Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(34)

Ross could not restrain a burst of laughter. “You just said that was my own concern!”

“Well, yes, but I am your mother, and I have a right to know if you have taken an interest in someone.”

He grinned at her avid curiosity. “I admit to nothing”

“Ross,” she protested. She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Well, it has been a long time since I have heard you laugh. I was beginning to think you had forgotten how. But really, dear… a servant? When you could have your pick of all the well-bred heiresses in England?”

Ross met her gaze directly, aware that the very idea of marrying a member of one’s household staff was considered an appalling social transgression. Sexual liaisons with servants were acceptable, but a gentleman would never marry one. Ross did not give a damn. Years of interacting with everyone from royalty to the poverty-stricken had shown him that the class consciousness of his own society was sheer hypocrisy. He had seen that noblemen were capable of committing foul crimes, and that even the lowest street scavengers sometimes behaved with honor.

“Miss Sydney is a viscount’s daughter,” he told his mother. “Though I wouldn’t care if her father had been a rag seller.”

His mother made a face. “I fear that working so long at Bow Street has given you some rather democratic sensibilities.” Clearly, the remark was not intended as a compliment. “However… a viscount’s daughter? One could do worse, I suppose.”

“You’re making assumptions, Mother,” Ross said dryly. “I haven’t said that I have any intentions toward her.”

“But you do,” she returned smugly. “A mother knows these things. Now, tell me how a young woman of supposedly good blood has come to work at Bow Street.”

His eyebrows arched into sardonic crescents. “Aren’t you going to ask about my wound?”

“I vow to give you another wound if you do not tell me more about Miss Sydney!”

Chapter 7

Sophia did not come to Ross’s room for several hours after his mother and brother had left. He fretted impatiently, wondering what menial tasks took precedence over him. She sent Lucie upstairs with his supper tray and medicine, as well as some reading materials to divert him. However, he had no appetite, and his head had begun to hurt. As the sun set and the walls darkened, Ross tossed and turned in the stuffy room. He was dry and hot and he ached everywhere, especially in his shoulder. Most maddening of all, he felt isolated. The rest of the world was carrying on without him, while he was confined to a sickbed. Awkwardly he stripped off his nightshirt and lay with the sheets pulled up to his waist, stewing in annoyance.By the time Sophia appeared at the hour of eight, Ross was surly and exhausted, lying facedown on the mattress despite the pain it caused him.

“Sir Ross?” She turned up the lamp a bit. “Are you asleep? I’ve come to change your bandage.”

“No, I’m not asleep,” he grumbled. “I’m hot and my shoulder aches, and I’m tired of lying in this accursed bed.”

She leaned over and felt his forehead. “Still feverish. Here, let me turn you over. No wonder your shoulder hurts, when you are resting on it like that.” Her slender but strong arms helped him to lift up. Ross flopped over with a disgruntled sound, the sheets slipping down to his hips. Keeping an arm behind his neck, Sophia brought a glass to his lips, and he drank the cold, sweetened barley water in gulps. Her fresh scent seemed to cut through the stale atmosphere of the room.

“Who closed the windows?” she asked.

“My mother did. She says the outside air is bad for a fever.”

“I don’t think the night air will do you any harm.” She went to open the windows and admit a refreshing breeze.

Ross leaned back against the pillows, relishing the relief from the stifling sickroom climate. “You’ve been gone all day,” he said testily. He pulled the bed linens back up to his chest, wondering if she realized that he was na**d beneath. “What have you been doing?”

“The girls and I cleaned the kitchen range and flues, and blackened the ironwork, and then we did some laundering and mending. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon making currant jam with Eliza.”

“Let Eliza take care of those things tomorrow. You stay with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophia murmured, smiling at his autocratic tone. “If you wanted my company, you had only to ask.”

Ross scowled and remained silent as she changed the dressing on his shoulder. His aggravation was soothed by the sight of Sophia’s serene face, the dark lashes screening her blue eyes as she concentrated on her task. Remembering the sweet fire of her response, Ross felt a glow of triumph. Despite her fears, she had been willing to let him make love to her. He would not press the issue now, not until he was well again. But then… oh, then…

Sophia finished tying the ends of the bandage and dipped a cloth into a bowl of water. “No signs of festering,” she said, wringing out the cloth. “I think the wound is healing. Perhaps your fever will break soon, and then you will be more comfortable.”

The cool cloth moved over his hot face and forehead. A breeze from the window fanned across his damp skin, making him shiver in enjoyment. “Are you cold?” came Sophia’s gentle voice.

Ross shook his head, his eyes closed. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t stop. That feels good.”