Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(72)

“What?” he asked urgently, drawing his head back to look at her. “What did you say?”

“I said yes,” she moaned. “Yes. Ross, please help me, please—”

“I’ll help you,” he whispered tenderly, and muffled her cries with his mouth as he gave her exactly what she needed.

Chapter 15

Following a simple wedding ceremony in the private chapel on the Silverhill Park estate, Ross’s mother hosted a ball that was attended by guests from at least three counties. Sophia tried not to be overwhelmed by the surfeit of attention. Countless newspapers and magazines had published information concerning Sir Ross Cannon’s bride, where and when the wedding would take place, and even where they were to live. Gossip raged in salons, coffeehouses, and taverns. The revelation that Sir Ross’s new wife was the daughter of a viscount added more spice to the story, for it was also known that she had worked for him at Bow Street.Sophia was gratified by the Cannons’ ready acceptance of her, and especially by the warmth that his mother displayed. “My friends have asked me to describe you,” Catherine had told her the day before the wedding. Assorted guests sat in the parlor, some playing games at the card table, some strolling arm in arm through the circuit of family rooms. A few women were engaged in needlework, while gentlemen sat with newspapers and conferred on the day’s events. “Naturally,” Catherine continued, “they are all exceedingly curious about what kind of woman would manage to capture Ross’s heart.”

“His heart isn’t the part of his anatomy that she’s captured,” Matthew muttered nearby.

Catherine turned toward him inquiringly. “What did you say, darling?”

He managed to produce an insincere smile. “I said my brother has indeed been captured. One can hardly recognize him for that witless grin he has taken to wearing.” A few guests laughed upon overhearing the comment, as the change in Sir Ross’s usually remote demeanor had been generally remarked upon. Many had agreed that it had been a very long while since Sir Ross had seemed so lighthearted and relaxed.

As Matthew spoke, Ross entered the parlor and went over to Sophia. Picking up her hand, which was resting on the curved back of the settee, he lifted it to his lips and whispered, “Shall I tell them why I’m smiling?”

The wicked gleam in his eyes reminded Sophia of the passionate interlude they had shared the previous night, when he had sneaked into her room and joined her in bed. She frowned at him while her cheeks colored. Laughing at her discomfiture, Ross seated himself beside her on the settee. “And how do you describe my fiancée to your friends, Mother?” he asked Catherine, picking up the threads of the conversation.

“I tell them that she is the most delightful young woman I have ever met. Not to mention lovely.”

Catherine glanced at Sophia’s peach-colored gown with an approving eye. “Is that a new dress, dear? The color is most becoming.”

Sophia did not dare glance at Ross. The subject of her clothes had provoked a heated argument between them just a few days earlier. Because Ross had insisted on marrying her so quickly, there had been no time for Sophia to have new gowns made. And since he was a man, he had not given a single thought to her trousseau. The only clothes Sophia possessed were the dark dresses she had worn at Bow Street, all of them made with coarse fabric and no embellishments. She had cringed at the thought of being wed in one of those drab garments and then attending a ball in it. Therefore she had approached Ross with some trepidation and asked for the return of the lavender-silver gown.

“As you no longer require it for an investigation,” she had told him in his office, “I would like to have it back, please.”

Ross had received the request with disgruntled surprise. “What do you need it for?”

“It is the only suitable gown I have to get married in,” she said calmly.

A scowl settled on his face. “You are not going to wear that at our wedding.”

“It is a perfectly lovely gown,” she persisted. “There is no reason why I can’t wear it.”

“Yes, there is,” he countered in outrage. “It came from Nick Gentry.”

Sophia returned his scowl. “No one will know that.”

“I’ll know it. And I’ll be damned if I will allow you to wear it.”

“Fine, then. What will you have me wear?”

“Choose a dressmaker—I will take you anywhere you wish this afternoon.”

“No dressmaker will be able to make a suitable gown in three days. In fact, there is barely enough time to alter the lavender one. And I will not marry you in front of all your friends and family looking like a beggar!”

“You can borrow a gown from my mother. Or Iona.”

“Your mother is nearly six feet tall and as thin as a rail,” Sophia pointed out. “And I’ll be damned if I will wear a gown of Iona’s and then endure snide comments from your brother about it. Now, where have you put the lavender gown?”

Glowering, Ross leaned back in his chair and propped the heel of his boot against the side of the desk. “It’s in the evidence room,” he muttered.

“My gown, in the evidence room?” she exclaimed indignantly. “No doubt it has been shoved onto some filthy shelf!”

As she hurried out of the office, his curses could be heard down the hallway.