Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(32)

Sophia clung to him desperately. “Don’t stop, don’t, don’t—”

Ross pulled her close and crushed his lips against her forehead. When he could manage to speak, his voice was raw with frustration. “Sophia, someone is coming. The door is unlocked. If you don’t want to be seen with me like this, you have to get out of bed.”

It took several seconds for her to comprehend his words. Abruptly the blood drained from her face. She clambered out of bed in a panicked flurry of sheets, covers, and rumpled skirts.

Jerking the sheets up to his waist, Ross rolled onto his stomach. He smothered a grunt of fury against the mattress. As he willed his tremendous erection to subside—without success—he heard the sounds of Sophia adjusting her clothing. She rushed to the washstand and began to make a great show of washing her hands, as if she had been busy preparing to change the wound dressing.

A quick knock came at the door, and Ernest’s cheerful face appeared. The boy was oblivious to the thick tension in the room. “Good morning, Sir Ross! Eliza sent me to tell ye that yer mother will arrive soon. A footman just brought word o‘ it.”

“Wonderful,” Ross said through his clenched teeth. “Thank you, Ernest.”

“Ye’re welcome, sir!”

The errand boy scampered away, the door yawning wide open in his wake.

Ross lifted his head to stare at Sophia, who refused to turn and face him. The splashing of her hands ceased, and she spoke while staring into the turbulent water. “I-I’ve just realized that it would make more sense for me to change your bandage after you bathe. I will send Ernest up with some breakfast, and Lucie will fill the hip bath.”

“Sophia,” he said softly. “Come here.”

She ignored the command and fled, her high-pitched voice floating behind her. “I’ll return soon…”

Despite his acute frustration, Ross could not prevent a rumble of moody laughter in his chest. “Go, then,” he said, dropping his head back on the pillow. “You can’t avoid me forever.”

Sophia raced to her room and shut the door, her heart pounding so violently that her chest ached. “Oh, God,” she whispered. She wandered dreamlike to the small, rectangular looking glass on her dresser. Her hair was disheveled, her lips swollen. There was a scrape on the side of her throat. Touching it with curiosity, Sophia realized that the abrasion had been made by the bristle of Sir Ross’s night-beard. How strange it was that her skin had been marked by a man’s kisses, a physical sign of how utterly he had claimed her.

Laying her forearms on the dresser-top, Sophia closed her eyes and groaned. She had never felt so tortured, her body feverish with unfulfilled desire, her heart aching with the knowledge that she was a weak-willed traitor. Once Ross had started kissing her, she had yielded without another thought. She had intended to become his lover, but her wish for revenge had undergone a devastating reversal. She no longer wanted to punish him, no matter how much he deserved it. She wanted to love him, to give him every part of herself… and that would result not in his destruction, but in her own.

When Ross was finished with breakfast and his bath, Sophia ventured upstairs once more. He was back in bed, looking impatient, his fingers delving into the newly changed bed linens. She was transfixed by the sight of him shaved and damp, his hair brushed back, his skin tan against the snowy white pillows. The blue-gray velvet of his dressing robe made his eyes look like distilled moonlight.

He met her gaze without smiling. “I don’t know how much more of this I can stand,” he muttered.

At first Sophia thought he was referring to the intimacy between them, and she colored deeply. Then she realized that he was chafing at his bedridden condition. “The extra rest will benefit you,” she said. “You do not spend enough time in bed.”

“You could remedy that.”

“I meant sleeping” A nervous laugh escaped her. “Sir Ross, if you insist on embarrassing me, I will have to ask Eliza to change your dressing.”

“No, don’t.” His lips twitched with a faint smile. “I’ll be good.”

He kept his promise, remaining still while she applied a new dressing. Sophia frowned as she finished her handiwork, having noticed that the wound looked red and swollen, although there was no sign of foul drainage. She touched Ross’s forehead, which felt dry and hot. “Your fever is a bit higher than before. How do you feel?”

“I want to get out of bed and do something.”

Sophia shook her head. “You’ll stay there until Dr. Linley advises otherwise. In the meanwhile, I think that you should not allow your visitors to tire you.”

“Good,” he said wryly. “That will be a convenient excuse to get rid of my family, or they’ll sit here and gabble all day.”

“Shall I prepare some refreshments?” she asked.

“God, no. That will keep them here longer.”

“Yes, sir.” Although Sophia did not look at Ross, she felt his intent gaze on her.

“Sophia,” he asked quietly, “what is the matter?”

She forced her lips into a bright, stiff smile. “Nothing!”

“About what happened earlier—”

To Sophia’s intense relief, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps and the hum of animated voices in the hall. Suddenly Eliza appeared in the doorway. “Sir Ross,” she said, “Mrs. Cannon and Master Matthew have arrived—”