Lady Sophias Lover bsr-2

by Lisa Kleypas

  Sophia realized that he was not going to be satisfied until she told him the truth.

  "Nick," she said carefully, "there is a...a certain relationship that has developed between Sir Ross and myself."

  "My God." He raked his hands through his hair distractedly. "You and he..." Words seemed to fail him.

  Understanding the unspoken question, Sophia gave him a cautious nod.

  "My sister and the Monk of Bow Street," Gentry muttered in disgust. "A fine revenge this is, Sophia! Jumping into bed with the man who nearly killed me! If that's your idea of retribution, I've got a few things to explain to you."

  "He has asked me to marry him."

  Gentry's eyes flashed with astonished fury, and he seemed to stop breathing. "I'd rather see you dead than marry the likes of him."

  "He's the best man I've ever known."

  "Oh, he's a damned paragon!" Nick said caustically. "And if you marry him, he'll never let you forget it. He will make you believe that you're not good enough for him. You'll be crushed by his damned honor and respectability. Cannon will make you pay a thousand times over for not being perfect."

  "You don't know him," she said.

  "I've known him a damned sight longer than you have. He's not human, Sophia!"

  "Sir Ross is forgiving and kind, and he is well aware that I am not perfect."

  Suddenly her brother stared at her in a calculating way that made her uneasy, his dark brows lowering at the inner corners in a devilish slant. "You're very sure of him, then," he remarked silkily.

  She met his gaze with earnest resolution. "Yes."

  "Then let's put your faith to the test, Sophia." Nick casually rested an elbow on the mantel. "You'll get that information I want from the criminal records room.Or ...I will tell your steadfast, oh-so-forgiving lover that he has proposed marriage to the sister of his worst enemy. That Sophia and the despicable Nick Gentry have the same blood flowing through their veins."

  Sophia nearly reeled backward in shock. "You're blackmailing me?" she said in an airless whisper.

  "It's up to you. You can get me what I want...or you can take the risk of losing Sir Ross.Now how much faith do you have in his forgiveness?"

  Sophia couldn't speak. A thought blazed through her mind:Dear Lord, will the past always return to haunt me ?

  "Do you want me to tell him that I'm your brother?" he prodded.

  She just couldn't be certain. She knew that Ross was everything she had claimed and more. And once he learned of her relationship to Nick Gentry, he would try to find a way to overlook yet another terrible fact about her. But this might be the straw that broke the camel's back. There was a chance that Ross might never be able to look into her eyes without remembering that she was the sister of his hated adversary.

  And suddenly Sophia realized that she would die before letting that happen. She could not survive Ross's rejection, not now, after they had become so close. She could not take a risk--she had too much to lose.

  Her voice came out in a croak. "No."

  Strangely, Gentry's eyes seemed to flicker with disappointment, almost as if he had hoped that she would defy him. "I thought so."

  Sophia stared at her brother intently, wondering if he was playing games with her. "You couldn't really bring yourself to blackmail me," she said, though she couldn't prevent the wobble of uncertainty in her tone.

  He gave her a callous smile. "There's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

  Before she could reply, the door vibrated with an imperative thump, and a muffled voice asked for entrance. Obviously annoyed, Gentry went to let the man in. The visitor was one of the most peculiar creatures Sophia had ever seen, a heavyset man with bulbous features and a distinctive lavender pallor. The blue-black shadows on his bristly cheeks contributed to his grimy, dark appearance. Sophia wondered how many of these strange underworld figures must work for her brother.

  "Blueskin," Gentry greeted his henchman.

  "Someone's come looking for ye," the man muttered. "The Monk 'isself."

  "Cannon?" Gentry asked incredulously. "Damn his eyes, he just raided the place in February! What in the bloody hell is he hoping to find?"

  " 'Tis no raid," Blueskin replied." 'E's come alone."

  Sophia shot to her feet in alarm. "Sir Ross is here?" "It appears so," Gentry said in disgust, motioning for Sophia to follow him. "I'll have to see him. You can go "With Blueskin out the back way before Cannon has a look at you."

  Blueskin interrupted. "D'ye want me to 'ave the boys throw 'im out, Gentry?"

  "No, idiot. Then he'll come back with a hundred constables and take the place apart brick by brick. Now, take this woman back to Bow Street. Anything happens to her, and I'll slit you from ear to ear." Nick returned his attention to Sophia. "About those criminal records--I want you to find out what Cannon may have learned from a man named George Fenton when he was held for questioning two weeks ago."

  "Who is Fenton?"

  "One of my spruce prigs." Seeing her confusion, he clarified impatiently. "A highly trained thief. I need to know what Fenton told Cannon--if he stayed loyal to me and kept his gob shut."

  "Yes, but what will happen to Mr. Fenton if it turns out--"

  "That's not your concern," he replied, pushing her toward the back door. "Now go quickly, before Cannon finds us together. Blueskin will keep you safe."

  Less than a minute after Sophia had left, Cannon shoved his way inside the apartment. Nick sat in his chair by the hearth, stretching out in a provokingly idle position, as if it were of little concern to him that the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street had just invaded his home. Cannon approached him and stopped just a few feet away, his eyes appearing oddly light in his wrath-darkened face.

  Despite his animosity toward the Chief Magistrate, Nick had to concede a certain grudging respect for him. Cannon was smart, seasoned, and powerful...a man's man. And he possessed an unyielding morality that fascinated Nick. A man handicapped by principles, who could accomplish all that Cannon had, was someone to be reckoned with.

  The air was alive with challenge and aggression, yet they both managed to converse in a normal tone.

  "You gave the necklace to Miss Sydney," Cannon said without preamble.

  Nick inclined his head in mocking commendation. "You found that out damned quickly."

  "Why?" The magistrate looked as though he wanted to tear him apart piece by piece.

  Shrugging, Nick offered a casually spoken lie. "I've fancied the little muff ever since I saw her at Bow Street. I want a chance at her after you're finished."

  "Stay away from her." Cannon's words were quiet but fatally sincere. "Or I'll kill you."

  Nick threw him a cold grin. "Apparently you're not done with her yet."

  "I'll never be done with her. And the next time you send her a gift, I'll personally shove it up your--"

  "All right," Nick interrupted in rising irritation. "Warning taken. I won't bother your fancy piece. Now get the hell out of my house." Cannon stared at him with a lethal dispassion that would have alarmed any other man. "It's only a matter of time before you overreach yourself," he said softly. "One of your schemes will fall through. Some piece of evidence will implicate you. And I'll be there to watch you hang."

  Nick smiled thinly, reflecting that Cannon wouldn't be so smug if he knew that Sophia was his sister. "I'm sure you will," he muttered. "But don't expect to take any satisfaction in my death. You may even come to regret it."

  A look of puzzled speculation crossed the older man's face, and then he contemplated Nick with narrowed eyes. "Before I leave," he growled, "I want you to explain something. The gown you sent to Miss Sydney...she claims it is almost identical to one that her mother once possessed."

  "Is it?" Nick asked lazily. "That's an interesting coincidence."

  It was clear that behind Cannon's set face, his mind was busy sifting through questions. "Yes," he agreed. "Very interesting."

  And to Nick's relief, the magistrate left his rooms without ano
ther word.

  As soon as Sophia returned to Bow Street, she took advantage of Ross's absence and went to the criminal records room. It was an ideal time to search for the information her brother had requested, since Vickery and the other clerks had gone to a local tavern for a supper of beef and ale. The offices would remain largely unoccupied until one of the assistant magistrates returned to prepare for the evening court session.

  Sophia's slender fingers combed rapidly through the file drawer as she hunted for the notes that had been taken during George Fenton's questioning. A single lamp illuminated the small room, providing barely enough light for her to read.

  Eventually her attention was caught by a particular page, and she held it closer. There were references to both Nick Gentry and George Fenton. Realizing that she had found what she was seeking, Sophia folded the page and began to tuck it into her sleeve.

  Suddenly she heard footsteps, and the sound of the doorknob turning. She had been caught. Her heart propelled upward in one great choking lump, and she shoved the page back into the drawer and slammed it shut just as the door swung open.

  Ross stood there, his lean face shadowed and impassive. "Why are you in here?"

  Apprehension swamped her, and she moistened her lips nervously. Certainly Ross could see how white her face was. She knew that she was the very picture of guilt. Desperately she seized on the first lie she could think of.

  "I was...trying to replace information I had taken from the files, back when I was hoping to discredit you and the runners."

  "I see." His face softened as he approached her. He took her chin in his hand, his fingers stroking the soft space beneath her jaw. Sophia forced herself to meet his gaze, although her soul cringed at deceiving him. A caressing smile touched Ross's lips. "There is no need to look so guilty. You didn't harm anyone." He began to spread light, wandering kisses over her face. "Sophia," he murmured, "Morgan found out today who sent you the necklace."

  Drawing back, Sophia tried to look as though she didn't already know the answer. "Who is it?" she asked unsteadily.

  "Nick Gentry."

  Her heart began to pound with uncomfortable force. "Why would he do that?"

  "This afternoon I paid a visit to Gentry, to ask him that question. Apparently he had taken an interest in you, and wishes to become your protector in the event that our relationship ends."

  "Oh." Unable to meet his gaze any longer, Sophia pressed herself against him, hiding her face against his shoulder. Her voice was muffled by his coat. "Did you tell him that would never happen?"

  His arm slid around her. "Gentry won't bother you again, Sophia. I'll make certain of it."

  If only that were true, she thought miserably, caught in a violent welter of feelings. She was furious at her brother for putting her in this terrible position, yet she still loved him and believed there was goodness in him. She was certain that he was not completely beyond redemption. On the other hand, there was not much to recommend about a man who was willing to blackmail his own sister.

  The temptation to confide in Ross was overwhelming, and she bit her lip to contain the words that battled frantically inside her. Only the chilling fear of losing him kept her silent. Trembling from distress and frustration, she leaned harder against his supportive body.

  Feeling her shake against him, Ross made a soothing sound. His warm breath feathered the delicate crevices of her ear as he nuzzled her. "You're not afraid, are you?" His arms surrounded her. "Sweetheart, there's no reason to be upset. You're safe."

  "I know," she said, her teeth chattering. "It's just that the past few days have been a bit of a strain."

  "You're tired," he murmured. "You need a hot brandy, and a relaxing bath, and a night of sleep--"

  "I needyou ." Sophia grasped his collar and tugged his head down, straining hungrily to reach his lips.

  At first Ross was reluctant, returning her kiss with restraint. "Easy," he whispered when their mouths parted. "You don't want this right now--"

  She crushed her lips against his, pushed her tongue into the dark sweetness of his mouth, until his resistance crumbled and he began to breathe harshly.

  "Thisis what I want," she whispered, pulling his hand to her breast. "Please. Don't deny me, Ross."

  With objections still poised on his lips, he cradled the weight of her breast and bent his head to kiss her throat. Rapidly his concern was replaced by desire. A groan of pure lust escaped him, and he reached down to clamp her bottom in his hands. He lifted her onto the top of the file drawers, his mouth continuing to devour hers. Sophia sat and parted her stocking-clad legs with shameful eagerness, allowing him to stand between them. "We can't do this here," Ross muttered, his hand searching inside the rustling mass of her skirts. "If a clerk should walk in and see--"

  "I don't care." She pulled his head to hers again.

  Their mouths meshed and clung until they were both robbed of breath. Sophia moaned as his fingers slid past the slit of her drawers, gently fondling her moistening flesh. "I want you," she gasped, her hand descending to press on his.

  "Sophia..." Ross ground out the word against the side of her neck. "Let's go to my room..."

  "Now," she insisted. Greedily she fumbled with the front of his trousers to free his straining erection.

  Abandoning all attempts to dissuade her, Ross helped her with a muffled laugh. "Insatiable minx," he accused, sliding her hips to the edge of the cabinet. He entered her in a smooth, deep plunge that made her gasp. "There...will this satisfy you?"

  "Yes. Yes..." She leaned back helplessly against his arm.

  Supporting her back and buttocks, Ross lifted her completely off the cabinet, keeping her fully impaled. He brought her to the door and pinned her against it, allowing her legs to dangle helplessly on either side of his hips. Sophia moaned as he thrust at exactly the right angle, stroking inside her, rubbing against the most sensitive part of her sex.

  "Sophia," he growled, his rhythm unceasing, "I want an answer now."

  Panting, she stared at him in bewilderment. "An answer?"

  "I want you to say you'll marry me."

  "Oh, Ross...not now. I want to think some more."

  "Now," he insisted, suddenly holding still inside her. "Do you want me? A simple yes or no will suffice."

  She clutched at his shoulders while her body throbbed with longing. "Don't stop. Don't."

  His brilliant gray eyes stared into hers as he resumed his thrusting at a torturously slow pace...the deep, prolonged drives that he knew would drive her mad. "Yes or no?"

  "I won't answer that question now," she said, writhing uncontrollably. "You will have to wait."

  "Then so will you." His mouth caught hers in a hard, wet kiss. "We'll wait just like this," he whispered. "And I vow, Sophia, that your toes are not going to touch the floor until I have my answer." He rocked against her gently, his sex penetrating even deeper than before.

  A sob rose in her throat. She was so close, her body primed for release, her emotions strained beyond bearing. Nothing mattered but him. In one reckless, greedy, soul-anguished moment, she chose what she wanted most. Her mouth moved against his, pressing a silent word to his lips.

  "What?" he asked urgently, drawing his head back to look at her. "What did you say?" "I said yes," she moaned. "Yes. Ross, please help me, please--"

  "I'll help you," he whispered tenderly, and muffled her cries with his mouth as he gave her exactly what she needed.

  CHAPTER 15

  Following a simple wedding ceremony in the private chapel on the Silverhill Park estate, Ross's mother hosted a ball that was attended by guests from at least three counties. Sophia tried not to be overwhelmed by the surfeit of attention. Countless newspapers and magazines had published information concerning Sir Ross Cannon's bride, where and when the wedding would take place, and even where they were to live. Gossip raged in salons, coffeehouses, and taverns. The revelation that Sir Ross's new wife was the daughter of a viscount added more spice to the story, for it w
as also known that she had worked for him at Bow Street.

  Sophia was gratified by the Cannons' ready acceptance of her, and especially by the warmth that his mother displayed. "My friends have asked me to describe you," Catherine had told her the day before the wedding. Assorted guests sat in the parlor, some playing games at the card table, some strolling arm in arm through the circuit of family rooms. A few women were engaged in needlework, while gentlemen sat with newspapers and conferred on the day's events. "Naturally," Catherine continued, "they are all exceedingly curious about what kind of woman would manage to capture Ross's heart."

  "Hisheart isn't the part of his anatomy that she's captured," Matthew muttered nearby.

  Catherine turned toward him inquiringly. "What did you say, darling?"

  He managed to produce an insincere smile. "I said my brother has indeed been captured. One can hardly recognize him for that witless grin he has taken to wearing." A few guests laughed upon overhearing the comment, as the change in Sir Ross's usually remote demeanor had been generally remarked upon. Many had agreed that it had been a very long while since Sir Ross had seemed so lighthearted and relaxed.

  As Matthew spoke, Ross entered the parlor and went over to Sophia. Picking up her hand, which was resting on the curved back of the settee, he lifted it to his lips and whispered, "Shall I tell them why I'm smiling?"

  The wicked gleam in his eyes reminded Sophia of the passionate interlude they had shared the previous night, when he had sneaked into her room and joined her in bed. She frowned at him while her cheeks colored. Laughing at her discomfiture, Ross seated himself beside her on the settee. "And how do you describe my fiancee to your friends, Mother?" he asked Catherine, picking up the threads of the conversation.

  "I tell them that she is the most delightful young woman I have ever met. Not to mention lovely."

  Catherine glanced at Sophia's peach-colored gown with an approving eye. "Is that a new dress, dear? The color is most becoming."

  Sophia did not dare glance at Ross. The subject of her clothes had provoked a heated argument between them just a few days earlier. Because Ross had insisted on marrying her so quickly, there had been no time for Sophia to have new gowns made. And since he was a man, he had not given a single thought to her trousseau. The only clothes Sophia possessed were the dark dresses she had worn at Bow Street, all of them made with coarse fabric and no embellishments. She had cringed at the thought of being wed in one of those drab garments and then attending a ball in it. Therefore she had approached Ross with some trepidation and asked for the return of the lavender-silver gown.