Propping herself up on one elbow, Lottie realized that she'd never had the opportunity to view him at her leisure. The lines of his body were sleek and strong, his broad back tapering to a lean waist and hips, his flesh densely muscled yet smooth. She admired the solid curve of his buttocks, covered by the sheet that lay low on his hips.
And she wanted to see more of him. Glancing cautiously at his peaceful face, she reached down to the edge of the white linen and began to ease it away from his backside. Lower and lower...
With a swiftness that made her gasp, Nick reached out and seized her wrist. His eyes opened to study her drowsily, and a smile lit the depths of warm blue. When he spoke, his voice was sleep-roughened. "It's not fair to ogle a man while he's asleep."
"I wasn't ogling," Lottie said impishly. "Women don't ogle." She gave him a boldly appraising glance. "But I do like the way you look in the morning."
Releasing her, Nick shook his head with a snort of disbelief, scrubbing his fingers through his disheveled hair. He rolled to his side, revealing a chest covered with thick dark curls.
Tempted beyond her ability to resist, Lottie wriggled closer to him, until her br**sts were pressed into the wealth of warm fur. "Did you ever spend the night with your friend?" she asked, entwining her legs with his.
"You mean with Gemma? God, no."
"Then I'm the first woman you've ever slept with," she said, pleased.
He touched her softly, his fingertips tracing the silken curve of her shoulder. "Yes."
Lottie made no protest as he rolled her to her back, his head lowering to her breasts. They were tender and sensitive from his attentions, and she gasped as she felt his hot, gentle tongue swirling over the rosy nipple. Relaxing beneath him, she luxuriated in the tangle of sunshine and white linen, her arms curving around his dark head...
"Nick, we can't," she said suddenly. Her gaze shot to the clock on the mantel. "Good Lord, we're late!"
"Late for what?" he asked in a muffled voice, resisting as she attempted to push his heavy body away.
"Sophia and Sir Ross promised to be here at ten o'clock. There's barely enough time to bathe and dress-oh, do get off me, I must hurry!"
With a surly frown, Nick allowed her to squirm out from beneath him. "I want to stay in bed."
"We can't. We're going to tour the house with Sophia and Sir Ross, and you're going to make yourself agreeable and praise your sister for the splendid job she's done, and thank them both for their generosity. And then we'll entertain them for an early supper, after which they will return to Silverhill."
Nick lounged on his side as he watched her descend from the bed. "That's going to be at least twelve hours from now. I'm not going to be able to keep my hands off of you for that long."
"Then you'll have to devise some means of-" Lottie broke off and inhaled sharply as she stood upright.
"What is it?" he asked alertly.
Lottie blushed from her head to her toes. "I'm sore. In...in places that I'm not usually sore."
Nick understood immediately. An abashed grin touched his lips, and he hung his head in an unconvincing effort at penitence. "I'm sorry. An aftereffect of Tantric lovemaking."
"Is that what it was?" Lottie hobbled to a chair near the hearth, where she had left her robe. Hastily she wrapped it around herself.
"An ancient Indian art form," he explained. "Ritualized methods designed to prolong intercourse."
Lottie's high color persisted as she recalled the things he had done to her in the night. "Well, it certainly was prolonged."
"Not really. Tantric experts often have sexual relations for nine or ten hours at a time."
She gave him an appalled glance. "Could you do that, if you wished?"
Standing from the bed, Nick walked over to her, completely unself-conscious in his nakedness. He took her into his arms and nuzzled her soft blond hair, playing with the loose braid that hung down her back. "With you, I wouldn't mind trying," he said, smiling against her temple.
"No, thank you. I can barely walk as it is." She searched through the tantalizing hair on his chest, finding the point of his nipple. "I'm afraid I'm not going to encourage any of your Tantric practices."
"That's all right," he replied amiably. "There are other things we can do." His voice lowered seductively. "I haven't begun to show you the things I know."
"I was afraid of that," she said, and he laughed.
His big hand cupped around the back of her head, tilting it until her face was lifted to his. Lottie was amazed by the expression in his eyes, the heat that smoldered in the fathomless blue wells. His mouth lowered to hers slowly, as if he thought she might twist away. She realized that he feared her willingness to kiss him might have evaporated with the morning light. Holding still for him, she let her eyes close as she felt the velvety warmth of his mouth cover hers.
Nick hardly recognized himself in the days that followed. His confession to Lottie, and her astonishing reaction to it, had changed everything. She should have been repulsed by the things he had told her, and instead she had embraced him, accepted him, without hesitation. He didn't understand why. He watched her carefully for signs of regret, thinking that she would come to her senses. But the expected rejection did not come. Lottie opened herself to him in every way, sexually and emotionally. Her trust terrified him. His own need for her terrified him. God, to realize the extent to which his independence had been compromised...
However, he could not seem to stop it from happening.
Faced with this inevitability, Nick had no choice but to give in to it. And day after day, he let it drift farther inside him-this precarious, giddy warmth that he could only identify as happiness. He was no longer bedeviled and driven, no longer hungry for things he couldn't have. For the first time in his life, he was at peace. Even his nightmares seemed to have retreated. He slept more deeply than he ever had in his life, and if his dreams began to trouble him, he awakened to find Lottie's small body snuggled against his, her silken hair trailing over his arm. He had never been this idle...lazing in bed, making love to his wife, taking long rides or walks with her, even going on a damned picnic and enjoying himself despite the feeling that he should be in London with Morgan and the runners, doing something useful.
It began to bother him, though...the old familiar urge to prowl the rookeries, the addictive excitement of pursuit and capture. He did not know how to be a viscount, and he felt vaguely out of place here, at his own childhood home. No magical change had occurred with the arrival of the writ of summons. Blue blood or no, he was a product of the streets.
"I've been thinking about what you need," Lottie told him one morning as they strode away from the house along a paved rose walk that overlooked a long, formal pool adorned with water lilies. Beyond the pool, a broad curving lawn led to a chain of artificial lakes bordered by a forest of cedar and elm. Nick had taken her on a shortcut he had used often as a boy, circumventing the lawn by jumping over a short stone wall and heading straight into the forest.
Smiling at Lottie's statement, Nick lifted his arms to help her descend from the wall. Although she could easily have jumped by herself, she accepted his help, resting her hands on his shoulders as he took hold of her waist.
"What is it that I need?" he asked, letting her slide down his front until her feet touched the ground.
"A cause."
"A what?"
"Something worthwhile for you to pursue. Something not related to estate management."
Nick let his gaze wander blatantly over Lottie's small, trim form, clad in a peach-colored walking-dress trimmed with chocolate brown. "I already have that," he said and settled his mouth over hers. He felt her smile before she accommodated the warm pressure of his mouth, opening for the gentle exploration of his tongue.
"I mean something that would keep you busy in your spare time," she said breathlessly when he ended the kiss.
He slid his hand along the side of her uncorseted waist. "So do I."
Lottie pulled away from him with a laugh, her flat ankle boots tromping on the carpet of leaves as she strode into the forest. Thin shafts of sunlight filtered through the ancient canopy of foliage-laden branches overhead, catching the pale gleam of her pinned-up hair and making it flash like silver. "Sir Ross has his interest in judicial reform," she pointed out, "as well as his concerns for the rights of women and children. If you were to take up some pursuit that would benefit the public in some manner, you could put your seat in the Lords to some good use-"
"Wait," he said warily, following her through the maze of trees. "If you're going to start comparing me to my saintly brother-in-law-"
"I merely used him as an example, not as a basis for comparison." Stopping beside a huge elm, she ran her hand along the deep furrows of mottled gray bark. "The point is, you have spent the past few years of your life serving the public and helping people, and for you to stop so suddenly-"
"I haven't been helping people," Nick interrupted, affronted. "I've been rubbing elbows with felons and whores, and chasing fugitives from Tyburn to East Wapping."
Lottie gave him a wry stare, her dark brown eyes filled with an inexplicable tenderness. "And in doing so, you've made London safer, and brought justice to those who deserved it. For heaven's sake, why are you offended at the implication that you may have actually done something good now and then?"
"I don't want to be portrayed as something I'm not," Nick said curtly.
"I see you exactly for what you are," she informed him, "and I would be the last to call you a saint."
"Good."
"On the other hand...your work as a runnerdid serve to benefit other people, whether you choose to admit it or not. Therefore, you will now need to find some meaningful activity to occupy your time." Casually Lottie walked on, stepping over a fallen branch. "You want me to turn into a reformist?" he asked in disgust, following her.
Deliberately ignoring his sudden bad humor, Lottie continued through the trees until the forest opened to reveal a small, glittering lake. "There must besome issue that concerns you. Something you want to fight for. What about improving the horrid condition of the Thames.... or the workhouses in which the elderly, children, and the insane are all mixed together with no one to tend them..."
"Next you'll want me to make speeches in Parliament and give charity balls." He scowled at the thought.
Lottie continued listing problems that needed to be addressed. "Insufficient public education, the cruelty of blood sports, the plight of orphans, or discharged prisoners-"
"You've made your point," Nick interrupted, coming to stand beside her.
"What about prison reform? There's a subject that you can address with some conviction."
Nick froze, unable to believe that Lottie had dared to say it to him. He kept that part of his past closed in some distant part of his mind. For her to mention it in such a relaxed manner was like an attack. A betrayal. But as he stared into her upturned face and struggled to reply, he saw the absolute gentleness in her expression.Be comfortable with me , the soft light in her eyes entreated.Let me share some of your burden .
He tore his gaze away, the flare of defensive rage melting into alarm. Holy hell, he wanted to believe in her. To give her the last part of his soul that the world had not yet stained and shredded and ruined. But how could he let himself be that vulnerable?
"I'll think about it," he heard himself say raspily.
Lottie smiled, reaching out to stroke his chest. "I'm afraid that if you don't apply yourself to a worthy cause, you'll go mad from inactivity. You're not a man to spend all of your time pursuing idle amusements. And now that you are no longer working at Bow Street..." She paused, seeming troubled by something she saw in his eyes. "You miss it, don't you?"
"No," he said lightly.
"The truth," she insisted with a frown.
Catching her hand in his, Nick drew her along the path beside the lake.
"I do miss it," he admitted. "I've been a thief-taker for too long. I like the challenge of it. I like the feeling of outwitting those bastards on the streets. I know how they think. Each time I hunt down an escaped murderer, or some filthy rapist, and throw him into the Bow Street strongroom, it gives me a satisfaction like nothing else. I..." He paused, searching for the right words. "I've won the game."
"Game?" Lottie repeated carefully. "Is that how you think of it?"
"All the runners do. You have to, if you're going to outfox your opponent. You need to stay detached, otherwise you'll get distracted."
"It must have been quite difficult at times, to maintain your detachment."
"Never," he assured her. "It's always been easy for me to shut away my feelings."
"I see."
But while Lottie seemed to understand what he was telling her, there was a barely perceptible edge of skepticism in her tone. As if she doubted that he still had the ability to remain completely emotionless. Troubled and annoyed, Nick fell silent as they continued around the lake. And he told himself that he could hardly wait to leave the idyllic scenery of Worcestershire and return to London.
CHAPTER 14
"You're going to Bow Street today, aren't you?" Lottie asked, cradling a cup of tea in her hands as she watched Nick devour a large plate of eggs, fruit, and currant bread.
Nick glanced at her with a deliberately bland smile. "Why do you ask?" Since they had returned from Worcestershire three days earlier, he had met with bankers, hired an estate agent, visited his tailor, and spent an afternoon at Tom's coffeehouse with friends. For all Lottie knew, today would proceed in much the same manner-but somehow her intuition had led her to suspect otherwise.
"Because you have a certain look in your eyes whenever you go to meet Sir Grant or anyone else at Bow Street."
Nick could not help grinning at his wife's suspicious expression. She had the instincts and the tenacity of a rat terrier-and he considered that a compliment, though she would probably not. "As it happens, I'm not going to Bow Street," he said mildly. It was the truth, although only in the most technical sense. "I'm just going to visit a friend. Eddie Sayer. I've told you about him before, remember?"
"Yes, he's one of the runners." Lottie's eyes narrowed above the delicate edge of her teacup. "What are the two of you planning? You're not going to do something dangerous, are you?"