Lady Sophia's Lover

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 wasyou , 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."

"They're already gone." Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder. "All this time I wanted revenge against someone who didn't exist. You are nothing like the man I expected you to be."

"Portly and old, with a wig and a pipe," he said, recalling what she had said the first day they met.

Sophia smiled wearily. "You have ruined my plan every step of the way by making it impossible for me not to care for you."

The statement seemed to bring Ross no pleasure. "What if it turns out that I did indeed send your brother to his death?" His eyes were dark and troubled. "When I became a member of the judiciary ten years ago, I had no practical experience. For a while I modeled my judgments after those of the magistrates who had gone before me. I thought it best to follow the procedures they had already initiated. It was only later that I heeded my own instincts and began to run the court as I wished. I have no doubt that I was too harsh on many of the defendants who came before me in those early days." His deep chest moved with a taut sigh. "Even so, I cannot fathom that I would have sent a mere pickpocket to a prison hulk."

Sophia was helplessly silent.

His fingertips traced gently over the slender wings of her eyebrows. "I have never allowed myself to wish that I could change the past. Such thoughts are futile, and the regrets would drive me insane. But this is the first time that my entire future has hung in the balance, depending on some mistake I may have made years ago." He raised himself on one elbow, a swath of dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at her.

"How can I ask you to forgive me for your brother's death? There is no way I could atone for it. But the thought of losing you is something I can't endure."

"I have already forgiven you," she whispered. "I know what kind of man you are. You punish yourself far more harshly than anyone else could. Besides, how could I withhold my forgiveness when you have offered yours so freely?"

He shook his head with a rueful smile. "Whatever your original intentions were, you've done nothing but take care of me."

"I was trying to make you fall in love with me," she said. "Then I was going to break your heart."

"I have no objection to the first half of the plan," he informed her dryly. "Though I wouldn't care much for the second half."

A wobbly smile curved her lips. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat. "Neither would I."

Ross kissed her gently, and it seemed the passion between them was underlaid with an understanding that the path to happiness would not be easy for them. It would require forgiveness, and compromise, and blind trust. Sophia tried to intensify the kiss, but he drew back and clasped her head in his hands.

"I'm not going to stay with you tonight," he murmured, his thumbs stroking her temples. "When we finally sleep together, I don't want there to be any regrets afterward."

"I won't regret anything," Sophia told him earnestly.

"Now I know that you won't blame me for what I tried to do to you. That was what I feared most. Please stay with me tonight."

He shook his head. "Not until I find out the truth about your brother's death. Once we are in possession of all the facts, we can decide what is to be done."

She turned her face against his hand and kissed the warm interior of his palm. "Make love to me. Make me forget every moment of my life before you."

"Oh, God." Ross released her with a savage groan and left the bed as if it were a torture rack. "I want you more than I can bear. Don't make this even more difficult." Sophia knew that she should help him in his resolve, but she couldn't seem to keep herself from saying recklessly, "Come lie with me. We won't sleep together, if that is what you want. Just hold me for a while."

He growled in frustration and headed to the door. "You know what would happen if we tried that. In about five minutes I would have you on your back with your heels in the air."

The crude image caused her stomach to tighten deliciously. "Ross--"

"Lock the door behind me," he muttered, opening the door and crossing the threshold without a backward glance.

After sleeping until late morning, Ross's brother decided to spend the day playing cards at the lakeside pavilion. However, before Matthew was able to exit through the French doors at the rear of the mansion, Ross snared him.

"Hello, Matthew," Ross said pleasantly, resting a hand on his brother's shoulder. As Matthew attempted to pull away, his grip tightened into an unbreakable clamp. "I see you've finally arisen. Why don't you join me in the study? I have a sudden desire for your company."

Matthew stared at him warily. "Perhaps later, brother. I must act as host to my friends. You would not want me to be rude, I'm certain."

Ross gave him a chilling smile. "They can make do without you for a while." His cold gaze swerved to the three young men who had accompanied Matthew. "Proceed with your plans, gentlemen. My brother will join you later." Hauling a protesting Matthew back inside, Ross ushered him down the hall to a private study.

"What the hell is going on?" Matthew demanded, trying without success to pry himself free of Ross's grip. "Dammit, let go--you're ruining my coat!"

"In here," Ross commanded, pushing him inside the study and closing the heavy oak door to afford them some privacy.

Clearly nettled, Matthew made a great show of smoothing his lapels and sleeves.

Ross glanced around the study, which had been left exactly as their father had arranged it. The cozy masculine room was small and lined with oak bookcases. A French drop-leaf table and a writing chair were positioned in front of a trio of windows. Remembering how often he had seen the elder Cannon writing correspondence or poring over account books at that desk, Ross scowled. He could not help feeling that he had failed his father by allowing Matthew to become the spoiled, selfish creature that he was.

Matthew frowned. "You're looking at me as if I'm some cutpurse you're about to dispatch to Newgate."

"Newgate would be a pleasure palace in comparison to the place I'd like to dispatch you to."

Hearing the grim fury in Ross's voice, Matthew heaved a great sigh. "All right, I apologize for last night--I suppose Miss Sydney has offered her version of the story, casting herself as the virtuous victim. And I will admit, I was somewhat the worse for drink. My friend Hatfield had opened a damn fine brandy, and it went to my head." Adopting an air of indifference, Matthew wandered to the well-worn globe in the corner and spun it idly.

"That isn't good enough, Matthew. Yes, I intend to discuss your behavior of last night, but first we will deal with another matter that has presented itself."

Matthew looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I had a meeting with Mr. Tanner this morning."

"Who is Tanner?"

Ross shook his head in annoyance. "Our estate agent. The man who has managed our land and properties for the past ten years."

"And you've already met with him this morning?

Good God, do you ever rest? The last thing I want to discuss is some trivial business matter--"

"It's not trivial," Ross interrupted curtly. "And it doesn't concern business. It appears that one of our tenants has approached Tanner with the complaint that his unmarried daughter is several months pregnant."

Matthew's expression became guarded. "What has that to do with me, if some peasant wench is carrying a bag pudding?"

"Her family claims that you are the father." Ross watched his brother's face closely, and his heart sank as he saw the look of guilt in Matthew's gray-green eyes. A curse escaped his lips. "The family's name is Rann. Did you seduce the girl or not?"

Matthew's face twisted into a surly grimace. "It was not seduction. It was mutual desire. She wanted me, I obliged her, and no one was the worse for it."

"No one was the worse?" Ross repeated incredulously. "Tanner says the girl is not yet sixteen, Matthew! You've taken her innocence and given her a fatherless babe--and betrayed Iona in the process."

Matthew looked unrepentant. "Everyone does it. I could name you a dozen men who have taken their pleasure outside the marriage bed. A bastard child is an unfortunate consequence--but that is the girl's concern, not mine."

Somewhere in the midst of his fury, Ross was shocked at his brother's callousness. It was not lost on him that Matthew had done exactly what Sophia's lover had done to her--used her, deceived and abandoned her. "My God," he said softly. "What am I to do with you? Have you no conscience? No sense of responsibility?"

"Conscience and responsibility are your preserves, brother." Matthew spun the globe again; it nearly teetered off its axis. "You've always been held up to me as an example of supreme morality. Sir Ross, the paragon of manhood. No one on earth could live up to the standards you set, and I'll be damned if I'll even try. Besides, I don't envy you your sterile, joyless life. Unlike you, I have some passion--I have a man's needs--and, by God, I'll indulge them until I'm in my grave!" "Why don't you indulge them in your wife?" Ross suggested acidly.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I was bored with Iona a month after we were married. A man can't be expected to be satisfied with one woman forever. As they say, variety is the very spice of life."

Ross was sorely tempted to blister his ears with a scalding lecture. However, the obstinate set of Matthew's jaw made it clear that he was going to remain stubbornly unrepentant. He would never willingly face the consequences of his actions.

"Exactly how much 'variety' have you enjoyed?" Seeing Matthew's blank look, Ross clarified his question impatiently. "How many women have you seduced besides the Rann girl?"

A vaguely smug expression settled on Matthew's face. "I can't be certain...nine or ten, I suppose."

"I want a list of their names."

"Why?"

"To discover whether or not you have fathered any other bastard children. And if so, you are going to provide for their support and education."

The younger man sighed grumpily. "I don't have any money to spare--unless you give me an advance on my allowance."

"Matthew"Ross said, his gaze menacing.

Matthew held up his hands mockingly. "All right, I yield. Scour the countryside for my illegitimate offspring. Take away what little money I have. Now, may I join my friends?"

"Not yet. There is something you should know. From now on, I will ensure that your indolent way of life is over. No more lounging at the club and drinking all day; no more gambling or chasing women. If you attempt to visit your usual haunts, you'll find that you are no longer welcome. And you will be refused credit wherever you go, for I will make it clear to shopkeepers and list-makers alike that I will no longer be responsible for your debts."

"You can't do that!" Matthew burst out.

"Oh, but I can," Ross assured him. "From now on, you are going to work for your allowance."

"Work?" The word seemed unfamiliar to Matthew. "Doingwhat ? I'm not qualified to work--I am a gentleman!"

"I will find something appropriate for you," Ross promised grimly. "I am going to teach you responsibility, Matthew, no matter what it takes."

"If Father were still alive, this would never happen!"

"If Father were still alive, this would have happened years ago," Ross muttered. "Unfortunately, much of the blame is mine. I've been too busy at Bow Street to pay attention to your activities. That is going to change, however." A string of curses issued from Matthew's lips as he moved to a cabinet and rummaged for a glass and a decanter. Pouring himself a brandy, he tossed it down as if it were medicine, then refilled the glass. The liquor appeared to brace him. Taking a few long breaths, he glared into Ross's implacable countenance. "Are you going to tell Iona?"

"No. But neither will I lie to her if she ever comes to me with questions about your fidelity."

"Good, then. My wife will never ask--she does not want to hear the answers."

"God help her," Ross muttered.

After taking another swallow of brandy, Matthew swirled the liquid in his glass and gave a moody sigh. "Is that all?"

"No," Ross said. "We have one more issue to address--your behavior toward Miss Sydney."

"I've already apologized for that. I can't do any more than that...unless you would like me to open a vein?"

"That won't be necessary. What I wish to emphasize is that you are to treat her with absolute respect from now on."

"There is only so much respect I am going to show a servant, brother."

"She isn't going to be a servant for much longer."

Matthew raised an eyebrow in mild interest. "You're going to dismiss her, then?"

Ross gave him a hard, purposeful stare. "I'm going to marry her. If she will have me."

Matthew stared back with total incomprehension. "Holy Mother of God," he said raspily, and stumbled to the nearest chair. He sat down heavily, the whites of his eyes on full display as he regarded Ross. "You're serious. But that is madness. You would be a laughingstock. A Cannon marrying a servant! For the sake of the family, find someone else. She is only a woman--there are a hundred others who could easily take her place."

It took all of Ross's will to keep from doing his brother bodily harm. Instead he braced his hands on the desk, closed his eyes for a moment, and battened down his temper. Then he turned and sent Matthew a gaze filled with black fire. "After all the years I've spent alone, you ask me to reject the one woman who makes me complete?"

Matthew seized on his words. "That is my point. After so many celibate years, you're half mad from deprivation. Any woman would seem desirable. Believe me, that creature is not worthy of your affection. She has no sophistication, no style, no family. Take her as a mistress, if you fancy her. But I advise you not to marry her, because I guarantee that you will soon tire of her, and then you'll be well and truly shackled."

Abruptly Ross's anger died. He felt nothing for his brother except pity. Matthew would never find true love or passion, only hollow imitations. He would spend the rest of his life feeling dissatisfied, never knowing how to fill the emptiness inside. And so he would turn to artificial pleasures, and try to convince himself that he was content.

"I will not attempt to persuade you of Sophia's worth," Ross said quietly. "However, if you say one word to her that could be construed as critical or condescending, I will castrate you. Slowly."