Lady Sophia's Lover

CHAPTER 3

As Sophia emerged from the strong room, she was alarmed to discover that the mob had finally raged out of control. Men were climbing the fence and dropping to the ground, scurrying like rodents toward the building. A group of constables and horse patrols worked to disperse the rioters, but their efforts seemed to have little effect.

She rushed inside No. 3 in search of safety, but unfortunately, it was no better there. It seemed that every room and hallway was filled, the walls reverberating with the sounds of angry shouting. Runners had arrested the most violent protesters and were taking them in handcuffed groups to the holding rooms.

One of the court clerks, Mr. Vickery, milled about with the night-charge book, trying frantically to record the names of those who had been arrested. Catching sight of Sophia, he called out something to her, but the noise in the hall was deafening.Go back , he seemed to be saying, waving with his hand for her to leave.

Sophia turned to obey, but more of the mob swarmed through the doors. She was jostled and shoved to the side, fighting to keep from being pushed beneath trampling feet. It was hot and deafening in the hall, and the smells of alcohol and unwashed bodies filled the air with a nasty stench. Sophia was crushed against the wall and jabbed by elbows and shoulders, her head bumping hard against the hard paneling.

Trying not to panic, Sophia looked for the court clerk, but he was no longer visible. "Mr. Vickery!" she cried, her voice lost amid the uproar. "Mr. Vickery!"

Some of the rioters began to paw at her bodice, rough hands seeking the shape of her breasts. The shoulder of her dress ripped, and the gleam of a white shoulder seemed to inflame them. Sophia shoved at the coarse hands, but she was jammed against the wall until the breath was driven from her lungs. Someone pulled at her hair, and her scalp smarted while tears of pain sprang to her eyes.

"Here, now," a runner shouted indignantly, struggling to reach her. "Get your hands off her, you sodding bastards!"

Sophia turned away from the encroaching bodies, pressing the side of her face to the wall. She struggled for air as she was suffocated and mauled at the same time. Her ribs squeezed until it seemed they would crack. Her mind swam dizzily, and it became difficult for her to think. "Get away from me," she gasped. "Stop it, stop,stop --"

Suddenly the pressure eased, and she heard the men around her grunting in pain. Stunned, Sophia turned to see a huge, dark shape plowing through the sea of tightly packed bodies. It was Sir Ross, his gray eyes focused on Sophia. There was a strange expression on his face, at once blank and violent. He was brutally efficient as he shoved and struck his way through the crowd, not seeming to care that he left a path of bruises and bloody noses in his wake.

Reaching Sophia, Sir Ross pulled her into his arms, making a protective cage of his own body and the wall. She attached herself to him with a sigh of relief, blindly accepting his protection. He was still in his shirtsleeves, the thin white linen imbued with the heat and scent of his skin. Huddling against his broad chest, Sophia heard the deep thunder of his voice as he shouted to the agitators that Nick Gentry would remain in custody, and that all those who had ventured inside the public office were going to be arrested and sent to Newgate. His words had an immediate effect. The intruders nearest the doors began to file outside rapidly, having no wish to be imprisoned at the stone jug, as the infamous prison was called.

"Jensen, Walker, Gee," Sir Ross commanded the runners, "take your charges to the public house across the street and lock them in the cellar. Flagstad, send for more horse patrols to clear the crowd. Vickery, take names later. Right now, go outside and recite the Riot Act as loudly as you can."

"Sir, I don't remember the exact words of the Riot Act," the court clerk said anxiously.

"Then make up something," Sir Ross growled.

That remark seemed to amuse many of the protestors, and snorts of laughter burst through the hallway. As the runners began to move the men outside, the crush of bodies began to ease.

Sophia flinched as she felt someone fumbling at her skirts. She pressed closer to Sir Ross, her arms clutching around his lean midriff. Before she could say a word, he realized the problem.

"You!" Sir Ross snarled at the man behind her. "Lay a hand on this woman again, and you will lose it--along with other portions of your anatomy."

Another rumble of laughter erupted all around.

Clasped safely in the circle of Sir Ross's arms, Sophia marveled at the way he was able to dominate a crowd with his mere presence. Everything had been chaos, and he had restored order in less than a minute. The muscles of his back flexed as he pulled her between his thighs, holding her in the shelter of his body.

Sophia kept her cheek pressed to his chest, against the steady but rapid rhythm of his heart. Her nostrils were filled with the crisp scent of his shaving soap, the hint of coffee, and the salty tang of sweat. The thick dark curls of his chest tickled her cheek. Anthony had been smooth-chested. What would it be like to be held against this masculine wealth of hair? Swallowing hard, Sophia glanced at the shadow of day-old bristle that covered his jaw and upper throat. His huge hand rested on the center of her back, and she thought of how it might feel against her breast, his long fingers cupping her tender flesh, his thumb stroking her nipple...

My God--the frantic words swept through her brain--don't think about it, don't. But her body was filled with a strange, warm ache, and she could only breathe in shallow gasps. It was all she could do to keep from thrusting herself at him shamelessly, crushing her mouth against his.

"It's all right." His low whisper brushed against her ear. "Don't be afraid."

He had mistaken her trembling for fear. Good; it was far better that he think she was a silly coward, rather than suspect the truth. Mortified, Sophia tried to calm herself. She moistened her dry lips and spoke against his shirtfront. "I'm glad you finally decided to do something," she said, trying to sound impudent. "You waited long enough."

Ross made a soft sound that could be taken for either irritation or amusement. "I was busy with Gentry."

"I thought I would be crushed," she said shakily.

She was astonished as he cuddled her closer. "You're safe," he murmured. "No one is going to harm you."

Realizing that he was more than ready to comfort her, Sophia decided that this was a golden opportunity to appeal to his protective streak. She knew Sir Ross well enough by now to be certain that he could not resist the lure of a damsel in distress. Although part of her cringed in embarrassment, she continued to cling to him as if she were overcome by fear.

"I called to Mr. Vickery, but he couldn't hear me," she said, letting a plaintive note enter her voice.

He murmured softly and rubbed her spine with a comforting stroke. Although Sophia tried to ignore the pleasure of his touch, it spread through her body in an insidious tide. Closing her eyes, she wondered how long she could endure the slow caress of his hand. Her breasts fell full and heavy against his chest, her nipples turning hard.

Gently Sir Ross tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. The brush of his fingertips on her skin sent a ripple of warm sensation through her. "Were you hurt in the crush, Sophia?"

"I...I'm a bit bruised." Pretending to be overwrought, she put her arms around his neck and held on tightly. The closeness of his large body made her feel safe, supported, protected. She wanted to stand like this forever. He was her enemy, she reminded herself...but for the moment, that did not matter nearly as much as it should have.

Sir Ross gave a cursory glance around them as the hall began to clear. She gasped as he bent to pick her up. "Oh, sir, there is no need. I can walk, I'm--"

He ignored her protests as he carried her through the hall. For a woman who was used to taking care of herself, it was acutely embarrassing to play the helpless maiden. However, it was necessary to further her goal. Turning pink, Sophia clung to the hard breadth of his shoulders. Fortunately, the constables and handcuffed agitators were far too busy to pay any attention as Sir Ross carried her through the hall and up a flight of stairs.

When they reached his office, Sir Ross set her carefully on her feet. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, her heartbeat hurtling in a reckless cadence.

"I want to talk about something," he said quietly. "When you came to the strong room earlier, you happened to interrupt during a rather tense moment of the questioning, and I--"

"I'm sorry."

"Let me finish." A sudden smile curved his lips. "I've never known anyone with such a propensity for interrupting me."

Sophia managed to keep her mouth closed, and his smile deepened.

"Questioning Gentry is hardly a pleasant occupation. I've been in a foul mood all afternoon, and seeing you down there was the last straw. I rarely lose my temper, and I regret doing so in front of you."

Sophia found it amazing that a man of his position would apologize to her for such a slight offense. Somewhat unnerved, she moistened her lips and asked, "Why is it so important that I stay away from there?" Carefully he took hold of the loose lock of blonde hair that had fallen to her shoulder. His long fingers rubbed the silken strands as if he were releasing the perfume of a flower petal. "I promised myself when I hired you that I would try to protect you. There are some things that a woman should never be exposed to. That strong room has contained some of the most vile people on earth."

"Like Nick Gentry?"

Sir Ross frowned. "Yes. It is bad enough that you are exposed to the rabble who cross through the Bow Street office daily. But I won't allow you in the vicinity of men like Gentry."

"I am hardly a child who needs to be sheltered. I am a woman of twenty-eight."

For some reason the remark caused his eyes to gleam with amusement. "Well, despite your vast number of years, I would like to preserve as much of your innocence as possible."

"But I am not innocent. You know that, after what I've told you of my past."

He released the lock of her hair and framed the sides of her face with the tips of his fingers. "Youare an innocent, Sophia. As I've said from the beginning, you should not be working here. You should be married to a man who will take care of you."

"I don't want to marry, ever."

"No?" To her surprise, he did not jeer or laugh. "Why not? Because of your disappointment in love? That will fade in time."

"Will it?" she asked, not believing him. It wasn't what she had learned about Anthony that had made her a skeptic about love. It was what she had learned about herself.

"There are many men worth trusting," he told her seriously. "Men who will give you the honesty and respect you deserve. You'll find one of them someday, and marry him."

Sophia sent him a flirtatious glance from beneath her lashes. "But if I left Bow Street, who would take care of you?"

A gruff laugh escaped him, and his hands dropped from her face. But his searching gaze held hers, and Sophia felt her insides tighten in response.

"You can't spend the rest of your life working for a surly old magistrate at the Bow Street public office," he said.

Sophia smiled at the way Sir Ross described himself. Rather than argue the point, however, she stepped away and viewed his office critically. "I will tidy up in here."

Sir Ross shook his head. "It is late. You need to rest. Your work will wait until the morrow."

"Very well. I shall retire for the evening...if you will also."

He seemed vaguely annoyed by the suggestion. "No, I still have much to do. Good night, Miss Sydney." Sophia knew that she should obey without further comment. But the shadows beneath his eyes and the deep brackets on the sides of his lips were proof that he was exhausted. Good heavens, why must he push himself so hard?

"I don't require any more sleep than you do, sir. If you stay up late, I am capable of doing the same. I also have work to do."

His brows lowered in a forbidding scowl. "Go to bed, Miss Sydney."

Sophia did not flinch. "Not until you do."

"My bedtime has nothing to do with yours," he said curtly, "unless you are suggesting that we go to bed together."

Clearly, the remark was meant to intimidate her into silence.

A reckless reply came to mind, one so bold that she bit her tongue to keep from speaking. And then she thought,Why not ? It was time to declare her sexual interest in him...time to advance her plan of seduction one more step.

"All right" she said quickly. "If that is what it takes to make you get the rest you require--so be it."

His dark face went blank. The lengthy silence that ensued was evidence of how greatly she had surprised him.My God , she thought in a flutter of panic.Now I've done it . She could not predict how Sir Ross would respond. Being a gentleman--a notoriously celibate one--he might refuse her proposition. However, there was something in his expression--a flicker in his gray eyes--that made her wonder if he might not accept the impulsive invitation. And if he did, she would have to carry it out and sleep with him. The thought jarred her very soul. This was what she had planned, what she had wanted to achieve, but she was suddenly terrified.

Terrified by the realization of how much she wanted him.

Slowly Sir Ross approached, following as she backed away one step, then another, until her spine was flattened against the door. His alert gaze did not move from her flushed face as he braced his hands on the door, placing them on either side of her head.

"My bedroom or yours?" he asked softly.

Perhaps he expected her to back down, stammer, run away.

Her hands curled into balls of tension. "Which would you prefer?" she parried.

His head tilted as he studied her, his eyes oddly caressing. "My bed is bigger."

"Oh," was all she could manage to whisper. Her heart crashed repeatedly against the wall of her chest, pounding the breath from her lungs.

He looked at her as if he could read her every thought and emotion. "However," he murmured, relenting, "if we retire together, I doubt that either of us would get much rest."

"P-probably not," she agreed unsteadily. "Therefore, I suppose it would be for the best if we adhered to our usual arrangement."

"Our usual..."

"You go to your bed, and I'll go to mine."

Relief flooded her, leaving her weak, but at the same time she was aware of a subtle wash of disappointment. "You won't stay up late, then?" she asked.

He grinned at her perseverance. "Good God, you're tenacious. No, I won't cross you. I fear the consequences if I do." Standing back, he opened the door for her. "Miss Sydney, there is just one more thing."

Sophia paused before leaving. "Yes, sir?"

He reached for her, his hand sliding around the back of her neck. Sophia was too startled to move or breathe, her entire body stiffening as his head lowered to hers. He touched her only with his lips and with his hand at her nape, but she was as helpless as if she had been bound to him with iron chains.

There had been no time to prepare herself...she was defenseless and stunned, unable to withhold her response. At first his lips were gentle, exquisitely careful, as if he feared bruising her. Then he coaxed her to give him more, his mouth settling more firmly on hers. The taste of him, his intimate flavor laced with the hint of coffee, affected her like a drug. The tip of his tongue slid past her teeth in silken exploration. He tasted the interior of her mouth, stroked the slick insides of her cheeks. Anthony had never kissed her like this, feeding her rising passion as if he were layering kindling on a blaze. Devastated by his skill, Sophia swayed dizzily and clutched his hard neck.

Oh, if only he would hold her tightly and lock her full length against his...but he still touched her only with that one hand, and consumed her mouth with patient hunger. Sensing the force of his passion, held so securely in check, Sophia instinctively sought a way to release it. Her hands fluttered to the sides of his face, stroking the bristle of his cheeks and jaw.

Ross made a quiet sound in his throat. Suddenly he took hold of her shoulders and eased her away from his body, ignoring her whimpering protest. Sophia's gaze locked with his in a moment of searing wonder. The stillness was broken only by their panting breaths. No man had ever looked at Sophia that way, as if he could eat her with his gaze, as if he wanted to possess every inch of her body and every flicker of her soul. She was frightened by the power of her response to him, the unmentionable desires that shocked her.

Sir Ross regarded her without smiling. "Good night, Sophia."

She mumbled in reply and fled, moving as fast as possible without actually breaking into a run. Her mind swam with confusion as she returned to Bow Street No. 4. Dimly she noted that the mob was dissipating and that the street was orderly once again. Horse patrols crossed in front of the building, briskly dispersing the crowd.

As she entered the private residence, she saw that Eliza and Lucie had swept away the broken glass and were busy covering the gaping window with oilcloth. "Miss Sophia!" Eliza gasped as she saw her torn gown and disheveled hair. "What happened? Did one of those filthy rioters get hold of you?" "No," Sophia replied distractedly. "There was a bit of a crush inside number three, but Sir Ross had it cleared away in no time." Spying the broom standing in the corner, she reached for it automatically, but the two women ushered her away, insisting that she get some rest. Reluctantly she complied, lighting a candle stub to take to her room.

Her legs were leaden as she trudged up the stairs. Upon reaching her room, she closed the door with great care and set the brass candleholder on the small bedside table.

Recollections filled her mind...Sir Ross's light, smiling gray eyes, the way his chest moved as he breathed, the heat of his mouth, the searing liquid pleasure of his kiss...

Anthony had crowed about his experience with women, his skills as a lover, but Sophia now understood that it had been only empty boasting. In the space of a few short minutes, Sir Ross had aroused her far beyond anything she had felt with Anthony...and he had left her with the unspoken promise of more. It was frightening, the realization that she would not be able to stay unaffected when she finally shared a bed with him. Half angry, half despairing, Sophia wondered why Sir Ross couldn't have been the portly, pompous fool she had expected him to be. He was going to make it horribly difficult for her to betray him; she would not escape the experience unscathed.

Disheartened, she changed into her night rail, brushed her hair, and washed her face in cool water. Her body was still sensitive, all her nerves clamoring for the sweet stimulation of Sir Ross's hands and lips. Sighing, she carried a candle to her window, pushing the little curtain aside. Most of Bow Street No. 3 was dark now, but lamplight shone from Sir Ross's office.

She could see the dark outline of his head as he sat at his desk.

Still working, she told herself in sudden annoyance. Was he going to renege on his promise to get some rest?

As if he sensed that she was watching, Sir Ross rose and stretched, then glanced out his window. His face was partially shadowed as he stared at her across the way. A moment later, with a mockingly deferential bow, he turned and extinguished the lamp on his desk, leaving his office in darkness.