Sir Ross introduced a new topic of conversation concerning some recently proposed amendments to the Poor Law, which both he and Gentry supported. Surprisingly, Sophia offered her own opinions on the subject, and the men listened attentively. Lottie tried to conceal her astonishment, for she had been taught for years that a proper woman should never express her opinions in mixed company. Certainly she should say nothing about politics, an inflammatory subject that only men were qualified to debate. And yet here was a man as distinguished as Sir Ross seeming to find nothing wrong in his wife's speaking her mind. Nor did Gentry seem displeased by his sister's outspokenness.

Perhaps Gentry would allow her the same freedom. With that pleasant thought in her mind, Lottie consumed her pineapple cream, a rich, silky custard with a tangy flavor. Upon reaching the bottom of the pot, she thought longingly of how nice it would be to have another. However, good manners and the fear of appearing gluttonous made it unthinkable to request seconds.

Noticing the wistful glance Lottie gave her empty dish, Gentry laughed softly and slid his own untouched dessert to her plate. "You have even more of a taste for sweets than little Amelia," he murmured in her ear. His warm breath caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.

"We didn't have desserts at school," she said with a sheepish smile.

He took his napkin and dabbed gently at the corner of her mouth. "I can see that I'll have a devil of a time trying to compensate for all the things you were deprived of. I suppose you'll want sweets with every meal now."

Pausing in the act of lifting her spoon, Lottie stared into the warm blue eyes so close to hers, and suddenly she felt wreathed in heat. Ridiculous, that all he had to do was speak with that caressing note in his voice, and she could be so thoroughly undone.

Sir Ross studied the pair of them with an all-engulfing glance. "Gentry, there is a matter I would take up with you. Undoubtedly there are better ways to reveal my thoughts concerning your future, but I confess that I can't think of them. Your circumstances are unusual." He paused and smiled ruefully. "That is an understatement, of course. The twists and turns of your life have been nothing if not bizarre."

Gentry sat back with languid grace, appearing relaxed, but Lottie sensed the apprehension that coiled inside him. "I haven't asked you to consider my future."

"I have, nonetheless. During the past three years that I have followed your career-"

"Followed?" Gentry interrupted dryly. "More like manipulated, meddled, and interfered."

Inured to semantics after so many years on the bench, Sir Ross shrugged. "I've done as I thought best. Bear in mind that in my dealings with you, I've also had Sophia's interests to consider. She is the only reason I kept you from the gallows. She believed there was potential for goodness in you. And though I didn't see it back then, I am willing to admit now that she was right. You are not the complete villain I thought you to be."

Gentry smiled coolly, aware that he was being damned with faint praise. "In return, let me say that you are not completely the hypocritical cold fish I thought you to be."

"Nick," Sophia scolded, and laid her slender hand over Sir Ross's large one. "My husband has never had a hypocritical thought in his life. And as for his being a cold fish, I can assure you most definitely that he is not. Furthermore-"

"Sophia," Sir Ross interrupted softly, "you don't have to defend me, my love."

"Well, you're not, " she insisted.

His hand turned palm up to grip hers, and for just a moment the pair stared at their interlaced fingers with a shared pleasure that seemed unspeakably intimate. Lottie felt a peculiar ache in her chest. What must it be like to love that way? The two of them seemed to take such enormous delight in each other.

"All right," Gentry said impatiently. "Let's get to the point, Cannon. I have no desire to spend my entire wedding day with you."

That elicited a grin from the former magistrate. "Very well, I will try to be succinct. Ever since you joined the Bow Street force, Sir Grant has kept me informed of your accomplishments; the detective operations, the work with the foot patrols, the pursuits that you've undertaken at the hazard of your life. But it wasn't until the Barthas house fire that I realized how much you have changed."

"I haven't changed," Gentry said warily.

"You've learned to value others' lives as much as your own," Sir Ross continued. "You've met the challenge I presented to you three years ago, and you've contributed greatly to the public welfare. And now you've even taken a wife. Interestingly enough, she is the kind of young woman you might have married had circumstances not deprived you of your title and position so long ago."

Gentry's eyes narrowed. "I never gave a damn about the title. And God knows I have no use for it now."

The older man toyed with his spoon, wearing an expression befitting a chess player in the middle of a long game. "There is something you've never quite understood about your title. It's yours, whether you want it or not. A title doesn't disappear merely because one chooses to ignore it."

"It does if one chooses to become someone else."

"But you're not someone else," Sir Ross rejoined. "The real Nick Gentry died fourteen years ago. You are Lord Sydney."

"No one knows that."

"That," Sir Ross said calmly, "is about to change."

Gentry went very still as he absorbed the statement. "What the hell does that mean?"

"After a great deal of deliberation, I decided to begin the process of dignification on your behalf. Recently I explained the particulars of your situation to the offices of the Crown and the Lord Chancellor. Not only did I assure them that you are indeed the long-lost Lord Sydney, I also confirmed that you are financially equipped to manage the title. In approximately a fortnight, the Clerk of the Crown will issue a Writ of Summons, calling you to the House of Lords. At which time I will introduce you publicly as Lord Sydney, at a ball that will be given in your honor."

Gentry shot up from the table, his chair falling back and clattering to the floor. "Go to hell, Cannon!"

Lottie started at the burst of hostility. Gentry reacted as if his very life were being threatened. However, the danger he faced was not the physical peril he was accustomed to...it was intangible, insidious...the one prison he could not escape. Lottie sensed the thoughts that writhed behind his set expression, the way his clever mind analyzed the sudden predicament and considered various ways to evade it.

"I'll deny everything," Gentry said.

Sir Ross made a temple of his hands, regarding him steadily. "If you do, I will respond with depositions from myself, Sir Grant, your sister, and even your wife, testifying to the fact that you have privately confessed yourself to be Lord Sydney. Those, combined with circumstantial oddities such as missing burial records and inconsistent reports of your death, form what is known in English law as afecundatio ab extra -a rare but not impossible occurrence."

Gentry looked as if he wanted to murder the former Bow Street magistrate. "I'll petition the House of Lords to be allowed to renounce the title. God knows they'll be overjoyed to get rid of me."

"Don't be a fool. Do you really believe they would ever allow you to disclaim your title? To their minds, such a renunciation would challenge the very institution of the peerage. They would fear that the distinctions between the classes-no, the monarchy itself-would be threatened."

"You don't believe in privilege based on birth," Gentry shot back. "Why force a damned title on me?I don't want it. "

"This has nothing to do with my political beliefs. This is a matter of simple fact. You are Sydney, no matter what you call yourself. You are not going to be able to overturn seven hundred years of hereditary principle, nor will you be able to avoid your obligations as Lord Sydney any longer."

"Obligations to what?" Gentry sneered. "To an estate that has been held in abeyance for fourteen years?"

"You have a responsibility to the tenants who are trying to eke out a living on ramshackle government-managed lands. To the House of Lords, where your seat has gone vacant for two decades. To your sister, who is obligated to keep her relationship with her own brother a secret. To your wife, who will enjoy far more respect and social advantage as Lady Sydney than she ever would as Mrs. Gentry. To the memory of your parents. And to yourself. For half of your life you've been hiding behind a false name. It is time for you to acknowledge who you are."

Gentry's hands clenched. "That's not for you to decide."

"If I don't force the issue, you'll spend the rest of your life avoiding it."

"That is my right!"

"Perhaps. But regardless, you will find it impossible to remain a runner. Sir Grant concurs with my opinion, and therefore he will no longer require your services at Bow Street."

A wash of color spread over Gentry's face. His throat worked violently as he realized that his days as a runner had just come to an end. "Then I'll spend my time taking private commissions."

"That would be a novelty, wouldn't it?" Sir Ross asked sardonically. "The crime-solving viscount."

"Nick," Sophia broke in softly, "you know what Papa and Mama would have wanted."

He appeared bitter and miserable, and above all, outraged. "I've been Nick Gentry too long to change."

Sophia replied with great care, seeming to understand why he would consider it impossible. "It will be difficult. No one would deny that. But you have Lottie to assist you."