Nick did not spare Lottie a glance but made a scornful sound.

"Lottie, dear," Sophia said with a gentle inflexibility that betrayed the strong will beneath her delicate facade. "How many years did you attend Maidstone's?"

"Six," Lottie said, casting a wary glance at her husband's hard profile.

"If Maidstone's reputation holds true, those six years were filled with an education that included rigorous training in deportment, grace, the art of polite entertaining, the skills of household budgeting and management, the elements of style and good taste, the rituals of morning calls and after-dinner assemblies...the thousands of little points of etiquette that separate the first tier from the other layers of society. I suspect you could easily regulate a household of any size, no matter how large. No doubt you were also taught how to dance, ride, play a musical instrument, speak French and perhaps a smattering of German...am I mistaken?"

"You are correct," Lottie said shortly, hating the sudden feeling that she was part of the trap that was closing around Gentry. He was being forced to become something he had no desire to be, and she understood his feelings all too well.

Nodding in satisfaction, Sophia turned to her glowering brother. "Lottie is a great asset to you. She will prove invaluable in helping you adjust to your new life-"

"I'm not going to adjust to a damned thing," he growled and threw a commanding glance to Lottie. "Come, we're leaving. Now."

She rose automatically, and Sir Ross stood as well. Troubled, Lottie glanced at her brother-in-law. There was no glint of victory in his eyes. She did not believe that his motives had anything to do with vengeance or ill will. She was certain that Sir Ross-and Sophia-thought it quite necessary that Gentry reclaim his former identity. She longed to discuss the matter with them, but it was clear that Gentry was barely maintaining his self-control. Any other man would have been gratified to recover his title, his lands, and family possessions. However, it was obvious that to Gentry this was a nightmare.

Lottie held her silence during the carriage ride home. Her husband was utterly still, trying to contain his explosive outrage, and most likely struggling to comprehend the suddenness with which his life had changed. Not unlike her own mood upon leaving Stony Cross Park, she thought wryly.

The moment they arrived at the house on Betterton Street, Gentry practically leapt from the carriage, leaving Lottie to accept the footman's help in descending from the vehicle. By the time she reached the front door, he was nowhere to be seen.

The housekeeper was in the entrance hall, her perplexed expression betraying that she had just seen Gentry storm inside the house.

"Mrs. Trench," Lottie said calmly, "did you happen to see where Mr. Gentry went?"

"I believe he is in the library, miss. That is...Mrs. Gentry."

Good Lord, how strange it was to be called that. And it was stranger still to contemplate the very strong possibility that before long she would be called Lady Sydney. Frowning, Lottie glanced from the staircase to the hall leading toward the library. Part of her wanted to retreat to the safety and seclusion of her room. However, the other part was irresistibly drawn to find Gentry.

After Mrs. Trench took her bonnet and gloves, Lottie found herself walking to the library. She knocked at the closed door before entering. The library was paneled in dark cherrywood, and fitted with carpets woven with gold medallions on a brown background. Multipaned windows stretched up to the top of the ceiling, which was at least eighteen feet high.

Gentry's broad-shouldered form was at one of the windows, his back tensing visibly as he heard her approach. A brandy snifter was clenched in his hand, the delicate bowl of the glass looking as if it might shatter in his long fingers.

Lottie hesitated beside one of the towering cherrywood bookshelves, noticing that the library was strangely bereft of volumes.

"Your library is nearly empty," she commented.

Gentry stood at the window, his stare brooding and vacant. He tossed back the remainder of his brandy with a stiff-wristed motion. "Buy some books, then. Fill it from floor to ceiling if you like."

"Thank you." Encouraged by the fact that he had not yet told her to leave, Lottie ventured closer. "Mr Gentry..."

"Don't call me that," he said in a burst of irritation.

"I'm sorry. Nick." She drew closer to him. "I wish to correct something that Sir Ross said-you have no responsibility to make me Lady Sydney. As I told you before, I do not care if you are a peer or a commoner."

He was quiet for a long time, then he let out a tense sigh. Striding to the sideboard, he poured another brandy.

"Is there any way of stopping Sir Ross from carrying out his plans?" Lottie asked. "Perhaps we might seek some legal counsel-"

"It's too late. I know Sir Ross-he has thought of every possible countermove. And his influence extends everywhere; the judiciary, law enforcement, Parliament, the Crown office...that writ of summons is going to arrive, no matter what the hell I do to avoid it." He uttered an unfamiliar word that sounded quite foul. "I'd like to break every bone in Cannon's body, the insufferable ass."

"What can I do?" she asked quietly.

"You heard my sister, didn't you? You're going to play lady of the manor and help me pretend to be a viscount."

"You managed quite well at Stony Cross Park," she pointed out. "You gave a convincing appearance of nobility."

"That was only for a few days," he said bitterly. "But now it appears I'll have to play the role for the rest of my life." He shook his head in furious disbelief. "God! I don't want this. I'm going to kill someone before long."

Lottie tilted her head as she regarded him speculatively. No doubt she should fear him when he was in this mood. He did indeed look as though he was ready to commit murder, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust. But curiously she was filled with sympathy, and even more than that, a sense of partnership. They were both floundering, both facing a life they had neither planned nor asked for.

"How did you feel at Stony Cross Park, when you introduced yourself as Lord Sydney?" she asked.

"At first I found it amusing. The irony of masquerading as myself. But after the first day, it became a weight on my shoulders. The mere mention of the name annoys the hell out of me."

Lottie wondered why he was so antagonized by the name he had been born with. There had to be some reason other than the ones he had given so far.

"Nick, what did Sir Ross mean when he said that you were financially equipped to manage the title?"

His mouth twisted. "He meant that I could afford the cost of maintaining a large estate and the kind of lifestyle required of a peer."

"How could he know such a thing?"

"He doesn't know for certain."

"He is wrong, of course."

"No," Nick muttered, "he's not wrong. Before I came to Bow Street, I made a few investments, and I have some holdings here and there. All in all, I have about two hundred put away."

Silently Lottie reflected that two hundred pounds in savings was not bad, but it did not offer the kind of security one could have wished for. She only hoped that his investments would not depreciate in value. "Well, that seems quite satisfactory," she said, not wishing to hurt his feelings. "I think we shall do fairly well if we economize. But I do not think the circumstances allow for a wedding trousseau. Not at this time. Perhaps in the future-"

"Lottie," he interrupted, "we don't need to economize."

"Two hundred pounds is a fine sum, but it will be difficult to maintain a household with-"

"Lottie." He glanced at her with an odd expression. "I was referring to thousands. Two hundred thousand pounds."

"But...but..." Lottie was astonished. It was an immense sum, a fortune by anyone's standards.

"And about five thousand a year from investments and private commissions," he added, stunning her further. His face darkened. "Although it seems my days of private commissions are over."

"Why, you must be as rich as Lord Radnor," she said dazedly.

He made a choppy gesture with his hand, as if consideration of money was completely irrelevant, compared to his far greater problem. "Probably."

"You could afford a dozen houses. You could have anything you-"

"I don't need a dozen houses. I can only sleep under one roof at a time. I can only eat three meals a day. And I don't give a damn about impressing anyone."

Lottie was surprised by the realization that he was not motivated to acquire wealth. His fortune had come as a consequence of his need to outwit everyone from the underworld to Bow Street. And now that the profession of law enforcement had been taken from him, he would be in urgent need of something to do. He was a tremendously active man, not at all suited for the cultivated indolence of aristocratic life. How in heaven's name was he going to adjust to living as a peer?

His thoughts must have mirrored hers, for he gave a groan of hopeless anger and raked his hand roughly through his hair. A stray lock fell on his forehead, and Lottie was startled by her sudden urge to play with the thick chocolate-colored strands, smooth them back, slide her fingers into the warm silk.

"Lottie," he said gruffly, "I'm going out for a while. I probably won't be back until morning. You have a reprieve for tonight."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet." He stepped back from her with a restlessness that contained an edge of panic, as if a heavy net had dropped over him.