Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(53)

“That is the first time I’ve ever heard you agree with the French, sir.” The amusement lingered in Ross’s eyes as he caught Sophia’s wrist, preventing her from leaving. “Stay and finish your champagne, little one,” he said softly. “As far as I’m concerned, you may have anything you desire.”

Flushing, Sophia tugged at her wrist, conscious of the elderly man’s attention on them. “I desire to return to my duties, sir.”

To her disbelief, Ross lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, right in front of his grandfather. Their relationship couldn’t have been more clear if he had proclaimed it from a podium.

“Sir Ross,” she said softly, shocked.

He held her gaze deliberately, informing her silently that he was no longer going to conceal his feelings for her.

Unnerved, Sophia handed her glass to him. “I must go,” she said breathlessly. “Please excuse me.” As she left with great haste, Ross remained with his grandfather, watching her so intently that she could feel the heat of his gaze on her back.

Glancing at his grandfather, Ross raised his brows expectantly. “Well?”

“It is a good match,” Cannon said, pouring more champagne with obvious relish. “She is a pleasant girl without pretensions. Much like her grandmother. Have you sampled her charms yet?”

Ross smiled at the abrupt question. “If I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I think you have,” the old man said, regarding him over the rim of the glass. “And if she is anything like her grandmother was, you had a fine time indeed.”

“You old fox Don’t say that you and Sophia Jane… ?”

“Oh, yes.” The memory appeared to be a delicious one. Lost in private reflections, Cannon gently rolled the stem of the champagne glass between his time-worn fingers. “For years I’ve loved her,” he said softly. “I should have tried harder to win her. Don’t let anything come between you and the woman you love, my boy.”

The smile vanished from Ross’s face, and he replied gravely, “No, sir.”

As Sophia strode across the stone-and-marble-paved floor of the great hall, she saw a dark figure detaching itself from the shadows of a domed alcove. It was a man wearing a black silk mask, dressed in evening wear like the other guests. He was young and strapping, with broad shoulders and a slim waist—the same unusually powerful build that most of the Bow Street runners possessed. What was such a man doing far away from the drawing room? Sophia paused uncertainly. “Sir? May I assist you?”

He took a long time to respond. Finally he approached, stopping within an arm’s length of her. The eyes behind the mask were a bright jewel-blue, mesmerizing in their intensity. When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Puzzled, Sophia tilted her head as she gazed at him. Something about him made her uneasy, her nerves thrilling with a sense of dangerous awareness. The mask concealed most of his face, but there was no disguising the bold jut of his nose or the generous shape of his mouth. His brown hair was short and neatly brushed, and his skin was unusually swarthy for a gentleman.

“How may I help you?” she asked cautiously.

“What is your name?”

“Miss Sydney, sir.”

“You are the housekeeper here?”

“Only for tonight. I work for Sir Ross Cannon at Bow Street.”

“Bow Street is too dangerous a place for you,” he said, sounding annoyed.

He was drunk, she thought, and inched backward.

“You are a spinster?” he asked, following her slowly.

“I am unwed,” she acknowledged.

“Why would a woman like you remain unmarried?”

The questions were strange and inappropriate. Uneasily Sophia decided that it would be wise for her to leave as soon as possible. “You are kind to spare me your concern, sir. However, I have duties to attend to. If you will excuse me—”

“Sophia,” he whispered, staring at her with what seemed to be longing.

Startled, she wondered how he knew her first name. She stared at him with wide eyes, but then a sudden noise distracted her. It was the sound of laughter and cheering, accompanied by a vigorous swell of music and a cacophony of fireworks explosions. Bursts of brilliant light lit the sky and flickered through the windows. It must be midnight, Sophia realized. Time for the unmasking. Automatically she looked toward the sound.

The stranger moved behind her, so swift and silent that she did not sense him until she felt something cold drop on her chest. She reached up and fumbled at the foreign weight, then heard a smooth click as something was clasped around her neck.

“Good-bye,” came a warm whisper near her ear.

By the time she had turned around, he was gone.

Dumbstruck, Sophia put both hands to her chest and felt a web of stones and precious metal. A necklace. But why would a stranger do such a thing? She was bewildered and terrified, her feet carrying her swiftly outside. She pulled at the heavy necklace, searched for the clasp, but could not seem to unshackle herself.

Anxiously Sophia rushed to the open conservatory, where she had left Ross and his grandfather. A crowd had gathered around them, with many more coming from the ballroom. Rockets filled the sky with clusters of brilliant color, forming shapes of trees and animals, while rain-fire drifted downward through billows of smoke. The scene was chaotic and deafening.