Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(57)

Her body bounced in his lap with each jolt of the carriage, arousing him and filling his mind with idle fantasies. Gently he held Sophia’s head against his chest and watched the alterations of her expression as she slept: the tiny frown that gathered between her dark brows, the restless twitch of her mouth. It seemed that her dreams were far from peaceful. He stroked the side of her face and murmured quietly, and her frown smoothed away. Unable to help himself, Ross slid his hand to her breast and molded his fingers over the voluptuous curve. Even in sleep she responded to him, arching with a drowsy murmur. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and cradled her as she stretched and yawned.

“I’m sorry,” he said, staring into the slumbrous depths of her eyes. “I didn’t intend to wake you.”

She blinked sleepily. “Are we almost there?”

“A half hour at most.”

Her gaze turned wary. “What will happen tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’m going to find out if I was the man who sent your brother to the prison hulk all those years ago.”

Her fingers slipped inside his waistcoat, seeking the warmth of his body. “Whatever you discover will not matter.”

“Of course it will,” he said gruffly.

“No.” She levered herself upward. Her hand curved around his neck, and she applied her lips to his, exploring daintily, her tongue lapping into the warmth of his mouth. Ross remained stalwart for precisely five seconds, then responded to her tender witchery with a low groan. Her taste mingled with his, the kiss becoming full and deep as he immersed himself in her sweetness.

“Sophia,” he said, tearing his mouth free. Although it was not the time or place he had planned, he could not prevent the words that escaped him. “I want to marry you.”

She was very still, her face scant inches from his. Clearly, she had not expected such a proposal. Agitation caused her lashes to flutter, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “Gentlemen in your position don’t marry servants.”

“It has been known to happen.”

“Yes, and the men who make such mistakes are exposed to ridicule and sometimes even ostracism. And you are very much in the public view—oh, your critics would be merciless!”

“I’ve been publicly criticized too many times to count,” Ross said firmly. “I am well used to it by now. And you are carrying on as if I am a peer of the realm, when I am no more than a professional man.”

“A professional man from a wealthy family with ties to the aristocracy.”

“Well, if we are to start defining ourselves, I should point out that you are the daughter of a viscount.”

“But I was not reared as one. After my parents died, I had no further education. I can’t ride a horse, or dance, or play an instrument. And I was taught nothing of etiquette and aristocratic manners—”

“None of that matters.”

She laughed in disbelief. “Perhaps not to you, but it does to me!”

“Then you will learn whatever is necessary.”

Sophia fidgeted with a loose fold of his shirt. “I cannot marry you.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to?” His lips grazed the silken edge of her hairline and drifted to her temple.

“Your family would not approve of a marriage between us.”

“Yes, they would.” He kissed her throat. “My mother has made it clear that she will accept you with open arms. The rest of the family—aunts, uncles, and cousins—will follow her lead. And my grandfather has practically ordered me to propose to you.”

“No!” Sophia exclaimed, astonished.

“He said that you were as pretty a miss as could be found anywhere. According to him, you are fertile ground for sowing, and I had better go about it right away.”

“Good Lord!” Sophia was torn between laughter and dismay. “I can only imagine what else he said.”

“He told me about his lifelong love for your grandmother, and how he wished that he had simply kidnapped Sophia Jane and eloped with her. He has lived with that regret for decades. God spare me from having to do the same.”

Sophia’s delicate face turned pensive. “I will stay with you for as long as you want me. Perhaps the best solution is that I become your mistress.”

Ross shook his head decisively. “That is not what I need, Sophia. I’m not the kind of man who keeps a mistress. And you’re not the kind of woman who would be happy with such an arrangement. There is no reason to make our relationship into something shameful. I want you to be my wife.”

“Ross, I can’t—”

“Wait,” he murmured, sensing that he had pressed his advantage too soon. He should have waited patiently for the right time. “Don’t give me an answer. Just consider the idea for a while.”

“I don’t need to consider it,” she responded. “I really don’t think—”

He covered her mouth with his, silencing her for a long time, so that she forgot what she had intended to say.

Chapter 12

Ross headed to Bow Street No. 3 immediately upon their arrival. Morgan had agreed to take up temporary residence at the public office during Ross’s three-day absence, and the light at his desk was burning as evening settled over London. When Ross crossed the threshold, Morgan glanced up from his work and sighed in patent relief.“Thank God you’re back.”