Lady Sophia's Lover

CHAPTER 16

Ross could barely contain his annoyance upon their return to Bow Street, when all half-dozen runners gathered to congratulate him on his nuptials. The runners loudly insisted on their rights to "kiss the bride," and one after another, they bent over Sophia in a manner that was far more brotherly than amorous. However, Ross was scowling by the time he retrieved his giggling wife. He gave them all a warning stare. "Attend to your duties now."

Grumbling good-naturedly, the runners filed out of Bow Street No. 4, but not before Eddie Sayer beseeched Sophia, "Do what you can to soften his temper. You're our only hope, milady."

Laughing, Sophia threw her arms around Ross's neck and kissed his stern mouth. "There--will that serve to soften you?"

A reluctant grin curved his lips, and he kissed her possessively. "I'm afraid it's having the opposite effect. But don't stop."

She gave him a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. "No more until this evening. You have work to do."

"Morgan will take care of it. I'll only stay long enough to attend to a few minor concerns, and then you and I are going on an errand."

"What kind of errand?" She sighed as he kissed the side of her throat, his lips traveling in a leisurely path up to her ear.

"We are going to look at something."

"Something large or small?"

"Large." He nibbled at a sensitive place on her neck. "Quite large."

"What kind of--" she began, but he silenced her with a thorough kiss.

"No more questions. Be ready to leave in an hour."

Although Sophia had expected him to be delayed by work, Ross returned for her in precisely an hour and escorted her to their carriage. She pestered him with questions, but he was maddeningly taciturn, refusing to give any hint about the nature of the mysterious errand. As the carriage traveled westward, Sophia lifted a corner of the sheer panel that covered the window and watched the scenery outside. They passed spectacular arcades and markets where luxury goods were sold, including haberdashers, goldsmiths, button-makers, perfumers, and even a feather shop bearing the intriguing title of "Plumassier."

As this was an area of London that Sophia had never visited before, she was fascinated by the masses of beautifully dressed people promenading through it.

Ladies and gentlemen of distinction visited the confectioner's to eat ices, strolled through tea gardens, or stood at the window of a print shop to view racks of decorative cards. It was a world far removed from Bow Street, and yet it was located only a short distance away.

The carriage conveyed them to Mayfair, the most fashionable location in London, where great family mansions were built in rows. They stopped in Berkeley Square, before a classically designed, triple-pedimented house. The large plate-glass windows gave the white stone facade a feeling of lightness and grandeur at the same time. One footman opened the carriage door and put down a movable step for Sophia. The other footman received a set of keys from Ross and dashed up the front steps.

"Are we visiting someone?" Sophia asked, staring admiringly at the house.

"Not precisely." Ross placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her up to the main entrance. "This house is owned by Lord Cobham, a contemporary of my grandfather's. He resides at his county seat and has decided to rent this place, as it remains unused most of the time."

"Why are we here?" She entered the cool marble hall, which was devoid of furniture or artwork. Rich blue lapis columns and doorcases contrasted crisply with the gleaming white walls.

Ross joined her, gazing upward at the gilded fretwork on the twenty-foot-high ceiling. "I thought that if this place pleases you, we might live here until our own house is built." He looked vaguely apologetic as he added, "It is unfurnished because Cobham took most of the family heirlooms with him to the country. If we take it, you will have to decorate it."

Sophia could not reply, only stared at her surroundings in amazement.

When it became clear that no immediate comment was forthcoming, Ross spoke matter-of-factly. "If you don't like the house, you have only to say so. There are other residences to consider."

"No, no," Sophia said breathlessly. "Of course I like it. How could anyone not approve? It's just that you have caught me off guard. I...I thought we were going to live at Bow Street."

He looked both appalled and amused by the idea. "God forbid. No wife of mine will take up residence at the public office. A place like this is more fitting, not to mention comfortable."

"It's very grand," Sophia commented doubtfully, thinking privately that the word "comfortable" would be more accurately applied to a cozy cottage or a small town house. "Ross," she said carefully, "if you spend all your time working at Bow Street, I do not think I would like to be alone in such a large place. Perhaps we could find some nice terrace on King Street--"

"You're not going to be alone." His eyes lit with amusement. "I've given enough of my life to Bow Street. I'm going to refashion the public office so that it can function without me. Then I'll recommend Morgan as the next Chief Magistrate, and step down for good."

"But what would you do?" Sophia asked in dawning worry, knowing that he was too active to settle into a life of gentlemanly indolence. "I have more than a few reformist causes to occupy my time, and I need to take a stronger hand in running the Silverhill estate. I also plan to buy a part interest in a new railway company in Stockton, though God knows my mother will have apoplexy at such mercantile pursuits." He reached out and pulled her so close that her skirts swished around his legs and feet. His dark head lowered until their noses were almost touching. "But most of all," he murmured, "I want to be with you. I've waited long enough for this, and, by God, I'm going to enjoy it."

Sophia stood on her toes, brushing her lips against his. Before Ross could intensify the kiss, she drew back and regarded him with a saucy smile. "Show me the rest of the house," she said.

The house was unexpectedly charming, many of the rooms shaped with rounded ends and fitted with niches and built-in bookshelves. The delicate pastel walls were framed with white molding, some panels filled with the fanciful shapes of winged gryphons and other mythical beasts. Fireplaces were made of carved marble, and the floors were covered with thick-piled French carpets. Here and there an odd piece of furniture had been left: a bow-fronted chest in one room, a japanned screen in another. In a back room on the second floor, Sophia discovered an intriguing oddity, something that resembled a chair but had been constructed in a queer fashion.

"What is this?" she asked, walking around the piece, and Ross laughed.

"A chamber horse. It has been years since I've seen one of these. Not since boyhood, actually."

"What is it used for?"

"Exercise. My grandfather had one. He claimed that it strengthened his legs and slimmed his waist whenever he had indulged a bit too often."

She regarded him skeptically. "How is it possible to exercise on a chair?"

"You bounce on it." He grinned in reminiscence. "On rainy days, when there was nothing else to do, Matthew and I jumped on Grandfather's chamber horse for hours at a time." Using his hand, he pushed on the seat, which had been upholstered with at least two and a half feet of cushioning. "This is filled with springs and dividing boards. Air is expelled through the holes on the sides."

Ross sat on the chamber horse experimentally, holding the mahogany arms and resting his feet on the stepping board in front. He gave the chair a slight bounce, and the seat moved up and down with a creaking sound.

"You look ridiculous," Sophia said, giggling at the sight of the dignified magistrate on the odd contraption. "Very well, I will agree to live in this house if you promise to dispose of that thing."

His smiling gray eyes stared into hers, and he regarded her thoughtfully. When he spoke, his tone had lowered just a notch. "Don't be so hasty. You might want to use it sometime."

"I don't think so," she said, her eyes sparkling. "If I want exercise, I will take a walk."

"Do you know how to ride?"

"No, I'm afraid I can't. Neither real horses nor chamber horses." "I'll teach you, then." His gaze traveled from her head to her toes in a single hot sweep. And then he astonished her by murmuring, "Take off your gown."

"What?" She shook her head, bemused. "Here? Now?"

"Here and now," he affirmed softly. He relaxed back in the chair, propping one foot on the stepping board. The wicked challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.

Sophia regarded him uncertainly. Although she was by no means inhibited, she was hesitant to remove her clothes in a strange house in the middle of the day, with sunlight streaming through the uncurtained windows. Cautious but amenable, she started at the fastening at the neck of her gown. "What if we are interrupted?"

"The house is empty."

"Yes, but what if one of the footmen comes in here to ask something?"

"They know better." He watched her hands alertly as she fumbled with her bodice. "Do you need help with that?"

Sophia shook her head, feeling excruciatingly self-conscious as she stepped out of her shoes. She unfastened her dress, let it fall to the floor, and unhooked the front of her light corset. When that, too, was discarded, she was left in her knee-length chemise, cotton drawers, and stockings. A brilliant blush spread up to her hairline as she reached for the hem of the chemise and pulled it up to her waist. Pausing, she glanced at Ross's intent face.

"Go on," he encouraged.

She felt like a wanton, standing before him like one of the women who were paid to assume seductive poses at some of London's choice brothels. "If you were not my husband, I wouldn't do this," she said, and stripped off the chemise in a sudden decisive motion.

A smile played on his lips. "If you were not my wife, I wouldn't ask you to." His gaze moved over her naked upper body, lingering on the curves of her breasts and the rosy peaks of her nipples. His breathing changed noticeably, and his fingers twitched as they rested on the arm of the chamber horse. "Walk to me--no, don't cover yourself."

Sophia came to stand before him, gooseflesh rising on her skin as he touched her shoulder with a feathery stroke of his fingertips. His warm hand moved downward, tracing the shape of her breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple. She felt him pull at the tapes of her drawers, and they slid over her hips and down to the floor. Stepping out of them, she reached for her garters and stockings, but he caught her wrist.

"No," he said, his voice slightly raspy. "I like the way you look in your stockings."

Her gaze stole to the obvious bulge in his trousers. "Apparently so."

He grinned and exerted more tension on her wrist, pulling her forward. "Climb onto my lap."

Carefully she placed her stockinged foot on the stepping board; his hands clamped on her waist and lifted. She collapsed onto his lap in a giggling heap, her arms linking around his neck. The chair creaked loudly, and they sank downward several inches. "This isn't going to work," Sophia exclaimed, laughing uncontrollably.

"Cooperate," he said sternly, his eyes smiling.

"Yes, sir." Feigning meek obedience, she let him arrange her legs on either side of his lap, until her thighs were spread wide and she was left utterly vulnerable.

Gradually the giggles died in her throat. "Are you going to removeyour clothes?" she asked, jumping a little as his hands slid to her bare bottom.

He cupped her and lifted her body upward. "No."

"But I want--"

"Shhh." He took her nipple into his mouth, drawing with sweet, hot suction. At the same time his fingers wandered high inside her thigh, until the backs of his knuckles brushed across the patch of protective curls. Every time she moved, the chamber horse bounced gently, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck for balance.

His finger slipped inside her and stroked until she was wet and throbbing. Closing her eyes against the dazzle of sunlight from the window, Sophia rested her cheek on his thick hair. As he suckled her breast, the scratch of his beard abraded her moist flesh.

Too impassioned to wait, she reached down and tugged at the fastenings of his trousers. He caught her fumbling fingers and pushed them away. "Let me do it," he said with a soft laugh, "before you tear off the buttons."

Panting, she pressed closer to him as he unfastened the row of buttons and freed his swollen erection. With a soothing murmur, Ross positioned her over his hips, canting them to just the right angle. She sank down eagerly, gasping as he filled her completely. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his coat, fingertips digging into the smooth broadcloth.

"Hold onto me," he whispered. When she had wrapped herself around him, he picked his feet up from the stepping board and let the chamber-horse seat drop several inches in a sudden electrifying jolt. The movement forced Sophia harder onto the hilt of his shaft, and she whimpered in pleasure.

Ross smiled as he stared into her wide, unfocused eyes. Color burnished the edges of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and sweat misted his skin. His thighs went taut as he braced his feet on the board once more, then let them drop again. "Is this all right?" he murmured. "Is it too much?"

"No," she gulped. "Do it again."

Obligingly he began a bouncing motion that elicited a rhythmic squeak from the chamber horse. Air rushed from the contraction and expansion of the cushions like the sighing of fireplace bellows. Sophia held on tightly, her body gripping his intimately. Each drop of the seat caused the stiff, thick shaft to push harder inside her, again, again, until the stroking, grinding motion caused her to convulse in a release that had no end.

Feeling the spasms of her body, Ross impaled her one last time and groaned in satisfaction. When at last he leaned backward with her body clasped in his arms, Sophia draped herself over him, utterly relaxed. Their bodies were still joined, and she moaned as he flexed inside her.

"I think we'll keep this chair," he murmured into her hair. "One never knows when you'll need another riding lesson."

Until the rented house was furnished with the basic necessities, Sophia and Ross resumed their residence at Bow Street No. 4. While Sophia spent much of her time purchasing goods and furniture, hiring servants, and enduring countless hours of clothes fittings, Ross made good on his promise to arrange for his retirement. Sophia knew that it would not be easy for him to relinquish the considerable power he had accumulated. However, he seemed remarkably untroubled at the prospect. His life had been confined to one narrow channel for a long time, and now it was expanding with new possibilities. He had been an exceptionally serious man, one who rarely smiled or laughed. Now he was far more apt to smile and tease, displaying a playful side that Sophia found utterly charming. And he was a sensual lover, possessing her with an unbounded intimacy that left her utterly fulfilled.

She had thought that she knew Ross quite well, having resided under the same roof with him. But she was gaining a far deeper understanding of him. Ross trusted her with his private thoughts and emotions, and he let her see him as he truly was--not a paragon, but a man with doubts and fears. He was capable of making mistakes, and he felt all too often that he had not met his own high expectations.

To Ross's frustration, his efforts to persuade the Treasury to release funds to establish public offices and hire new magistrates for Middlesex, Westminster, Surrey, Hertfordshire, and Kent had so far come to naught. It seemed the government was unconvinced that such changes were justified, and that they would prefer to pay only one man to handle the great mass of responsibilities.

"It's my own fault," Ross told Sophia grimly, sitting before the hearth in the bedroom with a glass of brandy in his hand. He drank the vintage without seeming to taste it. "I set out to prove that I could singlehandedly do it all, and now the Lord of the Treasury believes it is necessary to hire only one man as my replacement. I'm convinced that Morgan is entirely willing to succeed me as Chief Magistrate, but not at the expense of his family and personal life."

"No one but you could handle so much," Sophia said, taking the empty glass from his hand. She sat on the arm of his chair and caressed his dark hair, her fingers trailing gently over the threads of silver at his temple. "And even you were suffering under the weight of all that work, although you were too stubborn to admit it."

He looked up at her and seemed to relax slightly. "Until you appeared," he murmured. "Then I realized what was missing in my life."

"Such as food and sleep?" she suggested, her eyes twinkling.

"Among other things." His hand clasped her ankle and ventured beneath her skirts to her knee. "And now nothing is going to keep me from you."

Sophia continued to stroke his hair. "It may take some time for you to implement so many changes," she said. "There is no need for urgency on my account. Although I want you all to myself, I will wait as long as it takes."

Ross's gaze was warm as he stared up at her. "Idon't want to wait." Tracing circles over her knee, he grinned suddenly. "It's ironic, isn't it? For years people have complained about my usurpation of power. But now that I want to leave Bow Street, no one wants me to go. The critics accuse me of abandoning my responsibilities, and the government ministers are offering me all manner of incentives to stay."

"That's because there is only one Sir Ross Cannon, and everyone knows it." Sophia drew her fingers lightly over the hard edge of his jaw. "And you're mine," she added in satisfaction.

"Yes." He turned his mouth into her palm, his eyes closing. "It has been a long, hellish day. I need something to help me forget about parliamentary funds and judicial reform."

"More brandy?" Sophia asked sympathetically, rising from the chair.

That drew a sudden laugh from him. "No, not brandy." He stood and caught her waist, urging her closer. "I had a different remedy in mind."

Anticipation curled inside her, and she linked her arms around his neck. "Whatever you wish," she told him. "As your wife, I want to be helpful."

Ross chuckled at her prim tone and nudged her toward the bed. "Oh, you will be quite helpful," he assured her, following closely at her heels.

Because Sophia was the object of much curiosity, she and Ross were invited everywhere, by politicians and professionals and even some upper-tier aristocrats. However, they accepted only a handful of invitations, for Sophia found it difficult to adjust to the new life she had stepped into. Having worked for so many years as a servant, she could not seem to interact comfortably in elevated social circles, no matter how kind her new acquaintances were. She felt awkward and stiff at most gatherings, although Ross's mother assured her that she would feel more comfortable as time passed. She found it somewhat easier to mix with "second-tier" sorts, such as Sir Grant and his wife, Victoria, and the crowd of professionals who were not nearly as rarefied as those in the first circles. These people were far less pretentious, and far more aware of ordinary matters like the cost of bread and the concerns of the poor.

Ross helped a great deal to ease her worries. He never belittled her fears or lost his patience with her. If Sophia wished to speak with him, he would interrupt whatever he was doing, no matter how important. On the evenings when they attended a soiree or went to the theater, Ross treated her with such attentiveness that other wives were moved to remark sourly that their own husbands should be half so solicitous oftheir comfort. It was the subject of much conversation, how greatly changed the Chief Magistrate was, and how such a serious-minded gentleman could have transformed into an obviously adoring husband. Sophia thought that the reason behind Ross's devotion was quite simple: having been alone for so long, he had a hard-won appreciation for the pleasures of marriage. He did not take his happiness for granted. And perhaps in some corner of his heart he feared that it all might be taken away in the blink of an eye, just as it had with Eleanor.

Frequently Ross would take Sophia for weekend visits to Silverhill Park where they attended water parties, went on picnics, or simply walked through the countryside to enjoy the fresh air and lush green views. Catherine Cannon loved to entertain, and in the summer months the mansion was constantly filled with friends and relatives. Sophia enjoyed these visits, forming a close relationship with her mother-in-law and even with Iona, her sister-in-law. Now that they had spent some time becoming familiar, Iona had thawed out considerably, although there was an ever-present sadness in her pale blue eyes. It was obvious that her melancholy stemmed from her marriage to Matthew. She even went so far as to confide to Sophia that Matthew had seemed an entirely different man before their wedding.

"He was quite charming," Iona said, her bitter expression somehow jarring on such an angelic countenance. She and Sophia sat on chairs that had been placed in front of a stone boundary wall covered with spilling roses that bloomed fiercely in the heat of high summer. In front of them, a small knot garden and an ivy-covered arch led to wide expanses of green lawn.

As Iona gazed absently into the distance, the sunlight brushed over her exquisite profile and turned her hair into a swirl of sparkling gold. "Of all the men who courted me, Matthew was the most impressive. I adored his wicked humor and, of course, his looks. He was so very charming." A humorless smile twisted her perfect lips. She paused to take a long drink of lemonade, and its sour taste seemed to linger in her mouth as she continued. "Unfortunately, I discovered later that certain men are only interested in the chase. Once the object of their desire is attained, they become indifferent."

"Yes," Sophia said, thinking of Anthony. "I have encountered that kind of man."

Iona's smile was resigned. "Of course, I am hardly the only woman who has been disappointed in love. I have a comfortable and pleasant life. And Matthew is not a bad man, only a self-centered one. Perhaps if I could lure him to my bed often enough, I could have a child. That would be a great consolation to me."

"I hope you will," Sophia said sincerely. "And perhaps Matthew will improve. Sir Ross says that he is doing quite well with his new responsibilities." In the past few weeks, Ross had forced his younger brother to have regular meetings with the estate agent, to learn about accounting, management, farming, taxes, and all the minutiae involved in running the Silverhill estate. Although Matthew had protested long and loud, he had had little choice but to comply with Ross's dictates.

Iona used a long, perfectly filed fingernail to retrieve a fleck of dust that had settled inside the rim of her glass. "I suppose if you could cause Sir Ross to change so completely, there is a chance for my husband."

"Oh, I haven't changed him," Sophia protested.

"You most certainly have! I never thought to see Sir Ross so besotted. Before he married you, one could barely get two words out of him. Now he seems a different man altogether. It is strange--until lately, I've always been a bit frightened of him. He has a way of looking right through one. I am certain that you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," Sophia said with a wry smile.

"And his remarkable reserve...Sir Ross never lowers his guard for anyone but you." Iona sighed and tucked a stray wisp of glinting hair behind her ear. "I used to think that between the two brothers, I'd gotten the better bargain. Even with Matthew's faults, at least he was warm and human, whereas Sir Ross seemed so utterly passionless. Now it has become apparent that your husband is not the cold automaton we all thought him to be."

Sophia colored as she replied, "No, he is definitely not."

"I envy you for being loved by a man who does not stray from your bed."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, each lost in her own thoughts. A bee droned lazily amid the roses, and the servants' bell clanged faintly from inside the mansion. Sophia was amazed as she reflected on how she herself had changed in such a short time. Not long ago, she had thought that what she wanted most in the world was to marry Anthony. But if she had married him, or a man similar to him, she would be exactly like Iona--bitter and betrayed, with little expectation that the future would be any better. Thank God, she thought fervently...thank God for not granting certain wishes, and for guiding her to a far sweeter fate.

As the warmth of the day increased, the Cannons and their guests elected to nap or relax indoors. However, Ross had never napped in his life, and the very idea of sleeping in the middle of the day was inconceivable to him. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested to Sophia.

"Awalk ? But everyone is resting comfortably inside," she protested.

"Good," he said in satisfaction. "Then we'll have the entire outdoors to ourselves."

Rolling her eyes, Sophia went to change into her lightest dress, then accompanied him on a stroll through the countryside. They walked toward the town until the steeple of the local church was visible in the distance. As they approached a grove of walnut trees, Sophia decided that she'd had quite enough exercise. Declaring that she needed to rest, she tugged Ross beneath the shade of the largest tree.

Agreeably, Ross sat with his arms around her, the neck of his shirt open to catch the occasional cooling puff of a breeze. Talking idly, they discussed subjects that ranged from the serious to the trivial. Sophia had never imagined that a man would listen to a woman as he did. He was attentive, interested, never mocking her opinions even when he disagreed with them.

"You know," she told him dreamily, lying across his lap and staring at the dark, saucer-sized leaves overhead, "I think that I enjoy talking with you even more than making love with you."

A lock of black hair fell over Ross's forehead as he looked down at her. "Is that a compliment to my conversational skills, or a complaint about my lovemaking?"

She smiled as she caressed his shirt-covered chest. "You know that I would never complain aboutthat . It's just that I never expected to have this kind of relationship with a husband."

"What did you expect?" Ross asked, clearly amused.

"Well, the usual sort of arrangement. We would discuss light things, nothing improper, and we would have our separate areas of the house, and spend most days apart. You would visit my room some nights, and of course I would consult with you on certain matters..." Sophia paused as she saw the odd look that crossed his face.

"Hmm."

"What?" she asked, perturbed. "Did I say something that bothered you?"

"No." His expression was contemplative. "It occurred to me that you just described the kind of marriage I had with Eleanor."

Sophia sat up from his lap and smoothed her untidy hair. Ross mentioned his first wife so seldom that there were times Sophia actually forgot that he'd been married before. He seemed to belong to her so completely that she had difficulty imagining him living with another woman, loving her, holding her in his arms. Feeling a sharp bite of jealousy, Sophia strove to appear serene.

"Did you find it a pleasant arrangement?"

"I suppose I did." His gray eyes were thoughtful. "But I doubt I would be satisfied with that now. I've come to want something different in a relationship." A long hesitation passed before he murmured, "Eleanor was a good wife...but so very delicate."

Sophia plucked a blade of grass and examined it closely, twirling it in her fingers. She wondered what had attracted him to such a fragile, excessively ladylike creature. It seemed an ill-fitting match for a man who was so robust.

Somehow Ross was able to read her thoughts. "Eleanor appealed to my protective instinct" he said. "She was lovely and frail and helpless. Every man who ever met her wanted to take care of her."

The needles of jealousy jabbed Sophia despite her efforts to ignore them. "And naturally you could not resist."

"No." Ross propped up one knee and rested his arm on it, watching her lazily as she pulled at more bits of grass. Her tension must have been visible, for after a moment he asked softly, "What are you thinking?"

Sophia shook her head, embarrassed by the question that had come to mind, a question that was completely pointless and prying, and obviously born of jealousy. "Oh, it's nothing."

"Tell me." His hand settled over her plucking fingers. "You were going to ask about Eleanor."

She looked up at him, turning pink. "I was wondering how someone so fragile could have satisfied you in bed."

He was very still, a breeze lightly lifting the lock of hair off his forehead. The consternation on his face was easy to read. He was too much of a gentleman to answer such a question, as he would never dishonor the memory of his wife. But as their gazes held, Sophia read his unspoken reply, and it soothed her immeasurably.

Feeling reassured, Sophia turned her palm upward and slipped her fingers through his. He bent over her, his lips brushing hers in a husbandly kiss. Although he had not intended the gesture as a sexual advance, the taste of him was so intoxicating that Sophia slid her hand behind his neck and kissed him harder. Ross pulled her over his lap and took full advantage of her invitation. Her arms went around his back, fingers splaying over the hard flex of muscle. She sighed and squirmed deliciously as she felt his arousal rising beneath her.

The quiet catch of his laughter tickled her ear. "Sophia...you're going to cripple me."

She loved the way he looked at her, the dance of silver flame in his eyes. "I can hardly believe," she said in a passion-drowsed voice, "that a man with your appetite could have remained celibate for five years."

"I wasn't celibate the entire time," he admitted.

"You weren't?" She sat bolt upright in his lap. "You never told me that. Whom did you sleep with?"

Ross pulled the tortoiseshell comb from her hair and sifted his fingers through the rippling golden locks. "The widow of an old friend. For the first year after Eleanor died, I could not even contemplate making love to another woman. But eventually I had needs..." He paused, looking uncomfortable, and his hand stilled in her hair. "Yes?" Sophia prompted. "And you renewed your acquaintance with this widow?"

He nodded. "She was similarly lonely, and also desirous of intimacy, so we met discreetly for about four months, until..."

"Until?"

"She began to cry one day after we..." A flush of embarrassment crept over his face. "And she said that she had fallen in love with me. She told me that if I did not return her feelings, she could not continue the affair, as it would be too painful for her."

"Poor lady," Sophia said, feeling genuine sympathy for the widow. "And so the relationship ended."

"Yes. And afterward I felt a great deal of guilt for the pain I had caused her. I also learned something--that as pleasant as the affair had been, it was not nearly as fulfilling without love. So I decided that I would wait until I found the right woman. That was three years ago. The time passed quickly, especially since I was occupied with work."

"But there must have been nights when you found it impossible," Sophia said. "A man of your physical nature..."

Ross smiled wryly, not quite meeting her gaze. "Well, there are ways a man can solve that problem by himself."

"You mean you..."

He looked at her then, a touch of color lingering on his cheekbones. "Haven't you?"

The canopy of leaves rustled over them, and a lone bird chirped innocently, while Sophia struggled to answer. "Yes," she finally admitted. "Not long after you were shot. You remember that morning when you kissed me and took me into your bed, and we almost..." Her scalding blush spread everywhere. "After that, I couldn't stop thinking about the way you touched me, and one night the feelings were so desperate that I--" Mortified, she put her hands over her face with a groan.

Ross twisted his hand in her hair and eased her head back, smiling as he kissed her. Still red-faced, Sophia relaxed in his lap and closed her eyes against the splashes of sunlight that slipped through the swaying branches overhead. His mouth possessed hers with slow, tempting kisses, and she did not protest when she felt him unfastening her clothes. His hands slipped inside the garments to fondle her breasts, hips, thighs.

"Show me," he murmured, his lips at her throat.

"Show you what?"

"How you pleasured yourself."

"No," she protested, giggling nervously at the outrageous request. He persisted, however, coaxing and teasing and demanding until she acceded with an embarrassed sigh. Her hand trembled as she reached down to the place he had exposed, her drawers at her knees, her skirts rucked up to her waist. "There," she said, breathing fitfully. Ross's fingers lightly covered hers, learning the small, subtle motion. Her hand fell away, and he continued to caress her. "Like this?" he murmured.

She writhed in his lap, breathing too hard to speak.

A tender smile curved his lips as he watched her taut face. "Now, isn't this better than napping?" he asked, his fingers circling wickedly.

Suddenly lost to shame, she purred and twisted in his lap as sensations flowed over her in an endless river.

The only obstacle to Sophia's happiness was her growing concern for her brother. Nick cut a swath through London with the same cheerful carnage as always, acting alternately as a master criminal and a "thief-taker general." Society was divided in its opinion of him. Most still regarded him as a dashing public benefactor for his ability to track and arrest thieves and persuade gang members to inform on each other. However, a small but growing number of people were beginning to condemn his corrupt methods. "When Gentry enters the room," it was said, "one can smell the brimstone." It was clear that despite the power he held in the underworld, his throne was an unstable one.

After Sophia had sent Nick the information he had requested, he did not ask her for additional favors, nor was there any further mention of blackmail. From time to time he sent her notes that expressed his brotherly devotion, having an errand boy slip them to her undetected. It broke Sophia's heart to read these short letters, for her brother's lack of education was more than obvious. The words were labored and misspelled, but his fanciful intelligence and cautious love for her shone through. The notes gave her glimpses of what kind of man Nick could have become. If only his ambition and keen mind could have been turned to good purposes instead of wicked ones, she reflected sadly. Instead her brother was busy developing an extensive network of spies and informers all over London, not to mention a virtual corporation of thieves. He ran a sophisticated smuggling operation that imported huge quantities of luxury goods and distributed them with stunning efficiency. Nick was smart, bold, and ruthless, a combination of characteristics that made him a criminal mastermind. And what Ross had not admitted to Sophia--but was perfectly clear just the same--was that he wanted to bring Gentry down before he himself retired.

Soon Sophia's worry over Nick was temporarily set aside by a discovery that overwhelmed her with excitement. Before sharing the news with Ross, she had Eliza prepare one of his favorite dishes--broiled salmon with lime-and-parsley sauce---and she donned a light sea-green gown with white lace spilling from the neck and sleeves. At the end of the day, when he returned to Bow Street No. 4 after being out on an investigation, Ross was pleasantly surprised by the sight of the small table arranged by the window, with supper waiting beneath domed silver covers. Sophia had lit the room with candles, and she greeted him with a bright smile.

"This is what every man should come home to," Ross said with a grin, catching her around the waist and pressing a lusty kiss on her lips. "But why aren't we eating downstairs as usual?"

"We are celebrating something."

Ross studied her as he contemplated what the mysterious "something" could be. Gradually a cast of apprehensiveness came into his eyes, as if he suspected what she was going to tell him.

"Would you like to guess?" Sophia asked.

His tone remained relaxed. "I'm afraid I can't, my love. You may as well tell me." She took his hand and squeezed it hard. "Nine months from now, the Cannon family will have a new addition."

To her surprise, Ross's face froze for an instant. Quickly he masked his reaction with a smile and pulled her close. "Sweetheart," he murmured. "That is good news indeed. Although it is hardly unexpected after what we've been doing for the past three months."

She laughed and hugged him tightly. "I am so happy! I've been to see Dr. Linley, and he says I'm in the best of health and there is no reason to worry about anything."

"I have complete faith in his opinion." He kissed her forehead gently. "Do you feel well?"

"Yes." Sophia drew back and smiled at him, sensing that something was not quite right, but she could not identify the problem. Ross had certainly taken the news well. However, she had expected his reaction to be a bit more enthusiastic. Well, she reasoned, perhaps it was simply the difference between men and women. After all, to most men, matters relating to childbirth and children were strictly a woman's territory.

She let him seat her at the table, and the conversation passed from the subject of her pregnancy to that of the house they were soon to move into. A nursery would have to be set up, of course, and they would need to hire a nurserymaid. While they ate and talked, Sophia kept glancing at Ross, feeling that he was keeping something from her. His eyes revealed nothing, and his face looked as if it had been cast in bronze as the candlelight slid over his hard features.

When they finished eating, Sophia stood and stretched. "It is late," she said with a yawn. "Will you come to bed now?"

He shook his head. "I'm not ready to sleep yet. I'm going outside for a walk."

"All right," she said, her smile turning uncertain. "I will be waiting for you."

Ross disappeared from their private apartments as if he were escaping prison. Frowning at his odd behavior, Sophia went into the bedroom and washed her face with cool water. As she began to undo the buttons on her bodice in preparation for a sponge bath, some instinct prompted her to go to the window. Pushing the curtain aside, she stared at the courtyard that backed both buildings of the public office. Ross was there, his dark form illuminated by the moonlight, the crisp white of his shirtsleeves contrasting with the rich gleam of his waistcoat.

Sophia was perplexed to see him holding a cigar and what seemed to be a matchbox. Ross rarely smoked, and when he did, it was a social ritual performed in the company of others. He struck a match and endeavored to light the cigar, but his hands were unsteady, and the little flame shook violently in his grasp.

He was upset, Sophia thought in amazement. Not perturbed, but actually distraught, which she had never seen in him before. Quickly she refastened her bodice and went downstairs. How foolish she had been, not to realize what the news would do to him! Ross's life had been shattered because his first wife had died in childbirth. Now it must seem as if the entire hideous experience was beginning again.

As Ross was a supremely rational man, he would know that the chances of that happening again were very slight. However, he was no different from anyone else, in that his emotions occasionally eclipsed common sense. Perhaps no one would believe it of the invincible Chief Magistrate, but he had fears of his own, and this was perhaps the greatest.

Sophia went through the kitchen and out into the courtyard. Ross's back was turned toward her, and it stiffened as he sensed her approach. He had given up the attempt at smoking and merely stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head bowed.

As she came closer, his voice emerged in a quiet growl. "I want privacy."

Sophia did not stop until she had pressed herself against his back and wrapped her arms around his midriff. Although Ross could have pulled away with ridiculous ease, he remained motionless in her grasp. Sophia's heart ached with compassion as she felt him trembling all over like a huge captive wolf, panicked by his confinement.

"Ross," she said softly, "everything is going to be fine."

"I know that."

"I don't think you do." She laid her cheek on his back and tightened her arms around his lean waist while she fumbled for the words that would comfort him. "I'm not fragile, as Eleanor was. It won't happen again. You must believe me."

"Yes," he agreed instantly. "There's no reason for worry." But the tremors continued, and there was a ragged edge to his breathing.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she said. "Your real thoughts, not what you believe I want to hear."

Ross waited so long to answer that she thought he had refused her, until he forced words out between abbreviated breaths. "I knew this would happen...I prepared myself...there is no logical reason to fear it. I want this child. I want a family with you. But no matter what I tell myself, I can't help remembering...Oh, God, you can't know what it was like!" His voice cracked, and she knew that the dark memories were assailing him faster than he could defend himself.

"Ross," she demanded, "turn and face me. Please."

He seemed dazed as he complied. Immediately she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself to his big, warm body. He seized her as if she were a lifeline, his arms clamping onto her in a desperate vise.

Sophia smoothed her hands over his back and kissed his ear. His fingers clenched in her hair and her clothes, and he gripped her while his lungs moved in shuddering sighs. Sophia placed her hands on either side of his damp, hot face and urged it to hers. His thick lashes were spiked with tears, and he seemed to be staring through the gates of hell. Tenderly she kissed his stiff lips.

"You will never be alone again," she promised. "We are going to have many healthy children, and grandchildren, and we will grow old together."

He nodded, clearly trying to make himself believe her.

"Ross," she continued, "I'm not like Eleanor in any way, am I?"

"No," he replied gruffly. "Our entire relationship, from the moment it started until now...not a moment of it has been similar to what you experienced with Eleanor, has it?"

"Of course not."

"Then why do you believe it will end the same way?"

He did not answer, only crushed his lips to her temple and stood holding her in a desperate grip.

"I don't know why Eleanor had to die in such a manner," Sophia said. "It wasn't her fault, and it certainly wasn't yours. It was beyond your control. Until you stop holding yourself responsible for what happened to her, you will continue to be haunted by the past. And in punishing yourself, you will punish me as well."

"No," he breathed, clumsily stroking her hair, her neck, her back.

"Your guilt does her no honor." Sophia drew back to stare into his contorted face. "Eleanor would have hated to know that you were worse off for having loved her."

"I'm not!"

"Then prove it," she challenged, her own eyes misting with emotion. "Live as she would have wanted, and don't blame yourself any longer."

Ross huddled over her, and Sophia held him with all her strength. His beard-roughened face scraped hers as he sought her lips, found them, and kissed her almost angrily. She opened to him, accepting his passionate aggression. His hands searched her body roughly, emotion transforming into raw physical need.

"Upstairs," she said. "Please."

With a savage groan, he picked her up and headed into the house, not stopping until he had reached their bedroom.

Sophia awakened alone and naked beneath the rumpled bedclothes. She had slept late, she thought groggily. There was much to do today--meetings with an interior decorator and a master gardener, and a charity luncheon to attend. But somehow the thought of all that did not bother her nearly as much as it should have.

A drowsy smile curved her lips as she rolled onto her stomach. Memories of Ross's lovemaking swirled in her head. He had reached for her countless times in the night, lavishing her with passionate attention until she had finally begged him to cease. Now she was sore everywhere, and she felt the sting of whisker burns in indecent places, and her lips were chapped and kiss-swollen. And she was utterly satisfied, her body filled with luxurious contentment.

She asked Lucie to fill a slipper-bath for her, and she took her time about selecting her clothes for the day, a peach corded silk trimmed with fluted bands at the waist and hem. When the bath was ready, she lowered