Lady Sophia's Lover

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 was 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.

"As you no longer require it for an investigation," she had told him in his office, "I would like to have it back, please."

Ross had received the request with disgruntled surprise. "What do you need it for?"

"It is the only suitable gown I have to get married in," she said calmly.

A scowl settled on his face. "You arenot going to wear that at our wedding."

"It is a perfectly lovely gown," she persisted. "There is no reason why I can't wear it."

"Yes, there is," he countered in outrage. "It came from Nick Gentry."

Sophia returned his scowl. "No one will know that."

"I'llknow it. And I'll be damned if I will allow you to wear it."

"Fine, then. What will you have me wear?"

"Choose a dressmaker--I will take you anywhere you wish this afternoon."

"No dressmaker will be able to make a suitable gown in three days. In fact, there is barely enough time to alter the lavender one. And I will not marry you in front of all your friends and family looking like a beggar!"

"You can borrow a gown from my mother. Or Iona."

"Your mother is nearly six feet tall and as thin as a rail," Sophia pointed out. "AndI'll be damned if I will wear a gown of Iona's and then endure snide comments from your brother about it. Now, where have you put the lavender gown?"

Glowering, Ross leaned back in his chair and propped the heel of his boot against the side of the desk. "It's in the evidence room," he muttered.

"My gown, in the evidence room?" she exclaimed indignantly. "No doubt it has been shoved onto some filthy shelf!"

As she hurried out of the office, his curses could be heard down the hallway.

Rather than allow Sophia to wear the lavender silk, Ross had actually sent three runners out to investigate various dressmakers. Somehow they managed to find one who was willing to sell a gown that was part of another order. It would cost a fortune, the dressmaker warned, as she would probably lose one of her most valued clients as a result. Ross paid the hefty sum without a word of protest.

To Sophia's private relief, the dressmaker presented her with an exquisite pale blue gown with a flattering square-cut bodice and a fashionably low waistband. The full skirts were adorned with glittering beadwork flowers, as were the full, elbow-length sleeves. It was a magnificent creation that fitted her almost perfectly and required very few adjustments. In a display of generosity, the dressmaker had also allowed Ross to purchase two other gowns from her other client's order, so that Sophia would have day dresses to wear at Silverhill Park.

On their wedding day, Sophia wore her hair pinned in curls atop her head, with silver ribbons woven throughout. A necklace of pearls and diamonds was clasped around her neck, a gift that Ross had sent to her that very morning. She felt like a princess in the shimmering gown, the clicking weight of pearls around her neck, the heeled satin shoes on her feet. The wedding ceremony was a transcendent dream, anchored only by the warm grip of Ross's hands and the silver intensity of his eyes. At the conclusion of the vows, he bent to brand her with the possessive heat of his lips, a brief caress that contained the promise of much more.

Champagne flowed freely at the wedding banquet, an eight-course feast that was followed by a lavish ball. Sophia was introduced to hundreds of people, and before long she was weary of smiling and her ears were ringing. It was impossible for her to remember more than a few of the multitude of new faces. Some people did stand out in her memory, one of them being Sir Grant Morgan's wife, Lady Victoria. Having long been curious about what kind of woman would wed the intimidating giant, Sophia was surprised to discover that his wife was quite small of stature. Lady Victoria was also one of the most spectacularly beautiful women Sophia had ever seen, with a voluptuous figure, a profusion of vivid red hair, and a vivacious smile.

"Lady Sophia," the petite red-haired woman said warmly, "no words can express how thrilled we are that Sir Ross has finally married. Only a remarkable woman could have enticed him away from widowerhood."

Sophia returned her smile. "The advantage of the match is entirely mine, I assure you."

Sir Grant interceded, his green eyes twinkling warmly. He seemed far different from when he was at Bow Street, and Sophia observed that he basked in the presence of his wife as a cat would in sunshine. "I beg to disagree, my lady," he told Sophia. "The match holds many advantages for Sir Ross--which is obvious to all who know him."

"Indeed," Lady Victoria added thoughtfully, her gaze finding Ross's dark form as he stood in a separate receiving line. "I've never seen him look so well. In fact, this may be the first time I've ever seen him smile."

"And his face didn't even crack," Morgan commented.

"Grant," his wife scolded beneath her breath. Sophia laughed. Morgan winked at her and drew his wife away.

As the musicians played a piece by Bach, Sophia searched the crowd for a glimpse of Ross. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen now. The sweet melody provided by strings and a transverse flute made her feel curiously wistful. Glancing at the glittering skirts of her gown, Sophia smoothed them with a gloved hand. She imagined the pleasure her parents might have felt if they had known she would marry a man like Sir Ross. And she had no doubt of the grief they would have suffered to learn what had become of their only son. Suddenly feeling very much alone, Sophia wished that her brother could have attended her wedding, although that was obviously impossible. He and she lived in different worlds, and there would never be a way to close the distance between them. "Lady Sophia." A voice intruded on her thoughts, and she was confronted with the last face she would ever have expected to see.

"Anthony," she whispered, her heart dropping in a sickening plunge.

Anthony Lyndhurst was just as she had remembered, handsome and blond, wearing a self-important smile. Sophia could not believe that he had the gall to approach her. Stricken, she did not curtsy in response to his bow.

"My congratulations on your marriage," he said softly.

It took all of Sophia's strength to conceal her turmoil. Frantically she wondered why Anthony had come and who had invited him. Was there to be no peace even on her wedding day?

"Walk with me," he suggested, indicating the long portrait gallery that branched off the drawing room.

"No," she replied in a low tone.

"I insist." He proffered his arm, making it impossible for her to refuse without causing a scene. Pasting a brittle smile on her face, Sophia rested her gloved fingers on his coat. She accompanied him to the gallery, which was far less crowded than the drawing room. "You've done quite well for yourself, Sophia," Anthony remarked. "Marrying a Cannon will give you considerable status and fortune. Well done."

She let go of his arm as soon as they stopped before a grouping of family portraits. "Who invited you?" she asked coldly.

Anthony smiled. "The Lyndhursts and Cannons are distantly related by marriage. I am frequently invited to the Silverhill estate."

"I am sorry to hear it."

He gave a brief laugh. "I see that you're still put out with me. Allow me to apologize for leaving so precipitately when last we met. I had received word of some urgent business that had to be attended to."

Contempt flared inside her. "Involving your wife, perhaps?"

He smiled a bit sheepishly, as if at a minor faux pas. "My wife had nothing to do with us."

"You asked me to marry you when you were already married. A bit deceptive, don't you think?"

"I only did that to nudge you into doing what you already wanted to do. There was a strong attraction between us, Sophia. In fact, I sense that it is has not vanished entirely."

She was astonished by the appraising glance he gave her. Good Lord, how easy it was for him to renew all the self-disgust and shame she had tried to dispel. "If you sense anything from me, it is loathing."

"Women," he replied, clearly amused. "You always say the opposite of what you mean."

"Take it as you will. But stay away from me, or you will have to deal with my husband." "I don't think so," Anthony murmured with an insolent smile. "Cannon is a gentleman, and a cold fish besides. His kind always looks the other way."

If Sophia had not been so outraged, she would have laughed scornfully at the notion that Ross was too much of a gentleman to protest being cuckolded. "Stay away from me," she repeated, her voice unsteady despite the tight control she maintained over herself.

"You intrigue me, Sophia," Anthony remarked. "You are far more spirited and worldly-wise than you were before. The change in you is quite lovely. It bears investigation, I think."

"Investigation?" Her voice held utter bewilderment.

"Not now, of course, as you've just been wed. But sometime in the future, I may persuade you to renew our...friendship." His smile was taunting and arrogant. "I can be very persuasive, as you well know."

Sophia inhaled sharply. "There is no possible inducement to make me spend five minutes in your company."

"Isn't there? I would hate for certain rumors about you to circulate. What an embarrassment for your husband and his family. Perhaps you should consider being pleasant to me, Sophia. If not, the consequences could prove most distressing."

She turned white with fear and rage. No doubt Anthony was enjoying the exchange, toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Whether his threats were serious or not, his efforts to set her off-balance were very effective. And she herself had given him that power by once having been stupid enough to trust him. If Anthony ever chose to tell people that he had known her intimately, she would not be able to refute his claims. An embarrassment to the Cannon family, indeed. Wretchedly Sophia contemplated the solemn portraits before her--the faces of her husband's distinguished ancestors. How ill-suited she was to join such company.

"There, now," Anthony murmured, seeming to relish her silent despair. "I see that we have reached an understanding."

As Ross brought a glass of champagne punch to his mother, he saw Sophia standing near the entrance of the portrait gallery. She was conversing with a young man whom Ross had never met. Although a casual observer could not have read the expression on Sophia's carefully blank face, Ross knew her too well.

"Mother," Ross asked casually, "who is that?"

Catherine followed his gaze. "The blond gentleman speaking with Sophia?"

"Yes."

"That charming boy is Mr. Anthony Lyndhurst, the son of Baron Lyndhurst. I have become quite attached to the family this past year. Such delightful people. You would have met them at your grandfather's birthday weekend, but the baron's sister was quite ill, and of course the family did not wish to leave her until she was out of danger."

"Anthony," Ross repeated, studying the slim, golden-haired man. There was no doubt in his mind that he was the same Anthony who had seduced Sophia. "The youngest of three sons," Catherine informed him, "and perhaps the most accomplished of the lot. He sings in the most lovely tenor--it would give you chills to hear him."

Ross was far more interested in givinghim chills. "Audacious bastard," he said beneath his breath. Whether Anthony was apologizing for the past or, more likely, throwing it in Sophia's face, Ross was going to set him straight on a few points.

"What did you say?" Catherine asked. "My goodness, the way you and Matthew have taken to muttering to yourselves of late, I am beginning to wonder if I have become hard-of-hearing."

Ross tore his glance from Anthony Lyndhurst for one moment. "Forgive me, Mother. I referred to Lyndhurst as an audacious bastard."

Catherine was obviously taken aback by the blunt comment. "Mr. Lyndhurst is merely chatting with Sophia, dear. There is no need to carry on as if he has done something ungentlemanly. It isn't like you to be jealous and possessive. I do hope you will not make a scene."

Instantly Ross adopted a bland smile. "I never make scenes," he said mildly.

Pacified, Catherine beamed at him. "That's better, dear. Now, if you will come this way, I want to introduce you to Lord and Lady Maddox. They have purchased the old Everleigh estate and are refurbishing the entire east--" Catherine broke off in perplexed surprise as she realized that her elder son was no longer with her. "All this mysterious dashing about!" she exclaimed to herself, vexed by his sudden disappearance. "Perhaps he has forgotten that he is not at Bow Street this evening." Shaking her head in exasperation, she drank the rest of her champagne punch and headed toward a circle of friends.

After taking his leave of Sophia, Anthony Lyndhurst wandered away from the drawing room. He paused at a massive gold-framed mirror and preened expertly. When he was satisfied that his appearance was immaculate, he strolled out to an open conservatory to have a smoke and enjoy the evening breeze. The night was dark and warm, the air laced with the rustling of leaves as well as the flexible strains of music from inside.

Filled with anticipation, Anthony considered the unexpected changes in his former light-o'-love. He had never revisited one of his paramours after he had left them. Once he was finished with a woman, he had no further interest in her. And Sophia had offered little in the way of sexual amusement, save for an innocent affection that had palled rather quickly. However, it was obvious that Sophia had received some tutoring in the intervening months. She wore the look of a well-pleasured woman, with her ripe mouth and blooming cheeks, and a sensuality in her movements that she had definitely not possessed when Anthony had known her. She seemed both elegant and sexually aware.

Surely Sir Ross had not effected such a change in her. Everyone knew him to be a cold and charmless bastard, not to mention notoriously celibate. Perhaps Sophia had taken yet another lover. The small but intriguing mystery occupied Anthony's thoughts pleasantly as he reached into his pocket for a cigar.

All at once a shadow seemed to fly at him from nowhere. Anthony had no chance to make a sound before he was brutally slammed against the wall. Paralyzed in fright, he felt something hard press against his throat--an unyielding muscular arm that threatened to crush the life from him.

"Wh...wh..." Anthony gasped, struggling helplessly against his captor. The man was large and irate, with all the restraint of a ravening animal. Anthony's bulging eyes beheld a dark visage that could have belonged to Satan himself. It took several moments for Anthony to recognize his assailant. "Sir Ross--"

"You cowardly milksop," Cannon growled. "I know your kind. You pick your victims carefully--innocent women who have no one to protect them from gutter-scum like you. But you have finally chosen the wrong one. Find an excuse to leave Silverhill immediately, or I will smear you from here to London. And if you ever speak to my wife again, or dare to even glance in her direction, I will butcher you."

"Cannon..." Anthony wheezed uncontrollably. "Be...civilized..."

"I'm afraid I am nothing close to civilized where my wife is concerned."

"Please," Anthony choked as the blunt pressure at his throat increased.

"There is something else I should make clear," Cannon continued softly. "If you mention one word to anyone about your past with Sophia, I will personally throw you in Newgate. Of course, I can only keep you there for three days, but that will seem like a lifetime when you're locked in a cell with creatures that are more animal than human. By the time you're released, you'll be cursing your mother for bearing you."

"No," Anthony begged. "Won't say anything...won't bother her..."

"That's right," Cannon said in a malevolent whisper. "You will avoid my wife so that she forgets your very existence. Your acquaintance with the Cannons is at an end."

Somehow Anthony managed to nod, conveying acceptance in any way he could. Just as he thought he would faint, he was abruptly released. He fell to the floor, gasping and choking, rolling onto his side. When he finally managed to recover himself, Cannon's brutal form had disappeared. Shivering with terror, Anthony struggled to his feet and ran toward the line of carriages on the front drive as if he were fleeing for his life.

Sophia chatted and laughed with the guests at the ball, while inside, she felt sick and numb. A glass of champagne punch had done nothing to relax her. Anxiously she wondered where her husband was. She considered various ways to tell him about her encounter with Anthony. Certainly the news would ruin his evening as well as hers. No man wished to be confronted with his wife's paramour at his own wedding celebration.

As increasingly gloomy thoughts slunk through her mind, Sophia saw her husband approaching. He looked elegant and handsome, his dark face emphasized by a fresh white cravat. She decided he must have been relaxing with friends in the billiards room or the library, for something had evidently put him in a good humor.

"My sweet." He took her gloved hand and lifted it to his mouth.

"I haven't seen you for a while," she said. "Where have you been?"

"I had to dispose of a rodent," he said lightly.

"Arodent ?." she repeated, perplexed. "Couldn't one of the servants have taken care of it?"

His white teeth gleamed as he laughed. "I wanted to take care of this one." "Oh." She looked across the polished drawing room floor with a frown of worry. "Do you think there might be others scurrying around? They like to run up ladies' skirts, you know."

Still smiling, Ross slipped an arm around her waist. "My lady, the only creature that will nibble at your ankles tonight is me."

Sophia glanced around to make certain they could not be overheard. "Ross," she said unsteadily, "I-I must tell you something--"

"That your former lover is here? Yes, I know."

"How could you?" she asked in astonishment. "I've never told you his full name."

"I saw your face when he spoke to you." Ross smiled reassuringly. "It's all right. Lyndhurst can't harm you, Sophia. You're mine now."

Slowly she relaxed in his hold, acutely relieved that there would be no explosions of jealousy and no bitter accusations. What an extraordinary man Ross was, she thought with a rush of love. So many other men would have scorned her for her lack of virginity and regarded her as soiled goods. But Ross had always treated her with respect. "You mustn't refer to Anthony as my lover," she chided softly. "He gave me only pain and shame.You are the only lover I've ever had."

He bent his head and kissed her temple. "Don't worry, my sweet. He won't trouble you again. In fact, I suspect he has left the ball precipitately."

Something in his tone made her wonder if he had actually approached Anthony. "Ross," she said suspiciously, "about this 'rodent' you disposed of--"

"The opening march is beginning," he interrupted, pulling her with him to the mass of whirling couples.

"Yes, but did you--"

"Come--it is our responsibility to lead."

As Ross had intended, Sophia was distracted. "I'm not certain I can," she said. "I've seen the march a few times, but I've never had the opportunity to try it."

"It's very simple," he murmured, drawing her hand into the crook of his arm. "Just follow my lead."

Although their hands were gloved, Sophia felt a thrill at the pressure of his fingers. She looked up at his dark face and said with a sudden throb in her voice, "I would follow you anywhere."

Ross's thick lashes veiled his smoky eyes. She sensed his rampant desire to be alone with her. "Three hours," he said, speaking as if to himself.

"What?" she asked.

"Three hours until midnight. Then you will go upstairs, and I will follow soon after."

"Oh. Isn't that rather too early to retire from a ball such as this? I suspect some of the couples will be dancing until dawn."

"We won't be one of them," he said firmly, escorting her to the drawing room. "I can think of a much better way to spend the rest of the evening."

"Sleeping?" she said with false innocence.

Ross bent to whisper his alternative, and grinned as a wild blush rose in her face.