bed. It felt empty. She knew that she had to get up, get dressed and go shopping in order to distract herself. She could not dwell on Ethan’s absence and the peculiar space it appeared to leave in the vicinity of her heart. It could not be love; she had told herself from the start that she must root that out before it started to grow. So it was boredom. She had to be entertained.
She hated her own company. That was why she was missing Ethan already—because she had no resources for solitude.
“It’s only business, Lottie,” he had said. Well, absolutely. If he could be so detached then so could she. It was only what she had resolved the previous night. Ethan was right. It made sound sense for her to throw in her lot with him until a more advantageous offer came along.No one knew that better than she, opportunistic Lottie Palliser, without a trustworthy bone in her body.
I T WAS ALREADY HOT out in the street. The bright disc of the sun was rising with a hazy coppery light that promised an airless summer day in the city of London. Ethan shouldered his kit bag and strode away, resisting an almost overpowering urge to glance back to see if Lottie was watching. He concentrated instead on the road ahead: the street vendors already setting up their stalls, a closed carriage rattling across the cobbles, a drunken lord propping himself up against a wall as he tried to make his unsteady way home.
Strange that it seemed so hard to leave Lottie behind. His mind was full of images of her: Lottie wrapped in his arms sleeping after they had made love, of her reaching out to him to try and comfort him over Arland’s incarceration, of her face tight with misery when she had seen James Devlin at the theater. She had rebuffed his attempts to reach her then, just as he had rejected her comfort earlier and perhaps she had been wise. Theirs was a commercial transaction, physically pleasing but not requiring emotion.
Ethan squared his shoulders. Cold, ruthless calculation had brought him this far in his plan and he reminded himself that Lottie was a pawn, a piece in the jigsaw, no more than a bit player in the grand scheme. Once his strategy was complete he would leave without a backward glance. He would pay Lottie off as agreed—he was a man of his word no matter how twisted and treacherous had become the world he lived in—but then he would never see her again. There was nothingprofound in their relationship. Nor would Lottie herself wish there to be. Her sole concern was for money, and when they met again it would be on the cold, mercenary terms of a man and his paid mistress.
He turned into the courtyard of The Swan with Two Necks Inn. They were harnessing the horses. The clock on the stable chimed the quarter hour. There were fifteen minutes before the coach departed and his fellow passengers were assembling. A pretty young wife on the arm of a self-important husband cast him a look from the corner of her eye and gave him a covert smile. He bowed to her politely but with no acknowledgment of the implied invitation. There were two clerks in sober black; an older woman in shabby gray and a frumpy bonnet, who was probably a housekeeper or companion; and a man he guessed was a merchant or shopkeeper, sleek and prosperous-looking in a new jacket and embroidered waistcoat. Of the man who had been shadowing him from the moment he had set off to London a week before, spying on him, there was no sign. Perhaps he, too, had been enjoying the decadent pleasures of the city the night before and had overslept. One thing was for certain—the spy would have nothing to report other than that Ethan had spent his time in profligate debauchery. He would know nothing of the letters that had been exchanged, the messages passed. He would have seen nothing, for Ethan was a past master at covering his tracks.
Ethan smiled to himself. The British authorities did not trust him. Of course they did not. They were wise not to do so. But they would never
She hated her own company. That was why she was missing Ethan already—because she had no resources for solitude.
“It’s only business, Lottie,” he had said. Well, absolutely. If he could be so detached then so could she. It was only what she had resolved the previous night. Ethan was right. It made sound sense for her to throw in her lot with him until a more advantageous offer came along.No one knew that better than she, opportunistic Lottie Palliser, without a trustworthy bone in her body.
I T WAS ALREADY HOT out in the street. The bright disc of the sun was rising with a hazy coppery light that promised an airless summer day in the city of London. Ethan shouldered his kit bag and strode away, resisting an almost overpowering urge to glance back to see if Lottie was watching. He concentrated instead on the road ahead: the street vendors already setting up their stalls, a closed carriage rattling across the cobbles, a drunken lord propping himself up against a wall as he tried to make his unsteady way home.
Strange that it seemed so hard to leave Lottie behind. His mind was full of images of her: Lottie wrapped in his arms sleeping after they had made love, of her reaching out to him to try and comfort him over Arland’s incarceration, of her face tight with misery when she had seen James Devlin at the theater. She had rebuffed his attempts to reach her then, just as he had rejected her comfort earlier and perhaps she had been wise. Theirs was a commercial transaction, physically pleasing but not requiring emotion.
Ethan squared his shoulders. Cold, ruthless calculation had brought him this far in his plan and he reminded himself that Lottie was a pawn, a piece in the jigsaw, no more than a bit player in the grand scheme. Once his strategy was complete he would leave without a backward glance. He would pay Lottie off as agreed—he was a man of his word no matter how twisted and treacherous had become the world he lived in—but then he would never see her again. There was nothingprofound in their relationship. Nor would Lottie herself wish there to be. Her sole concern was for money, and when they met again it would be on the cold, mercenary terms of a man and his paid mistress.
He turned into the courtyard of The Swan with Two Necks Inn. They were harnessing the horses. The clock on the stable chimed the quarter hour. There were fifteen minutes before the coach departed and his fellow passengers were assembling. A pretty young wife on the arm of a self-important husband cast him a look from the corner of her eye and gave him a covert smile. He bowed to her politely but with no acknowledgment of the implied invitation. There were two clerks in sober black; an older woman in shabby gray and a frumpy bonnet, who was probably a housekeeper or companion; and a man he guessed was a merchant or shopkeeper, sleek and prosperous-looking in a new jacket and embroidered waistcoat. Of the man who had been shadowing him from the moment he had set off to London a week before, spying on him, there was no sign. Perhaps he, too, had been enjoying the decadent pleasures of the city the night before and had overslept. One thing was for certain—the spy would have nothing to report other than that Ethan had spent his time in profligate debauchery. He would know nothing of the letters that had been exchanged, the messages passed. He would have seen nothing, for Ethan was a past master at covering his tracks.
Ethan smiled to himself. The British authorities did not trust him. Of course they did not. They were wise not to do so. But they would never
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