Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners 2)

He was upset, Sophia thought in amazement. Not perturbed, but actually distraught, which she had never seen in him before. Quickly she refastened her bodice and went downstairs. How foolish she had been, not to realize what the news would do to him! Ross’s life had been shattered because his first wife had died in childbirth. Now it must seem as if the entire hideous experience was beginning again.

As Ross was a supremely rational man, he would know that the chances of that happening again were very slight. However, he was no different from anyone else, in that his emotions occasionally eclipsed common sense. Perhaps no one would believe it of the invincible Chief Magistrate, but he had fears of his own, and this was perhaps the greatest.

Sophia went through the kitchen and out into the courtyard. Ross’s back was turned toward her, and it stiffened as he sensed her approach. He had given up the attempt at smoking and merely stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head bowed.

As she came closer, his voice emerged in a quiet growl. “I want privacy.”

Sophia did not stop until she had pressed herself against his back and wrapped her arms around his midriff. Although Ross could have pulled away with ridiculous ease, he remained motionless in her grasp. Sophia’s heart ached with compassion as she felt him trembling all over like a huge captive wolf, panicked by his confinement.

“Ross,” she said softly, “everything is going to be fine.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t think you do.” She laid her cheek on his back and tightened her arms around his lean waist while she fumbled for the words that would comfort him. “I’m not fragile, as Eleanor was. It won’t happen again. You must believe me.”

“Yes,” he agreed instantly. “There’s no reason for worry.” But the tremors continued, and there was a ragged edge to his breathing.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said. “Your real thoughts, not what you believe I want to hear.”

Ross waited so long to answer that she thought he had refused her, until he forced words out between abbreviated breaths. “I knew this would happen… I prepared myself… there is no logical reason to fear it. I want this child. I want a family with you. But no matter what I tell myself, I can’t help remembering… Oh, God, you can’t know what it was like!” His voice cracked, and she knew that the dark memories were assailing him faster than he could defend himself.

“Ross,” she demanded, “turn and face me. Please.”

He seemed dazed as he complied. Immediately she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself to his big, warm body. He seized her as if she were a lifeline, his arms clamping onto her in a desperate vise.

Sophia smoothed her hands over his back and kissed his ear. His fingers clenched in her hair and her clothes, and he gripped her while his lungs moved in shuddering sighs. Sophia placed her hands on either side of his damp, hot face and urged it to hers. His thick lashes were spiked with tears, and he seemed to be staring through the gates of hell. Tenderly she kissed his stiff lips.

“You will never be alone again,” she promised. “We are going to have many healthy children, and grandchildren, and we will grow old together.”

He nodded, clearly trying to make himself believe her.

“Ross,” she continued, “I’m not like Eleanor in any way, am I?”

“No,” he replied gruffly.

“Our entire relationship, from the moment it started until now… not a moment of it has been similar to what you experienced with Eleanor, has it?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you believe it will end the same way?”

He did not answer, only crushed his lips to her temple and stood holding her in a desperate grip.

“I don’t know why Eleanor had to die in such a manner,” Sophia said. “It wasn’t her fault, and it certainly wasn’t yours. It was beyond your control. Until you stop holding yourself responsible for what happened to her, you will continue to be haunted by the past. And in punishing yourself, you will punish me as well.”

“No,” he breathed, clumsily stroking her hair, her neck, her back.

“Your guilt does her no honor.” Sophia drew back to stare into his contorted face. “Eleanor would have hated to know that you were worse off for having loved her.”

“I’m not!”

“Then prove it,” she challenged, her own eyes misting with emotion. “Live as she would have wanted, and don’t blame yourself any longer.”

Ross huddled over her, and Sophia held him with all her strength. His beard-roughened face scraped hers as he sought her lips, found them, and kissed her almost angrily. She opened to him, accepting his passionate aggression. His hands searched her body roughly, emotion transforming into raw physical need.

“Upstairs,” she said. “Please.”

With a savage groan, he picked her up and headed into the house, not stopping until he had reached their bedroom.

Sophia awakened alone and na*ed beneath the rumpled bedclothes. She had slept late, she thought groggily. There was much to do today—meetings with an interior decorator and a master gardener, and a charity luncheon to attend. But somehow the thought of all that did not bother her nearly as much as it should have.

A drowsy smile curved her lips as she rolled onto her stomach. Memories of Ross’s lovemaking swirled in her head. He had reached for her countless times in the night, lavishing her with passionate attention until she had finally begged him to cease. Now she was sore everywhere, and she felt the sting of whisker burns in indecent places, and her lips were chapped and kiss-swollen. And she was utterly satisfied, her body filled with luxurious contentment.

She asked Lucie to fill a slipper-bath for her, and she took her time about selecting her clothes for the day, a peach corded silk trimmed with fluted bands at the waist and hem. When the bath was ready, she lowered

Chapter 17

herself into the steaming water with a sigh, letting the heat soothe her abraded skin and sore muscles. Afterward she dressed and arranged her hair in a newly fashionable style, parted on the right with curls pinned on the left side.Just as she reached for a bonnet trimmed with sprigs of hydrangea, Lucie entered the apartments with a hasty knock.

“Have you come to empty the bath?” Sophia asked.

“Yes, milady, but… they sent Ernest across the way wiv‘ a message. Sir Ross wants ye, an’ ‘e’s asking for ye to come to ’is office.”

The request was unusual, for Ross rarely sent for her in the middle of the day. “Yes, of course,” Sophia said calmly, though she was conscious of an inner throb of uneasiness. “The carriage is most likely waiting at the front. Will you tell the driver that I will be delayed for a few minutes?”

“Yes, milady.” Lucie bobbed deferentially and left.

Ernest was waiting downstairs to accompany her to No. 3.

“Ernest,” Sophia asked as they walked out the back and crossed the courtyard, “have you any idea why Sir Ross has asked for me?”

“No, milady… except… there’s been some grand to-do this morning. Mr. Sayer ‘as come an’ gone twice already, an‘ I ’eard tell that Sir Grant ‘as sent for the militia to go to Newgate, an’ dragoons to come ‘ere!”

“They’re expecting riots for some reason,” Sophia murmured, while cold suspicion gathered in her chest.

The boy fairly wriggled with excitement.“‘Twould seem so, milady!”

An unusual number of constables and patrols were being summoned to No. 3. Groups of uniformed men nodded respectfully and removed their hats as Sophia passed by. Distractedly she bade them good morning and continued with Ernest until they reached Ross’s office. Leaving the boy to stand in the hallway, Sophia pushed through the half-open door and saw Ross standing over his desk. Sir Grant Morgan stood staring out the window, an austere expression on his face. They both turned at her entrance, and Ross’s gaze locked with hers. For one breathtaking moment the intimacy of the previous night flashed between them, and Sophia felt her pulse quicken.

Ross approached her and took her hand in a brief, hard clasp. “Good morning,” he said quietly.

She forced herself to smile. “I assume you are going to explain why there is so much activity at the public office this morning.”

He nodded and answered bluntly. “I want you to leave London and go to Silverhill. Just for a few days, until I decide it is safe for you to return.”

She gazed into his face with dread. “You are expecting some kind of trouble, I gather.”

“Nick Gentry has been arrested and charged with receiving and selling stolen goods. A witness has come forward with solid evidence. I’ve bound Gentry over to the King’s Bench and enjoined the Chief Justice to give him a fair trial. However, if the proceedings last too long, the masses will erupt in a way that will make the Gordon riots seem like a May Day festival. I don’t want you anywhere near London until the matter is concluded.” Although Nick’s arrest was a goal Ross had long worked for, there was no triumph in his tone.

Sophia felt as if she had received a blow to the stomach. Nauseated and out of breath, she wondered why her brother had to be such a notorious criminal. If he were just a bit less successful, he could have prospered in relative anonymity. But no, he had to court fame and become a lightning rod for controversy, dividing the public and thumbing his nose in the faces of legally sanctioned police. Nick had made it virtually impossible for anyone to help him.

Blindly she groped for the chair behind her. Seeing her unsteadiness, Ross lowered her to the seat. He half crouched before her, staring into her ashen face with sudden anxiety. “What is it?” he asked, taking her cold hands in his. The warmth of his fingers did nothing to thaw her prickling skin. “Do you feel ill? Is it the baby—”

“No.” She looked away from him, trying to force her wildly scattering thoughts into some coherent pattern. Her bones seemed to have turned into ice, coldness radiating from the inside out, making her skin hurt. Even the familiar, gentle touch of Ross’s hands hurt. She considered telling him the truth about Nick, because the price she would have to pay for her continued silence was too much to bear. And yet the truth was likely to be just as costly. No matter what choice she made, her life would never be the same.

Tears forced their way into her eyes until Ross’s beloved face was a fluid blur.

“What is it?” Ross repeated, his voice urgent. “Sophia, are you well? Do you need a doctor?”

She shook her head and took a ragged breath. “I’m fine.”

“Then why—”

“Is there nothing you can do to help him?” she asked desperately.

“Help Gentry? Why in God’s name would you ask that?”

“There is something I haven’t told you.” Using her sleeve, she blotted her eyes until he came back into focus. “Something I learned just before our wedding.”

Ross was silent, remaining on his haunches, his hands coming to grip the arms of her chair. “Go on,” he said quietly.

Out of the corner of her eye Sophia saw Sir Grant move toward the door, tactfully leaving the two of them alone. “Wait,” she told him, and he paused at the threshold. “Please stay, Sir Grant. I think you should know as well, in light of your position at Bow Street.”

Morgan slid a questioning glance at Ross and cautiously resumed his place by the window, though he . clearly did not wish to be part of the scene.

Sophia stared down at the strong, hair-dusted hands that rested on either side of her. “Do you remember when you told me that Mr. Gentry was the one who had given me the diamond necklace?”

Ross nodded.

“I already knew it,” she said dully. “Earlier that day, I encountered Mr. Gentry near Lannigan’s. He… took me into his carriage. And we talked.” Pausing, she watched her husband’s tanned hands grip the arms of the chair until his knuckles and the tips of his fingers were white. The office was as silent as a graveyard, except for the sound of Ross’s controlled breathing. The only way Sophia could continue was to keep her tone flat and emotionless. “Gentry said that in his youth he had been on the same prison hulk that my brother had been sent to. He told me what it had been like for John, the things he had suffered… and then he told me—” She stopped, then spoke with a break in her voice. “He told me that John did not die. He took the name of another boy on the ship so that he could gain an early—”

“Sophia,” Ross cut in softly, as if believing she had gone mad, “your brother is dead.”

She put her hands over his hard, corded ones and looked right at him. “No,” she said urgently. “Nick Gentry is my brother. He and John are one and the same. I knew it was true the moment he told me. He could not deceive me, Ross… we were children together, he knows everything I know about our past, and… just look at him, and you’ll see the resemblance. We have the same eyes. The same features. The same—”

Ross flung off her hands and strode away from her as if he had been scalded. His chest moved with his labored breaths. “My God,” she heard him say through his teeth.

Sophia sagged in her chair, certain that she had lost him now. He would never forgive her for hiding something that she should have told him before they were married. Numbly she went on to describe the rest of the conversation with her brother, as well as the information he had asked her to obtain from the records room. Ross kept his back to her, his hands clenched tightly. “I am sorry,” Sophia finished stiffly. “I wish I could do it all over again. I should have told you about Nick as soon as I learned that he was my brother.”

“Why tell me now?” Ross asked hoarsely.

There was nothing left to lose. She focused on a distant spot on the floor as she answered. “I hoped you could save him somehow.”

A caustic laugh escaped him. “If I could, it wouldn’t matter. Before long Gentry would do something else, and I’d be forced to arrest him again. And we would probably be in this same situation a month from now.”

“I don’t care about next month. All I care about is today.” Ross would never know what it cost her to say next, but she forced the words out. “Don’t let them hang him,” she begged. “I can’t lose John again. Do something.”

“Do what?” he snarled.

“I don’t know,” came her frantic reply. “Just find some way to keep him alive. I will talk to him, convince him that he must change, and perhaps he—”