Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners 2)

“… shall we try in here?” a female asked as she paused just outside the door.

“No,” came an answering male voice. “Too obvious. Let’s go down the hall…”

Their footsteps retreated from the threshold, and Sophia rolled away from Ross the moment he released her wrists. She staggered to her feet and jerked at her clothes to rearrange them. Her face burned as she bent to tug her drawers upward and tie the dangling tapes at her waist. Her limbs were shaking from nerves and fear. Her body ached with unspent passion. She had never known such need, an unquenchable fire that burned with maddening ferocity.

Ross fastened his trousers and approached her from behind. The gentle clasp of his fingers on her shoulders made her flinch. She wanted to seize his hands and pull them to her br**sts and beg him to give her the relief she craved. Instead she stood as stiffly as a statue while he nuzzled into her disheveled hair.

“Obviously I haven’t done this for a while.” Irony washed through his voice. “My sense of timing used to be much better.”

“We shouldn’t have gone so far,” she said through lips that felt swollen. “It was f-fortunate that we were not able to finish.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I’m going to finish it soon, by God. I’ll come to your room later.”

“No,” she said instantly. “My door will be locked. I-I don’t want to discuss this, ever. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

“Sophia,” he murmured, “there is only one thing you can do to keep me from your bed—and that is to tell me that you don’t want me.”

Ross waited with calculated patience while Sophia struggled until her chest felt as if it would burst. Every time she tried to speak, her throat closed, and her shoulders quivered within the supportive frame of his hands. “Please,” she finally whispered, although she had no idea what she was asking him for.

His palm slid across her collarbone and pressed to the center of her chest, where her heartbeat could be felt through the thick fabric of her gown. “We’ll have our reckoning soon,” he said gently. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Sophia.”

She pulled away from him with a sharp jerk. “There is,” she said hoarsely, striding away from him. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Chapter 10

Sophia fled to her room and tried to restore herself. She washed with cold water, scrubbing her face until it was pink. After brushing her hair and pinning it in an excruciatingly tight coil, she returned to her duties, feeling dazed and frantic.The murder game was soon declared over, and the guests proceeded to entertain themselves with a guessing game in which they gave imitations of classical statuary. Howls of laughter greeted each effort. Having received no education in art history, Sophia could not understand why the company seemed to find the game so uproarious. Absently she bade the footmen to clear away the tea dishes and port glasses. The kitchen scullery was crowded with maids washing flatware, crystal, and hundreds of plates. Thankfully, the other servants seemed too busy to notice Sophia’s distracted manner.

As the hour of two o’clock approached, most of the guests retired for the evening, heading to their rooms where valets and ladies’ maids waited to assist them.

Exhausted, Sophia supervised the cleanup of the common rooms, and praised the servants for a job well done. She finally went to her room, carrying a tinplate lantern fashioned in the shape of a cup with a pattern of punched holes. Although she was outwardly calm, her hand shook until the lantern caused brilliant dots to flutter across the wall like a cloud of fireflies.

When she reached her room, she closed the door and carefully set the lantern on the small rustic table in the corner. Only now, in the privacy of the bedroom, could she allow her tightly suppressed emotions to escape. Clutching the edge of the table for support, she bowed her head and sighed shakily. She stared at the tear-blurred light before her, reliving the moments of rapturous intimacy in Ross’s arms.

“Ross,” she whispered, “how can I leave you?”

A voice came from the shadows. “I will never let you leave me.”

She whirled around, a cry caught in her throat. The uncertain light from the tinplate lantern played over the hard contours of Ross’s face. He lounged on the small bed, so still and quiet that she had not seen him when she entered the room.

“You frightened the wits out of me!” she exclaimed.

He smiled slightly, unfolding his long frame from the bed. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, coming to her. His fingertips drew through the wet trails on her cheeks. “Why the talk of leaving? I didn’t mean to upset you earlier. It was too soon—I shouldn’t have approached you that way.”

That comment brought a fresh, stinging surge of salt water to her eyes. “It’s not that.”

He reached around to the back of her head and unfastened her hair, dropping the pins to the floor. “Then what is it? You can tell me anything.” His fingers stroked her scalp and spread her hair over her shoulders in a rippling stream. “You must realize that by now. Tell me, and I’ll make it all better.”

The words made Sophia want to throw herself at him and weep and howl. Instead she closed her expression and glanced away from him. She forced words through her stiff lips. “Some things cannot be made better.”

“What things?”

She wiped her palm over her cheeks and set her jaw to keep it from quivering. “Please don’t touch me,” she said in a raw whisper.

He ignored the plea and slid his arm around her, bringing her against his broad chest. “You know how stubborn I am, Sophia.” His hand settled at the small of her back. Although his grasp was light, she knew that it would be impossible for her to break free. His lips brushed over her forehead as he spoke. “I’m going to get the truth out of you sooner or later. Save us both time and tell me now.”

Despairing, she realized that Ross was going to persist until he had the answers he wanted, unless she found a way to stop him. “Please leave my room,” she said distinctly. “Or I am going to scream and tell everyone that you are forcing yourself on me.”

“Go ahead.” Ross waited, relaxed and calm, while she quivered with tension. A faintly arrogant smile touched his lips. “You may as well learn now that it’s useless to try and bluff me.”

“Damn you,” she whispered.

“I think you want to tell me.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “I know that you’ve kept secrets from me since you first came to Bow Street. It’s time to bring them to light, Sophia. Afterward there will be nothing left to fear.”

Sophia gripped the hard muscles of his arms and breathed jerkily. It was finally time to confess. She would have to tell Ross everything, and face the consequences. Vehement sobs pushed from her throat… abraded cries of ruined vengeance and hopeless love.

“Don’t,” Ross murmured, gathering her protectively against his chest. “Don’t, Sophia. Sweetheart. It’s all right.”

His tenderness was too much for her to bear. Sophia fought her way out of his arms and stumbled to the bed. She sat and blindly held up a hand to keep him at bay. The gesture, frail though it was, served to hold him back. He stood in the shadows, his large form nearly blocking out the glimmer of the tinplate lantern.

“I can’t tell you if you touch me,” she said hoarsely. “Just stay there.”

Ross was still and silent.

“You know about the months after my parents died,” Sophia said in a wretched whisper, “when John and I were caught stealing. And I was taken in by my cousin Ernestine.”

“Yes.”

“Well, John would not go. He ran off to London instead. He continued to… to steal and do bad things, he…” She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears kept welling from beneath her lashes. “He fell in with a gang of pickpockets. Eventually he was arrested and charged with an act of petty thievery.” She rubbed her hands over her streaming face and sniffled.

“Here,” Ross muttered, and she saw from the edge of her vision that he was extending a handkerchief. His face was grim, revealing how difficult it was for him to witness her distress and not be able to touch her.

Accepting the handkerchief, Sophia mopped her face and blew her nose. Wearily she resumed her story. “He was taken before a magistrate who sentenced him to a year on a prison hulk. It was an unusually harsh sentence for such a trivial crime. When I learned of what had happened to my brother, I thought of going to London to visit the magistrate and plead with him to reduce the severity of the punishment. But by the time I reached the city, John had already been taken to the hulk.”

A curious numbness came over her, making it easier to talk. It was as if she had suddenly become detached from the scene, watching as if a play were being enacted before her. “I was in torment for months, thinking every minute of my brother, wondering what he was suffering. I was not so sheltered that I didn’t have some idea of what occurs on prison hulks. But no matter what happened to him in that place, I promised myself that I would take care of him and heal him afterward. If only he would live.”

A long, emotion-fraught silence passed.

“But he didn’t,” Ross finally said.

Sophia shook her head. “Cholera. The hulks were always riddled with one disease or another… it was only a matter of time before John became ill. He did not survive. He was buried in a mass grave near the ship, without any stone or marker. I… I have never been the same since I was told. John’s death has underpinned every emotion, every experience, every thought and desire I’ve had in my adult life. I have lived with constant hatred for years.”

“Hatred of whom?”

She looked at him then, her expression incredulous. “Of the man who sent him there. The magistrate who took no pity on an orphaned boy and sentenced him to certain death.”

The shadows obscured most of Ross’s face, except for the gleam of his narrowed eyes. “His name,” he demanded in a tightly leashed voice that betrayed his hideous suspicions.

Sophia’s numbness lifted away, leaving her as raw as an open wound. “It was you, Ross,” she whispered. “You sent John to the prison hulk.”

Although he remained still, she sensed the tremendous impact of her words, the ripple of shocked anguish beneath his facade. She knew that he was trying to dredge rapidly through the past, to remember one out of the thousands of cases that had come before him on the bench.

The rest of the confession drained out of her like poison. “I wanted revenge against you,” she said dully. “I thought that if I could persuade you to employ me, I would find ways to undermine you. For a while I copied parts of various files in the criminal records room, looking for anything that would discredit you and the runners. But that wasn’t all of my plan. I also wanted to hurt you in the deepest way possible. To… to break your spirit as mine had been broken. I wanted to make you fall in love with me so that I could injure you in a way that you would not recover from. But as it turned out…” A jagged laugh escaped her. “Somehow all that hatred has vanished. And I have failed utterly.”

She was silent then, closing her eyes to avoid the sight of his face. She waited for his contempt, his anger, and, worst of all, his rejection. Silence fell gently around her. Aching, annihilated, she waited for fate to deliver its final blow. As the quiet continued, she felt almost dreamlike, wondering if Ross would simply leave the room and let her crumble in despair.

She was not aware of any movement, but suddenly Ross was standing behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders, fingertips touching the base of her throat. With no effort at all, he could choke the life from her. She almost wanted him to. Anything to escape the desolation that saturated her. Docile and hopeless, she swallowed against the featherlight pressure of his fingers.

“Sophia,” he said without inflection, “do you still want revenge?”

A breath clogged in her throat. “No.”

His fingers began to move then, caressing the sides and front of her throat, drawing sensation to the surface of her skin. She began to gasp beneath the life-giving touch, her head lolling back helplessly until it rested against the hard surface of his stomach. Puppet-like, she could not seem to move without the animation of his hands.

He spoke again. “When did you change your mind?”

God help her, she could withhold nothing from him now. He would strip her of all pride and leave her decimated. Sophia fought to keep silent, but his stroking fingers seemed to coax the words from her unwilling throat. “When you were hurt,” she said brokenly. “I wanted to help you… I wished that no harm would ever come to you again. Especially not from me.” She was breathing too hard to speak. A whimper came from the bottom of her lungs as she felt his warm fingers slip into the bodice of her gown. He cupped her breast and softly circled the nipple until it tightened into a hard bud. It seemed that he touched her not with the intention to arouse, but to recall the intimacy that had existed between them just a few hours earlier. Heat danced over her skin, and she leaned back against him more heavily, her body robbed of strength.

Ross sat on the bed and carefully turned her toward him. As Sophia lifted her gaze, she saw that his lips were tight with pain, as if he had suffered a body blow. “I don’t know what happened in the past,” he said huskily. “I don’t remember your brother. But I promise you that I will find out exactly what occurred. If it turns out that I am guilty of your accusations, I will accept the blame, and everything that comes with it.” His hands continued to play over her breast, as if he couldn’t keep from touching her. “For now, I will ask only one thing of you. Stay with me until I uncover the truth. Will you do that, Sophia?”

She nodded with a shuddering sound of assent.

He pushed the wet strands of hair away from her cheeks. Leaning forward, he covered her mouth with his in a hard, warm kiss. Sophia fought to think above the pounding of her heart. “But the way I deceived you…” she said unevenly. “You can’t possibly want me now.”

“What makes you think I have any more control over this than you do?” he muttered. He pulled her close, hugging her to his strong body, and she shivered as immeasurable relief flooded her. Ross knew the truth, and he had not rejected her. This fact was difficult for her mind to encompass. She buried her face in his coat, which held a trace of tobacco from the smoke-filled billiards room.

He cradled her gently. “Those feelings you’ve carried with you for years… it won’t be easy to let them go.”