Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(24)
Ross’s mouth quirked, and he did not deny the statement. “Good day, Lord Lyttleton. I will examine the draft of your bill most carefully. However, do not expect that my views will change.”
“I want your support, Cannon,” the gentleman said in a soft, meaningful tone. “And if I receive it, you will find me a most useful friend.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
They exchanged bows, and Lyttleton departed, the soles of his leather shoes making an expensive tapping sound on the worn wood floor.
Sir Ross’s eyes gleamed as he stared at Sophia. “Come,” he said softly, and guided her into his office. The pressure of his hand on her back was warm and light. Sophia sat in the chair he indicated, her spine straight, while he resumed his place behind the huge mahogany desk.
“Lyttleton.” She repeated the name of the gentleman who had just left. “Surely that was not the same Lyttleton who is the Secretary of State for War?”
“None other.”
“Oh, no,” Sophia said, thoroughly flustered. “I hope I did not interrupt your meeting. Oh, I will cheerfully murder Mr. Vickery!”
Sir Ross responded with a deep chuckle. “You didn’t interrupt anything. I was ready for Lyttleton to leave a half hour ago, thus your appearance was quite timely. Now, tell me why you are here. I suspect it has something to do with that parcel in your lap.”
“First let me apologize for bothering you. I—”
“Sophia.” He stared at her steadily. “I am always available to you. Always.”
She could not seem to take her gaze from his. The air around them felt alive and sultry, like the stillness before a midsummer storm. Clumsily she leaned forward and placed the parcel on his desk. “I received this from Ernest just a little while ago. He said that a man delivered it to Bow Street and left no word as to the sender.”
Sir Ross surveyed the address on the front of the package. As he pushed the brown paper aside, the lavender gown glimmered and rustled in the Spartan surroundings of the office. Sir Ross’s face remained impassive, but one dark brow arched as he examined the beautiful garment.
“I don’t know who could have sent it,” Sophia said anxiously. “And there is something peculiar about it.” She explained the resemblance between the lavender-silver gown and the one that had belonged to her mother.
When Sophia finished speaking, Sir Ross, who had listened intently, leaned back in his chair and considered her in a meditative way that she didn’t quite like. “Miss Sydney… is it possible that the gown is a gift from your former lover?”
The thought gave Sophia a start of surprise as well as a flash of bitter amusement. “Oh, no. He has no idea that I am working here. Besides, there is no reason for him to send me a gift.”
Sir Ross made a noncommittal sound and picked up a handful of the shining lavender fabric. The sight of his long fingers rubbing the delicate silk caused a peculiar flutter inside her. His thick black lashes lowered as he examined the gown; the stitching, the seams, the lace. “It is a costly garment,” he said. “Well made, and of high-quality goods. But there is no dressmaker’s label inside, which is unusual. I venture to guess that whoever sent the gown did not want it traced back to the modiste, who might reveal his—or her—identity.”
“Then there is no way to find out who sent it?”
He looked up from the gown. “I am going to have one of the runners talk to Ernest about the messenger, as well as investigate the dressmakers who are most likely to have made this gown. The fabric is unusual—that will help to narrow the list.”
“Thank you.” Her hesitant smile vanished at his next question.
“Sophia, have you recently encountered any men who might have taken an interest in you? Anyone you shared a flirtation with, or spoke to at market, or—”
“No!” Sophia was not certain why the question agitated her so, but she felt her cheeks flood with heat. “I assure you, Sir Ross, I would not encourage any gentlemen that way… that is—” She broke off in confusion as she realized that she had encouraged a particular man that way—Sir Ross himself.
“It’s all right, Sophia,” he said quietly. “I would not blame you if you had. You are free to do as you wish.”
Rattled, she spoke without thinking. “Well, I do not have a follower, and I have not behaved in a manner that might attract one. My last experience was certainly nothing I wish to repeat.”
His gaze took on a wolflike alertness. “Because of the way he left you? Or is it that you found no pleasure in his arms?”
Sophia was startled that he would ask such an intimate question, and her face flamed. “I don’t see that it has any bearing on the question of who sent this gown.”
“It does not,” he admitted. “But I am curious.”
“Well, you will have to remain curious!” She struggled to restore her splintered composure. “May I leave now, sir? I have much to do, especially with Eliza being injured. Lucie has worked her fingers to the bone.”
“Yes,” he said brusquely. “I will have Sayer investigate the matter of the gown, and keep you informed of the developments.”
“Thank you.” Sophia stood and went to the door, while he followed close at her heels. He reached for the knob, but paused as Sophia spoke without looking at him. “I… I found no pleasure in his arms.” She concentrated on the heavy oak paneling of the door. “But that was perhaps my fault more than his.”
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