Lottie gasped as a vigorous jolt of the carriage wheels impelled him farther inside her. "We don't have long," she managed to say against his throat. "The tavern is very close to home."

Nick responded with a tortured groan. "The next time I'll make the driver take us around the whole of London...twice." He slid his thumb to the top of her wet sex and flicked it with soft, rapid strokes, building her pleasure rapidly until she curled against him with a sob, overwhelmed by explosive sensation. Hitching his hips upward in desperate thrusts, he growled and buried his face in the curve of her neck, his passion reaching a blinding culmination.

They both breathed in long gasps, while their naked flesh was locked together beneath the layers of disheveled clothing. "It's never enough," Nick said gruffly, his hand cupping over her soft buttocks, holding her firmly against him. "It feels too good to stop."

Lottie understood what he was attempting to express. The unquenchable need between them was more than mere physical craving. She found a satisfaction in being together that went far beyond the joining of their bodies. Until this moment, however, she hadn't known that he felt it too...and she wondered if he was as afraid to acknowledge the feeling as she was.

CHAPTER 11

London was so vastly different from the serenity of Hampshire that Lottie could scarcely believe it was in the same country. It was a world of high fashion and endless amusements, with a sharp juxtaposition of poverty and wealth, and crime-ridden alleys tucked behind the streets of prosperous markets and shops. There was the area past Temple Bar called the City, and the west side, referred to as "town," and an abundance of gardens, walks, concert halls, and shops featuring luxuries that she could never have imagined.

As the second week of their marriage began, Nick seemed to find it amusing to indulge Lottie as if she were a child he was bent on spoiling. He took her to a confectioner's shop at Berkeley Square and bought her an ice made of pureed chestnuts mixed liberally with candied cherries. Afterward they proceeded to Bond Street, where he purchased her a selection of French powders and scented waters, and a dozen pairs of embroidered silk stockings. Lottie tried to stop him from buying a fortune's worth of white gloves and handkerchiefs from the linen-draper's, and she objected strongly to a pair of pink silk shoes with gold tassels that would have cost a full month's tuition at Maidstone's. However, Nick ignored her protests as he continued to purchase whatever caught his fancy. Their final stop was at a tea shop, where he ordered a half-dozen exotic teas in beautiful jars, bearing intriguing names such as "gunpowder," "congou," or "souchong."

Envisioning the mountain of packages that would be delivered later that day to the house on Betterton, Lottie begged him to desist. "I need nothing else," she said firmly, "and I refuse to set foot in one more shop. There is no reason for such immoderation."

"Yes, there is," Nick replied, escorting her to their waiting carriage, piled high with parcels and boxes.

"Oh? What is it?"

He responded with a maddening smile. Surely he didn't think that he was purchasing her sexual favors, as she had been more than acquiescent in that regard. Perhaps he simply wanted her to feel obligated to him? But why?

Life with Nick Gentry was turning out to be quite puzzling, consisting of moments of searing closeness interspersed with small reminders that they were still complete strangers in most regards. She did not understand why Nick left her bed every night after making love to her, never allowing himself to drift to sleep beside her. After everything else they had shared, that seemed harmless enough. But he refused her awkward invitations to stay, stating that he preferred to sleep alone, and they would both be more comfortable that way.

Lottie quickly discovered that certain subjects set off Nick's temper like a flame held to gunpowder. She learned never to question him about any part of his boyhood, and that any reference to the days before he took the name of Nick Gentry would earn his certain wrath. When he became angry, he did not shout or throw things, but instead was coldly quiet and left the house, and did not return until long after she had gone to bed. She learned also that Nick never allowed himself to be vulnerable in any way. He preferred to stay in complete control of himself and his environment. He considered it unmanly for someone not to be able to hold his liquor-she had yet to see him drink to excess. Even sleep seemed to be a luxury he did not like to indulge in too often, as if he could not afford to relax into unguarded slumber. In fact, according to Sophia, Nick had never even allowed physical injuries to hamper him-he stubbornly refused to yield to pain or weakness.

"Why?" Lottie had asked Sophia in genuine bewilderment, as they went for dress fittings and waited for the gowns to be brought out. "What does he fear, that he cannot allow himself to be unprotected for one moment?"

For a moment, Nick's older sister had stared at her with an obvious longing to reply. Her deep blue eyes were filled with sadness. "I hope that someday he will confide in you," she said softly. "It is a great burden to bear alone. I am certain that he fears your reaction, once you are told."

"Told what?" Lottie persisted, but to her frustration, Sophia would not answer.

Some great fearful secret. Lottie could not fathom what it might be. She could only suppose that he had killed someone, perhaps in a fury-that was the worst thing she could think of. She knew that he had committed crimes in his past, that he had done things that would probably horrify her. He was so guarded and self-possessed that it seemed she would never come to know him fully.

In other ways, however, Nick was an unexpectedly tender and generous husband. He coaxed her to tell him all the rules that had been drilled into her at school, and then he proceeded to make her break every single one of them. There were nights when he launched a gentle assault on her modesty, undressing her in the lamplight and making her watch as he kissed her from head to toe...and others when he made love to her in exotic ways that shamed and excited her beyond bearing. He could arouse her with a single glance, a brief caress, a soft word whispered in her ear. It seemed to Lottie that entire days passed in a haze of sexual desire, her awareness of him simmering beneath everything they did.

After the crates of books she had ordered arrived, she read to Nick in the evenings, as she sat in bed and he lounged beside her. Sometimes while he listened, Nick would pull her legs into his lap and massage her feet, running his thumbs along her instep and playing gently with her toes. Whenever Lottie paused in her reading, she always found his gaze fastened securely on her. He never seemed to tire of staring at her...as if he were trying to uncover some mystery that was hidden in her eyes.

One evening he taught her to play cards, claiming sexual liberties as forfeits each time she lost. They ended up on the carpeted floor in a tangle of limbs and clothing, while Lottie breathlessly accused him of cheating. He only grinned in reply, thrusting his head beneath her skirts until the issue was entirely forgotten.

Nick was an exciting companion-a fascinating storyteller, a superb dancer, a skilled lover. He was playful but not at all boyish, never quite losing the seasoned look that proclaimed he had seen and done enough to last several lifetimes. He escorted Lottie around London with an energy that far eclipsed her own, seeming to know and be known by practically everyone. More than once, at a subscription dance, or a private party, or even walking through the park, Lottie could not help but be aware of the attention he attracted. Nick was regarded as either a hero or a devil, depending on one's view, and everyone wanted to be seen with him regardless. Innumerable men came to shake his hand, and to seek his opinions on various matters. Women, on the other hand, trembled and giggled and flirted shamelessly with him, even in Lottie's presence. Lottie witnessed such overtures with surprised disgruntlement, realizing that she felt very much like a jealous wife.

At the invitation of some friends, Nick and Lottie attended a play at Drury Lane that staged naval battles using complicated machinery and light displays to thrilling effect. Actors dressed like sailors hurled themselves from the sides of the "ship" in perfect conjunction with the bursts of cannon-fire, their shirts blotched with red paint to resemble blood. The results were so realistic that Lottie clapped her hands over her ears and hid her face against Nick's chest, disregarding his laughing efforts to make her watch the action.

Perhaps it was the violence of the display, or the aftereffects of the wine she had drunk with supper, but Lottie felt apprehensive as they left their box seats at the first intermission. Theatergoers mingled in the hall downstairs, partaking of refreshments and chattering excitedly about the graphic onstage battles they had just witnessed. As the atmosphere in the crowded room became stifling, Nick left Lottie in the company of friends as he went to fetch her a glass of lemonade. Lottie forced a smile to her lips as she half-listened to the conversation around her, hoping that he would return soon. How quickly she had become accustomed to Nick's reassuring presence beside her, she thought.

It was ironic. After so many years of being told that she belonged to Lord Radnor, she had never been able to accept it. And yet it felt entirely natural to belong to a virtual stranger. She remembered Lord Westcliff's warning about Nick Gentry.He is not to be trusted, Westcliff had said. But the earl had been wrong. Regardless of Nick's shadowy past, he had been gentle and considerate with her, and more than worthy of her trust.