Lady Sophia's Lover

CHAPTER 12

Ross headed to Bow Street No. 3 immediately upon their arrival. Morgan had agreed to take up temporary residence at the public office during Ross's three-day absence, and the light at his desk was burning as evening settled over London. When Ross crossed the threshold, Morgan glanced up from his work and sighed in patent relief. "Thank God you're back."

"Has it been that bad?" Ross regarded him with a slight smile, standing with his hands thrust into his coat pockets. "Did anything out of the ordinary occur?"

"No, just the usual." Morgan rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, looking weary. "We served ten warrants, arrested a deserter, and investigated a murder at the thieves' kitchen on the east side of Covent Garden. And we looked into the matter of an escaping codfish from Lannigan's."

"A what?"

Despite Morgan's obvious weariness, a smile tugged at his wide mouth. "It seems that a young lad named Dickie Sloper took a fancy to a particular codfish at the shop. Dickie fastened a hook to the gills, attached the other end of the line to the button of his inexpressibles, and walked away. The fishmonger was understandably alarmed when he saw the cod jump off the table and slide out the door, seemingly of its own accord. When young Dickie was caught, he swore that he was innocent and the fish was willfully following him."

Ross snorted with laughter. "Will Lannigan press charges?"

"No. The fish was recovered in its entirety, and Lannigan was satisfied after Dickie spent the night in the Bow Street strong room."

Ross regarded Grant with an irrepressible smile. "Well, it appears that Bow Street can manage without me after all."

The assistant magistrate gave him a sardonic glance. "You wouldn't say that if you could see the work that has accumulated on your desk. The pile is as high as my chest. I've done my damnedest, but I couldn't keep up with it. And now that you're here, I'm going home. I'm tired, hungry, and I haven't bedded my wife in days. In other words, I've been living as you do, and I can't stand another bloody minute of it."

"Wait," Ross said, turning serious. "I have come to ask a personal favor of you."

Ross had never made such a request before. Morgan stared at him with a new alertness, settling back in his chair. "Of course," he said without hesitation.

Approaching the desk, Ross withdrew the diamond and-emerald necklace from his pocket and laid it gently on the scuffed mahogany surface. Even in the uncertain lamplight, the jewels glittered with unearthly brilliance.

Morgan's stunned gaze met his before returning to the necklace. His lips pursed in a quiet whistle. "Sweet Jesus. Where did that come from?"

"That is precisely what I want you to find out."

"Why not assign one of the runners? Sayer could easily handle such a task."

"Not as quickly as you," Ross replied. "And I want answers soon." Although Morgan had spent the better part of a year on the bench, he still had more experience and ability than any of the runners. No one knew his way around London as Grant Morgan did, and Ross trusted him to take care of the matter expediently.

"How did the necklace come into your possession?" Grant asked, and Ross explained the details. The assistant magistrate gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Miss Sydney is unharmed?"

"She is fine, other than being understandably anxious. I want this matter resolved immediately, to spare her needless worry."

"Of course." Picking up a penholder, Morgan tapped it repeatedly on the desk in a rapid staccato that belied his impassive facade. "Cannon," he said quietly, "I suppose you've considered the possibility that Miss Sydney may be involved with someone. These gifts could likely have come from a paramour."

Ross shook his head even before the other man had finished speaking. "No," he said firmly. "She has no paramour."

"How can you be certain?"

Annoyed by his friend's persistence, Ross scowled. "Because I am in a position to know."

"Ah." Grant seemed to relax, setting down the penholder and lacing his fingers together across his midriff. He pinned Ross with a glance of mingled speculation and amusement. "You've finally bedded her, then."

Ross wiped his face of all expression. "That has no relevance to the matter of the necklace."

"No," Morgan said easily, seeming to enjoy Ross's discomfort. "But it has been a long time for you, hasn't it?"

"I didn't say that I had bedded her," Ross said curtly. "I have the utmost respect for Miss Sydney. Moreover, it would be entirely inappropriate for me to take advantage of a woman who is in my employ."

"Yes, sir." Grant paused before asking with a straight face, "So...how was it?" He grinned as Ross sent him a warning look.

To Ross's disgruntlement, Morgan's comment about the pile on his desk was an understatement. Reports, files, correspondence, and assorted documents formed a precarious mountain. He sighed heavily as he entered his office. Not long ago he would have thought nothing of such a pile. Now it seemed ridiculous for one man to handle so much. A year earlier, he had accepted commissions to serve as the justice for Essex, Kent, Hertfordshire, and Surrey, in addition to the responsibilities he already had for Westminster and Middlesex. It had made him the most powerful magistrate in England, and he had taken satisfaction in the increasing reach of his authority. Until now. Now he wanted to ease back from the relentless flood of responsibility and have a private life. He wanted a wife, a home...even children someday.

He did not know any man who would willingly assume his post at Bow Street, not even Grant. Although Morgan was ambitious and dedicated, he would never allow his profession to take precedence over his marriage. Ross would simply have to obtain help in the administration of the Bow Street office, since it was too much for one man to handle. At the very least, he would have to fill his commission with three more justices, and hire a half-dozen additional runners. Moreover, it would be necessary to open two or three additional magisterial offices in Westminster. Picturing the receptionthat would get in Parliament, along with the accompanying requests for financial grants, Ross smiled darkly.

His smile faded as he rummaged through his desk for the key to the criminal records room. Locating it, he went down the hall and unlocked the door, then entered and set a lamp on a table. The room smelled of dust and vellum, tiny motes floating lazily through the lamplight. After a brief search, Ross found the drawer most likely to contain the file for John Sydney. Filled with equal parts of dread and resolution, he paged through sheaves of documents, but he could find nothing pertaining to the case of a pickpocket named Sydney.

Closing the drawer, Ross considered the row of cabinets thoughtfully. Apparently Sydney's case had been too insignificant to warrant an entire file. However, the boy must have been mentioned in the court records. A frown settled between Ross's brows as he turned toward another cabinet and opened it decisively.

A quiet voice interrupted his search. "I've already looked there."

He glanced at the doorway and saw Sophia's slender figure. She came forward, the light playing on her exquisite features. A melancholy smile curved her lips. "I have searched through every drawer and file in this room," she murmured. "There is no mention of John."

Guilt and concern assailed him, but Ross kept his face impassive while he considered the problem. "The court records dated before the past ten years have been moved to a storage room on the top floor. I will go find them now."

"Later," Sophia said gently. "You can ask Mr. Vickery to locate them tomorrow."

Understanding that she was no more eager than he to find the information, Ross approached her and hooked an arm around her waist. She yielded at once as he brought her hips against his. He lowered his mouth to her throat and searched with his tongue until he felt the throb of her pulse. "And in the meantime?" he asked, urging her into the rock-hard shape of his erection.

She circled her arms around his neck and rubbed her lips over his in the barest promise of a kiss. "In the meantime, I am going to keep you very busy."

"My room or yours?" he asked.

Sophia gave a breathless laugh as she remembered the last time he had asked her that question, right there in his office. "Which would you prefer?"

Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered, "My bed is bigger."

Brilliant sunlight streamed into the room, for they had forgotten to close the curtains the previous evening. Still half asleep, Sophia reflected that the sun must be very strong to cut through the haze of coal smoke that hovered over the city.

There was movement beside her, and she rolled onto her side, pushing up on one elbow. Ross stretched lazily as he awakened, tangled black lashes lifting to reveal drowsy gray eyes. He was so handsome with his hair disheveled and his face still sleep-flushed that Sophia nearly caught her breath.

Ross had been insatiable during the night. He had touched, kissed, and tasted every inch of her body, his hands gentle, his mouth insistent. The intimate memories filled her with wonder, and she felt her face turning pink. Moving experimentally, she discovered that the muscles on the inner sides of her thighs were sore, as well as her shoulders and the back of her neck.

Seeing her slight grimace, Ross sat up and leaned over her, a frown crossing his forehead. "Did I hurt you last night?"

She laid her hands on his forearms, stroking the hair-roughened surface of his skin. "It's nothing that a hot bath won't cure."

No one would have recognized the reserved, authoritative Bow Street magistrate if he had been seen gazing at her with such tenderness. "You are beautiful in the sunlight," he said huskily.

Sophia's smile was immediately extinguished as she awakened fully and saw how the daylight reflected incandescently off the snowy bed linens. A chill of anxiety settled over her. "We've slept late," she said in dawning horror. "I can't believe it. Both of us are always awake before everyone else, at the break of dawn, and now...My God, it's practically midday!"

She reared upward in panic, and he pressed her back down to the mattress. "Hold still," he murmured. "Take a deep breath."

"Everyone is awake," she said, staring at him with wide eyes. "It is well past breakfast time. Oh, Lord, I have never slept late before!"

"Neither have I."

"Well, what are we to do?"

"I suppose we could get out of bed and put our clothes on." He didn't sound particularly enthralled by the idea.

Sophia moaned in increasing misery. "The servants, clerks, constables, and runners--they all know that we are together in your room." Snatching at a corner of the sheet, she pulled it over her face, wishing she could hide forever. "They know what we've been doing. Oh, don't you dare laugh!"

Ross did his best to oblige her, but his eyes were bright with amusement. "Unfortunately, we have ruined the opportunity for discretion. The only thing left to do is go about our work as usual."

"I can't," Sophia said, her voice muffled. "The thought of facing everyone..."

The sheet was inexorably pulled away, although Ross had to forcibly uncurl her fingers from the handfuls of white linen. "You don't have to face anyone," he told her. "We'll just stay here all day."

She frowned up at him. "I wish you would be serious!"

A chuckle stirred in his throat. "Iam serious," he told her, and she wriggled impatiently beneath him.

"Ross, we must rise now!"

"I've already risen," he assured her, bringing her hand to the turgid length of his erection.

She gasped and jerked her fingers away. "If you think I'm going to dothat with you now, inbroad daylight , while everyone knows we're up here--"

He gave a suggestive laugh and spread her beneath him.

"Do be quiet!" Sophia whispered sharply, managing to flip over and crawl to the edge of the bed. "Someone will hear--oh!" She gasped as she felt the playful nip of his teeth on her right buttock.

Catching her by the waist, Ross dragged her backward and began to kiss the naked length of her spine, starting at the small of her back and working his way upward.

"I am sore," she protested, although a ripple of pleasure went through her body when he nibbled at a sensitive place beneath her shoulder blades.

Levering himself higher, he whispered at the nape of her neck, "I'll be gentle. Just once more, Sophia."

The feel of his mouth made her shiver weakly. "I...I hope this isn't usual for you. Three times last night, and again this morning...it won't be like this all the time, will it?"

"No." He pushed a pillow beneath her hips to angle them higher. "I've just been deprived for a while. Eventually I'll have my fill, and slow down to once a night."

"How long is 'eventually'?" she asked, and he laughed softly.

Her cheek pressed against the mattress and her eyes closed. "Ross," she moaned, flinching as he slid two fingers into her swollen sheath. He became even more gentle, his fingers barely moving while they remained deep inside her. His lips wandered from her neck to the side of her throat, his kisses as light as butterfly wings, his warm breath fanning on her skin in a way that made her shiver. The sensations gathered and intensified, until Sophia released a whimpering breath and tried to turn over.

"Don't move." His hot whisper collected in the shell of her ear.

"But I want you," Sophia said, writhing as his fingers eased further inside. It was torture to lie pinned there with his weight poised above her, feeling the teasing brush of his chest hair against her back. The tip of his tongue ventured into the hollow behind her earlobe, and she writhed and groaned, her inner muscles clenching hungrily around his knuckle. Her empty hands grasped for purchase, found the edge of the mattress, and clutched until her fingers turned white.

Suddenly she felt his legs push between hers. "Open your thighs," Ross murmured. "Wider...yes, sweet, sweet..."

His fingers withdrew and the head of his shaft eased forward. The hard length of him filled her completely, while his hands pulled her hips even higher, adjusting the fit with meticulous care. Once inside her, he barely thrust at all, just held himself deep and tight while his hand slipped beneath her body. Searching the moist curls between her thighs, he found the nub that throbbed so eagerly.

He moved in deep nudges that corresponded to the caress of his fingers, refusing to give her the long thrusts she craved. His restraint made her wild. Burying her face in the mattress, she smothered her involuntary cries as her hips churned upward. Heat curled in her abdomen and radiated outward in hectic ripples. Every part of her being was focused on the place where he joined her, the thick pulsing organ that pleasured her until her senses were spurred into an ecstatic explosion. The shuddering contractions wrapped around his sex, and Ross groaned loudly against her back, letting the climax flow over him, drain and deliver him. Breathing hard, he hung over her until his arms trembled. Collapsing onto his side, he kept her with him, still enclosed in the depths of her body. Bathed in sunshine, they lay amid the tangled sex-scented bedclothes.

A long time passed before Ross spoke. "I'm going to send for a bath. We both need one."

Sophia turned and buried her face against his hairy chest. "At this rate, we'll be here all day," she muttered ruefully.

"I can only hope so," he replied, tilting her face upward with his fingers to steal another kiss.

To Sophia's surprise, the employees at Bow Street strove to pretend that nothing unusual had happened. No one was quite able to meet her eyes, and it was clear that they were all bursting with curiosity. However, their collective respect for Ross--not to mention the fear of risking his wrath--kept them from uttering even one word about the fact that Sophia had obviously shared his bed.

? Mr. Vickery was given the task of finding any mention of John Sydney in the court records dating beyond ten years earlier, although Ross did not explain any particulars of the request to him. The process was a laborious one, requiring the clerk to scrutinize page after page of faded notes, and he would probably need several days to peruse all the necessary records. "Sir Ross," Vickery remarked with a great deal of interest, "one can't help but notice the last name of the defendant. May I know if he was related in some manner to Miss Sydney?"

"I would rather not say," Ross replied quietly. "And I would ask that you keep his name private, and do not mention the records search to anyone else at Bow Street."

"Not even to Sir Grant?" Vickery's surprise was evident.

"No one," Ross emphasized, giving the clerk a meaningful stare.

While Vickery conducted his search, Sophia helped Ross with a deluge of work. In addition to his usual responsibilities, he was engaged in planning a series of raids at the outskirts of London to clear out hives of vagrants. Furthermore, he was unexpectedly called upon to act as arbitrator in an impassioned demonstration for higher wages staged by a majority of London tailors.

Amused and sympathetic, Sophia listened to Ross's grumbling as he prepared to leave the office. "Will it take long to resolve the dispute?" she asked.

"It had better not," he said darkly. "I'm in no mood to tolerate hours of squabbling."

She smiled into his scowling face. "You will be successful. I have no doubt that you could persuade anyone to agree to anything."

His expression softened as he drew her against his tall form and bent to kiss her. "You're proof of that, aren't you?" he murmured.

Just as Ross began to take his leave, however, Mr.

Vickery knocked at the door. Sophia went to open it, and her stomach did a peculiar flip when she saw the triumphant glow on the clerk's face. He held a yellowing records file in his hands. "Sir Ross," he said with visible satisfaction, "by a stroke of luck, I have found the information you requested. It could have taken weeks, but somehow I happened upon the right box before I was even a quarter of the way through the records. Now, perhaps you might tell me why--"

"Thank you," Ross said evenly, stepping forward to accept the file. "That will be all, Vickery. You have done well."

The clerk's face was etched with disappointment as he realized that no further information would be forthcoming. "Yes, Sir Ross. I suppose you will read it after you return from the tailors' dispute--"

"The tailors can wait," Ross said firmly. "Close the door when you leave, Mr. Vickery."

Obviously perplexed at why an ancient court record would take precedence over the tailors' demonstration, the clerk complied slowly.

The quiet click of the door caused Sophia to flinch. She stared in morbid fascination at the file in Ross's hands, the blood draining from her face. "You don't have to read it now," she said scratchily. "You should attend to your responsibilities."

. "Sit down," Ross murmured, coming forward to rest his hand on her shoulder. Obeying the gentle pressure, she sank into the nearest chair and gripped the arms tightly. Her gaze locked on his impassive face as he went to his desk and spread the tattered file across the scarred mahogany surface. Still standing, Ross braced his hands on either side of the court records and leaned over them.

The silence in the office was smothering as his gaze scanned the pages. Sophia fought to keep her breathing steady, and wondered why she should be so nervous. After all, she was fairly certain what the records would reveal, and as she had said to Ross, it no longer mattered. She had forgiven him, and had found a measure of peace in the process. However, her body felt like a watch that had been wound too tightly, and she dug her nails into the chair arms when she saw the frown that pulled at Ross's forehead.

Just as Sophia thought she would go mad from the tension, Ross spoke with his gaze remaining on the court records. "I remember it now. I was the sitting magistrate that day. After hearing the case, I sentenced John Sydney to ten months on a prison hulk. Considering his crime, it was by far the lightest punishment I could deliver. Anything less would have aroused such public outrage that I would have been forced to step down from the bench."

"Ten months on a prison hulk because of picking someone's pocket?" Sophia asked incredulously. "Surely the punishment far outweighed the crime!"

Ross did not look at her. "Your brother was not a pickpocket, Sophia. Nor had he fallen in with a group of petty thieves. He was a highwayman."

"A highwayman?" She shook her head in bewilderment. "No. That isn't possible. My cousin told me..."

"Either your cousin was not aware of the truth, or she thought it was kinder to keep it from you."

"But John was only fourteen!"

"He had joined a gang of highwaymen and embarked on a string of increasingly violent robberies, until all four were brought before me and accused of murder. For some reason Sydney never mentioned his title--he identified himself as a commoner." Sophia stared at him blankly.

Ross met her gaze then, his face impassive as he continued in a monotone. "They stopped a private carriage containing two women, a small child, and an elderly man. Not only did they rob the ladies of their watches and jewelry, but one of the highwaymen--Hawkins--took a silver sucking-bottle from the child. According to the women's testimony, the child began to wail so piteously that his grandfather demanded the return of the silver bottle. A scuffle ensued, and Hawkins struck the old man with the butt of his pistol. The grandfather fell to the ground, and whether he died of the injury or his excitation is not clear. By the time the gang was captured and brought before me, public sentiment was greatly aroused against them. I bound the older three over for trial, and they were condemned and executed in short order. However, in light of John Sydney's youth and the fact that he had not personally attacked the old man, I managed to give him a lesser sentence. I had him sent to the prison hulk--which earned a great deal of public fury and criticism, as most were calling for his death."

"None of that sounds like my brother," Sophia whispered. "I don't think John would have been capable of such crimes."

Ross replied with great care. "A young man would not be able to survive in the London underworld unscathed. I suspect your brother was hardened from his experiences in the rookeries and flash houses. Anyone would be corrupted by such a life."

Sophia felt nauseated by the revelations, not to mention painfully ashamed. "All this time I've blamed you for injustice," she managed to say, "when you actually did the most you could to help him."

Ross contemplated the fragile parchment before him, his long fingers brushing over the faded script. "I remember there seemed to be something in him worth saving," he said absently. "It was apparent that he had become involved in something beyond his ability to control." Ross's gray eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at the court documents. "Something about this case troubles me," he murmured, "I have overlooked something...I sense there is some connection that has yet to be made, but I'm damned if I can figure it out."

Sophia shook her head slowly. "I'm so sorry."

His lashes lifted, and his gaze turned warm. "For what?"

"For intruding in your life...for seeking vengeance when none was deserved...for putting you in an impossible position." She stood up with a great effort, her head pounding, her throat blocked, so that she could hardly breathe.

Ross came from behind his desk and tried to put his arms around her, but she gently repelled the attempt. "The best thing I could do for you," she said, "is to disappear."

His long fingers clamped around her upper arms, and he moved her in a soft shake. "Sophia, look at me," he demanded urgently. A sharp note, like anger or fear, entered his voice. "Look at me, dammit! If you disappeared, I would find you. No matter how fast or how far you went. So put that thought out of your head."

Staring dazedly into his piercing gray eyes, she nodded while her mind buzzed with miserable speculation. "Now promise me," he went on tersely, "that while I'm gone today, you will not do anything foolish. Stay here, and when I return we will sort things out. All right?" When she didn't respond, he lifted her until her toes barely touched the floor. "All right?" he repeated in a meaningful tone.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'll wait for you."