A wave of icy horror rolled over Nick. He knew the depth of the earl's dark obsession. His wife was at the mercy of the man she feared most...and he was not there to help her. The realization made him insane.

"Where did he take her?" Nick snarled, seizing the footman's coat with his uninjured hand. "Where are they, Daniel?"

"I don't know," the footman replied, trembling.

"I'll kill him," Nick raged, striding to the door. He was going to tear London apart, starting with Radnor's town estate. He was only sorry that a man couldn't be killed more than one time, as he wanted to visit a thousand deaths on the bastard.

"Sydney," Morgan interrupted harshly, moving so swiftly that he made it to the door at the same time that Nick did. "You're not going to rush out of here like a raving lunatic. If your wife is in danger, she needs you to keep a cool head."

Nick let out an animal-like growl. "Get out of my way!"

"I'm going to organize a search. I can dispatch four runners and at least thirty constables in approximately five minutes. Tell me the most likely places Radnor could have taken your wife, as you have more knowledge of him than I do." Morgan's steady gaze met Nick's, and he seemed to understand his bottomless terror, for his voice softened as he added, "You're not alone in this, Sydney. We'll find her, I swear it."

Just then, a brief tap sounded at the door. "Sir Grant," came Vickery's muffled voice, "you have another visitor."

"Not now," Morgan said curtly. "Tell him to return tomorrow."

There was a brief pause. "Er...Sir Grant?"

"What the hell is it, Vickery?" Morgan sent an incredulous glance at the closed door.

"I don't think you want to send this one away."

"I don't give a damn who he is, just tell him..." Morgan's voice trailed away as the door swung gently open.

Nick's anguished gaze shot to the visitor, and he nearly fell to his knees at the sight."Lottie."

Bedraggled and bloodstained, Lottie managed a wan smile as she saw her husband's stark white face. "I've been rather busy today," she said.

The sound of her voice seemed to unleash a flood of savage emotion. Groaning her name, Nick reached her in two strides. He hauled her against him in a brutal embrace that threatened to smother her.

"Blood-" he said incoherently, his large hand moving over her in a frantic search.

"It's not mine. I'm just fine, except for a few-" Lottie broke off, her eyes widening as she saw the bandaged hand he held at his side. "Nick, you've been hurt!"

"It's nothing." Nick tugged her head back, his tormented gaze raking over her face. His trembling fingertips traced the line of her cheek and jaw. "My God. Lottie..." As his panicked exploration continued, he discovered the bruises on her throat, and he uttered a cry of fury. "Holy hell! Your neck. He dared to...I'm going toslaughter that bastard-"

Lottie placed her fingers over his mouth. "I'm all right," she said gently. Feeling the way his large body shook, she drew her hand over his chest in a calming stroke. After the traumatic events of the past hours, it was so wonderful to be with him that her lips curved in a wobbly smile. She gazed into his dusty, sweat-streaked face with concern. "In fact, I believe I may be in better condition than you, my darling."

A primitive groan came from his throat, and he clutched her with his right arm, bending over her hungrily. "I love you," he said in a low, shaken voice. "I love you so much, Lottie." His lips covered hers in a fiercely ardent kiss.

Clearly he was too unsettled to recall that there were others in the room. Lottie turned her face away with a muffled laugh. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Not here, darling. Later, with more privacy, we can-" She was silenced as Nick seized her mouth once more. Suddenly she found herself pushed up against the wall by six feet of aroused, overwrought male. Realizing that there was no hope of subduing him, Lottie stroked his broad back in an effort to soothe him. He possessed her with deep, fervent kisses, while his lungs worked so violently that she could feel his rib cage expanding with each breath. She tried to comfort him, gently rubbing the back of his neck as his mouth worked roughly over hers. His breath came in ragged shivers, and in between kisses he breathed her name as if it were a prayer. "Lottie...Lottie..." Each time she tried to answer, he dove for her mouth again.

"Sydney," Sir Grant said after some prolonged throat-clearing had failed to capture his attention. "Ahem. Sydney..."

After a long time, Nick finally lifted his head.

Lottie pushed at his chest, making him loosen his grip on her. Red-faced and breathless, she saw that Sayer had developed a keenly absorbing interest in the weather outside the window, while Daniel had excused himself to wait outside.

"I am sorry to interrupt your reunion with Lady Sydney, my lord," Sir Grant said ruefully. "However, I must insist on hearing what has occurred with Radnor, and where he is at the moment, especially in light of the condition of Lady Sydney's garments."

Realizing that he was referring to the bloodstains on her dress, Lottie nodded. Nick continued to hold her while she explained. "Lord Radnor died by his own hand," she told the magistrate. "He brought me to his home, and after we talked for a few minutes, he took his own life."

"In what manner?" Sir Grant asked calmly.

"He used a pistol." Lottie felt the tremor that went through Nick's body at the words. "I am at a loss to explain his actions, except to say that he seemed altogether mad. I told his servants to leave his body exactly as it was and not to touch anything, as you might wish to send a runner to investigate the scene."

"Well done, my lady," Sir Grant said. "May I prevail on you to answer just a few more questions?"

"Tomorrow," Nick said roughly. "She's been through enough today. She needs to rest."

"I would be more than happy to tell you every detail," Lottie replied to Sir Grant, "if you will send for a doctor to attend to Lord Sydney's hand, and also have a look at our footman."

The magistrate's green eyes crinkled charmingly at the corners. "We'll send for Dr. Linley at once."

"I'll fetch him," Sayer volunteered and left the office quickly.

"Excellent," Morgan commented, his gaze returning to Nick. "And while we wait for Linley, my lord, perhaps you can explain to me how you came by your injuries-and why you look and smell like you've been tromping through Fleet Ditch."

Much later, when they were at home in bed and had talked for what seemed to be hours, Nick told Lottie about the thoughts he'd had in the perilous moments when he'd thought he would fall to his death in the warehouse. As Lottie listened, she snuggled in the crook of his arm, gently circling her fingertips through the hair on his chest. His voice was deep and drowsy from the effects of the pain medication that Dr. Linley had insisted on giving him before setting and splinting his fingers. Nick had taken it only because the alternative was the undignified prospect of being held to the floor by Sayer and Morgan while the doctor poured the medicine down his throat.

"I never wanted to live so much as I did right then, hanging onto that rotting timber," Nick said. "I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. All I want is time with you. To spend the rest of my life with you. I don't care about anything else."

Murmuring her love to him, Lottie kissed the hard silken skin of his shoulder.

"Remember when I told you once that I needed to be a runner?" he asked.

Lottie nodded. "You said that you were addicted to the challenge and the danger."

"I'm not any longer," he said vehemently.

"Thank God for that," Lottie said with a smile, lifting herself up on one elbow. "Because I have become rather addicted toyou ."

Nick traced the moonlit curve of her back with his fingers. "And I finally know what to wish for."

Puzzled, she gazed down at him while the long locks of her hair trailed over his chest and shoulders. "What?"

"The wishing well," he reminded her.

"Oh, yes..." Lottie lowered her face to his chest and nuzzled the soft fur, recalling that morning in the forest. "You wouldn't make a wish."

"Because I didn't know what I wanted. And now I do."

"What do you want?" she asked tenderly.

His hand slipped behind her head, pulling her mouth down to his. "To love you forever," he whispered just before their lips met.

Epilogue

An hour after Master John Robert Cannon was born, Sir Ross carried his infant son to the parlor, where friends and family waited. A chorus of soft, delighted exclamations greeted the sight of the sleeping baby wrapped in a lace-trimmed blanket. Surrendering the bundle to his beaming mother, Catherine, Sir Ross made his way to a chair and lowered himself into it with a long sigh.

Studying his brother-in-law, Nick reflected that he had never seen him look so exhausted and unnerved. Sir Ross had defied convention by staying with his wife while she was in labor, as he was unable to wait outside while she was undergoing the trauma of delivery. With his black hair rumpled and his supreme self-assurance temporarily gone, Sir Ross appeared far younger than usual...an ordinary man who was badly in need of a drink.

Nick poured a brandy at the sideboard and brought it to him. "How is Sophia?" he asked.

"A damned sight better than I am," Sir Ross admitted and received the snifter gratefully. "Thank you." Closing his eyes, he took a deep swallow of the brandy, letting it soothe his overwrought nerves. "Good God, I don't know how women do it," he muttered. Being completely unacquainted with the feminine realm of childbirth, Nick sat in a nearby chair and regarded him with a puzzled frown. "Did Sophia have a difficult time of it?"