Page 75 of Lady Sophia's Lover
“Then why do you believe it will end the same way?”
He did not answer, only crushed his lips to her temple and stood holding her in a desperate grip.
“I don’t know why Eleanor had to die in such a manner,” Sophia said. “It wasn’t her fault, and it certainly wasn’t yours. It was beyond your control. Until you stop holding yourself responsible for what happened to her, you will continue to be haunted by the past. And in punishing yourself, you will punish me as well.”
“No,” he breathed, clumsily stroking her hair, her neck, her back.
“Your guilt does her no honor.” Sophia drew back to stare into his contorted face. “Eleanor would have hated to know that you were worse off for having loved her.”
“I’m not!”
“Then prove it,” she challenged, her own eyes misting with emotion. “Live as she would have wanted, and don’t blame yourself any longer.”
Ross huddled over her, and Sophia held him with all her strength. His beard-roughened face scraped hers as he sought her lips, found them, and kissed her almost angrily. She opened to him, accepting his passionate aggression. His hands searched her body roughly, emotion transforming into raw physical need.
“Upstairs,” she said. “Please.”
With a savage groan, he picked her up and headed into the house, not stopping until he had reached their bedroom.
Chapter 17
Sophia awakened alone and naked beneath the rumpled bedclothes. She had slept late, she thought groggily. There was much to do today—meetings with an interior decorator and a master gardener, and a charity luncheon to attend. But somehow the thought of all that did not bother her nearly as much as it should have.
A drowsy smile curved her lips as she rolled onto her stomach. Memories of Ross’s lovemaking swirled in her head. He had reached for her countless times in the night, lavishing her with passionate attention until she had finally begged him to cease. Now she was sore everywhere, and she felt the sting of whisker burns in indecent places, and her lips were chapped and kiss-swollen. And she was utterly satisfied, her body filled with luxurious contentment.
She asked Lucie to fill a slipper-bath for her, and she took her time about selecting her clothes for the day, a peach corded silk trimmed with fluted bands at the waist and hem. When the bath was ready, she lowered herself into the steaming water with a sigh, letting the heat soothe her abraded skin and sore muscles. Afterward she dressed and arranged her hair in a newly fashionable style, parted on the right with curls pinned on the left side.
Just as she reached for a bonnet trimmed with sprigs of hydrangea, Lucie entered the apartments with a hasty knock.
“Have you come to empty the bath?” Sophia asked.
“Yes, milady, but…they sent Ernest across the way wiv’ a message. Sir Ross wants ye, an’ ’e’s asking for ye to come to ’is office.”
The request was unusual, for Ross rarely sent for her in the middle of the day. “Yes, of course,” Sophia said calmly, though she was conscious of an inner throb of uneasiness. “The carriage is most likely waiting at the front. Will you tell the driver that I will be delayed for a few minutes?”
“Yes, milady.” Lucie bobbed deferentially and left.
Ernest was waiting downstairs to accompany her to No. 3.
“Ernest,” Sophia asked as they walked out the back and crossed the courtyard, “have you any idea why Sir Ross has asked for me?”
“No, milady…except…there’s been some grand to-do this morning. Mr. Sayer ’as come an’ gone twice already, an’ I ’eard tell that Sir Grant ’as sent for the militia to go to Newgate, an’ dragoons to come ’ere!”
“They’re expecting riots for some reason,” Sophia murmured, while cold suspicion gathered in her chest.
The boy fairly wriggled with excitement. “’Twould seem so, milady!”
An unusual number of constables and patrols were being summoned to No. 3. Groups of uniformed men nodded respectfully and removed their hats as Sophia passed by. Distractedly she bade them good morning and continued with Ernest until they reached Ross’s office. Leaving the boy to stand in the hallway, Sophia pushed through the half-open door and saw Ross standing over his desk. Sir Grant Morgan stood staring out the window, an austere expression on his face. They both turned at her entrance, and Ross’s gaze locked with hers. For one breathtaking moment the intimacy of the previous night flashed between them, and Sophia felt her pulse quicken.
Ross approached her and took her hand in a brief, hard clasp. “Good morning,” he said quietly.
She forced herself to smile. “I assume you are going to explain why there is so much activity at the public office this morning.”
He nodded and answered bluntly. “I want you to leave London and go to Silverhill. Just for a few days, until I decide it is safe for you to return.”
She gazed into his face with dread. “You are expecting some kind of trouble, I gather.”
“Nick Gentry has been arrested and charged with receiving and selling stolen goods. A witness has come forward with solid evidence. I’ve bound Gentry over to the King’s Bench and enjoined the Chief Justice to give him a fair trial. However, if the proceedings last too long, the masses will erupt in a way that will make the Gordon riots seem like a May Day festival. I don’t want you anywhere near London until the matter is concluded.” Although Nick’s arrest was a goal Ross had long worked for, there was no triumph in his tone.
