Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(64)

"Mrs. Gentry," came a nearby voice. It was Mrs. Howsham, a pleasant and soft-spoken woman whom Lottie had only recently met. "Are you feeling ill, dear? You look rather queer."

She looked into Mrs. Howsham's face. "It's rather stifling in here," she whispered. "And I think I've laced a bit too tightly this evening."

"Ah, yes," the woman said in wry understanding, familiar with the complaints that corset strings often induced. "The perils of fashion we must suffer..."

To Lottie's relief, Nick appeared at her side, a glass of lemonade in hand. Instantly perceiving that something was wrong, he slid a supportive arm behind her. "What is it?" he asked, staring alertly at her pale face.

Mrs. Howsham took it upon herself to answer. "Tight-lacing, Mr. Gentry...I suggest that you take her somewhere a bit more secluded than this. A breath of fresh air often helps."

Keeping his arm around Lottie, Nick guided her through the hall. The night air caused Lottie to shiver as her sweat-soaked garments turned clammy. Carefully Nick drew her to the lee of a massive column that blocked the light and noise coming from inside the building.

"It was nothing," Lottie told him sheepishly. "Nothing at all. I feel like an idiot, making a fuss for no reason." Accepting the lemonade from him, she drank thirstily, not stopping until the glass was drained.

Nick bent to set the empty glass on the ground and rose to face Lottie once more. His face was taut as he took a handkerchief from his coat and wiped the trickling perspiration from her cheeks and forehead. "Tell me what happened," he said quietly.

Lottie flushed in embarrassment. "I thought I saw Lord Radnor in there. But it was only a man who looked like him." She sighed tensely. "Now I've revealed myself to be an utter coward. I'm sorry."

"Radnor rarely goes out in public," Nick murmured. "It's not likely that you would encounter him at an event like this."

"I know," she said ruefully. "Unfortunately I didn't stop to think about that."

"You're not a coward." There was concern in his dark blue eyes...concern overlaying some richer, more mysterious emotion underneath.

"I reacted like a child who's afraid of the dark."

His fingers slid beneath her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "It's conceivable that you will encounter Radnor someday," he said softly. "But I'll be with you when or if that happens, Lottie. You don't have to fear him anymore. I'll keep you safe."

She felt a rush of wonder at the tender gravity of his expression. "Thank you," she replied, taking a full breath for the first time since they had left the hall.

Continuing to stare into her pale, damp face, Nick shook his head with a slight frown, as if the sight of her distress was painful to him. Seeming unable to help himself, he reached out and pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her as he tried to comfort her with his body. There was nothing sexual about the embrace, but somehow it was more intimate than anything they had ever done together. His arms were strong and possessive, holding her steady while his breath fell in moist, hot surges against her neck.

"Shall I take you home?" he whispered.

Lottie nodded slowly, while a lifetime of loneliness transformed into a sense of inconceivable comfort. A home...a husband...things she had never let herself hope for. Surely this illusion couldn't last-somehow, someday, it would be taken away from her. But until that happened, she would cherish every moment.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled against his coat. "Let's go home."

Gradually emerging from a deep sleep, Lottie became aware of odd noises in the house. Thinking that perhaps the sounds were a remnant of a dream, she blinked and sat up slowly in bed. It was the middle of the night, and the bedroom was pitch black. There it was again...a growl, a garbled phrase...as if someone were in the midst of an argument. Recalling that Nick was occasionally troubled by nightmares, Lottie sprang from the bed. Carefully she lit a lamp, replaced the glass, and carried it with her down the hall.

Shadows fled before her as she approached the guest room where Nick slept. Pausing at the closed door, she tapped on it cautiously. There was no reply. After a moment, she heard a violent rustling from within. Lottie turned the knob and entered the bedroom.

"Nick?"

He was stretched out on the bed, lying on his stomach with the sheet twisted at his hips. Breathing rapidly, he clenched his fists and muttered incoherently, his dark face gleaming with sweat. Staring at him in puzzled concern, Lottie wondered what unseen monsters could cause his long body to twitch with what was either suppressed rage, or fear, or both. She set the lamp on the bedside table and approached him.

"Nick, wake up. It's only a dream." Reaching out to him, she laid a gentle hand on the brutal curve of his shoulder. "Nick-"

Suddenly she was caught in an explosion of violence. A startled cry escaped her as she was seized and flung halfway across the bed. Nick was on her in an instant, straddling her with his powerful thighs. Hearing a murderous growl, Lottie looked up into the harsh, shadowed mask of his face and saw one huge hand draw back in a fist.

"No!" she gasped, shielding her face with her arms.

The strike never came. All went still. Trembling, Lottie lowered her arms and looked up to see Nick's face change, the nightmarish mask dropping, sanity and awareness creeping back into his expression. He lowered his fist and stared at it blankly. Then his gaze fell to Lottie's slim form, and the fury and terror in his eyes made her cringe.