Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(62)

As soon as the door closed, he hauled her into his lap and tugged roughly at the front of her gown. She reached up to play with his hair, tangling her fingers in the thick sable locks. Unlacing the top of her corset, he eased one breast out and fastened his mouth over the soft nipple. The teasing suction caused her to arch against him with a whimper of pleasure. His hands delved frantically beneath her skirts, slipping past masses of broadcloth and linen to find the damp slit of her drawers. His hand was too large to slip inside the undergarment, and he ripped it with an ease that made her gasp. Her thighs spread in helpless welcome, and her vision blurred as one long finger eased inside her. Cradled in his lap, with his hand working gently between her legs, she felt her inner muscles begin to tighten rhythmically.

A groan escaped him, and he pulled her h*ps over his, fumbling roughly with the front of his trousers. "You're so wet...I can't wait, Lottie, let me...sit in my lap, and put your legs...oh, God, yes, right there..."

She straddled him willingly, sucking in her breath as he penetrated her, his hands urging her h*ps down until he had buried himself to the hilt. He was deliciously hard and thick inside her, holding still while the motion of the carriage jostled their bodies together. Surreptitiously Lottie rubbed the aching peak of her sex against him, feeling waves of heat rising from the place they were joined. One of his hands passed gently over her upper back.

Lottie gasped as a vigorous jolt of the carriage wheels impelled him farther inside her. "We don't have long," she managed to say against his throat. "The tavern is very close to home."

Nick responded with a tortured groan. "The next time I'll make the driver take us around the whole of London...twice." He slid his thumb to the top of her wet sex and flicked it with soft, rapid strokes, building her pleasure rapidly until she curled against him with a sob, overwhelmed by explosive sensation. Hitching his h*ps upward in desperate thrusts, he growled and buried his face in the curve of her neck, his passion reaching a blinding culmination.

They both breathed in long gasps, while their na**d flesh was locked together beneath the layers of disheveled clothing. "It's never enough," Nick said gruffly, his hand cupping over her soft bu**ocks, holding her firmly against him. "It feels too good to stop."

Lottie understood what he was attempting to express. The unquenchable need between them was more than mere physical craving. She found a satisfaction in being together that went far beyond the joining of their bodies. Until this moment, however, she hadn't known that he felt it too...and she wondered if he was as afraid to acknowledge the feeling as she was.

CHAPTER 11

London was so vastly different from the serenity of Hampshire that Lottie could scarcely believe it was in the same country. It was a world of high fashion and endless amusements, with a sharp juxtaposition of poverty and wealth, and crime-ridden alleys tucked behind the streets of prosperous markets and shops. There was the area past Temple Bar called the City, and the west side, referred to as "town," and an abundance of gardens, walks, concert halls, and shops featuring luxuries that she could never have imagined.

As the second week of their marriage began, Nick seemed to find it amusing to indulge Lottie as if she were a child he was bent on spoiling. He took her to a confectioner's shop at Berkeley Square and bought her an ice made of pureed chestnuts mixed liberally with candied cherries. Afterward they proceeded to Bond Street, where he purchased her a selection of French powders and scented waters, and a dozen pairs of embroidered silk stockings. Lottie tried to stop him from buying a fortune's worth of white gloves and handkerchiefs from the linen-draper's, and she objected strongly to a pair of pink silk shoes with gold tassels that would have cost a full month's tuition at Maidstone's. However, Nick ignored her protests as he continued to purchase whatever caught his fancy. Their final stop was at a tea shop, where he ordered a half-dozen exotic teas in beautiful jars, bearing intriguing names such as "gunpowder," "congou," or "souchong."

Envisioning the mountain of packages that would be delivered later that day to the house on Betterton, Lottie begged him to desist. "I need nothing else," she said firmly, "and I refuse to set foot in one more shop. There is no reason for such immoderation."

"Yes, there is," Nick replied, escorting her to their waiting carriage, piled high with parcels and boxes.

"Oh? What is it?"

He responded with a maddening smile. Surely he didn't think that he was purchasing her sexual favors, as she had been more than acquiescent in that regard. Perhaps he simply wanted her to feel obligated to him? But why?

Life with Nick Gentry was turning out to be quite puzzling, consisting of moments of searing closeness interspersed with small reminders that they were still complete strangers in most regards. She did not understand why Nick left her bed every night after making love to her, never allowing himself to drift to sleep beside her. After everything else they had shared, that seemed harmless enough. But he refused her awkward invitations to stay, stating that he preferred to sleep alone, and they would both be more comfortable that way.

Lottie quickly discovered that certain subjects set off Nick's temper like a flame held to gunpowder. She learned never to question him about any part of his boyhood, and that any reference to the days before he took the name of Nick Gentry would earn his certain wrath. When he became angry, he did not shout or throw things, but instead was coldly quiet and left the house, and did not return until long after she had gone to bed. She learned also that Nick never allowed himself to be vulnerable in any way. He preferred to stay in complete control of himself and his environment. He considered it unmanly for someone not to be able to hold his liquor-she had yet to see him drink to excess. Even sleep seemed to be a luxury he did not like to indulge in too often, as if he could not afford to relax into unguarded slumber. In fact, according to Sophia, Nick had never even allowed physical injuries to hamper him-he stubbornly refused to yield to pain or weakness.