Lady Sophias Lover bsr-2

by Lisa Kleypas

  Peeking around the doorway of the drawing room, Sophia smiled in satisfaction at the splendid sight of guests dancing a formal minuet, executing bows and curtsies with practiced grace. The ladies all wore gowns in fashionably rich colors, while most of the gentlemen were striking in their schemes of black-and-white evening wear. Freshly waxed and polished floors reflected the sparkling light of the chandeliers, bathing the assemblage in an almost magical glow. The air was thick with flowers and perfume, relieved by the evening breeze that drifted in from the conservatories and anterooms.

  The series of rooms beyond the drawing room were filled with guests who played cards or billiards, drank champagne, and partook of small delicacies such as oyster pate, lobster tarts, and cakes soaked in rum. Thinking of the meal to come, Sophia decided to return to the kitchen and make certain that everything was going according to schedule. Discreetly she slipped outside to a walk that skirted the side of the house. The night air was cool and springlike, and she sighed in relief, pulling at the snug collar of her dark gown.

  Passing an open conservatory lined with columns, Sophia was surprised to note that it was occupied by the elderly Mr. Cannon, positioned in his wheeled chair to view the ball through a large window. A footman waited nearby, evidently having been recruited to attend the crusty old gentleman.

  Sophia approached him with a hesitant smile. "Good evening, Mr. Cannon. May I ask why you are sitting out here alone?"

  "Too much noise and bother in there," he replied. "Moreover, the fireworks will start at midnight, and this is the best place from which to view them." He eyed her speculatively. "In fact, you shall watch them with me." Turning to the footman, he said brusquely, "Go fetch some champagne. Two glasses."

  "Sir," Sophia said, "I'm afraid I cannot--"

  "Yes, I know. You have responsibilities. But this is my birthday, and therefore I must be humored."

  Sophia smiled wryly as she sat on the stone bench beside his chair. "If I am seen drinking champagne and watching fireworks with you, I will probably be dismissed."

  "Then I will hire you as my companion."

  Still smiling, Sophia folded her hands in her lap. "Are you not going to wear a mask, sir?" "Why would I wear a mask? I'm hardly going to deceive anyone, sitting in this contraption." Viewing the dancers through the window, Cannon snorted derisively. "I didn't like masked balls when they were in fashion forty years ago, and I like them even less now."

  "I wish I had a mask," she mused with a thoughtful smile. "I could do or say whatever I liked, and no one would know me."

  The old gentleman's gaze moved over her. "Why are you wearing plain broadcloth on such an evening?" he asked abruptly.

  "There is no need for me to wear a fine gown."

  He made a scoffing sound. "Nonsense. Even Mrs. Bridgewell wore a good black satin on special occasions."

  "I have no gowns more elegant than this, sir."

  "Why not? Isn't my grandson providing a decent salary?"

  Their conversation was interrupted as the footman reappeared with a tray of champagne. "Ah, good," Cannon said. "Is that the Rheims? Leave the bottle here, and go be of use to someone inside. Miss Sydney will keep me company."

  The footman complied with a submissive bow. Sophia accepted the glass of champagne from Mr. Cannon, holding it by the stem and regarding the light amber liquid curiously.

  "Have you drunk champagne before?" the old man asked.

  "Once," Sophia admitted. "When I lived with my cousin in Shropshire, a neighbor gave me a bottle of champagne that was not quite finished. It had gone flat by then, and I was disappointed by the taste. I expected it to be sweet."

  "This is French champagne--you will like it. See how the bubbles rise in vertical lines? That is the sign of a good vintage."

  Sophia brought the shallow glass to her face and enjoyed the cool, tickling sensation as the bubbles burst near her nose. "What makes it sparkle?" she asked almost dreamily. "It must be magic."

  "Actually, it is a process of double fermentation," he informed her, his tone so flat and dry that he reminded her of Ross. "The 'devil's wine,' it is called, because of its explosive nature."

  Sophia took an experimental sip of the dry, effervescent vintage and wrinkled her nose. "I still don't like it," she said, and the old man chuckled.

  "Try it again. You will acquire the taste for it eventually."

  Although she was tempted to point out that she would never have the opportunity to acquire such a taste, Sophia nodded obediently and drank. "I like the shape of the glass," she commented while the champagne trickled down her throat.

  "Do you?" A mischievous sparkle entered his eyes. "That style is called the coupe. It was modeled after Marie Antoinette's breast."

  Sophia gave him a reproving glance. "You are wicked, Mr. Cannon," she said, and he cackled in delight.

  A new voice entered the conversation. "It wasnot modeled after Marie Antoinette's breast. Grandfather is trying to shock you." The speaker was Ross, austerely handsome in his evening clothes, a black mask dangling in his fingers. His teeth flashed in a smile so easy and charming that Sophia's breath caught. There was no man who could equal him tonight, no one who possessed his mixture of elegance and rugged masculinity.

  Trying to conceal her reaction to him, Sophia took a deep swallow of cold champagne, and choked on the icy burn. "Good evening, Sir Ross," she said hoarsely, her eyes watering. She stood awkwardly, looking for a place to deposit her half-filled glass.

  "Well, Grandfather," Ross continued, "I should have known you would be doing your best to corrupt Miss Sydney."

  "I would hardly call a good bottle of Rheimscorruption ," Cannon replied defensively. "Why, it is a health tonic! As the French say, champagne is the universal medicine."

  "That is the first time I've ever heard you agree with the French, sir." The amusement lingered in Ross's eyes as he caught Sophia's wrist, preventing her from leaving. "Stay and finish your champagne, little one," he said softly. "As far as I'm concerned, you may have anything you desire."

  Flushing, Sophia tugged at her wrist, conscious of the elderly man's attention on them. "I desire to return to my duties, sir."

  To her disbelief, Ross lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, right in front of his grandfather. Their relationship couldn't have been more clear if he had proclaimed it from a podium.

  "Sir Ross," she said softly, shocked.

  He held her gaze deliberately, informing her silently that he was no longer going to conceal his feelings for her.

  Unnerved, Sophia handed her glass to him. "I must go," she said breathlessly. "Please excuse me." As she left with great haste, Ross remained with his grandfather, watching her so intently that she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back.

  Glancing at his grandfather, Ross raised his brows expectantly. "Well?"

  "It is a good match," Cannon said, pouring more champagne with obvious relish. "She is a pleasant girl without pretensions. Much like her grandmother. Have you sampled her charms yet?"

  Ross smiled at the abrupt question. "If I had, I wouldn't tell you."

  "I think you have," the old man said, regarding him over the rim of the glass. "And if she is anything like her grandmother was, you had a fine time indeed."

  "You old fox Don't say that you and Sophia Jane...?" "Oh, yes." The memory appeared to be a delicious one. Lost in private reflections, Cannon gently rolled the stem of the champagne glass between his time-worn fingers. "For years I've loved her," he said softly. "I should have tried harder to win her. Don't let anything come between you and the woman you love, my boy."

  The smile vanished from Ross's face, and he replied gravely, "No, sir."

  As Sophia strode across the stone-and-marble-paved floor of the great hall, she saw a dark figure detaching itself from the shadows of a domed alcove. It was a man wearing a black silk mask, dressed in evening wear like the other guests. He was young and strapping, with broad shoulders and a slim waist--the same unusually power
ful build that most of the Bow Street runners possessed. What was such a man doing far away from the drawing room? Sophia paused uncertainly. "Sir? May I assist you?"

  He took a long time to respond. Finally he approached, stopping within an arm's length of her. The eyes behind the mask were a bright jewel-blue, mesmerizing in their intensity. When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. "I've been looking for you."

  Puzzled, Sophia tilted her head as she gazed at him. Something about him made her uneasy, her nerves thrilling with a sense of dangerous awareness. The mask concealed most of his face, but there was no disguising the bold jut of his nose or the generous shape of his mouth. His brown hair was short and neatly brushed, and his skin was unusually swarthy for a gentleman.

  "How may I help you?" she asked cautiously.

  "What is your name?"

  "Miss Sydney, sir."

  "You are the housekeeper here?"

  "Only for tonight. I work for Sir Ross Cannon at Bow Street."

  "Bow Street is too dangerous a place for you," he said, sounding annoyed.

  He was drunk, she thought, and inched backward.

  "You are a spinster?" he asked, following her slowly.

  "I am unwed," she acknowledged.

  "Why would a woman like you remain unmarried?"

  The questions were strange and inappropriate. Uneasily Sophia decided that it would be wise for her to leave as soon as possible. "You are kind to spare me your concern, sir. However, I have duties to attend to. If you will excuse me--"

  "Sophia," he whispered, staring at her with what seemed to be longing.

  Startled, she wondered how he knew her first name. She stared at him with wide eyes, but then a sudden noise distracted her. It was the sound of laughter and cheering, accompanied by a vigorous swell of music and a cacophony of fireworks explosions. Bursts of brilliant light lit the sky and flickered through the windows. It must be midnight, Sophia realized. Time for the unmasking. Automatically she looked toward the sound.

  The stranger moved behind her, so swift and silent that she did not sense him until she felt something cold drop on her chest. She reached up and fumbled at the foreign weight, then heard a smooth click as something was clasped around her neck.

  "Good-bye," came a warm whisper near her ear.

  By the time she had turned around, he was gone.

  Dumbstruck, Sophia put both hands to her chest and felt a web of stones and precious metal. A necklace. But why would a stranger do such a thing? She was bewildered and terrified, her feet carrying her swiftly outside. She pulled at the heavy necklace, searched for the clasp, but could not seem to unshackle herself.

  Anxiously Sophia rushed to the open conservatory, where she had left Ross and his grandfather. A crowd had gathered around them, with many more coming from the ballroom. Rockets filled the sky with clusters of brilliant color, forming shapes of trees and animals, while rain-fire drifted downward through billows of smoke. The scene was chaotic and deafening.

  Sophia stood huddled against the side of the house, her hands ineffectually trying to cover the rich glitter at her throat. Although Ross could not possibly have seen or heard her, his head turned as if he sensed she was there. At the sight of her starkly pale face, he reacted instantly. He moved through the cheering crowd, his gaze never leaving her, and he reached her in a few strides. The noise made it impossible for them to speak.

  Ross took one of her hands and gently pulled it from her throat, exposing the mass of diamonds. His eyes narrowed at the sight. Sophia tugged helplessly at the heavy collar, trying to remove it. Suddenly she felt his warm fingers behind her neck. The clasp was unfastened, and the weight of gold and jewels slid away from her throat. Pocketing the necklace, Ross took her hand and drew her inside the house.

  He did not stop until they reached the blue parlor adjoining the central hall. After the earsplitting noise and jubilant brilliance of the fireworks, the quietness of the room was almost shocking. "What happened?" Ross asked tersely, closing the door.

  Sophia tried to explain in a coherent fashion. "I was going to the kitchen, and a man stopped me. He was wearing a mask. He said he had been looking for me. I am certain I have never met him before, but somehow he knew my name." Unsteadily she described the odd conversation that had taken place, and then the stranger's astonishing act of clasping the diamond necklace around her throat before disappearing.

  As she spoke, Ross stroked the side of her neck lightly, as if he were erasing the other man's touch. "What did he look like?"

  "He had brown hair and blue eyes. And he was tall, though not quite so tall as you. At first I thought he was one of the runners. He had a powerful build, and he even seemed to move in the way they do--that is, he seemed unusually agile for his size. He was dressed in fine clothes, just like the party guests...but I don't think he was one of them." "Did he have any scars or marks?"

  Sophia shook her head. "Not that I could see."

  Grimly Ross extracted the necklace from his pocket and spread it on a mahogany table. Standing close by his side, Sophia stared at the piece in awestruck dismay. She had never seen anything so magnificent, a glittering collar woven of strings of diamond flowers and emerald leaves. "Is it real?" she whispered.

  "Those jewels are not made of paste," came his flat reply.

  "It must be worth a fortune."

  "Three or four thousand pounds, I would guess." Ross's assessing gaze traveled over the necklace. "Your admirer is either a very wealthy man or an accomplished thief."

  "Why is this happening to me?" Sophia whispered. "I've done nothing to encourage anyone's interest. What does he want? Why would a stranger do something like this?"

  Hearing the note of panic in her voice, Ross bent and kissed her temple reassuringly. "I intend to find out. Don't be afraid--I won't let anything happen to you."

  She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent, gaining comfort from his solid strength.

  "Come," he murmured. "I'll take you to the kitchen."

  "And then?"

  "I'm going to recruit some of the footmen to help me search the grounds, in case your stranger is still lurking about. Though I doubt he would be such a fool." Reaching for the necklace, Ross dropped it back into his pocket. "A necklace like this didn't appear from thin air...it is unique and valuable. I suspect it won't be difficult to trace its origins. Which leads to an interesting conclusion. Your admirer wants you to discover his identity--otherwise he wouldn't have given you such a telling piece of evidence."

  "Do you think he is the one who sent me the lavender gown?"

  "I assume so." Ross's mouth was set in an impatient line, betraying his eagerness to go hunt for the mysterious guest. However, as he glanced at Sophia's tense face, he stopped and took her into his arms. He pulled her against his body until her toes nearly left the floor. A muscular arm hooked around the back of her neck as his lips descended to hers in a possessive kiss.

  At his silent command, Sophia parted her own lips and yielded to his sensuous exploration. The kiss turned demanding, his tongue ravishing slowly, his thigh intruding between her legs. All rational thought, all trace of worry, burned to ashes. There was only Ross, his mouth and hands reminding her of the scorching intimacy they had shared the previous night. Her knees weakened, and she began to gasp, her hands searching restlessly over the back of his coat. She was possessed with a terrible urge to rip at his clothes, and at her own, until they were both naked.

  "Ross," she moaned, her neck arching as his tongue traced an intricate pattern on her throat.

  He lifted his head and smiled in masculine satisfaction when he saw the passion-softened curve of her lips and the haziness of her blue eyes. "You're mine, Sophia...and I will never let anything happen to you. Do you understand?"

  She nodded dazedly, wobbling a little as he slid a supportive arm around her and guided her from the room.

  The mysterious stranger was nowhere to be found on the grounds at Silverhill Park, which Ross had expected
. However, the clue he had left behind would eventually lead to his capture. Ross was impatient to return to Bow Street and launch an investigation into the matter. The thought that someone had chosen to stalk Sophia in this untoward fashion provoked his most primitive male instincts. He would not be satisfied until he had cornered the bastard, seized him in a choke-hold, and pried a detailed confession from him.

  Thankful that the party would be over on the morrow, Ross bade his valet to pack most of his belongings in preparation for an early departure. While the man was folding clothes and laying them neatly in the trunk, Ross wandered around the darkened mansion. A few pockets of activity remained: a couple embracing in a shadowy corner, a card game in the billiards room, men lounging in the library with half-finished cigars.

  Sophia was probably in her room by now. Ross longed to go to her. He had never been in such a disturbing situation before, having wounded someone he cared for, wondering how to make amends, realizing there was nothing he could do. Nothing short of raising John Sydney from the dead would make things right.

  The fact that Sophia had forgiven him afforded no relief. The knowledge of his past actions would always exist between them. With a harsh sigh, Ross continued to walk aimlessly, reflecting on the events of the past twenty-four hours. His feelings for Sophia had so intensified that he could settle for nothing less than complete possession of her. He wanted her permanently, irrevocably. If she accepted him, he would try to make her so happy that the memory of her brother would not interfere with their feelings for each other.

  He found himself in front of the housekeeper's door near the kitchen, the small room where Sophia was staying. Twice his hand raised to knock at the wood panel, then dropped without striking the surface. He knew that he should go back to his own room and wait patiently until he had uncovered the truth about the past. He should think of her needs rather than his own. But he wanted her so badly that scruples and conscience didn't matter anymore. Torn between duty and desire, he stood at the door with clenched fists, his body seething with sexual heat.