Lottie nodded jerkily, her face still streaming. "Don't let him come near me," she whispered.

Standing, Westcliff shot the Bow Street runner a glance of obsidian ice. "Keep your distance, Gentry. I don't give a damn about who has paid you to do what. You're on my estate, and you'll do nothing without my consent."

"You have no legal claim on her," Gentry said softly. "You can't keep her here."

Westcliff responded with an arrogant snort. Going to the sideboard, he poured a small quantity of amber liquid into a glass. Bringing the liquor to Lottie, he forced her trembling fingers around the vessel. "Drink this," he said curtly.

"I don't-" she began, but he interrupted in a tone of absolute authority.

"Now. Every drop."

Grimacing, she downed the liquid in a few gulps and coughed as her lungs and throat were filled with velvet fire. Her head swam, and she regarded the earl with watering eyes. He extracted a handkerchief from the inside of his coat and gave it to her. The linen was warm from the heat of his body. Blotting her face with it, she sighed shakily. "Thank you," she said hoarsely. She kept her gaze fastened on him, unable to look at Gentry. She had never dreamed that such devastation was possible...that her ruin had come in the form of a handsome man with cruel eyes and raffish charm...the first man she had ever kissed. The pain of betrayal, the crushing humiliation of it, was too great to bear.

"Now," Westcliff said evenly, taking a chair beside Lottie's, "your reaction to Mr. Gentry's revelation would seem to confirm that you are indeed Charlotte Howard." He waited for her brief nod before continuing. "It is also true that you are betrothed to Lord Radnor?"

Lottie was reassured by the earl's powerful presence, knowing that he was the only thing that kept her safe from the predator who lurked nearby. Staring into Westcliff's blunt features, she struggled for the right words to make him understand her situation. As the earl saw her agitation, he surprised her by reaching out and taking her hand in his square one. His grip, so strong and secure, seemed to drive away the incapacitating fear. Lottie was amazed by his kindness. He had never shown her this kind of consideration...had never seemed to take much notice of her, actually.

"It was never my choice," she told him. "It was arranged when I was a child. My parents promised Lord Radnor my hand in return for his financial patronage. I have tried very hard to accept the situation, but Radnor is not rational-not sane-in my opinion. He has made no secret of his plans-he regards me as some kind of animal to be trained to his satisfaction. Suffice it to say that I would be better off dead. You must believe me, I would never have resorted to this otherwise-"

"I believe you." Still retaining possession of her hand, Westcliff glanced at Nick Gentry. "Having been acquainted with Miss Miller for quite some time, I can only assume that her objections to marrying Radnor are valid."

"They are," came the runner's flat response. He lounged near the fireplace with deceptive laziness, resting an arm on the marble mantel. Flames cast tongues of red light over his dark face. "Radnor is a swine. But that is beside the point. Her parents have agreed to the match. Money-a great deal of it-has changed hands. And if I don't retrieve her, Radnor will send a dozen more like me to do the job."

"They won't find me," Lottie said, finally managing to meet his gaze. "I'll go abroad. I'll disappear-"

"You little fool," Gentry interrupted in a low voice. "Do you plan to spend the rest of your life running? He'll send another man after you, and another. You'll never have a moment's peace. You can't go fast enough, or far enough-"

"That's enough," Westcliff said curtly, feeling the shiver that ran through Lottie's body. "No, Lottie will not go abroad, nor will she continue to run from Lord Radnor. We will find a way to resolve the matter so that she may lead a normal life."

"Oh?" One of Gentry's dark brows lifted in a mocking arch. "This should be interesting. What do you propose to do, Westcliff?"

The earl was silent as he considered the matter.

As Lottie continued to stare at Nick Gentry, she tried to think past the welter of emotions. She would find some way out. She would be damned if she would be taken to Radnor like a lamb to the slaughter. Her thoughts must have been obvious, for Gentry's gaze was suddenly touched with flinty admiration as he stared at her. "As I see it, you have only two options," he said softly.

Her voice shook only a little as she replied. "What are they?"

"With the right inducement, I may be persuaded to let you go, in which case you will continue to hide from Radnor until you're caught again. Or...you can remove yourself from his reach permanently."

"What do you mean?"

Lord Westcliff intervened in the taut silence. "He means marriage. Once you are married and legally under another man's protection, Radnor will cease his pursuit."

Lottie'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.

"I know that some of it was," Lottie said. "It was part of your job to gain my trust. But you went quite a bit farther than necessary." She approached him with hypnotic slowness. "Why did you say those things to me tonight?"

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.

"I'll show you." Nick reached out and caught her wrist, pulling until she half-sat, half-toppled beside him. Sliding a hand behind the nape of her neck, he bent over her, finding her pulse with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he brought her hand to his crotch, cupping her slender fingers around the straining shape of his erection. She stiffened and gasped, suddenly leaning against his chest as if her strength had deserted her. Gently he drew her hand up the length of his shaft, to the round head that pushed impatiently against the taut broadcloth.