Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(8)

The servants held Sir Ross in high regard, as did everyone else who worked at Bow Street. Sophia came to the unsettling realization that the magistrate was not the entirely evil person she had considered him to be. It did not change her resolve to avenge John’s death, however. In fact, strict adherence to principle was probably what had led to the tragedy that had claimed her brother’s life. No doubt Sir Ross lived by the letter of the law, putting principle above compassion, and legislation above mercy.

The thought caused Sophia’s anger to flare violently. Who was Sir Ross, that he should decide who lived or died? Why was he fit to sit in judgment upon others? Was he so infallible, so wise and perfect? He probably thought he was, the arrogant bastard.

But she was perplexed by the memory of his easy forgiveness that morning, when she had confessed the story of her short-lived affair. Most people would have condemned her as a harlot and said that her dismissal was well deserved. She had expected Sir Ross to censure her. Instead he seemed understanding and kind, and had even admitted that he himself had made mistakes.

Troubled, she nudged the frayed muslin curtain aside to gain a better view of his office window.

As if he could somehow feel Sophia’s gaze, Sir Ross turned and glanced directly at her. Although there was no lamp or candle burning in her room, the moonlight was sufficient to illuminate her. He could see that she was dressed only in the fragile night rail.

Being a gentleman, Sir Ross should have turned away immediately. But he stared at her intently, as if he were a hungry wolf and she were a rabbit that had ventured too far from the warren. Though Sophia’s entire body burned with embarrassment, she lingered to give him a good look. Silently she counted the seconds: one… two… three. Then she moved aside slowly, drew the curtain shut, and raised her palms to her flaming face. She should be pleased that he had shown an interest in what she looked like in her nightclothes. Instead she was profoundly uneasy, almost frightened—as if her plan to seduce and destroy him might somehow end in her own downfall.

Chapter 2

Ross began the day as usual, performing his morning ablutions with economic speed and dressing in his usual attire of a dark coat and gray trousers. He tied his black silk cravat in a simple knot, and brushed his hair until it settled neatly into place. Giving a cursory glance in the looking glass beside the washstand, he saw that the smudges beneath his eyes were more pronounced than usual. He had not slept well the previous night. He had been occupied with thoughts of Sophia, his body teeming with the awareness that she was sleeping only a few rooms away.It had been impossible to stop thinking about the moment when he had seen her at the window, her long hair streaming in ripples, her nightgown ghostly in the moonlight. Ross had been utterly seduced by the image, his blood coursing as he imagined what the female body beneath the gown might look like.

Scowling, Ross vowed that there would be no more nightly reveries concerning Sophia. No more fantasies, and certainly no more gazing at her window. From now on it would be work as usual.

Grimly determined, he went down to the kitchen, where he intended to fetch his first jug of coffee and carry it to his office. When that was done, he would take his daily walk through Covent Garden and the surrounding streets, much in the manner of a physician taking the pulse of a favorite patient. No matter how detailed the reports of the Bow Street runners were, there was nothing quite like seeing and hearing things for himself.

Ross took pleasure in the orderly progression of activities at Bow Street each day. Just after dawn, the bells of St. Paul’s rang through Covent Garden and along the tranquil shop fronts and residences of Bow Street. The sounds of market carts caused shutters to snap open and curtains to be drawn, as did the cries of muffin sellers and newspaper boys. At seven o’clock, smells of hot bread and rolls floated from the baker’s, and at eight, patrons would begin to drift through the opening doors of the coffeehouses. When nine o’clock arrived, people would gather at the Bow Street office, waiting for the clerks and officers to open the doors. At ten, the sitting magistrate—who happened to be Morgan today—would assume his place at court.

Everything as it should be, Ross thought with satisfaction.

As Ross entered the kitchen, he saw Ernest sitting at the scrubbed wooden table. The boy wolfed down a plate of breakfast as if it were the first decent meal he’d had in months. Sophia stood at the range with the scrawny cook-maid, apparently showing her how to prepare the morning’s fare. “Turn them like this,” Sophia was saying, expertly flipping a row of little cakes on a griddle pan. The kitchen atmosphere was especially fragrant today, spiced with frying bacon, coffee, and sizzling batter.

Sophia looked fresh and wholesome, the trim curves of her figure outlined by a white apron that covered her charcoal-gray dress. Her gleaming hair was pinned in a coil at the top of her head and tied with a blue ribbon. As she saw him standing in the doorway, a smile lit her sapphire eyes, and she was so dazzlingly pretty that Ross felt a painful jab low in his stomach.

“Good morning, Sir Ross,” she said. “Will you have some breakfast?”

“No, thank you,” he replied automatically. “Only a jug of coffee. I never…” He paused as the cook set a platter on the table. It was piled with steaming batter cakes sitting in a pool of blackberry sauce. He had a special fondness for blackberries.

“Just one or two?” Sophia coaxed.

Abruptly it became less important that he adhere to his usual habits. Perhaps he could make time for a little breakfast, Ross reasoned. A five-minute delay would make no difference in his schedule.