Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(71)

Arabella giggled behind her own painted silk fan. "The only time I've ever seen that expression on my Harry's face is when a plate of Yorkshire pudding is set before him."

Samantha's dark eyes were keen with interest. "I was under the impression that Lord Radnor owned you part and parcel, Lottie. How did you escape him? And where have you been these past two years? And most of all, how in heaven's name did you manage to catch a man like Nick Gentry-and is this long-lost-lord business some bit of trickery?"

"No," Lottie said instantly, "he truly is Lord Sydney."

"Did you know that he was a viscount when you married?"

"Well, no." Lottie strove to offer the simplest explanation possible. "To start with, you know that I left school to avoid marrying Lord Radnor-"

"The definitive scandal of Maidstone's," Arabella interrupted. "They still talk of it, I'm told. None of the teachers or staff could conceive that sweet, obedient Charlotte Howard would simply disappear like that."

Lottie paused in momentary embarrassment. She was far from proud of her actions-it was simply that she'd had no other choice. "To avoid being found, I changed my name and went to work as a companion to Lady Westcliff in Hampshire-"

"You worked ?" Arabella repeated in awe. "My word, how you must have suffered."

"Not unduly," Lottie replied with a wry smile. "The Westcliffs were kind, and I liked the dowager countess quite well. It was while I was in her employ that I made the acquaintance of Mr. Gentry-er, Lord Sydney. He proposed quite soon after we met, and..." She paused, an image flashing in her mind of that evening in Lord Westcliff's library, the firelight playing over Nick's face as he bent to her breast...

"And I accepted," she said hastily, feeling her face turn fiery red.

"Hmmm." Samantha smiled at Lottie's discomfiture, seeming to guess the reason behind it. "Apparently it was a memorable proposal."

"Were your parents terribly put out with you?" Arabella asked.

Lottie nodded, reflecting with sad irony that "put out" was singularly inadequate to describe her family's reaction.

Samantha's face was grave with understanding. "They won't be angry forever, dear," she said with a pragmatism that was far more comforting than sympathy would have been. "If your husband is half as wealthy as the rumors indicate, the Howards will eventually prove more than happy to claim him as a son-in-law."

The three of them conversed for a while, eagerly becoming reacquainted and making plans to call on each other soon. Lottie was unaware of time passing until she heard the orchestra begin to play a newly popular waltz called "Blossoms in the Spring," a melody that immediately inspired a host of eager couples to begin whirling through the room. Wondering if Nick would remember to dance the first waltz with her, Lottie decided to look for him at the side of the room. Excusing herself from the company of her friends, she walked along one of the first-floor galleries, which was separated from the dance floor by carved wooden railings and bowers of greenery and pink roses. A few couples were absorbed in private conversations, half-concealed by the massive flower arrangements, and Lottie averted her gaze with a slight smile as she passed them.

She was startled by a sudden touch on her arm, and she stopped with a jolt of anticipation, expecting that Nick had found her. But as she glanced down at the growing pressure on her gloved wrist, she did not see Nick's large, square hand. A set of long, almost skeletal fingers had wrapped around her wrist, and with a shock of cold horror, she heard the voice that had haunted her nightmares for years.

"Did you think you could avoid me forever, Charlotte?"

CHAPTER 12

Bracing herself, Lottie looked up into the face of Arthur, Lord Radnor. Time had wrought an astonishing difference in him, as if ten years had passed rather than two. He was unnaturally pale, his skin the color of sun-bleached bone, his dark brows and eyes standing out in jarring contrast. Harsh grooves of bitterness divided his face into angular sections.

Lottie had known the inevitability of seeing Lord Radnor someday. In the back of her mind, she had assumed that he would regard her with hatred. But what she saw in his eyes was far more alarming. Hunger. A voracity that had nothing to do with sexual desire but something far more consuming. Instinctively she understood that his longing to own her had only intensified during her absence, and that her betrayal of him had given him the deadly resolve of an executioner.

"My lord," she acknowledged, her voice steady even though her lips were trembling. "You are importunate. Release my arm, please."

Ignoring her request, Radnor pulled her into the concealment of a greenery-laded column, his fingers tightening into a bruising vise. Lottie went with him easily, determined that this ugliness from her past would not result in a scene that would mar an evening so important for her husband. Ridiculous, that she should be so afraid in a room filled with people. Radnor certainly could not, would not, harm her here. If they were alone, however, she believed that he would feel absolutely justified in wrapping those long fingers around her throat and choking the last breath from her.

His gaze sliced over her. "My God, what has he turned you into? I can smell the lust on you. Only the thinnest veneer separated you from the ill-bred provincials you came from, and now it has vanished completely."