Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(15)

The noise outside was deafening, the air acrid with smoke. Although no one had yet managed to scale the iron fence, Sophia could see a ladder being passed over the top of the writhing mob. Lifting her skirts, she ran through the courtyard and wrenched open the door that led to the strong room.

Stairs descended to a dark void. She climbed down carefully, since the stone beneath her feet was slick. The walls were green with mold, and the air was permeated with a sour stench that reminded her of urine. Sophia heard the sound of masculine voices, Sir Ross’s among them. Following a dull glow at the bottom of the stairs, she found a narrow corridor that opened into a cellar-space. Lamplight flickered across the bars of three holding cells and cast a grid of shadows across the dirt floor. At the far end of the strong room, a table and chairs were positioned near a barred vent that gave onto the street level. The mob’s ceaseless roar filtered through the opening.

Sophia saw two runners, Sir Ross, and a tall, well-dressed man who lounged insolently near the vent. One shoulder was braced casually against the wall, while his hands were buried deep in the pockets of his coat. He must be Nick Gentry, Sophia thought. Before she had a glimpse of his face, however, Sir Ross turned and approached her in a few swift strides.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was edged with a savagery that made her flinch.

Despite the coolness of the room, Cannon was in his shirtsleeves, the broad shape of his shoulders and the heavy muscles of his arms visible through the clinging white linen. The neck of the shirt was unbuttoned, revealing the edge of a thick pelt of hair on his chest. Sophia’s startled gaze lifted to his face, which was hard and fierce, the gray eyes burning with wrath.

“I told you not to come down here,” he snapped. Although he was not precisely shouting, his voice was resonant with fury.

“I’m sorry, but there is something you must know—”

“When I tell you not to do something, you obey me, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”

“Yes, O lord and master,” Sophia said sarcastically, her tension and worry sparking into anger. “However, I thought you should be informed that the mob is about to overtake number four. The constables can’t hold them back much longer. They’re breaking the windows. If you don’t send for the military soon, they’ll burn both buildings to the ground.”

“Sayer.” Sir Ross turned to the runner. “Go have a look outside. If the situation warrants, send for a troop of horse guards.” He glanced back at Sophia. “And you—go upstairs and stay inside until I tell you otherwise.”

Stung by the sharp way he spoke to her, she nodded and left the strong room as fast as her feet could take her.

As the housekeeper left the strong room, Nick Gentry, who had been contemplating the barred window-vent, turned back around.

“Nice little piece,” he commented, obviously referring to Sophia. “Got ‘er working the brass for you, Cannon? I think I’ll take ’er when you’re done.”

Being familiar with street cant, Ross knew exactly what “working the brass” meant. It referred to a style of iron bed with brass knobs, and the activities that might take place on it. Usually the taunts of a prisoner had no effect on Ross. However, this seemed to be the one occasion when he couldn’t control himself. The reference to Sophia as if she were a common prostitute was all it took to sent his fury skyrocketing.

“Either close that hole in the middle of your face,” he snarled to Gentry, “or I’ll do it for you.”

Gentry grinned, clearly pleased with the success of his jab. “You’ve been trying to make me talk all day, and now you want me to shut my gob?”

Nick Gentry was well dressed and surprisingly young. He was also handsome, with dark hair and blue eyes and an easy smile. His accent, though not that of a gentleman, was far more refined than that of the average Cockney. One could almost mistake him for one of the aristocratic young bucks who spent their time gambling and chasing a light-skirt while they waited for their inheritances. But something about his face betrayed that he was a creature of the streets… a coldness that showed in the eyes and robbed the smile of all meaning. Somewhere in his past, Nick Gentry had learned that life was a bitter contest for dominance. He intended to win, and he played by no recognizable set of rules. Loyalty, fairness, mercy—these were qualities that he did not recognize. Ross found it amazing that a brutish bastard like Gentry had garnered so much support among the masses.

Gentry sent him a sly grin, as if he could read Ross’s thoughts. “You’ll have trouble on your hands tonight, Cannon. Listen to that crowd… they’ll smash this place to the ground if you don’t let me go.”

“You’re not going anywhere for the next two days,” Ross said. “You’re going to molder in the strong room for as long as I can legally keep you here. You may as well make yourself comfortable.”

“In this slosh-pot?” Gentry returned sourly. “Not bloody likely.”

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.