Page 37 of Lady Sophia’s Lover (Bow Street #2)

T he roar of angry demonstrators penetrated the walls of the Red Lion tavern on Threadneedle.

A crowd huddled inside, necks craning for the best view of the table where Ross sat with the tailors’ and employers’ representatives.

During the first hour of negotiations for imposing new wage structures, Ross had listened to grievances from both sides.

As tempers were running high, Ross deduced that the debates would last through the afternoon and well into the night.

Thinking momentarily of Sophia and how much he wanted to go home to her, he fought to suppress his impatience.

A buxom waitress who had soaked herself in cologne water to mask other, far more pungent scents sidled up to Ross with the jug of coffee he had requested.

“’Ere you are, Sir Ross,” she purred, deliberately brushing one massive breast against his shoulder as she leaned over him.

“Whot else for yer appetite, sir? Some Welsh rabbit or apple puffs?” She put her broad face next to his and said meaningfully, “Ye can ’ave anyfing ye wants, Sir Ross. ”

Accustomed as he had become to such invitations during the past few years, Ross gave her a polite but cool smile. “You’re very kind, but no.”

She made a little face, pouting in disappointment. “Later, mayhap.” As she walked away, her hips swung like a pendulum.

One of the tailors’ representatives, a fellow named Brewer, regarded him with a sly smile. “I see what you’re about, Sir Ross. Pretend you don’t want a woman, and she’ll work all the harder to attract you, eh? You’re a canny one…I’ll wager you understand them quite well.”

Ross grinned suddenly. “There are two things a man should never do, Brewer—keep a woman waiting, and claim to understand her.”

As the tailor chuckled, Ross’s attention was caught by the sight of a huge figure entering the tavern.

It was Sir Grant Morgan, his dark head rising far above the crowd’s, his keen gaze scanning the room.

Finding Ross, he pushed his way unceremoniously through the gathering.

People hastened to move aside, having no desire to be trampled by the grim-faced giant.

Knowing at once that something was untoward, Ross stood to meet the assistant magistrate as he approached. “Morgan,” he said curtly, “why are you here?”

“The necklace,” came the former runner’s succinct reply, in a tone so low that no one else could hear. “I found the jeweler who made it—Daniel Highmore, of Bond Street. I made him tell me who purchased it.”

Ross experienced a savage thrill of anticipation at the prospect of finally identifying Sophia’s stalker. “Who?”

“Nick Gentry.”

Ross stared at Morgan blankly. His initial astonishment was quickly replaced by an elemental, purely masculine urge to kill.

“Gentry must have seen Sophia while he was at Bow Street. When she came down to the strong room. By God, I’m going to tear him limb from limb!

” Becoming conscious of the host of interested gazes fastened on them, all clearly speculating as to what they were discussing, Ross strove to keep his voice quiet.

“Morgan, take over the negotiations. I’m going to pay a visit to Gentry. ”

“Wait,” Morgan protested. “I’ve never arbitrated a professional dispute before.”

“Well, now you’re going to learn. Good luck.” With that, Ross strode through the tavern and headed outside to where his horse was tethered.

Sophia did not know what to make of her brother.

As they talked, she tried to understand the man John had become, but he was a complex figure, seeming to have little regard for his own life or anyone else’s.

“The greater the rogue, the greater the luck” was a saying she had heard at Bow Street—it explained the jaunty defiance of many of the criminals brought before the bench.

And it certainly described Nick Gentry. He was definitely a rogue, alternately charming and callous, an ambitious man who had inherited blue blood but had received no land, education, wealth, or social connections along with it.

Instead he sought power through corrupt avenues.

It seemed that his criminal success had made him as savage as he was smart, as cruel as he was confident.

Hesitantly she told him about her years in Shropshire, her desire to avenge his “death,” and her plan to come to London and destroy Sir Ross Cannon.

“How in hell were you planning to do that?” Gentry asked mildly, his gaze sharp as it rested on her face.

Sophia colored, and answered with a half-truth.

“I was going to try to uncover damaging information in the criminal records room.” Although she would have liked to be completely honest, her instincts warned that it would be foolish to tell him about her affair with Sir Ross. They were, after all, bitter enemies.

“My clever girl,” Gentry murmured. “You have access to the Bow Street criminal records?”

“Yes, but I—”

“Excellent.” He sat back in his chair, idly studying the tips of his boots. “There are some things you can find out for me. I can make use of your presence at Bow Street.”

The suggestion that he wished to use her for his own purposes, probably criminal ones, caused Sophia to shake her head decisively. “John, I will not spy for you.”

“Just a few little things,” he murmured with a cajoling smile. “You want to help me, don’t you? And I’ll help you. We’ll both have our revenge against Cannon.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “But I only wanted revenge because I thought he had sent you to your death on the prison hulk.”

Gentry scowled. “Well, Cannon did send me there, and it was no bloody thanks to him that I survived!”

“Anyone else would have dispatched you to the gallows without a second thought,” Sophia pointed out. “After what you did—robbing that carriage, causing that poor old man’s death…”

“It wasn’t me that gave him a knock on the head,” Gentry said defensively. “I was only out to rob the old cheeser, not kill him.”

“No matter what your intentions, the result was the same. You were an accomplice to murder.” Staring into his stony face, Sophia softened her tone as she continued. “But the past cannot be changed. All we can do is deal with the future. You can’t really mean to go on this way, John.”

“Why not?”

“Because you are not invulnerable. You will make a mistake sooner or later, one that will have you swinging on the gallows. And I could not bear to lose you a second time. Besides, this is not the life for you. You were not supposed to—”

“It is exactly the life for me,” he cut in tersely. “Sophia, whatever memories you have of me don’t apply now. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t understand how you can live like this. You are better, more worthy, than this.”

Her words earned a peculiar mirthless grin.

“That shows what you know.” He stood and went over to the fireplace, bracing a large hand on the white marble mantel.

The firelight played over his hard young features, striping them with black and gold.

After a moment’s contemplation, he turned toward her.

His expression was intent, but his tone was deceptively lazy.

“Let’s talk about Bow Street some more. You say you can get into the criminal records room.

It so happens that I need some information—”

“I’ve already told you no. I won’t betray Sir Ross’s trust in me.”

“You have for the last two months,” he said irritably. “What’s stopping you now?”

Sophia realized that he was not going to be satisfied until she told him the truth.

“Nick,” she said carefully, “there is a…a certain relationship that has developed between Sir Ross and myself.”

“My God.” He raked his hands through his hair distractedly. “You and he…” Words seemed to fail him.

Understanding the unspoken question, Sophia gave him a cautious nod.

“My sister and the Monk of Bow Street,” Gentry muttered in disgust. “A fine revenge this is, Sophia! Jumping into bed with the man who nearly killed me! If that’s your idea of retribution, I’ve got a few things to explain to you.”

“He has asked me to marry him.”

Gentry’s eyes flashed with astonished fury, and he seemed to stop breathing. “I’d rather see you dead than marry the likes of him.”

“He’s the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Oh, he’s a damned paragon!” Nick said caustically. “And if you marry him, he’ll never let you forget it. He will make you believe that you’re not good enough for him. You’ll be crushed by his damned honor and respectability. Cannon will make you pay a thousand times over for not being perfect.”

“You don’t know him,” she said.

“I’ve known him a damned sight longer than you have. He’s not human, Sophia!”

“Sir Ross is forgiving and kind, and he is well aware that I am not perfect.”

Suddenly her brother stared at her in a calculating way that made her uneasy, his dark brows lowering at the inner corners in a devilish slant. “You’re very sure of him, then,” he remarked silkily.

She met his gaze with earnest resolution. “Yes.”

“Then let’s put your faith to the test, Sophia.

” Nick casually rested an elbow on the mantel.

“You’ll get that information I want from the criminal records room.

Or …I will tell your steadfast, oh-so-forgiving lover that he has proposed marriage to the sister of his worst enemy.

That Sophia and the despicable Nick Gentry have the same blood flowing through their veins. ”

Sophia nearly reeled backward in shock. “You’re blackmailing me?” she said in an airless whisper.

“It’s up to you. You can get me what I want…or you can take the risk of losing Sir Ross. Now how much faith do you have in his forgiveness?”

Sophia couldn’t speak. A thought blazed through her mind: Dear Lord, will the past always return to haunt me?

“Do you want me to tell him that I’m your brother?” he prodded.