Lady Sophia's Lover

CHAPTER 13

With Ross gone for the day, there was little Sophia could do in the office, so she decided to take inventory of the kitchen larders. The new information about her brother and his tainted past was unexpected and sickening; she could hardly think straight. She went about her tasks mechanically, feeling defeated and weary, until finally something jolted her from the numbness.

A foul smell emanated from the slate shelf of the wet larder, and Sophia gasped in disgust as she searched for the source of the odor. "My God, what is that?" she asked. Eliza hobbled to the door of the larder to watch her.

It did not take long for Sophia to discover that the putrid smell belonged to a salmon that was long past its prime. "We could soak it in vinegar and limewater," Eliza suggested hesitantly. "That will take away most of the smell--if it's not too far gone, that is."

Sophia gagged as she threw a cloth over the slimy mess and lifted it from the shelf. "Eliza,nothing could salvage this fish. 'Far gone' is a distant memory...it is foul from head to tail."

"Here, I'll wrap it," the cook-maid muttered, fetching a day-old newspaper. Expertly she bound the salmon until its odor was safely smothered.

Sophia watched her with annoyance. "Lucie bought the fish at Lannigan's only this morning, didn't she?"

Eliza nodded. "He told her it was fresh."

"Fresh!" Sophia exclaimed with a cynical snort.

"I'll have her take it back, then." Eliza frowned. "Except that I sent her out to fetch nasturtium seeds for pickling."

"I will take it back myself," Sophia said decisively, knowing that Eliza's knee was not sufficiently healed to allow for a walk to the fishmonger's shop. She welcomed the opportunity to exercise her legs and perhaps clear her mind. "I have a few things to say to Mr. Lannigan. How dare he send such a poor excuse of a salmon to Sir Ross's household!"

"Miss Sydney, I think you will have to wait. Ernest can't go with you, as he has gone about some errands for Sir Grant."

"I will go alone, then. It isn't far, and I will return before anyone knows I've been away."

"But Sir Ross has said many times that you are always to take a companion when you go out. If anything happens to you..." Eliza nearly shuddered.

"Nothing will happen to me. It's not as if I am venturing into a rookery. I am merely visiting the fishmonger."

"But Sir Ross--"

"You let me handle Sir Ross," Sophia murmured as she went to fetch her bonnet.

Faced with Sophia's righteous indignation, and her reminders of all that Sir Ross had done for him in the past, Mr. Lannigan was full of apologies." 'Twas a mistake," he mumbled in his thick Cockney accent, his gaze chasing all around the shop to avoid hers. Embarrassment mottled his meaty face. "Why, I newer would send a salmon what's gown awe to Bow Street! To try an' chisel Sir Ross...why, I'd be off me nob to do such a thing, wouldn' I?" His expression lightened as a possible explanation occurred to him."'Twas that feather 'eaded Lucie...she took thewrong fish , she did!"

"Well, then," Sophia replied crisply, "I would like to exchange it for the correct fish, please."

"Yes, miss." Taking the paper-wrapped package from her, he sped with alacrity to the back of the shop, muttering to himself. "Only the best for Sir Ross, that's whot I allus say..."

While she waited for the new salmon to be wrapped, Sophia became aware of a minor commotion outside the shop. Curious, she went to the small, thick-paned window and watched as an excited crowd gathered around the entrance of the building across the street.

"I wonder what they are looking at."

Lannigan answered with a note of something that sounded oddly like pride. "Gentry's on the 'unt again."

"Nick Gentry?" Sophia glanced over her shoulder at the fishmonger, her brows lifting in surprise. "He is trying to capture someone, you say?"

Lannigan smoothed out a rectangle of brown paper and laid the fish reverently at one end. "Like a fox, Gentry is--the cleverest an' mos' fleet-footed thief-taker since Morgan, an' that's the truf." Expertly he tucked the fish neatly into its paper casing.

Returning her attention to the scene outside the window, Sophia surmised that the crowd was waiting for the infamous Gentry to exit the building. "Mr. Gentry may be a thief-taker," she said pertly, "but he is also a criminal. I would not insult Sir Grant by making such a comparison, as he is the most honorable of men."

"Yes, miss." Lannigan knotted a string around the parcel with a flourish. "But Gentry's a rum cove, jus' the same."

Sophia was puzzled by the public's intense admiration of the man. How could his magnetism and reputed charm blind the masses to his corruption?

Coming over to the window, Lannigan handed her the wrapped fish. "Miss Sydney, did ye 'ave a look at Gentry when 'e was taken to Bow Street?"

"No, actually." Sophia frowned pensively, remembering Ross's fury when she had burst into the strong room, where she'd seen only the back of the notorious crime lord. "Although I was there at the time, I never saw him." " 'Is carriage is stopped jus' around the corner," Lannigan informed her slyly. "If ye wait there, ye can set yer blinkers on 'im."

Sophia forced herself to laugh lightly. "Oh, I have better things to do than wait for a glimpse of a scoundrel like Nick Gentry."

But after she left the shop, she hesitated and glanced down the alley, her gaze falling on a black-lacquered carriage heavily ornamented in gold. The coach-and-six was exactly the sort of extravagant but tasteless equipage that would be purchased with ill-gotten gains. A driver waited on the box, his face bored and weary beneath a high-crowned hat, while an armed footman stood beside the door.

Sophia was not certain why her curiosity about Gentry was so strong. Perhaps it was the fact that Ross hated the man so profoundly. Gentry was the opposite of everything Ross believed in. Although the man professed to be a professional thief-taker, and therefore on the side of the law, he was in actuality a black-hearted criminal. Blackmail, informing, organizing crime, framing, and outright thievery--these were all evils that had been committed by Nick Gentry. He was an outrage to morality. Yet most people considered him heroic, and those who did not were afraid to cross him.

As Sophia reflected on all the transgressions ascribed to Gentry, she saw that the crowd across the street had parted to allow a single tall figure to pass through. He had an arrogant way of walking, a jaunty confidence that showed in the set of his shoulders and in his loose, easy stride. As he strolled past onlookers, hands reached out to pat him on the shoulders and back, and hearty cheers sounded in his wake.

" 'Ere's a right cove, our Gentry!"

"Hurrah for Black Dog!"

Black Dog? Sophia wrinkled her nose in distaste at the nickname. Flattening herself against the side of the building, she watched as the people followed Gentry on his way to the carriage. As the thief-taker approached, Sophia was surprised to see that he was young and handsome, with a long, straight nose and elegant, clean-edged features and vivid blue eyes. Similar to the Bow Street runners, he possessed a distinctive physical confidence. It was clear that he was filled with what was politely referred to as "animal spirits." His hair was a rich dark brown, and his skin was very tan, making his teeth look startlingly white as he grinned. For all his apparent good humor, however, there was a strange coldness about him...an obvious potential for savagery that made Sophia shiver despite the warmth of the day.

The armed footman opened the carriage door, and Gentry moved toward it with a ready stride. But for some reason he paused before stepping inside, his hand braced lightly on the black lacquer. He went very still, as if he were listening to a sound that no one else could hear. His shoulders stiffened, and he turned slowly, his gaze falling right on Sophia. Startled, she stared back at him, trapped by the intensity of his expression.

The crowd, the street, the sky--all seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them. Abruptly Sophia recognized him as the mysterious stranger at Silverhill Park, the one who had given her the diamond necklace. But how could that be? What could a man like Nick Gentry want with her? The wrapped fish dropped from her nerveless hands, and she breathed jerkily.

Frozen, she stared as he walked toward her, his face pale beneath its tan. He stopped before her, began to reach for her, then hesitated, while his gaze remained locked with hers. Then he appeared to make a decision. He caught her wrist in his large hand, his fingers wrapping over her hammering pulse.

"Come with me," he said, his soft voice undercutting the noise of the crowd. "I won't hurt you."

Stunned that he had dared to touch her, Sophia resisted the gentle urging, the blood draining from her face. She tugged at her imprisoned wrist. "Let go," she said tightly. "If anything happens to me, Sir Ross will kill you."

He drew closer, his lips at her ear. "Would you like to know what happened to John Sydney?"

She jerked backward, nearly knocking her head against the wall. "What do you know about my brother?"

A corner of his mouth lifted in the hint of a mocking smile. "Come."

The sight of Nick Gentry plucking a pretty woman from the onlookers entertained them tremendously. Laughing and clapping, they surged around the carriage as Gentry pulled Sophia inside. Frightened yet intensely curious, she half sat, half fell against the leather-upholstered cushions. The door was closed, and the vehicle lurched as the team of six moved forward. The carriage rounded the street corner and gained momentum, accelerating to a reckless hurdle through the streets.

"Where are we going?" Sophia asked tensely. "And why did you mention my brother's name? And why did you give me the gown and the necklace, and--"

Gentry held up his hands in a gesture of mock self-defense. "Wait. I'll explain. Just...wait."

He reached for a polished wood compartment beside the door and withdrew a glass and a small decanter of amber liquid. Either the jouncing of the carriage made it difficult for him to pour, or his hands were strangely unsteady, for he seemed unable to accomplish the task. Giving up with a curse, he lifted the spirits to his mouth and drank straight from the decanter.

Carefully he replaced the articles in the compartment and settled his large hands on his knees. "We're going to my home on West Street. Near Fleet Ditch."

Sophia could not prevent a quiver of distaste. The location was one of the most foul and dangerous in London, home to robbers and fugitives, conveniently located near the prisons of Newgate, Ludgate, and the Fleet. The huge sewer named Fleet Ditch spread its stench extravagantly through the twisted lanes and alleys that surrounded it.

"You'll be safe with me," Gentry said shortly. "All I want is to talk with you in privacy."

"Why me?" she demanded. "What have I done to attract your attention? We've never met, and I am certain that we have no acquaintances in common."

"You'll understand after I explain a few things."

Huddling in the corner of the seat, Sophia sent him a cold glare. "Explain, then. And afterward you will return me safely to Bow Street."

Gentry's white teeth gleamed as he appeared both amused and admiring of her fearlessness. "Agreed," he said quietly. "Very well. What I wish to talk about are the last days of John Sydney." "You knew my brother?" Sophia asked warily.

He nodded. "I was on the prison hulk where he died."

"Why should I believe that?"

"What reason would I have to lie about it?" Something in his eyes compelled her to accept his claim. The words plucked painfully at the inner wound that John's death had left. No one had ever told her what her beloved younger brother had suffered on the prison hulk, or how he had died. She had always longed to know, but now that the information seemed to be forthcoming, she was filled with dread.

"Go on," she said hoarsely.

Gentry spoke slowly, allowing her time to digest the information. "We were on theScarborough , anchored on the Thames. Six hundred convicts were housed below the decks, some in iron cells, some shackled to iron shafts embedded in oak planks. Most of us were fitted with a ball and chain around one leg. Thieves, murderers, pickpockets--no matter how great or small the crime, we were all subjected to the same treatment. The younger boys, such as John and myself, got the worst of it."

"In what way?" Sophia brought herself to ask.

"We were chained beside men who had been deprived of..." He paused, apparently searching for a proper word that she would understand. "Men who hadn't 'known' a woman in a long time. Do you understand what I mean?"

She nodded cautiously.

"When a man is brought to that state, he is willing to do things that he would not ordinarily do. Such as attack more vulnerable creatures than he...and subject them to..." He paused, his mouth twisting. His gaze became very distant, as if he were looking through a window at some unpleasant sight. He seemed removed from the memories, detached and somewhat contemplative. "Unspeakable things," he murmured.

Sophia was silent with anguished horror, while one part of her mind summoned the question...why would Nick Gentry confess something so private and agonizing to a woman he didn't know?

He continued, his voice low and matter-of-fact.

"The prisoners were starved, filthy, choking on the foul air, riddled with prison fever. They kept us all together--the living, the dying, the dead. Every morning the bodies of those who hadn't survived the night were taken to the top deck, carried ashore, and buried."

"Tell me about my brother," Sophia said, fighting to keep her voice from trembling.

Gentry's gaze met hers, and she was struck by how vibrant and hopelessly blue his eyes were. "John became friends with a boy who was nearly his own age. They tried to protect each other, helped each other when possible, and talked of the day when they would be released. Although it was selfish, John dreaded the day that the boy would be released. That day was not long in coming. And when his friend was set free, John knew he would be alone again." Pausing, he raked a hand through his thick brown hair, disheveling the gleaming locks. It seemed increasingly difficult for him to speak. "As fate would have it, a fortnight before John's friend was to be released, there was an outbreak of cholera on the ship. John's friend took ill, and despite his efforts to care for him, the boy died. Which left John in a rather interesting position. He reasoned that since his friend was already dead, there was no harm in taking his place."

Sophia was utterly bewildered. "What?" she asked faintly.

He did not look at her. "If John assumed the boy's identity, he would gain release in a matter of days, rather than staying another year on the prison hulk. And there was no doubt that John would not have lasted that long. So in the night, he switched clothes with the boy's corpse, and when morning came, he volunteered the body as belonging to John Sydney."

The carriage rolled to a halt, and the putrid stench of Fleet Ditch began to seep inside. Sophia's heart beat with terrible force, seeming to drive the air from her lungs. "But that doesn't make sense," she said woodenly. "If your story is true, then--" She broke off suddenly, aware of an high-pitched buzzing in her ears.

As Gentry stared at her, the coldness seemed to leave his face, and his chin shook as if he were struggling to master overpowering emotions. He set his jaw and forced out more quiet words. "The name of the dead boy was Nick Gentry."

Suddenly Sophia burst into violent tears. "No," she sobbed. "It's not true. Why are you doing this to me? Take me back to Bow Street!"

Through the hot, watery blur, she saw his face draw closer. "Don't you know me, Sophia?" came his anguished whisper. He shocked her by sinking to the floor and clutching handfuls of her skirts, his dark head buried against her knees.

She was dumbstruck as she stared at the hands tangled in her skirts. A harsh sob lodged in her throat as she touched the back of his left hand. There was a small, star-shaped scar in the center. It was the same scar that John had gotten in childhood, when he had carelessly brushed it against a fireplace iron still hot from the coals. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks, and she covered the mark with her own hand.

His head lifted, and he stared at her with eyes that she now recognized were exactly like her own. "Please," he whispered.

"It's all right," she said unsteadily. "I believe you, John. I do know you. I should have seen it at once, but you are much changed."

He responded with a sorrowful growl, struggling to contain his feelings.

Sophia felt her own face contort with a confounding mixture of joy and wretchedness. "Why didn't you come to me years ago? I've been alone for so long. Why have you stayed away and let me grieve for you?"

He scrubbed the sleeve of his coat over his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "We'll talk inside."

The footman opened the carriage door, and Gentry--John--swung down easily and reached for Sophia. She put her hands on his shoulders, felt him grasp her waist, and he lowered her with great care to the ground. However, her knees quivered like jelly, and she was surprised when her legs began to collapse.

Gentry caught her at once, his hands hooking beneath her arms. "Steady. I've got you. I'm sorry--you've had a shock."

"I'm all right," she said, feebly trying to push him away.

Maintaining a supportive arm behind her back, Gentry guided her toward the house. It was a converted building that had once been a tavern. Sophia could not help gaping at her surroundings, which looked like something out of a nightmare. This was an area of London that even the bravest runners would have avoided at all cost. The people who skulked through tortuously twisted streets hardly seemed like humans. They were gray-faced and filthy, almost ghostlike in their tattered clothes.

Vermin scuttled over piles of refuse in the street, while the aromas of cesspools and drains combined with the fumes from a nearby slaughterhouse into a smell so rank that it actually caused her eyes to water. There was noise and tumult everywhere; cries of beggars and urchins, sounds of pigs and chickens, drunken brawls, even the occasional crack of a pistol.

Glancing at her face, Gentry smiled faintly at her reaction to the place. "It's not exactly Mayfair, is it? Don't worry, you'll get used to the smell in no time. I hardly notice it now."

"Why do you choose to live here?" she asked, nearly gagging on the foul air. "People say you have money. You must be able to afford something better than this."

"Oh, I have high-kick offices in town," he assured her, "where I meet with wealthy clients or politicians and such. But this area is where all the flash houses and prisons are, and I need easy access to them." Seeing her confusion at the Cockney slang, he explained further as he guided her up a flight of rickety stairs. "Flashes are successful thieves. They live in flash houses, where they are somewhat safe from the law and are free to gamble, drink, and make plans."

"And you are the most successful flash of all?" Sophia asked, accompanying him through an astonishing maze of secret corridors, staircases, and dark recesses.

"Some would say so," he replied with no trace of shame. "But most of the time I am a thief-taker--and a damned good one, too."

"You were not meant to live like this," she murmured, appalled at what had become of her brother.

"And you were meant to be a servant?" he pointed out sardonically. "Don't sit in judgment, Sophia. We've both done what was necessary to survive."

They approached a heavy door at the end of a cramped passageway, and Gentry reached to open it for her.

As Sophia stepped inside, she was stunned to find an elegantly decorated set of rooms. Papered walls were covered with gold-framed Baroque looking glasses and fine paintings. The French furnishings were heavily gilded and upholstered in brocade, and the windows were swathed in blue-gray velvet.

Stunned to find such elaborate rooms in a ramshackle building, Sophia glanced at her brother with wide eyes. He smiled casually. "Just because I have to stay on West Street doesn't mean I have to live badly."

Feeling weak after receiving what was surely the greatest shock of her life, Sophia made her way to an overstuffed chair. Gentry went to a sideboard, poured two drinks, and brought one to her. "Have some of this," he said, pressing a glass into her hand.

She obeyed, grateful for the smooth burn of the brandy as it slid down her throat. Her brother sat beside her, tossing down his drink as if it were water. His gaze fastened on her, and he shook his head with apparent wonder. "I can't believe you are really here. For years I've thought about you, never knowing what had become of you."

"You could have let me know that you were still alive," she said crisply.

His face was suddenly expressionless. "Yes, I could have."

"Why didn't you?"

He stared at a stray drop of brandy in his empty glass, rolling the vessel gently in his long fingers. "The main reason was that you were better off not knowing. My life is dangerous, not to mention unsavory, and I didn't want you to bear the shame of having a brother like me. I was certain that you would have married a long time ago, to some decent man in the village. I thought you would have had children by now." His voice became edged with baleful ire. "And instead you're aspinster !" He made the word sound like a curse. "For God's sake, Sophia, why are you a damned servant? AtBow Street , of all places!"

"Who would have wanted to marry me, John?" she asked ironically. "I had no dowry, no family, nothing to recommend me except an attractive face, which I can assure you held no great value for the farmers and workmen in the village. The only offer of marriage I ever received was from the local baker, a fat old man who was nearly twice my age. Working for Cousin Ernestine was far more appealing. And as for Bow Street...I like it there."

She was tempted to tell her brother about her shortlived affair with Anthony, how she had been ill-used and betrayed. However, in light of his wicked reputation, she decided to keep that matter private. For all she knew, he would arrange to have Anthony killed or tortured in some way.

Gentry made a scornful noise at the mention of Bow Street. "It's no place for you," he scoffed. "Those runners are no better than the thugs who work for me. And if that coldhearted bastard Cannon has mistreated you, I'll--"

"No," Sophia cut in hastily. "No one has mistreated me, John. And Sir Ross is very kind."

"Oh, of course he is," Gentry said with purest sarcasm.

The reminder that her lover and her brother were sworn enemies caused a stab of pain in her chest. This was going to change everything, she thought with sick trepidation. Ross had overlooked so much about her. But the fact that her brother was Nick Gentry, the man Ross despised most...well, that could not be dismissed. The situation was so dreadful and strange that she felt a wobbly smile touch her lips.

"What are you thinking?" Gentry asked.

She shook her head, the smile vanishing. There was no need for him to know about her romantic relationship with the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street. Not when that relationship was very possibly finished. Managing to shove the despairing thoughts to the back of her mind, she studied her brother intently.

The promise of handsomeness that she had seen in his boyhood had been more than fulfilled. At twenty-five, he possessed a sleek, hard-boned grace that reminded her of a tiger. His features were dramatic, precisely angled, the chin sharply defined, the nose jutting in a straight, strong line. The thick arcs of his eyebrows surmounted a remarkable pair of eyes. They were of a shade of blue so dark that the black pupils nearly vanished into the intense irises. However, the extravagant masculine beauty of his face did not conceal a ruthlessness that troubled her deeply. Gentry seemed capable of almost anything, as if he could lie, steal, or even kill without a flicker of remorse. There was no softness in him, and Sophia guessed that any sense of mercy or compassion had been driven from him long ago. But he was still her brother.

Wonderingly, she lifted her hand to the side of his face. He remained still beneath her cradling fingers. "John, I never allowed myself to hope that you were still alive."

Gently he took her hand from his face, as if he found it difficult to tolerate another person's touch. "I was shocked when I saw you in the Bow Street strong room," he muttered. "I knew who you were at once, even before I heard your name." His jaw flexed tightly.

"When that bastard Cannon shouted at you, it was all I could do to keep from ripping his throat out--"

"No," she interrupted swiftly. "He was concerned for me. He was trying to protect me."

The ferocious glitter remained in his eyes. "You were born a lady, Sophia. No one has the right to treat you like a servant."

A weary, rueful smile pulled at her lips. "Yes, I was born a lady...and you were born to be a gentleman. But no one would mistake us for members of first society now, would they?" When he refused to respond to the comment, she continued. "I have heard terrible things about you. Or rather, about Nick Gentry."

"Call me Nick," he said flatly. "John Sydney no longer exists. I remember very little of my life before I was sent to the prison hulk. I don'twant to remember." A cold grin flashed across his face. "I'm not guilty of half the things I'm accused of. But I encourage the rumors, and I never deny even the worst of them. It suits me to have an evil reputation. I want people to regard me with fear and respect. Good for business."

"Are you saying that you haven't stolen from people, and framed and betrayed and blackmailed--"

Gentry interrupted her with a sound that expressed pure annoyance. "I'm not a saint."

Despite Sophia's distress, she almost wanted to laugh at the understatement.

His eyes narrowed. "I only take advantage of people who are so dull-witted that theydeserve to be badly used. Besides, I never get credit for the good I've done."

"Such as?"

"I'm a damned good thief-taker. My men and I have captured almost twice as many criminals as Sir Ross and his runners."

"People say that you sometimes manufacture evidence. That you use evil methods to force confessions that may not be true."

"I do what needs to be done," he said flatly. "And if the criminals I arrest are not guilty of one particular crime, they are usually guilty of at least a dozen others."

"But why don't you--"

"Enough," he said shortly, standing and striding back to the sideboard. "I don't want to talk about my work."

Sophia watched as he poured another brandy and drank it in a few careless gulps. She could hardly believe that this truculent stranger was her brother. "Nick," she said, testing his name on her tongue. "Why did you give me those presents? It nearly drove me mad, wondering who had sent them. And I was terrified that Sir Ross would think I was carrying on with a secret lover."

"Sorry," he muttered, flashing her a contrite smile. "I wanted to be a--a benefactor. To give you the things you deserve. I never meant for us to meet. But the need to see you became so strong that I couldn't bear it any longer."

"And that is why you approached me at Silverhill Park?"

He gave her the smile of a naughty schoolboy. "I liked the idea of doing it under Cannon's nose. And I knew I could slip in and out of a large crowd without being caught. The masquerade made it almost too easy."

"Was that necklace stolen?"

"Of course not," he said indignantly. "I bought it for you."

"But what am I to do with such a necklace? I could never wear it!"

"You will wear it," he said. "I have a fortune, Sophia. I'm going to buy you a house somewhere...France or Italy...where you can live like a lady. I'll give you an account so that you'll never have to worry about money again."

Her mouth hung open as she stared at him. "John...Nick ...I don't want to live abroad! Everything that holds value for me is here."

"Oh?" His voice became dangerously soft. "What would keep you here?"