Lottie's attention was immediately diverted from the subject of the ring. "Yes, please. I fear that Lord Radnor may have already told my parents about what I've done. And I don't want them to worry that they'll be left destitute now that I have married someone else."

"There is no need to look so guilty," Nick said, tracing the thin veins inside of her wrist. "You had no part in making the bargain-it wasn't your fault that you didn't wish to uphold it."

"But I benefitted from it," Lottie pointed out reluctantly. "All those years at Maidstone's...my education cost a great deal. And now Lord Radnor has nothing in return."

He arched a dark brow. "If your point is that Radnor has been ill used-"

"No, it's not that, precisely. It's just...well, I didn't do the honorable thing."

"Yes, no doubt you should have fallen on the sword for the rest of the family," he said sardonically. "But your parents will be just as well served this way. I couldn't possibly be a worse son-in-law than Radnor."

"You are certainly preferable as a husband," she said.

He smiled at that, lifting her fingers to his mouth. "You would preferanyone to Radnor as a husband-you've made that quite clear."

Lottie smiled, thinking privately that in marrying Nick, she had ended up with a far different husband than she had expected. "What will you do tomorrow?" she asked, remembering their earlier confrontation with Sir Ross. She was certain that Nick would not relinquish his position at Bow Street without objection.

Releasing her hand, Nick frowned. "I'm going to visit Morgan."

"Do you think that he will take your side against Sir Ross's?"

"Not a chance in hell. But I'll at least have the satisfaction of telling Morgan what a damned rotten traitor he is."

Lottie leaned forward to touch the lapel of his robe. "Have you considered the possibility that they both are doing what they think is best for you? That it might be in your own interests to reclaim the title?"

"How could it be? My God, I'll be living in a gilded cage."

"I'll be there with you."

He stared at her, seemingly arrested by the words. He looked at her so intensely, for so long, that Lottie was finally moved to ask, "What? What are you thinking?"

Nick smiled without humor. "I was just reflecting on how much better prepared you are for my life than I am."

Although Lottie had tentatively invited him to stay the night with her, Nick left after supper, retreating to the guest room a few doors away.

I'll be there with you.Her words had affected Nick curiously, just as her casual remarks at the wishing well had. She possessed a terrible knack of unraveling him with a simple phrase...words so commonplace, and yet invested with significance.

He didn't know what to make of Lottie. Despite the way he had deceived her initially, she seemed fully prepared to act as his partner. She responded to him with passion and generosity, and in her arms he had been able to forget the secrets that had haunted him for fourteen years. He craved more of that sweet oblivion. The past few hours had been extraordinarily different from what he had experienced with Gemma. When he made love to Lottie, his lust was enmeshed with a deep tenderness that made his physical responses unbearably acute.

She kept reaching through his defenses without even seeming to know what she was doing, and he could not allow anyone that kind of intimacy. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before Lottie discovered the demons that lurked inside him. And if that happened, she would withdraw from him in horror. He had to keep a certain distance between them, otherwise she would eventually come to regard him with disgust. Or pity. The thought made his skin crawl.

He had to maintain his detachment, while even now he longed to go back to her. In all his twenty-eight years, he had never felt this painful need for someone. Just to be in the same room with her.

My God,he thought with dull horror, going to the window and staring blindly into the night.What is happening to me?

Sir Grant Morgan looked up from his desk as Nick burst into his office before morning sessions. There was no trace of apology in his hard green eyes. "I see you've spoken to Sir Ross," he said.

Nick proceeded to give vent to his outrage in the coarsest words ever conceived in the history of the English language, leveling accusations that would have caused any other man either to cower in terror or to reach for the nearest pistol. Morgan, however, listened as calmly as if Nick were offering a description of the weather.

After an extensive rant speculating on the likelihood that Morgan was nothing but a puppet while Sir Ross pulled the strings, the chief magistrate sighed and interrupted.

"Enough," he said shortly. "You're beginning to repeat yourself. Unless you have anything new to add, you may as well spare yourself the breath. As to your last charge-that this situation is all of Sir Ross's making-I can assure you that the decision to remove you from the force was fully as much mine as his."

Until that moment, Nick had never realized that Morgan's opinion was so important to him. But he experienced a genuine stab of pain, a killing sense of betrayal and failure. "Why?" he heard himself ask hoarsely. "Was my performance so unsatisfactory? What more could I have done? I solved every case and caught almost every man you sent me after-and I did it by the rules, the way you wanted. I did everything you asked. More, even."

"There has never been a problem with your performance," Morgan said quietly. "You've discharged your duties as ably as anyone could have. I've never seen any man match you for bravery or wits."

"Then back me against Sir Ross," Nick said roughly. "Tell him to shove that writ of summons up his arse-that you need me at Bow Street."

Their gazes clashed and held, and then something in Morgan's face changed. Damned if he didn't look almost fatherly, Nick thought with sullen fury, despite the fact that Morgan was only about ten years older than he.

"Have a seat," Morgan said.

"No, I don't-"

"Please." The invitation was uttered with steely politeness.

Please?Nick occupied the nearest chair, practically reeling in shock. Morgan had never used that word before-Nick wouldn't have thought it was part of his vocabulary. Gripping the arms of the scarred leather chair, Nick gazed at him warily.

The magistrate began to speak. In their three-year acquaintance, Morgan had never talked to him like this, with a friendly, rather paternal, concern. "I don't want you at Bow Street any longer, Gentry. God knows it has nothing to do with your effectiveness. You're the best runner I've ever seen. Since you came here, I've tried to offer what modicum of guidance I thought you'd accept, and I've watched you change from a self-serving bastard into a man I consider to be both dependable and responsible. But there is one thing that I regret to say has not altered. From the beginning, you've taken suicidal risks in the course of your work because you don't give a damn about yourself or anyone else. And in my opinion, you'll continue to do so if you remain here-at the cost of your own life."

"Why do you give a damn?"

"I was a runner for ten years, and I've seen many men die in the course of their duties. I myself came close to it more than once. There comes a time when a man has tweaked the devil's nose once too often, and if he's too stubborn or slow-witted to realize it, he'll pay with his own blood. I knew when to stop. And so must you."

"Because of your famous instincts?" Nick mocked angrily. "Damn it, Morgan, you stayed a runner until you were thirty-five! By that count, I still have seven years to go."

"You've tempted fate many more times in the last three years than I did in ten," the magistrate countered. "And unlike you, I didn't use the job as a means to exorcize demons."

Nick remained expressionless, while the frantic questionWhat does he know? buzzed and stung in his head. Sophia was the only one who knew about the full ugliness of his past. She had probably told Cannon, who in turn might have said something to Morgan- "No, I don't know what those demons are," Morgan said softly, his eyes warming with a flicker of either pity or kindness. "Although I can make a competent guess. Unfortunately I have no advice to offer about how to reconcile yourself with the past. All I know is that this way hasn't worked, and I'll be damned if I let you kill yourself on my watch."

"I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about."

Morgan continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I'm rather inclined to agree with Sir Ross's opinion that you'll never find peace until you stop living behind the shield of an assumed name. As difficult as it may be to face the world as Lord Sydney, I think it for the best-"

"What am I supposed to do as a viscount?" Nick asked with an ugly laugh. "Collect snuffboxes and neckties? Read papers at the club? Advise the tenants? Christ, I know as much about farming as you do!"

"There are thousands of ways a man can be of use to the world," Morgan said flatly. "Believe me, no one expects or desires for you to lead an indolent life." He paused and took an ink blotter in his huge hand, regarding it thoughtfully. "The runners will be disbanded soon, in any event. You would eventually have had to find something else to do. I'm merely precipitating the matter by a few months."

Nick felt the color drain from his face. "What?"

Morgan grinned suddenly at his expression. "Come, that should be no surprise to you, even in light of your disinterest in politics. When Cannon left the magistracy, it was only a matter of time until the runners were dismissed. He was the heart and spirit of this place-he devoted every waking moment to it for years, until..." He paused tactfully, leaving Nick to fill the silence.

"Until he met my sister," Nick said sourly. "And married her."

"Yes." Morgan did not seem at all regretful about Cannon's departure from the public office. In fact, his blade-hard features softened, and his smile lingered as he continued. "The best thing that ever happened to him. However, it was hardly a boon for Bow Street. Now that Cannon has retired, there is a movement in Parliament to strengthen the Metropolitan Police Act. And many politicians believe that the New Police would become more popular with the public if the runners weren't here to compete with them."

"They intend to leave all of London to that bunch of half-wits?" Nick asked incredulously. "Good God-half of the New Police have no experience to speak of, and the other half are black sheep or idiots-"

"Be that as it may, the public will never fully support the New Police while the runners remain. The old instruments cannot be installed in the new machine."

Stunned by the finality in the chief magistrate's voice, Nick fixed him with an accusing stare. "You're not going to fight for this place? You have an obligation-"

"No," the chief magistrate said simply. "My only obligation is to my wife. She and my children are more important to me than anything else. I made it clear to Cannon that I would never surrender my soul to Bow Street the way he did for so long. And he understood that."

"But what will become of the runners?" Nick asked, thinking of his comrades...Sayer, Flagstad, Gee, Ruthven...talented men who had served the public with courage and dedication, all for a mere pittance.

"I imagine one or two will join the New Police, where they are much needed. Others will turn to other professions entirely. I may open a private investigative office and employ two or three for a while." Morgan shrugged. Having made a relative fortune in his years at Bow Street, he had no need to work, other than at his own whim.

"My God, I left to attend toone private case, and I've come back to find the entire damned public office falling apart!"

The magistrate laughed softly. "Go home to your wife, Sydney. Start making plans. Your life is changing, no matter how you try to prevent it."

"I will not be Lord Sydney," Nick growled.

The green eyes gleamed with friendly irreverence. "There are worse fates, my lord. A title, land, a wife...if you can't make something of that, there is indeed no hope for you."

CHAPTER 10

"Something in pale yellow, I think," Sophia said decisively, sitting in the midst of so many fabrics that it appeared as if a rainbow had exploded in the room.