"I don't understand how you could direct thieves and smugglers and be a thief-taker at the same time."

"I planted spies and informers all over London, and beyond. I had evidence on everyone from Gin Alley to Dead Man's Lane. Whenever someone got in the way of what I wanted, I turned him in and collected the bounty. As a runner, I find the business of thief-taking a bit more difficult, as the chief magistrate insists that I do things his way. But I'm still the best man he's got."

"And not shy about saying so," Lottie said dryly.

"I'm not one for false modesty. And it happens to be the truth."

"I don't doubt it. You managed to find me when Lord Radnor's men failed after two years of trying."

He surveyed her with unnerving intensity. "The more I learned about you, the more curious I became. I wanted to see what kind of girl had the courage to create a new life for herself, with no help from anyone."

"Courage," she repeated dubiously. "Strange, that you should call it that, when I've always considered it cowardice."

He was about to reply when the carriage made a sharp turn and traveled along a well-paved street. It was sided by a landscaped green with trees and garden walks. Tidy three-story homes of mellow brick lined the secluded lane, which featured a surprisingly pastoral atmosphere in the midst of the bustling city. "Betterton," Gentry said, identifying the street. "The Bow Street office is located to our south, and Covent Garden just beyond that."

"Is the market within walking distance?" Lottie asked, anticipating the prospect of exploring her new surroundings. Although Maidstone's was established in west London, the students had never been allowed to go anywhere.

"Yes, but you won't be walking anywhere without me."

"I am in the habit of going out every morning," she said, wondering if that small but necessary pleasure was going to be withheld from her.

"I'll walk with you, then. Or a footman will accompany you. But I won't have my wife wandering outside unprotected."

My wife.The casual phrase seemed to knock the breath from Lottie's lungs. Suddenly the idea of marrying him...accepting his authority, submitting to his wishes...seemed entirely real, whereas it had only been an abstract notion before. It seemed that Gentry had surprised himself as well, for he clamped his mouth shut and stared out the window with a frown. Lottie wondered if the prospect of marriage had also just become real to him...or, God help her, if he was having second thoughts.

The carriage stopped before a house designed in the symmetrical early Georgian style, with white Doric columns and folding glazed doors that opened to a domed entrance hall. The small but elegant residence went so far beyond Lottie's expectations that she stared at it in wordless amazement.

Exiting the carriage first, Gentry helped her descend, while a footman hastened up the front steps to alert the servants to the master's arrival.

Grimacing at her cramped leg muscles, Lottie relied on the support of Gentry's arm as they approached the door. A middle-aged housekeeper greeted them. She was a plump woman with warm eyes and smooth silver hair.

"Mrs. Trench," Gentry said with sudden mischief dancing in his eyes, "as you can see, I've brought a guest with me. Her name is Miss Howard. I will counsel you to treat her well, as she has just convinced me to marry her."

Catching the implication thatshe was the one who had pressed for marriage, Lottie gave him a speaking glance, and he grinned.

Mrs. Trench could not hide her astonishment. Clearly it was difficult to twist one's brain around the concept of a man like Nick Gentry getting married. "Yes, sir." She curtsied to Lottie. "Welcome, Miss Howard. Congratulations, and much joy to you."

"Thank you," Lottie returned with a smile, then looked cautiously at Gentry. No mention had been made of how he expected them to behave in front of the servants. For heaven's sake, she hadn't even known that hehad servants. She supposed that the household would know quite soon that theirs was a marriage of convenience, so there was little sense in pretending any kind of affection for him.

"Have a room readied, and tell the cook to prepare something for Miss Howard," he said to Mrs. Trench.

"Will you require a plate as well, sir?"

Gentry shook his head. "I intend to leave soon, to make some arrangements."

"Yes, sir." The housekeeper hurried to follow his wishes.

Glancing down at Lottie, Gentry tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. "I will be gone for only a short time. You're safe here, and the servants will do exactly as you tell them."

Did he think she might be distressed by his absence? Surprised by his concern, Lottie nodded. "Of course."

"Tell Mrs. Trench to show you the house in my absence." He hesitated briefly. "Naturally I will have no objection if you wish to change anything that is not to your liking."

"I'm certain that I shall find it acceptable." Their surroundings were tasteful and elegant-the entranceway, with its marble floor patterned in geometric designs, the little staircase hall beyond, and a set of paneled mahogany doors opening to reveal a low-ceilinged drawing room. The walls were tinted a pale shade of green and hung with a few simple groupings of paintings, while the furniture had clearly been chosen for ease and comfort in lieu of formality. It was a handsome, elegant house, far superior to the one she had grown up in. "Who decorated the house? Not you, surely."

He smiled at that. "My sister Sophia. I told her it wasn't necessary, but she seemed to be of the opinion that my judgment is lacking in such matters."

"Didn't it cause gossip, for her to visit your home?"

"She always brought Sir Ross with her." The twist of his mouth conveyed how little he had enjoyed those visits. "The two of them also undertook to choose a household staff for me, as they weren't especially fond of my hirelings from the flash house. They particularly didn't like Blueskin or Wapping Bess."

"Wapping? What does that mean?"

He looked both amused and perturbed by her ignorance of the word. "It means swiving. Frigging." At her continuing puzzlement, he shook his head ruefully. "Having sexual relations."

Her confusion rapidly transformed into disapproval. "What in heaven's name would you have employed her for in this house? No, don't tell me, I'm sure I should be sorry to know." She frowned at his amusement. "How many servants do you have?"

"Eight, including Mrs. Trench."

"You led me to believe that you were a man of limited means."

"I am, compared to Lord Westcliff. But I can keep you in a comfortable style."

"Do the other runners live in this manner?"

That made him laugh. "Some do. In addition to the assignments from Bow Street, most of us take private commissions. It would be impossible to live exclusively on the salary the government allots."

"Commissions such as the one from Lord Radnor?" The thought of him made Lottie's stomach twist with anxiety. Now that she was in London, easily within Radnor's reach, she felt like a rabbit that had been flushed from its burrow. "Has he already paid you for finding me? What will you do with the money?"

"I'll return it to him."

"What about my family?" she whispered apologetically. "Might something be done for them? Lord Radnor will withdraw his patronage..."

Gentry nodded. "I had already considered that. Of course I will take care of them."

Lottie hardly dared to believe her ears. It was asking a great deal of any man to support his wife's entire family, and yet Gentry seemed to accept the burden without apparent resentment. "Thank you," she said, nearly breathless with sudden relief. "That is kind of you."

"I can be very kind," he replied softly, "given the right incentive."

Lottie stood still as he fingered her earlobe and stroked the hollow just behind it. A rush of heat spread over her face...such a small, almost innocuous caress, and yet he had found a place so susceptible that she gasped at the brush of his fingertip. He bent his head to kiss her, but she turned her face away. He could have anything he wanted of her, except that. To her, a kiss held a meaning beyond the physical, and she did not want to give that part of herself to him.

His lips touched her cheek instead, and she felt the warm curve of his smile. Once again, he showed an uncanny ability to read her thoughts. "What can I do to earn a kiss from you?"

"Nothing."

His mouth slid lightly over the edge of her cheekbone. "We'll see about that."

To most people, the dingy, well-worn Bow Street public office, smelling of sweat, brass polish, and charge-books, was not an inviting place. But during the past three years, Nick had become so familiar with every inch of the office that it felt like home. An outside visitor would be hard-pressed to believe that the small, unassuming buildings-Bow Street Nos. 3 and 4-were the center of criminal investigation in England. Here was where Sir Grant Morgan held court and directed the force of eight runners under his command.

Wearing a relaxed smile, Nick returned the greetings of clerks and constables as he made his way through No. 3 Bow Street. It had not taken long for the force at Bow Street to appreciate his finer points, most particularly his willingness to go to the rookeries and flash houses that no one else dared to venture into. He didn't mind taking the most dangerous assignments, as he had no family of his own to consider, and he wasn't particular in any case. In fact, through some quirk of his character that even Nick didn't understand, he required a frequent amount of risk, as if danger were an addictive drug that he had no hope of renouncing. The past two months of tame investigative work had filled him with a raw energy that he could barely contain.