"I'll be damned if I have to account for my ability to provide for my own wife," Gentry said. "All you need to know is that she won't starve, and she'll have a roof over her head."
The journey to London would last approximately twelve hours, which meant they would travel through the night and arrive in early afternoon. Lottie rested against the rich brown velvet upholstery of Gentry's well-appointed vehicle. Once they were on their way, Gentry moved to extinguish the small carriage lamp that illuminated the interior. "Do you want to sleep?" he asked. "It's a long time until morning."
Lottie shook her head. Despite her weariness, she was too agitated to relax.
Shrugging, Gentry left the lamp burning. He rested one of his legs on the upholstery, grimacing slightly. Clearly it was uncomfortable for a man of his size to be confined in a relatively small area.
"Is this yours?" Lottie asked. "Or did you hire it as part of your deception?"
Realizing that she referred to the carriage, he gave her a mocking smile. "It's mine."
"I wouldn't have thought a professional man could afford such a vehicle."
The runner played idly with the fringed edge of the little window curtain nearby. "My work requires frequent travel. I prefer to do it in comfort."
"Do you often use an assumed name when you go about your investigations?"
He shook his head. "Most of the time there is no need."
"I wonder that you didn't choose a better disguise," she said. "One that could not be disproved so easily. It did not take long for Lord Westcliff to discover that there is no Viscount Sydney."
A strange expression crossed his face, amusement interlaced with discomfort, and he seemed to engage in a silent debate about whether or not to tell her something. Finally his mouth twisted, and he let out a brief sigh. "Westcliff was wrong. Thereis a Viscount Sydney. At least, there is a legitimate successor to the title."
Lottie regarded him skeptically. "Who is he? And if what you say is true, why has he not come forward to claim his title and property?"
"Not everyone wants to be a peer."
"Of course they do! Besides, a peer isn't given the choice. One either is, or isn't. He can't deny his birthright any more than he can change his eye color."
"Damned if he can't," came his scowling reply.
"There is no need to be cross," Lottie said. "And you haven't yet told me who and where this mysterious viscount is, which leads me to believe that you're making it up."
Gentry changed position, shifting uncomfortably, his gaze carefully averted from hers. "It's me."
"What?Are you trying to fool me into thinking that you are some long-lost peer?You , a crime lord and thief-taker, are a secret viscount?" Lottie shook her head decisively. "I don't think so."
"I don't give a damn if you believe it or not," Gentry said evenly. "Especially when it has no bearing on the future, as I will never claim the title."
Lottie stared at his hard profile in astonishment. He certainly seemed to believe what he was saying. But how could it be possible? If there was any truth to his claim, how had a son of the aristocracy come to this turn? One did not begin life as a member of the nobility and end up as a...whatever he was. She couldn't keep from pelting him with questions. "You are John, Lord Sydney? The son of the Viscount Sydney who died twenty years ago, supposedly without an heir? Do you have any proof of this? Is there anyone who would corroborate it?"
"My sister, Sophia. And her husband, Sir Ross Cannon."
"The magistrate? The former head of Bow Street is yourbrother-in-law ?"
Gentry responded with a single nod. Lottie was utterly confounded. She supposed she had no choice but to believe him, since the story could easily be discredited if it were untrue. But it was so fantastical, so absurd, that she couldn't begin to make sense of it.
"I was seven years old, perhaps eight, when my parents died," Gentry explained gruffly. "Other than me, there were no male relatives who could lay legitimate claim to the title or lands. Not that there was much to inherit, as my father was in debt, and the estate was in disrepair. My older sister Sophia and I knocked about the village for a while, until she was finally taken in by a distant cousin. But I had become a hellion, and the cousin was understandably reluctant to take me under her roof. So I ran off to London, and became a footpad, until I was imprisoned for my crimes. When another boy died in prison, I took his name so that I could gain early release."
"He must have been the real Nick Gentry, then," Lottie said.
"Yes."
"And you took his identity and let everyone believe that you had died?"
A defiant gleam entered his eyes. "He had no more use for the name."
"But certainly later you must have thought about reclaiming your true name...your rightful position in society..."
"I have exactly the position in society that I want. And Nick Gentry has become my name more than it ever was his. I intend to let Sydney rest in peace." He smiled sardonically. "Sorry for the loss of prestige, but you're going to be known as Mrs. Nick Gentry, and no one save my sister and her husband will be aware of the truth. Do you understand?"
Lottie nodded with a puzzled frown. "I don't care about a loss of prestige. If I did, I would have married Lord Radnor."
"You don't mind being the wife of a commoner, then," Gentry said, watching her intently. "One with limited means."
"I am used to living in humble circumstances. My family is of good blood, but as I mentioned once before, we are poor."
Gentry studied the polished tips of his boots. "Lord Radnor was a damned stingy benefactor, if the condition of Howard House is anything to judge by."
Lottie inhaled swiftly. "You've been to my family's home?"
He glanced into her wide eyes. "Yes, I visited your parents to question them. They knew that I was searching for you."
"Oh," Lottie said in dismay. Of course her parents would have cooperated with the investigation. They had been aware that Lord Radnor wanted to find her, and as always, they had acceded to his wishes. The news should not have come as a surprise. And yet she could not help feeling betrayed. Had they taken even one moment to consider her interests, rather than Radnor's? Her throat tightened, and she could not seem to swallow properly.
"They answered every question in detail," Gentry continued. "I've seen the dolls you once played with, the storybook you drew in...I even know the size of your shoes."
Filled with terrible vulnerability, Lottie wrapped her arms around herself. "It seems odd that you have seen my family, when I have been away from them for two years. H-how are my sisters and my brothers? How is Ellie?"
"The sixteen-year-old? Quiet. Pretty. In good health, it seems."
"Sixteen," Lottie murmured, unsettled by the realization that her siblings had grown older, just as she had. They had all changed during the time they had been apart. Her head ached suddenly, and she rubbed her forehead. "When my parents spoke of me, did they seem to..."
"What?"
"Do they hate me?" she asked distractedly. "I've so often wondered..."
"No, they don't hate you." His voice became oddly gentle. "They're concerned for their own hides, of course, and they seem to entertain a sincere belief that you would benefit from a marriage to Radnor."
"They've never understood what he is really like."
"They don't want to. They've profited far more by deceiving themselves."
Lottie was tempted to rebuke him even though she had thought the same thing a thousand times before. "They needed Lord Radnor's money," she said dully. "They have expensive tastes."
"Is that how your father lost the family fortune? By living outside his means?"