Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(70)

“Who is Fenton?”

“One of my spruce prigs.” Seeing her confusion, he clarified impatiently. “A highly trained thief. I need to know what Fenton told Cannon—if he stayed loyal to me and kept his gob shut.”

“Yes, but what will happen to Mr. Fenton if it turns out—”

“That’s not your concern,” he replied, pushing her toward the back door. “Now go quickly, before Cannon finds us together. Blueskin will keep you safe.”

Less than a minute after Sophia had left, Cannon shoved his way inside the apartment. Nick sat in his chair by the hearth, stretching out in a provokingly idle position, as if it were of little concern to him that the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street had just invaded his home. Cannon approached him and stopped just a few feet away, his eyes appearing oddly light in his wrath-darkened face.

Despite his animosity toward the Chief Magistrate, Nick had to concede a certain grudging respect for him. Cannon was smart, seasoned, and powerful… a man’s man. And he possessed an unyielding morality that fascinated Nick. A man handicapped by principles, who could accomplish all that Cannon had, was someone to be reckoned with.

The air was alive with challenge and aggression, yet they both managed to converse in a normal tone.

“You gave the necklace to Miss Sydney,” Cannon said without preamble.

Nick inclined his head in mocking commendation. “You found that out damned quickly.”

“Why?” The magistrate looked as though he wanted to tear him apart piece by piece.

Shrugging, Nick offered a casually spoken lie. “I’ve fancied the little muff ever since I saw her at Bow Street. I want a chance at her after you’re finished.”

“Stay away from her.” Cannon’s words were quiet but fatally sincere. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Nick threw him a cold grin. “Apparently you’re not done with her yet.”

“I’ll never be done with her. And the next time you send her a gift, I’ll personally shove it up your—”

“All right,” Nick interrupted in rising irritation. “Warning taken. I won’t bother your fancy piece. Now get the hell out of my house.”

Cannon stared at him with a lethal dispassion that would have alarmed any other man. “It’s only a matter of time before you overreach yourself,” he said softly. “One of your schemes will fall through. Some piece of evidence will implicate you. And I’ll be there to watch you hang.”

Nick smiled thinly, reflecting that Cannon wouldn’t be so smug if he knew that Sophia was his sister. “I’m sure you will,” he muttered. “But don’t expect to take any satisfaction in my death. You may even come to regret it.”

A look of puzzled speculation crossed the older man’s face, and then he contemplated Nick with narrowed eyes. “Before I leave,” he growled, “I want you to explain something. The gown you sent to Miss Sydney… she claims it is almost identical to one that her mother once possessed.”

“Is it?” Nick asked lazily. “That’s an interesting coincidence.”

It was clear that behind Cannon’s set face, his mind was busy sifting through questions. “Yes,” he agreed. “Very interesting.”

And to Nick’s relief, the magistrate left his rooms without another word.

As soon as Sophia returned to Bow Street, she took advantage of Ross’s absence and went to the criminal records room. It was an ideal time to search for the information her brother had requested, since Vickery and the other clerks had gone to a local tavern for a supper of beef and ale. The offices would remain largely unoccupied until one of the assistant magistrates returned to prepare for the evening court session.

Sophia’s slender fingers combed rapidly through the file drawer as she hunted for the notes that had been taken during George Fenton’s questioning. A single lamp illuminated the small room, providing barely enough light for her to read.

Eventually her attention was caught by a particular page, and she held it closer. There were references to both Nick Gentry and George Fenton. Realizing that she had found what she was seeking, Sophia folded the page and began to tuck it into her sleeve.

Suddenly she heard footsteps, and the sound of the doorknob turning. She had been caught. Her heart propelled upward in one great choking lump, and she shoved the page back into the drawer and slammed it shut just as the door swung open.

Ross stood there, his lean face shadowed and impassive. “Why are you in here?”

Apprehension swamped her, and she moistened her lips nervously. Certainly Ross could see how white her face was. She knew that she was the very picture of guilt. Desperately she seized on the first lie she could think of.

“I was… trying to replace information I had taken from the files, back when I was hoping to discredit you and the runners.”

“I see.” His face softened as he approached her. He took her chin in his hand, his fingers stroking the soft space beneath her jaw. Sophia forced herself to meet his gaze, although her soul cringed at deceiving him. A caressing smile touched Ross’s lips. “There is no need to look so guilty. You didn’t harm anyone.”

He began to spread light, wandering kisses over her face. “Sophia,” he murmured, “Morgan found out today who sent you the necklace.”