Lady Sophia's Lover (Bow Street Runners #2)(93)

“You can make him into a runner.”

“Oh, no,” Morgan said vehemently, shaking his head. “God, no. I haven’t complained about the extra work you’ve heaped on me, or all the trials-by-fire you’ve put me through. And if the appointment goes through, I’ll do my best to fill your shoes. But I’ll be damned if you’re going to retire and leave me with the task of training Nick Gentry! If you think he can be a runner, train him yourself!”

“You are better equipped than I to manage him. You were a runner—you came from the streets just as he did. And remember, he’s only twenty-five—still young enough to be influenced.”

“He’s a hardened case, and only a fool would believe otherwise!”

“In time,” Ross continued, ignoring the protest, “Gentry might be the best man you’ve got. He’ll do the worst and most dangerous jobs without flinching. I am giving you a weapon, Grant—one that could be used very effectively.”

“Or blow up in my face,” Morgan muttered. Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the ceiling with a surly grunt. Clearly, he was envisioning the prospect of training Nick Gentry. Suddenly he let out a sardonic laugh. “It might be worth it, though. After all the trouble that little bastard has caused us, I would enjoy running him through the wringer.”

Ross smiled, reflecting on Nick Gentry’s strapping form and thinking that only someone of Morgan’s stature could refer to him as “little.”

“You’ll give it some consideration, then.”

“Are you giving me a choice?”

Ross gave a brief shake of his head.

“I didn’t think so,” Morgan muttered. “Damnation. I hope you retire soon, Cannon.”

Sophia was in bed by the time Ross entered the darkened room, and she remained still and quiet, hoping he would think she was asleep. He had refrained from venting his displeasure with her during the carriage ride from Newgate, and she knew that he intended to wait until they were in the privacy of their apartments. Now, however, was the time of reckoning. She reasoned that if she could delay him until the morning, his wrath might cool.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Ross was not inclined to wait. He lit the lamp and turned it up until it emitted a relentless glow.

Slowly Sophia sat up and gave him a placating smile. “What did Sir Grant say when you told him—”

“We’ll discuss that later,” he said tersely, refusing to be distracted. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed his large hands on either side of her, pinning her in place beneath the covers. “Right now, I want to discuss your actions this evening. And you’re going to explain how you could have taken such a risk when you know how I feel about your safety!”

Sophia shrank backward against the pillows as he proceeded to deliver a blistering lecture that would have caused anyone else to wither. However, she knew that his ire was born of his love for her, and so she received every word with humble agreement. When he was finished—or perhaps he was merely taking a breath before resuming—she broke in remorsefully.

“You are absolutely right,” she said. “If I were in your position, I would feel the same way. I should have stayed in the carriage as you asked.”

“That’s right,” Ross muttered, his wrath seeming to ease when it became clear that she was not going to argue with him.

“With your experience, you know best in these situations. And not only did I put myself in danger, but I jeopardized the baby’s welfare, and I am very sorry about that.”

“As well you should be.”

Leaning forward, Sophia rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I would never intentionally cause you a moment of worry.”

“I know that,” he said gruffly. “But dammit, Sophia, I refuse to be known as a man who can’t control his own wife.”

Sophia smiled against his shoulder. “No one would dare think such a thing.” Slowly she eased onto his lap. “Ross… what you did for my brother was so wonderful…”

“I didn’t do it for him. I did it for you.”

“I know. And I adore you for that.” Gently she plucked at the knot of his cravat, loosening the dark silk.

“Only for that?” he asked, his arms tightening around her slender body.

“For a thousand different reasons.” Deliberately she rubbed her br**sts against his chest. “Let me show you how much I love you. How I need you in every way.”

Abandoning the lecture, Ross pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. When he turned back to Sophia, she was smiling, amusement and arousal mingling deliciously inside her.

“What is so funny?” he asked, jerking the hem of her nightgown up to her waist.

“I just thought of how the Cockney phrase for wife is ‘trouble and strife,’”she said, gasping a little as his hand settled on her bare stomach. “In my case, it has turned out to be accurate, hasn’t it?”

Ross’s eyes glinted with an answering smile, and he bent to capture her mouth with his. “Never too much trouble for me to handle,” he assured her, and spent the rest of the night proving it.

After the birth of their daughter, Dr. Linley commented that it was the first delivery at which he had feared more for the father’s well-being than the mother’s. Ross had remained in a corner of the bedroom despite everyone’s efforts to make him wait outside. He sat in a straight-backed chair and gripped the edges until the satinwood threatened to splinter in his fingers. Although his expression was blank, Sophia understood his fear. She tried to reassure him in the intervals between contractions that she was all right, that the pain was horrid but manageable, but eventually the effort of giving birth required all her attention, and she almost forgot his presence in the room.