Worth Any Price
Page 8Lottie's gaze dropped to the strong hand covering hers. "But that is impossible. I don't know any men who would be willing..." She stopped, feeling ill and bitter.
"Itis possible," the earl countered calmly.
As Lottie stared at Westcliff with wondering eyes, Nick Gentry's quiet jeer cut through the air. "Planning to make her your countess, my lord?"
The earl's face was expressionless. "If necessary."
Stunned, Lottie clung to his hand tightly before withdrawing from him. It was inconceivable that Westcliff would be willing to make such a sacrifice. Perhaps she could reconcile herself to the prospect of marrying without love. After all, anything was preferable to becoming Lady Radnor. However, the earl was a good, honorable man, and she would not take advantage of him that way.
"You are remarkably kind, my lord," she told him. "But I would never marry you, as you deserve far better than a marriage of convenience. That is too great a sacrifice for you to make."
"It would hardly be a sacrifice," he replied dryly. "And it is a logical solution to your dilemma."
Lottie shook her head, her fine brows knitting as a new thought occurred to her. "There is a third option."
"What is it?"
A great icy calmness settled over Lottie, and suddenly she felt removed from the scene, as if she were an impartial onlooker rather than a participant. "I would rather not say just yet. If you would not mind, my lord, I would like to have a few minutes alone with Mr. Gentry."
CHAPTER 5
Nick had known that Lottie would not react passively to the news that he had hunted her down on behalf of Lord Radnor. But the passionate fury of her response when cornered had startled him. Now that she had regained her self-possession, she stared at him with a desperate calculation that he understood all too well. He thought her magnificent.
Although Lord Westcliff clearly did not agree with Lottie's request, he complied with a frown. "I will wait in the next room," he said, as if he expected Nick to fall on her like a ravening animal as soon as the door was closed. "Call out if you require assistance."
"Thank you, my lord," Lottie murmured, giving the earl a grateful smile that caused Nick to boil with jealousy. He would have required little provocation to drive his fist into Westcliff's aristocratic face, especially at the moment when he had taken Lottie's hand to comfort her. Nick had never been possessive of anyone in his life, but he could barely tolerate the sight of Lottie accepting another man's touch. Something was happening to him-he had lost control of the situation, and he was not certain how to regain it. All he knew for certain was that Lottie was necessary to him...that if he could not have her, this endless feeling of being hungry, unsatisfied, cold, would never leave him.
Nick remained by the fire, relaxed except for his clenched fist on the mantel. Silently he damned Westcliff for this turn of events. Nick had planned to impart the news to Lottie in a gentle way, and soothe her fears before she had a chance to fly into a panic. Now Westcliff had fouled things up considerably, and Lottie was understandably hostile.
She turned to him, her face pale, her eyes reddened from her tears. Her expression was composed, however, and she looked at him with unsettling intensity, as if she were trying to see inside his mind. Her searching gaze made him feel oddly threatened.
"Was it all an act?" she asked quietly.
Nick blinked. He, who had endured countless hours of scrutiny and interrogation and even torture, was completely thrown off by the question.
God help him, he couldn't answer. Worse, he couldn't look away from her, and she seemed to be staring through his eyes into his soul.
"The truth, Mr. Gentry," she insisted. "If I can bring myself to ask, surely you can bring yourself to answer. Did you mean any of it?"
Nick felt a light sweat break out on his face. He tried to close her away, to deny her, but it was impossible. "Yes," he said hoarsely and clamped his mouth shut. The devil take her if she wanted him to say anything more than that.
For some reason, the admission seemed to make Lottie relax. Nick couldn't begin to imagine why. Finally managing to rip his gaze away from hers, he stared blindly into the dancing firelight. "Now," he muttered, "perhaps you can explain what the third option is."
"I need protection from Lord Radnor," she said bluntly. "Few men would be able to hold their own against him. I believe that you could."
The statement was matter-of-fact...there was nothing complimentary in her tone. Nevertheless, Nick felt a flicker of masculine pride that she recognized his abilities.
"Yes, I could," he said evenly.
"Then in return for your protection and financial support, I would be willing to be your mistress. I would sign a legally binding contract to that effect. I think that would be enough to keep Lord Radnor at bay-and then I would no longer have to stay in hiding."
His mistress. Nick had never anticipated that she would be willing to lower herself that way. However, it seemed that Lottie was ultimately a pragmatist, recognizing when she could not afford to keep her principles.
"You'll let me bed you in return for my money and protection," he said, as if the wordmistress required definition. He threw a cautious glance at her. "You will live with me, and accompany me in public, regardless of the shame it causes you. Is that what you're saying?"
Her cheeks turned bright red, but she did not look away from him. "Yes."
Desire flooded every part of his body with primal heat. The realization that he was going to have her, that she would give herself to him willingly, made him light-headed. His mistress...but that wasn't enough. He needed more of her. All of her.
Deliberately he went to the settee, a somewhat utilitarian piece upholstered in stiff burgundy leather, and he sat with his legs spread. He let his gaze travel over her with pure sexual appraisal. "Before I agree to anything, I want a sample of what you're offering."
She stiffened. "I think you've sampled quite enough already."
"You're referring to our interlude in the woods this evening?" He made his voice very soft, while his heart pounded violently in his chest. "That was nothing, Lottie. I want more than a few innocent kisses from you. Keeping a mistress can be an expensive proposition-you'll have to prove that you're worth it."
She came to him slowly, her slim form silhouetted in the firelight. Clearly she knew that he was playing some kind of game with her, but she hadn't yet realized what the stakes were. "What do you want from me?" she asked softly.
What he'd had from Gemma. No, more than Gemma had ever given him. He wanted someone to belong to him. To care about him. To need him in some way. He didn't know if that was possible...but he was willing to gamble everything on Lottie. She was his only chance.
A ragged sound escaped him, and he tugged at her blouse, filled with gratitude to whoever had designed a garment that made a woman's body so mercifully accessible. Her exposed br**sts gleamed in the firelight, their tips soft and pale pink. Lottie turned her face to the side, her eyes tightly closed. Pulling her farther over his lap, Nick cradled her in one arm, while her bottom rested on the rigid mound of his erection. His calloused fingers slipped beneath one bare breast, lifting the silken weight to position her for the slow descent of his mouth. A quiver went through her as he opened his lips over the tender nipple, stroking until it strained against his tongue. Lottie's hands half-raised as if to push him away, but suddenly her fingers clutched around the lapels of his coat, and she let out a whimper of pleasure. The sound electrified him. He used his tongue to trace circles around the stiffening nipple, making her writhe like a cat in his arms.
While he continued to suckle and tease her breasts, he slid his hand beneath her skirts, finding the plain hem of her drawers and the thick cotton garter that fastened her stockings. Becoming aware of the hand that intruded beneath her skirts, Lottie clenched her legs together, a crimson blush spreading over her face and breasts. He caressed her over the crumpled linen, sliding his palm over her hip and stomach, then moving to the soft curls lower down.
"Don't," she said, her eyes still closed.
Nick kissed the pink curve of her throat and the fine edge of her jaw. Her skin was so thin and satiny that it was almost translucent. He wanted to kiss her from head to toe. "That's not how a mistress talks," he whispered. "Are you reneging on your offer, Lottie?"
She shook her head, unable to speak as his palm pressed on her mound.
"Then spread your legs."
She complied jerkily, her thighs parting, her head falling back against his supportive arm. He caressed her over the fragile fabric, gently rubbing the hot furrow until the linen became damp beneath his fingers. He was aroused by her efforts to stay quiet and still, her face turning scarlet, her legs stiffening as he teased her intimately. Finally she moaned and clutched at his wrist imploringly.
"That's enough," she gasped.
His c**k pulsed violently beneath her. "Is it?" he whispered, sliding his fingers into the open slit of her drawers. "I think you want more."
Her body jerked in his lap as he found softly matted hair...plump silken flesh...the wet entrance to her body. Kissing the arch of her throat, Nick played with the velvety thicket. "Sweet little curls," he breathed near Lottie's ear. "What color are they, I wonder? Blond, like the hair on your head? Or darker?"
Shocked by the question, Lottie stared at him with an unfocused gaze.
"It's all right," he said, opening the soft cleft. "I'll find out for myself...later."
She arched as he found the tender peak that had been hidden by the protective folds. "Oh...oh, God-"
"Shhhh." He nipped the lobe of her ear. "You don't want Westcliff to hear, do you?"
"Stop that," she said shakily.
But nothing would stop him now. He caressed her skillfully, circling the point of delicate fire. Her buttocks lifted away from the hard length of his erection as her h*ps strained toward his hand. He brushed the swollen bud with the calloused tip of his thumb and slid his middle finger inside her, until it was completely submerged in the luscious channel.
Lottie's breath shortened, and her thighs clamped around his hand as he thrust and withdrew his finger in an easy rhythm. He felt her inner muscles tauten as she labored and twisted, fighting instinctively for release from the excruciating tension. Nick lowered his head to her br**sts once more. The tips were taut and rosy now, and he blew against one of them softly before drawing it into his mouth. With his finger sunk inside her, and her nipple throbbing against his tongue, he experienced a triumph he had never known before.
Lottie moaned again, arching desperately against his hand. He knew what she wanted, and he longed to give it to her. His nostrils flared as he detected the heady perfume of female desire. Heat pumped through him, and he nearly lost all self-control as he thought of burying his face between her thighs, plunging his tongue inside her...
He shuddered as he forced himself to pull her skirts down, covering the sweet flesh he craved. Westcliff was waiting nearby, and now was not the time or place to indulge himself further. Later there would be time to make love to Lottie at his leisure. Patience, he counseled himself, taking a few steadying breaths.
Lottie crawled from his arms and huddled at the opposite end of the settee. She was gorgeously tousled, her cheeks dewy and deeply flushed in the flickering light. Fumbling with her bodice, she covered her breasts.
Their gazes met, hers bright with shame, his frankly calculating. And then Nick went in for the kill. "I do want you," he said. "In fact, I would probably stoop at nothing to get you. But I don't want you as a mistress. I want full, irrevocable ownership. Everything that you would have given to Radnor, or Westcliff."
Realizing what he meant, Lottie stared at him as if he were a lunatic. It took a full half-minute for her to recover enough to speak. "Do you mean marriage? What difference would there be between marrying you or Lord Radnor?"
"The difference is that I'm letting you choose."
"Why would you be willing to shackle yourself to me for a lifetime?"
The truth was something that Nick could never admit to her. "Because I want the convenience of a wife," he lied. "And you'll do as well as any other woman."
She sucked in a breath of outrage.
"Make your choice," Nick advised. "You can keep running, or you can become someone's wife. Mine or Radnor's."
She gave him another one of those long, searching stares that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Damn, he hated it when she did that. Once again he could not blink or look away, and she appeared to read his thoughts in spite of his will to conceal them.
"Yours," she said stiffly. "I'll be yours."
And he let out a slow, nearly imperceptible sigh of relief.
Lottie struggled from his lap and straightened her clothes. She went to pour herself some brandy from the crystal decanter at the mahogany sideboard. She was dizzy, and her knees felt like jelly, which were good indications that more spirits were the last thing she needed. Moreover, she was still technically Lord Westcliff's servant, and no one in such a position would ever think of helping herself to some of the master's liquor. On the other hand, such distinctions had become blurred after the stunning revelations of the evening. She was bemused by the realization that she had received two marriage proposals in one night from vastly different men.
And the things that Nick Gentry had just done to her-no, she would not think about that now, while her body still throbbed with the echoes of shameful pleasure. Filling the glass liberally, Lottie grimaced and gulped the fine vintage.