraged by the fact that he has married you." She took Lottie's hand and squeezed it warmly.

"Sophia..." Lottie averted her gaze as she spoke reluctantly. "I do not think the marriage could truly be characterized as a love match."

"No," the other woman agreed softly. "I am afraid that the experience of loving and being loved is quite foreign to Nick. It will no doubt take some time for him to recognize the feeling for what it is."

Lottie was certain that Sophia meant to be reassuring. However, the idea of Nick Gentry falling in love with her was not only improbable but alarming as well. He would never let his guard down to that extent, never allow someone such power over him, and if he did, he might very well become as obsessive and domineering as Lord Radnor. She did not want anyone to love her. Although it was clear that some people found great joy in love, such as Sophia and Sir Ross, Lottie could not help but regard it as a trap. The arrangement that she and Nick had devised was much safer.

Nick found himself strangely adrift after he left the public office. It had begun to rain, and the burgeoning clouds promised a heavier deluge yet to come. Hatless, striding along the slick pavement, he felt the cold, fat splashes of water sinking through his hair and pelting the broadcloth weave of his coat. He should seek shelter somewhere...The Brown Bear, a tavern located across from Bow Street No. 3...or perhaps Tom's coffeehouse, where the runners' preferred physician, Dr. Linley, was wont to appear. Or his own home...but he shied from that thought instantly.

The rain fell harder, in cold, soaking sheets that drove street sellers and pedestrians to huddle beneath shop awnings. Scrawny boys darted into the street to fetch cabs for gentlemen who had been caught unawares by the rain. Umbrellas snapped open, their frames strained by strong gusts of wind, while the sky was partitioned by jagged shafts of lightning. The air lost its characteristic stable-yard odor and took on the freshness of spring rain. Brown currents ran through the drains, washing them clear of the foul matter that the night-soil men had failed to remove during evening rounds.

Nick walked without direction, while the rain slid down his face and dripped from his chin. Usually in his off-time he went somewhere with Sayer or Ruthven to exchange stories over ale and beefsteaks, or they would attend a prizefight or a bawdy comedy at Drury Lane. Sometimes they would patrol the streets in a small pack, leisurely inspecting the thoroughfares and alleys for any sign of disruption.

Thinking of the other runners, Nick knew that soon he would lose their companionship. It was folly to hope otherwise. He could not move in their world any longer-Sir Ross had made that impossible. But why? Why couldn't the interfering bastard have left well enough alone? Nick's mind chased in circles, failing to apprehend the answer. Perhaps it had something to do with Sir Ross's unfailing pursuit of rightness, of order. Nick had been born a viscount and therefore must be restored to his position, no matter how unsuited he was for it.

Nick considered what he knew of the peerage, of their habits and rituals, the countless rules of conduct, the inescapable removal of landed aristocrats from the reality of common life. He tried to imagine spending the majority of his time lounging in parlors and drawing rooms, or rustling his freshly ironed newspaper at the club. Making speeches at the Lords to demonstrate one's social conscience. Attending soirees, and prattling about art and literature, and exchanging gossip about other silk-stockinged gentlemen.

A sense of panic filled him. He hadn't felt this trapped, this overwhelmed, since he had been lowered into the dark, stinking hold of the prison hulk and chained alongside the most degraded beings imaginable. Except that then he had known that freedom lay just outside the hulls of the anchored ship. And now there was no place to escape.