Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(79)

Feeling the spasms of her body, Ross impaled her one last time and groaned in satisfaction. When at last he leaned backward with her body clasped in his arms, Sophia draped herself over him, utterly relaxed. Their bodies were still joined, and she moaned as he flexed inside her.

“I think we’ll keep this chair,” he murmured into her hair. “One never knows when you’ll need another riding lesson.”

Until the rented house was furnished with the basic necessities, Sophia and Ross resumed their residence at Bow Street No. 4. While Sophia spent much of her time purchasing goods and furniture, hiring servants, and enduring countless hours of clothes fittings, Ross made good on his promise to arrange for his retirement. Sophia knew that it would not be easy for him to relinquish the considerable power he had accumulated. However, he seemed remarkably untroubled at the prospect. His life had been confined to one narrow channel for a long time, and now it was expanding with new possibilities. He had been an exceptionally serious man, one who rarely smiled or laughed. Now he was far more apt to smile and tease, displaying a playful side that Sophia found utterly charming. And he was a sensual lover, possessing her with an unbounded intimacy that left her utterly fulfilled.

She had thought that she knew Ross quite well, having resided under the same roof with him. But she was gaining a far deeper understanding of him. Ross trusted her with his private thoughts and emotions, and he let her see him as he truly was—not a paragon, but a man with doubts and fears. He was capable of making mistakes, and he felt all too often that he had not met his own high expectations.

To Ross’s frustration, his efforts to persuade the Treasury to release funds to establish public offices and hire new magistrates for Middlesex, Westminster, Surrey, Hertfordshire, and Kent had so far come to naught. It seemed the government was unconvinced that such changes were justified, and that they would prefer to pay only one man to handle the great mass of responsibilities.

“It’s my own fault,” Ross told Sophia grimly, sitting before the hearth in the bedroom with a glass of brandy in his hand. He drank the vintage without seeming to taste it. “I set out to prove that I could singlehandedly do it all, and now the Lord of the Treasury believes it is necessary to hire only one man as my replacement. I’m convinced that Morgan is entirely willing to succeed me as Chief Magistrate, but not at the expense of his family and personal life.”

“No one but you could handle so much,” Sophia said, taking the empty glass from his hand. She sat on the arm of his chair and caressed his dark hair, her fingers trailing gently over the threads of silver at his temple. “And even you were suffering under the weight of all that work, although you were too stubborn to admit it.”

He looked up at her and seemed to relax slightly. “Until you appeared,” he murmured. “Then I realized what was missing in my life.”

“Such as food and sleep?” she suggested, her eyes twinkling.

“Among other things.” His hand clasped her ankle and ventured beneath her skirts to her knee. “And now nothing is going to keep me from you.”

Sophia continued to stroke his hair. “It may take some time for you to implement so many changes,” she said. “There is no need for urgency on my account. Although I want you all to myself, I will wait as long as it takes.”

Ross’s gaze was warm as he stared up at her. “I don’t want to wait.” Tracing circles over her knee, he grinned suddenly. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? For years people have complained about my usurpation of power. But now that I want to leave Bow Street, no one wants me to go. The critics accuse me of abandoning my responsibilities, and the government ministers are offering me all manner of incentives to stay.”

“That’s because there is only one Sir Ross Cannon, and everyone knows it.” Sophia drew her fingers lightly over the hard edge of his jaw. “And you’re mine,” she added in satisfaction.

“Yes.” He turned his mouth into her palm, his eyes closing. “It has been a long, hellish day. I need something to help me forget about parliamentary funds and judicial reform.”

“More brandy?” Sophia asked sympathetically, rising from the chair.

That drew a sudden laugh from him. “No, not brandy.” He stood and caught her waist, urging her closer. “I had a different remedy in mind.”

Anticipation curled inside her, and she linked her arms around his neck. “Whatever you wish,” she told him. “As your wife, I want to be helpful.”

Ross chuckled at her prim tone and nudged her toward the bed. “Oh, you will be quite helpful,” he assured her, following closely at her heels.

Because Sophia was the object of much curiosity, she and Ross were invited everywhere, by politicians and professionals and even some upper-tier aristocrats. However, they accepted only a handful of invitations, for Sophia found it difficult to adjust to the new life she had stepped into. Having worked for so many years as a servant, she could not seem to interact comfortably in elevated social circles, no matter how kind her new acquaintances were. She felt awkward and stiff at most gatherings, although Ross’s mother assured her that she would feel more comfortable as time passed. She found it somewhat easier to mix with “second-tier” sorts, such as Sir Grant and his wife, Victoria, and the crowd of professionals who were not nearly as rarefied as those in the first circles. These people were far less pretentious, and far more aware of ordinary matters like the cost of bread and the concerns of the poor.