Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(9)

He found himself seated at the table facing a plate heaped with cakes, crisp bacon, and coddled eggs. Sophia filled a mug with steaming black coffee, and smiled at him once more before resuming her place at the range with Eliza. Ross picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“They’re good, sir,” Ernest ventured, stuffing his mouth so greedily that it seemed likely he would choke.

Ross took a bite of the fruit-soaked cake and washed it down with a swallow of hot coffee. As he continued to eat, he felt an unfamiliar sense of well-being. Good God, it had been a long time since he’d had anything other than Eliza’s wretched concoctions.

For the next few minutes Ross ate until the platter of cakes was demolished. Sophia came now and then to refill his cup or offer more bacon. The cozy warmth of the kitchen and the sight of Sophia as she moved about the room caused a tide of unwilling pleasure inside him. Setting down his fork, Ross stood and regarded her without smiling. “I must go now. Thank you for the breakfast, Miss Sydney.”

One last mug of coffee was pressed into his hands, and Sophia’s dark blue eyes stared into his. “Will you spend the day in the office, sir?”

Ross shook his head, fascinated by the little wisps of hair that had stuck to her forehead. The heat of the stove had made her cheeks pink and glistening. He wanted to kiss, lick, taste her. “I will be out for most of the morning,” he said, his voice raspy. “I am conducting an investigation—there was a murder in Russell Square last evening.”

“Be careful.”

It had been a long time since anyone had said that to him. Ross damned himself for feeling so easily unsettled… but there it was, that velvety tickle of pleasure he could not seem to elude. He nodded shortly, giving her a wary glance before leaving.

Sophia spent the first half of the day attending to a waist-high pile of papers, briefs, and correspondence that had been shoved into a corner of Sir Ross’s office. As she filed the mass of information, she welcomed the opportunity to become familiar with the criminal records room, which was dusty and unkempt. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to organize the drawers of materials properly. While Sophia worked, she reflected on what she had learned of Sir Ross so far, including the stray comments she had heard from servants and clerks and runners. It seemed that the Chief Magistrate was an inhumanly self-controlled man who never swore or shouted or drank to excess. A few soft-voiced directions from him would make the fearsome runners hasten to obey. Sir Ross was admired by all who worked for him, but at the same time they delighted in jesting about his cold and methodical nature.

Sophia did not believe that he was cold. She perceived something beneath his austere facade, a powerfully contained sexuality that would be all-consuming if it were ever set free. Given the intensity of his nature, Sir Ross would not approach lovemaking in a casual way. It was too important, too rare for him; he would have to care deeply for his partner before he slept with her. If Sophia were to succeed in seducing him, she would have to earn his affection. But how did one go about making such a man fall in love? She suspected that he would respond to a woman who supplied the softness that was clearly missing in his life. After all, he was not some godlike being with limitless strength. He was a man, one who pushed himself too hard. For a man who carried so many burdens on his shoulders, it would be a relief to have someone take care of his needs.

Returning to Sir Ross’s private office, Sophia used a rag to wipe the dust from the windowsill. She happened to see the object of her thoughts on the street below, as Sir Ross paused at the iron fence that fronted the building. He appeared to be speaking to a woman who had been waiting at the gate. The woman wore a brown shawl that covered her hair and shoulders, and Sophia remembered that Mr. Vickery had turned her away earlier in the day. The woman had wanted to see Sir Ross, and the clerk had told her to return tomorrow, since the Chief Magistrate was occupied with pressing matters.

However, Sir Ross opened the gate for the woman and walked with her to the entrance of Bow Street No. 3. Sophia was touched by his consideration for someone who was surely of a much lower class. She was ill-dressed and haggard, yet the Chief Magistrate gave her his arm as courteously as if she were a duchess.

When Sir Ross brought the woman into his office, Sophia noticed the hitch of a frown between his black brows. “Good afternoon, Miss Sydney,” he said evenly, guiding his visitor to a chair. The woman was thin, middle-aged, and haggard in appearance, her eyes red from crying. “This is Miss Trimmer, who I understand was turned away by Vickery this morning.”

“I believe Mr. Vickery was concerned that your schedule was already quite full,” Sophia murmured.

“I can always make time when it is necessary.” Sir Ross half sat, half leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. He spoke in a gently encouraging tone that Sophia had not heard from him before. “You said that you fear for your sister’s safety, Miss Trimmer. Pray tell me what has caused such concern.”

The trembling spinster clutched the ends of her shawl and spoke in a choked voice. “My younger sister, Martha, is married to Mr. Jeremy Fowler.” She paused, evidently overcome by emotion.

“Mr. Fowler’s employment is… ?” Sir Ross prompted inquiringly.

“He is an apothecary. They live above the shop at St. James’s market. There is trouble between Mr. Fowler and Martha, and—” She stopped and twisted the knitted shawl in tight, frantic fists. “She did something a month ago that put him in a rage. And I haven’t seen her since.”