Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(75)

After taking his leave of Sophia, Anthony Lyndhurst wandered away from the drawing room. He paused at a massive gold-framed mirror and preened expertly. When he was satisfied that his appearance was immaculate, he strolled out to an open conservatory to have a smoke and enjoy the evening breeze. The night was dark and warm, the air laced with the rustling of leaves as well as the flexible strains of music from inside.

Filled with anticipation, Anthony considered the unexpected changes in his former light-o‘-love. He had never revisited one of his paramours after he had left them. Once he was finished with a woman, he had no further interest in her. And Sophia had offered little in the way of sexual amusement, save for an innocent affection that had palled rather quickly. However, it was obvious that Sophia had received some tutoring in the intervening months. She wore the look of a well-pleasured woman, with her ripe mouth and blooming cheeks, and a sensuality in her movements that she had definitely not possessed when Anthony had known her. She seemed both elegant and sexually aware.

Surely Sir Ross had not effected such a change in her. Everyone knew him to be a cold and charmless bastard, not to mention notoriously celibate. Perhaps Sophia had taken yet another lover. The small but intriguing mystery occupied Anthony’s thoughts pleasantly as he reached into his pocket for a cigar.

All at once a shadow seemed to fly at him from nowhere. Anthony had no chance to make a sound before he was brutally slammed against the wall. Paralyzed in fright, he felt something hard press against his throat—an unyielding muscular arm that threatened to crush the life from him.

“Wh… wh…” Anthony gasped, struggling helplessly against his captor. The man was large and irate, with all the restraint of a ravening animal. Anthony’s bulging eyes beheld a dark visage that could have belonged to Satan himself. It took several moments for Anthony to recognize his assailant.

“Sir Ross—”

“You cowardly milksop,” Cannon growled. “I know your kind. You pick your victims carefully—innocent women who have no one to protect them from gutter-scum like you. But you have finally chosen the wrong one. Find an excuse to leave Silverhill immediately, or I will smear you from here to London. And if you ever speak to my wife again, or dare to even glance in her direction, I will butcher you.”

“Cannon…” Anthony wheezed uncontrollably. “Be… civilized…”

“I’m afraid I am nothing close to civilized where my wife is concerned.”

“Please,” Anthony choked as the blunt pressure at his throat increased.

“There is something else I should make clear,” Cannon continued softly. “If you mention one word to anyone about your past with Sophia, I will personally throw you in Newgate. Of course, I can only keep you there for three days, but that will seem like a lifetime when you’re locked in a cell with creatures that are more animal than human. By the time you’re released, you’ll be cursing your mother for bearing you.”

“No,” Anthony begged. “Won’t say anything… won’t bother her…”

“That’s right,” Cannon said in a malevolent whisper. “You will avoid my wife so that she forgets your very existence. Your acquaintance with the Cannons is at an end.”

Somehow Anthony managed to nod, conveying acceptance in any way he could. Just as he thought he would faint, he was abruptly released. He fell to the floor, gasping and choking, rolling onto his side. When he finally managed to recover himself, Cannon’s brutal form had disappeared. Shivering with terror, Anthony struggled to his feet and ran toward the line of carriages on the front drive as if he were fleeing for his life.

Sophia chatted and laughed with the guests at the ball, while inside, she felt sick and numb. A glass of champagne punch had done nothing to relax her. Anxiously she wondered where her husband was. She considered various ways to tell him about her encounter with Anthony. Certainly the news would ruin his evening as well as hers. No man wished to be confronted with his wife’s paramour at his own wedding celebration.

As increasingly gloomy thoughts slunk through her mind, Sophia saw her husband approaching. He looked elegant and handsome, his dark face emphasized by a fresh white cravat. She decided he must have been relaxing with friends in the billiards room or the library, for something had evidently put him in a good humor.

“My sweet.” He took her gloved hand and lifted it to his mouth.

“I haven’t seen you for a while,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“I had to dispose of a rodent,” he said lightly.

“A rodent?.” she repeated, perplexed. “Couldn’t one of the servants have taken care of it?”

His white teeth gleamed as he laughed. “I wanted to take care of this one.”

“Oh.” She looked across the polished drawing room floor with a frown of worry. “Do you think there might be others scurrying around? They like to run up ladies’ skirts, you know.”

Still smiling, Ross slipped an arm around her waist. “My lady, the only creature that will nibble at your ankles tonight is me.”

Sophia glanced around to make certain they could not be overheard. “Ross,” she said unsteadily, “I-I must tell you something—”

“That your former lover is here? Yes, I know.”

“How could you?” she asked in astonishment. “I’ve never told you his full name.”