Page 13 of Lady Sophia's Lover
Trying not to panic, Sophia looked for the court clerk, but he was no longer visible. “Mr. Vickery!” she cried, her voice lost amid the uproar. “Mr. Vickery!”
Some of the rioters began to paw at her bodice, rough hands seeking the shape of her breasts. The shoulder of her dress ripped, and the gleam of a white shoulder seemed to inflame them. Sophia shoved at the coarse hands, but she was jammed against the wall until the breath was driven from her lungs. Someone pulled at her hair, and her scalp smarted while tears of pain sprang to her eyes.
“Here, now,” a runner shouted indignantly, struggling to reach her. “Get your hands off her, you sodding bastards!”
Sophia turned away from the encroaching bodies, pressing the side of her face to the wall. She struggled for air as she was suffocated and mauled at the same time. Her ribs squeezed until it seemed they would crack. Her mind swam dizzily, and it became difficult for her to think. “Get away from me,” she gasped. “Stop it, stop,stop—”
Suddenly the pressure eased, and she heard the men around her grunting in pain. Stunned, Sophia turned to see a huge, dark shape plowing through the sea of tightly packed bodies. It was Sir Ross, his gray eyes focused on Sophia. There was a strange expression on his face, at once blank and violent. He was brutally efficient as he shoved and struck his way through the crowd, not seeming to care that he left a path of bruises and bloody noses in his wake.
Reaching Sophia, Sir Ross pulled her into his arms, making a protective cage of his own body and the wall. She attached herself to him with a sigh of relief, blindly accepting his protection. He was still in his shirtsleeves, the thin white linen imbued with the heat and scent of his skin. Huddling against his broad chest, Sophia heard the deep thunder of his voice as he shouted to the agitators that Nick Gentry would remain in custody, and that all those who had ventured inside the public office were going to be arrested and sent to Newgate. His words had an immediate effect. The intruders nearest the doors began to file outside rapidly, having no wish to be imprisoned at the stone jug, as the infamous prison was called.
“Jensen, Walker, Gee,” Sir Ross commanded the runners, “take your charges to the public house across the street and lock them in the cellar. Flagstad, send for more horse patrols to clear the crowd. Vickery, take names later. Right now, go outside and recite the Riot Act as loudly as you can.”
“Sir, I don’t remember the exact words of the Riot Act,” the court clerk said anxiously.
“Then make up something,” Sir Ross growled.
That remark seemed to amuse many of the protestors, and snorts of laughter burst through the hallway. As the runners began to move the men outside, the crush of bodies began to ease.
Sophia flinched as she felt someone fumbling at her skirts. She pressed closer to Sir Ross, her arms clutching around his lean midriff. Before she could say a word, he realized the problem.
“You!” Sir Ross snarled at the man behind her. “Lay a hand on this woman again, and you will lose it—along with other portions of your anatomy.”
Another rumble of laughter erupted all around.
Clasped safely in the circle of Sir Ross’s arms, Sophia marveled at the way he was able to dominate a crowd with his mere presence. Everything had been chaos, and he had restored order in less than a minute. The muscles of his back flexed as he pulled her between his thighs, holding her in the shelter of his body.
Sophia kept her cheek pressed to his chest, against the steady but rapid rhythm of his heart. Her nostrils were filled with the crisp scent of his shaving soap, the hint of coffee, and the salty tang of sweat. The thick dark curls of his chest tickled her cheek. Anthony had been smooth-chested. What would it be like to be held against this masculine wealth of hair? Swallowing hard, Sophia glanced at the shadow of day-old bristle that covered his jaw and upper throat. His huge hand rested on the center of her back, and she thought of how it might feel against her breast, his long fingers cupping her tender flesh, his thumb stroking her nipple…
My God—the frantic words swept through her brain—don’t think about it, don’t. But her body was filled with a strange, warm ache, and she could only breathe in shallow gasps. It was all she could do to keep from thrusting herself at him shamelessly, crushing her mouth against his.
“It’s all right.” His low whisper brushed against her ear. “Don’t be afraid.”
He had mistaken her trembling for fear. Good; it was far better that he think she was a silly coward, rather than suspect the truth. Mortified, Sophia tried to calm herself. She moistened her dry lips and spoke against his shirtfront. “I’m glad you finally decided to do something,” she said, trying to sound impudent. “You waited long enough.”
Ross made a soft sound that could be taken for either irritation or amusement. “I was busy with Gentry.”
“I thought I would be crushed,” she said shakily.
She was astonished as he cuddled her closer. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “No one is going to harm you.”
Realizing that he was more than ready to comfort her, Sophia decided that this was a golden opportunity to appeal to his protective streak. She knew Sir Ross well enough by now to be certain that he could not resist the lure of a damsel in distress. Although part of her cringed in embarrassment, she continued to cling to him as if she were overcome by fear.
“I called to Mr. Vickery, but he couldn’t hear me,” she said, letting a plaintive note enter her voice.
He murmured softly and rubbed her spine with a comforting stroke. Although Sophia tried to ignore the pleasure of his touch, it spread through her body in an insidious tide. Closing her eyes, she wondered how long she could endure the slow caress of his hand. Her breasts fell full and heavy against his chest, her nipples turning hard.
Gently Sir Ross tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. The brush of his fingertips on her skin sent a ripple of warm sensation through her. “Were you hurt in the crush, Sophia?”
“I…I’m a bit bruised.” Pretending to be over-wrought, she put her arms around his neck and held on tightly. The closeness of his large body made her feel safe, supported, protected. She wanted to stand like this forever. He was her enemy, she reminded herself…but for the moment, that did not matter nearly as much as it should have.
Sir Ross gave a cursory glance around them as the hall began to clear. She gasped as he bent to pick her up. “Oh, sir, there is no need. I can walk, I’m—”
He ignored her protests as he carried her through the hall. For a woman who was used to taking care of herself, it was acutely embarrassing to play the helpless maiden. However, it was necessary to further her goal. Turning pink, Sophia clung to the hard breadth of his shoulders. Fortunately, the constables and handcuffed agitators were far too busy to pay any attention as Sir Ross carried her through the hall and up a flight of stairs.
When they reached his office, Sir Ross set her carefully on her feet. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, her heartbeat hurtling in a reckless cadence.
