Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(3)

“I wouldn’t mind,” she said with equanimity. “As I have already explained, I am neither sheltered nor innocent. I am not young, nor do I have a reputation or social standing to preserve. Many women work in hospitals, prisons, and charity wards, and they encounter all kinds of desperate and lawless people. I will survive just as they have.”

“You cannot be my assistant,” Ross said firmly. He raised a hand in a silencing gesture as she tried to interrupt. “However, my former housekeeper has just retired, and I would be willing to hire you as her replacement. That would be a far more suitable employment for you.”

“I could take a hand in certain household matters,” she conceded. “In addition to working as your assistant.”

“You propose to do both?” In a gently sardonic tone, he asked, “Don’t you think that might be too much work for one person to handle?”

“People say that you do the work of six men,” she shot back. “If that is true, I could certainly manage to do the work of two.”

“I am not offering you two positions. I am offering only one—that of housekeeper.”

Strangely, his authoritative statement made her smile. There was no mistaking the challenge in her eyes, but it was a friendly provocation, as if she knew somehow that he was not about to let her walk away. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’d have what I want or nothing at all.”

Ross’s face hardened into the expression that cowed even the most seasoned Bow Street runners. “Miss Sydney, it is clear that you don’t understand the dangers you would be exposed to. An attractive woman has no business mingling with criminals whose behavior ranges from mischief-making to depravities I could not begin to describe.”

She seemed unruffled at the prospect. “I would be surrounded by more than a hundred law enforcement officers, including constables, horse patrols, and a half-dozen or so Bow Street runners. I daresay I would be safer working here than I would be shopping at Regent Street.”

“Miss Sydney—”

“Sir Ross,” she interrupted, standing and bracing her hands on his desk. Her high-necked dress revealed nothing as she leaned toward him. However, if she had been wearing a low décolletage, her br**sts would have been presented to him like two succulent apples on a tray. Stimulated unbearably by the thought, Ross forced himself to focus on her face. Her lips curled in a faint smile. “You have nothing to lose by letting me try,” she pointed out. “Give me a month to prove my worth.”

Ross stared at her intently. There was something manufactured about her display of charm. She was trying to manipulate him into giving her something she wanted—and she was succeeding. But why in God’s name did she want to work for him? He realized suddenly that he could not let her go without discovering her motives.

“If I fail to please you,” she added, “you can always hire someone else.”

Ross was known for being a supremely rational man. It would be impractical for him to hire this woman. Stupid, even. He knew exactly what the others at Bow Street would make of it. They would assume that he had hired her because of her sexual appeal. The uncomfortable truth was, they would be right. It had been a long time since he had been so strongly attracted to a woman. He wanted to keep her here, to enjoy her beauty and intelligence, and to discover if she returned his interest. His mind weighed the scruples of such a decision, but his thoughts were eclipsed by male urges that refused to be quelled.

And for the first time in his magisterial career, he ignored reason in favor of desire.

Scowling, he picked up a haphazard pile of papers and handed them to her. “Are you familiar with the Hue and Cry?”

Cautiously she accepted the ungainly stack. “I believe it is a weekly publication of police news?”

He nodded. “It contains descriptions of offenders at large and details of their crimes. It is one of Bow Street’s most effective tools in apprehending criminals, particularly the ones who come from counties outside my jurisdiction. That stack you’re holding has notices from mayors and magistrates all across England.”

Sophia scanned the top few notes and read aloud.“‘ Arthur Clewen, by trade a blacksmith, about five feet ten inches high, with dark curled hair, effeminate voice, large nose, charged with fraud in Chichester… Mary Thompson, alias Hobbes, alias Chiswit, a tall girl thin of frame, with light straight hair, charged with stabbing murder in Wolverhampton…’ ”

“Those notes must be compiled and copied every week,” Ross said tersely. “It’s tedious, and I have far more pressing matters to attend to. From now on, that will be one of your responsibilities.” He pointed to a small table in the corner, every available inch of its scarred surface covered with books, files, and correspondence. “You may work there. You’ll have to share my office, as there is no room for you elsewhere. As things stand, I’m away on investigations much of the time.”

“You will hire me, then,” she said, her voice rich with satisfaction. “Thank you, Sir Ross.”

He slanted her an ironic glance. “If I find that you are not suited for the position, you will accept my decision without protest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“One more thing. You will not be required to go to the prisoners’ van each morning. Vickery will do it.”