Page 16 of Lady Sophia’s Lover (Bow Street #2)

W ith the removal of the lead slug from Sir Ross’s shoulder, an alarming gush of bright red blood came forth.

Sophia bit her lip as she watched Dr. Linley press a clean pad to the wound.

The low growl of Sir Ross’s words She’s mine seemed to hang in the air.

Lamely Sophia sought to explain away the phrase.

“H-how kind of Sir Ross to express his appreciation of my work.”

“That was not what he meant, Miss Sydney,” Dr. Linley replied dryly, still focusing on his work. “Believe me, I understood quite well what he was expressing.”

When the doctor finished applying a dressing to Sir Ross’s shoulder, he glanced first at Sophia, then at Eliza, who was gathering a pile of soiled rags to be washed. “Who will be looking after Sir Ross?”

The question was greeted with silence as the two women glanced at each other.

Sophia bit her lip, desperately wanting to take care of him.

At the same time, she was alarmed by the awful tenderness that welled inside her.

The revulsion she had once felt toward Sir Ross was crumbling steadily.

It seemed impossible to fortify her hatred, and that realization filled her with despair.

I’m sorry, John, she thought bleakly. I am failing you.

You deserve better than this. But for now, she was going to set aside her plans for vengeance.

She had no choice. Later she would think about it all, and decide what to do.

“I will look after him,” Sophia said. “Give me your instructions, Dr. Linley.”

He answered readily. “The dressing must be changed twice a day. Apply it to the wound bed just as you saw me do tonight. If you notice a purulent drainage or foul odor, or if the shoulder turns red and swollen, send for me. Also, if the area right around the wound becomes hot to the touch compared to the surrounding skin, I will wish to know immediately.” He paused to smile at Sir Ross, who was beginning to stir and blink.

“Serve him the usual sickroom pap—beef tea, milk toast, mulled eggs—and for God’s sake, limit his coffee so that he will rest.” Still smiling, Linley bent to place a hand on Sir Ross’s good shoulder.

“I’m done with you tonight, my friend, though I will return in a day or two to torment you further.

Now I will go tell Sir Grant that he is allowed to see you.

I suspect he is waiting most impatiently downstairs. ”

The doctor left the room, his footsteps quiet for such a tall man. “What a pleasant gentleman,” Sophia remarked.

“Yes,” Eliza agreed with a chuckle, “and Dr. Linley is unmarried as well. Many fine ladies in London want his services, both professional and personal. Whoever brings him to scratch will be a lucky woman.”

“What do you mean by personal services?” Sophia asked, perplexed. “Surely you are not referring to—”

“Oh, yes,” the cook-maid said slyly. “They say Dr. Linley is skilled in the bedroom arts as well as—”

“Eliza,” Sir Ross interrupted grumpily, “if you must engage in prurient gossip, please do it in a room where I am not forced to listen.” He scowled at both women, his gaze settling on Sophia. “Surely there is something better for the two of you to discuss than ‘bedroom arts.’”

Sophia’s laughing gaze met Eliza’s. “He is quite right,” she said. “We should not lower ourselves to gossip in front of Sir Ross.” She paused before adding mischievously, “You can tell me the rest about Dr. Linley when we’re in the kitchen.”

As the ache in his shoulder subsided to a continuous pain, Ross accepted Sophia’s help in undressing.

He did as much as possible by himself, but the effort soon exhausted him.

By the time she had settled a white linen nightshirt over his head and helped to guide his injured arm through the sleeve, he was sore and depleted.

“Thank you,” he muttered, settling back against the pillows with a grunt of pain.

Sophia straightened the covers and brought them to his midriff. Her gaze searched his, her eyes dark with concern and some other, unfathomable emotion. “Sir Grant is waiting just outside the door. Will you see him now, or shall I tell him to return later?”

“I’ll see him.” A sigh escaped Ross. He did not want to talk with Morgan or anyone else. He wanted silence, peace, and Sophia’s gentle presence beside him.

Instinctively she began to reach for him, then hesitated.

Not for the first time, Ross sensed her inner struggle, a conflict between intimacy and repulsion, as if she were determined to deny herself something she wanted badly.

She extended her hand to stroke his forehead and smooth back his hair with cool fingertips.

“Don’t talk with him for long,” she murmured.

“You need to rest. I will return soon with a supper tray.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She ignored his words as she left, and Ross grinned ruefully at the sure knowledge that she was not going to desist until he ate something.

Sir Grant Morgan entered the bedroom, ducking his head beneath the doorframe. His gaze flickered over Ross, lingering at the bulky shape of the wound dressing at his shoulder. “How are you?” he asked quietly, lowering himself to the bedside chair.

“Never better,” Ross said. “The injury is trifling. I’ll be back at work by tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.”

For some reason Morgan laughed gruffly. “Damn you, Cannon. I’d like to know what you would say to me , had I taken the foolish risk that you did this evening.”

“If I hadn’t joined in the pursuit, Butler would have gotten away.”

“Oh, yes,” Morgan said sardonically. “Sayer said you were a hell of an impressive sight. According to him, you climbed up to the roof like a damned cat and followed Butler right over to the next building. A five-foot jump between parapets, with certain death awaiting if you lost your footing. And after Butler fired, no one knew you’d been hit, because you kept going until you caught him.

Sayer claims you’re a bloody hero.” Morgan’s tone made it clear that he did not agree with the assessment.

“I did not fall,” Ross pointed out, “and all has ended well. Let it rest at that.”

“Let it rest?” Although Morgan was still controlling his temper fairly well, his face was covered with a betraying flush.

“What right have you to risk your life in such a manner? Do you know what would become of Bow Street if you had died tonight? I need not remind you of all the people who would be only too happy to use your demise as an excuse to dismantle the runners and turn the whole of London over to private thief-takers and crime lords such as Nick Gentry.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen.”

“I couldn’t stop it,” Morgan countered. “I haven’t your skills, your knowledge, or your political influence—not yet, at any rate. Your death would jeopardize everything we’ve worked for—and that you should risk so much because of a woman , for God’s sake—”

“What did you say?” Ross demanded. “You think I went on that rooftop because of a woman?”

“Because of Miss Sydney.” Morgan’s unwavering green eyes focused on him. “You’ve changed since she’s come here, and tonight is a prime example of that. Although I won’t pretend to understand what you’re thinking—”

“Thank you,” Ross muttered darkly.

“—it is clear that you are struggling with some problem. My guess is that it stems from your interest in Miss Sydney.” The hard planes of Morgan’s face relaxed as he viewed Ross with a perceptive gaze.

“If you want her, take her,” he said quietly.

“God knows she would have you. That fact is obvious to everyone.”

Ross brooded and made no reply. He was not the most self-aware of men, preferring to examine other people’s motives and emotions in lieu of his own.

To his uncomfortable surprise, Ross realized that Morgan was correct.

He had indeed acted recklessly, out of frustration and yearning and perhaps even a strain of guilt.

It seemed so long ago that his wife had died, and the pain he had carried for five years had faded.

Lately there had been days at a time when he didn’t even think about her, yet he had sincerely loved Eleanor.

However, the memories had become distant and pale ever since Sophia had entered his life.

Ross could not remember if he had felt this passionately about his wife.

Surely it was indecent to compare them, but he couldn’t help it.

Eleanor, so willowy, pale, fragile…. and Sophia, with her golden beauty and feminine vitality.

He turned an expressionless face to Grant Morgan. “My interest in Miss Sydney is my own concern,” he said flatly. “And as for my somewhat precipitous actions this evening, from now on I will try to limit my activities to those of a more cerebral nature.”

“And leave the thief-taking to the runners—as I have learned to do,” Morgan said sternly.

“Yes. However, I wish to correct you on one point—I am not irreplaceable. The time is not long in coming when you will easily be able to fill my shoes.”

Morgan grinned suddenly, glancing down at his own gigantic feet. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s the fellow who has to fill my shoes who will have the most difficulty.”

A light tap came at the door, and Sophia entered cautiously. She looked tousled and tempting, her hair coming loose from its pins. She carried a small tray with a covered dish, and a glass of what appeared to be barley water. Despite Ross’s weariness, he felt his spirits surge in her presence.

Sophia smiled pleasantly at Morgan. “Good evening, Sir Grant. If you would like some supper, it would be no trouble to bring up another tray.”

“No, thank you,” Morgan replied pleasantly. “I will return home to my wife, as she is expecting me.” Bidding them both good-bye, Morgan made to depart. He paused at the door, his gaze meeting Ross’s over Sophia’s head. “Consider what I said,” he remarked meaningfully.