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At the invitation of some friends, Nick and Lottie attended a play at Drury Lane that staged naval battles
using complicated machinery and light displays to thrilling effect. Actors dressed like sailors hurled
themselves from the sides of the ship in perfect conjunction with the bursts of cannon-fire, their shirts
blotched with red paint to resemble blood. The results were so realistic that Lottie clapped her hands
over her ears and hid her face against Nick s chest, disregarding his laughing efforts to make her watch
the action.
Perhaps it was the violence of the display, or the aftereffects of the wine she had drunk with supper, but
Lottie felt apprehensive as they left their box seats at the first intermission. Theatergoers mingled in the
hall downstairs, partaking of refreshments and chattering excitedly about the graphic onstage battles they
had just witnessed. As the atmosphere in the crowded room became stifling, Nick left Lottie in the
company of friends as he went to fetch her a glass of lemonade. Lottie forced a smile to her lips as she
half-listened to the conversation around her, hoping that he would return soon. How quickly she had
become accustomed to Nick s reassuring presence beside her, she thought.
It was ironic. After so many years of being told that she belonged to Lord Radnor, she had never been
able to accept it. And yet it felt entirely natural to belong to a virtual stranger. She remembered Lord
Westcliff s warning about Nick Gentry.He is not to be trusted , Westcliff had said. But the earl had been
wrong. Regardless of Nick s shadowy past, he had been gentle and considerate with her, and more than
worthy of her trust.
As Lottie cast a glance around the assemblage, hoping to catch sight of him, her attention was caught by
a figure standing several yards away from her.
Radnor, she thought, while a shower of icy needles seemed to rain down on her. Every muscle
locked& she was frozen with the same fear she had felt during two years of being hunted. His face was
partially averted from her horrified gaze, but she saw his iron-gray hair, the haughty tilt of his head, the
black slashes of his brows. And then he turned in her direction, as if he sensed her presence in the
crowded hall.
Immediately her silent terror turned to bewilderment& no, it was not Radnor, only a man who resembled
him. The gentleman nodded and smiled to her, as strangers sometimes did when their gazes happened to
meet. He turned back to his companions, while Lottie looked down at her clenched hands in their pale
pink gloves and tried to calm the thrashing of her heart. The aftereffects of the shock hit her& a touch of
nausea, a dousing of cold sweat, a trembling that refused to abate.How ridiculous you are , she told
herself, disgusted by the fact that the mere glance of a man who looked like Radnor could have elicited
such an overreaction.
Mrs. Gentry, came a nearby voice. It was Mrs. Howsham, a pleasant and soft-spoken woman whom
Lottie had only recently met. Are you feeling ill, dear? You look rather queer.
She looked into Mrs. Howsham s face. It s rather stifling in here, she whispered. And I think I ve
laced a bit too tightly this evening.
Page 117
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Ah, yes, the woman said in wry understanding, familiar with the complaints that corset strings often
induced. The perils of fashion we must suffer&
To Lottie s relief, Nick appeared at her side, a glass of lemonade in hand. Instantly perceiving that
something was wrong, he slid a supportive arm behind her. What is it? he asked, staring alertly at her
pale face.
Mrs. Howsham took it upon herself to answer. Tight-lacing, Mr. Gentry& I suggest that you take her
somewhere a bit more secluded than this. A breath of fresh air often helps.
Keeping his arm around Lottie, Nick guided her through the hall. The night air caused Lottie to shiver as
her sweat-soaked garments turned clammy. Carefully Nick drew her to the lee of a massive column that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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At the invitation of some friends, Nick and Lottie attended a play at Drury Lane that staged naval battles
using complicated machinery and light displays to thrilling effect. Actors dressed like sailors hurled
themselves from the sides of the ship in perfect conjunction with the bursts of cannon-fire, their shirts
blotched with red paint to resemble blood. The results were so realistic that Lottie clapped her hands
over her ears and hid her face against Nick s chest, disregarding his laughing efforts to make her watch
the action.
Perhaps it was the violence of the display, or the aftereffects of the wine she had drunk with supper, but
Lottie felt apprehensive as they left their box seats at the first intermission. Theatergoers mingled in the
hall downstairs, partaking of refreshments and chattering excitedly about the graphic onstage battles they
had just witnessed. As the atmosphere in the crowded room became stifling, Nick left Lottie in the
company of friends as he went to fetch her a glass of lemonade. Lottie forced a smile to her lips as she
half-listened to the conversation around her, hoping that he would return soon. How quickly she had
become accustomed to Nick s reassuring presence beside her, she thought.
It was ironic. After so many years of being told that she belonged to Lord Radnor, she had never been
able to accept it. And yet it felt entirely natural to belong to a virtual stranger. She remembered Lord
Westcliff s warning about Nick Gentry.He is not to be trusted , Westcliff had said. But the earl had been
wrong. Regardless of Nick s shadowy past, he had been gentle and considerate with her, and more than
worthy of her trust.
As Lottie cast a glance around the assemblage, hoping to catch sight of him, her attention was caught by
a figure standing several yards away from her.
Radnor, she thought, while a shower of icy needles seemed to rain down on her. Every muscle
locked& she was frozen with the same fear she had felt during two years of being hunted. His face was
partially averted from her horrified gaze, but she saw his iron-gray hair, the haughty tilt of his head, the
black slashes of his brows. And then he turned in her direction, as if he sensed her presence in the
crowded hall.
Immediately her silent terror turned to bewilderment& no, it was not Radnor, only a man who resembled
him. The gentleman nodded and smiled to her, as strangers sometimes did when their gazes happened to
meet. He turned back to his companions, while Lottie looked down at her clenched hands in their pale
pink gloves and tried to calm the thrashing of her heart. The aftereffects of the shock hit her& a touch of
nausea, a dousing of cold sweat, a trembling that refused to abate.How ridiculous you are , she told
herself, disgusted by the fact that the mere glance of a man who looked like Radnor could have elicited
such an overreaction.
Mrs. Gentry, came a nearby voice. It was Mrs. Howsham, a pleasant and soft-spoken woman whom
Lottie had only recently met. Are you feeling ill, dear? You look rather queer.
She looked into Mrs. Howsham s face. It s rather stifling in here, she whispered. And I think I ve
laced a bit too tightly this evening.
Page 117
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Ah, yes, the woman said in wry understanding, familiar with the complaints that corset strings often
induced. The perils of fashion we must suffer&
To Lottie s relief, Nick appeared at her side, a glass of lemonade in hand. Instantly perceiving that
something was wrong, he slid a supportive arm behind her. What is it? he asked, staring alertly at her
pale face.
Mrs. Howsham took it upon herself to answer. Tight-lacing, Mr. Gentry& I suggest that you take her
somewhere a bit more secluded than this. A breath of fresh air often helps.
Keeping his arm around Lottie, Nick guided her through the hall. The night air caused Lottie to shiver as
her sweat-soaked garments turned clammy. Carefully Nick drew her to the lee of a massive column that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]