Lady Sophias Lover bsr-2 Read online

  Sophia shook her head slowly. "I'm so sorry."

  His lashes lifted, and his gaze turned warm. "For what?"

  "For intruding in your life...for seeking vengeance when none was deserved...for putting you in an impossible position." She stood up with a great effort, her head pounding, her throat blocked, so that she could hardly breathe.

  Ross came from behind his desk and tried to put his arms around her, but she gently repelled the attempt. "The best thing I could do for you," she said, "is to disappear."

  His long fingers clamped around her upper arms, and he moved her in a soft shake. "Sophia, look at me," he demanded urgently. A sharp note, like anger or fear, entered his voice. "Look at me, dammit! If you disappeared, I would find you. No matter how fast or how far you went. So put that thought out of your head."

  Staring dazedly into his piercing gray eyes, she nodded while her mind buzzed with miserable speculation. "Now promise me," he went on tersely, "that while I'm gone today, you will not do anything foolish. Stay here, and when I return we will sort things out. All right?" When she didn't respond, he lifted her until her toes barely touched the floor. "All right?" he repeated in a meaningful tone.

  "Yes," she whispered. "I'll wait for you."

  CHAPTER 13

  With Ross gone for the day, there was little Sophia could do in the office, so she decided to take inventory of the kitchen larders. The new information about her brother and his tainted past was unexpected and sickening; she could hardly think straight. She went about her tasks mechanically, feeling defeated and weary, until finally something jolted her from the numbness.

  A foul smell emanated from the slate shelf of the wet larder, and Sophia gasped in disgust as she searched for the source of the odor. "My God, what is that?" she asked. Eliza hobbled to the door of the larder to watch her.

  It did not take long for Sophia to discover that the putrid smell belonged to a salmon that was long past its prime. "We could soak it in vinegar and limewater," Eliza suggested hesitantly. "That will take away most of the smell--if it's not too far gone, that is."

  Sophia gagged as she threw a cloth over the slimy mess and lifted it from the shelf. "Eliza,nothing could salvage this fish. 'Far gone' is a distant memory...it is foul from head to tail."

  "Here, I'll wrap it," the cook-maid muttered, fetching a day-old newspaper. Expertly she bound the salmon until its odor was safely smothered.

  Sophia watched her with annoyance. "Lucie bought the fish at Lannigan's only this morning, didn't she?"

  Eliza nodded. "He told her it was fresh."

  "Fresh!" Sophia exclaimed with a cynical snort.

  "I'll have her take it back, then." Eliza frowned. "Except that I sent her out to fetch nasturtium seeds for pickling."

  "I will take it back myself," Sophia said decisively, knowing that Eliza's knee was not sufficiently healed to allow for a walk to the fishmonger's shop. She welcomed the opportunity to exercise her legs and perhaps clear her mind. "I have a few things to say to Mr. Lannigan. How dare he send such a poor excuse of a salmon to Sir Ross's household!"

  "Miss Sydney, I think you will have to wait. Ernest can't go with you, as he has gone about some errands for Sir Grant."

  "I will go alone, then. It isn't far, and I will return before anyone knows I've been away."

  "But Sir Ross has said many times that you are always to take a companion when you go out. If anything happens to you..." Eliza nearly shuddered.

  "Nothing will happen to me. It's not as if I am venturing into a rookery. I am merely visiting the fishmonger."

  "But Sir Ross--"

  "You let me handle Sir Ross," Sophia murmured as she went to fetch her bonnet.

  Faced with Sophia's righteous indignation, and her reminders of all that Sir Ross had done for him in the past, Mr. Lannigan was full of apologies." 'Twas a mistake," he mumbled in his thick Cockney accent, his gaze chasing all around the shop to avoid hers. Embarrassment mottled his meaty face. "Why, I newer would send a salmon what's gown awe to Bow Street! To try an' chisel Sir Ross...why, I'd be off me nob to do such a thing, wouldn' I?" His expression lightened as a possible explanation occurred to him."'Twas that feather 'eaded Lucie...she took thewrong fish , she did!"

  "Well, then," Sophia replied crisply, "I would like to exchange it for the correct fish, please."

  "Yes, miss." Taking the paper-wrapped package from her, he sped with alacrity to the back of the shop, muttering to himself. "Only the best for Sir Ross, that's whot I allus say..."

  While she waited for the new salmon to be wrapped, Sophia became aware of a minor commotion outside the shop. Curious, she went to the small, thick-paned window and watched as an excited crowd gathered around the entrance of the building across the street.

  "I wonder what they are looking at."

  Lannigan answered with a note of something that sounded oddly like pride. "Gentry's on the 'unt again."

  "Nick Gentry?" Sophia glanced over her shoulder at the fishmonger, her brows lifting in surprise. "He is trying to capture someone, you say?"

  Lannigan smoothed out a rectangle of brown paper and laid the fish reverently at one end. "Like a fox, Gentry is--the cleverest an' mos' fleet-footed thief-taker since Morgan, an' that's the truf." Expertly he tucked the fish neatly into its paper casing.

  Returning her attention to the scene outside the window, Sophia surmised that the crowd was waiting for the infamous Gentry to exit the building. "Mr. Gentry may be a thief-taker," she said pertly, "but he is also a criminal. I would not insult Sir Grant by making such a comparison, as he is the most honorable of men."

  "Yes, miss." Lannigan knotted a string around the parcel with a flourish. "But Gentry's a rum cove, jus' the same."

  Sophia was puzzled by the public's intense admiration of the man. How could his magnetism and reputed charm blind the masses to his corruption?

  Coming over to the window, Lannigan handed her the wrapped fish. "Miss Sydney, did ye 'ave a look at Gentry when 'e was taken to Bow Street?"

  "No, actually." Sophia frowned pensively, remembering Ross's fury when she had burst into the strong room, where she'd seen only the back of the notorious crime lord. "Although I was there at the time, I never saw him." " 'Is carriage is stopped jus' around the corner," Lannigan informed her slyly. "If ye wait there, ye can set yer blinkers on 'im."

  Sophia forced herself to laugh lightly. "Oh, I have better things to do than wait for a glimpse of a scoundrel like Nick Gentry."

  But after she left the shop, she hesitated and glanced down the alley, her gaze falling on a black-lacquered carriage heavily ornamented in gold. The coach-and-six was exactly the sort of extravagant but tasteless equipage that would be purchased with ill-gotten gains. A driver waited on the box, his face bored and weary beneath a high-crowned hat, while an armed footman stood beside the door.

  Sophia was not certain why her curiosity about Gentry was so strong. Perhaps it was the fact that Ross hated the man so profoundly. Gentry was the opposite of everything Ross believed in. Although the man professed to be a professional thief-taker, and therefore on the side of the law, he was in actuality a black-hearted criminal. Blackmail, informing, organizing crime, framing, and outright thievery--these were all evils that had been committed by Nick Gentry. He was an outrage to morality. Yet most people considered him heroic, and those who did not were afraid to cross him.

  As Sophia reflected on all the transgressions ascribed to Gentry, she saw that the crowd across the street had parted to allow a single tall figure to pass through. He had an arrogant way of walking, a jaunty confidence that showed in the set of his shoulders and in his loose, easy stride. As he strolled past onlookers, hands reached out to pat him on the shoulders and back, and hearty cheers sounded in his wake.

  " 'Ere's a right cove, our Gentry!"

  "Hurrah for Black Dog!"

  Black Dog? Sophia wrinkled her nose in distaste at the nickname. Flattening herself against the side of the building, she watched as the
people followed Gentry on his way to the carriage. As the thief-taker approached, Sophia was surprised to see that he was young and handsome, with a long, straight nose and elegant, clean-edged features and vivid blue eyes. Similar to the Bow Street runners, he possessed a distinctive physical confidence. It was clear that he was filled with what was politely referred to as "animal spirits." His hair was a rich dark brown, and his skin was very tan, making his teeth look startlingly white as he grinned. For all his apparent good humor, however, there was a strange coldness about him...an obvious potential for savagery that made Sophia shiver despite the warmth of the day.

  The armed footman opened the carriage door, and Gentry moved toward it with a ready stride. But for some reason he paused before stepping inside, his hand braced lightly on the black lacquer. He went very still, as if he were listening to a sound that no one else could hear. His shoulders stiffened, and he turned slowly, his gaze falling right on Sophia. Startled, she stared back at him, trapped by the intensity of his expression.

  The crowd, the street, the sky--all seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them. Abruptly Sophia recognized him as the mysterious stranger at Silverhill Park, the one who had given her the diamond necklace. But how could that be? What could a man like Nick Gentry want with her? The wrapped fish dropped from her nerveless hands, and she breathed jerkily.

  Frozen, she stared as he walked toward her, his face pale beneath its tan. He stopped before her, began to reach for her, then hesitated, while his gaze remained locked with hers. Then he appeared to make a decision. He caught her wrist in his large hand, his fingers wrapping over her hammering pulse.

  "Come with me," he said, his soft voice undercutting the noise of the crowd. "I won't hurt you."

  Stunned that he had dared to touch her, Sophia resisted the gentle urging, the blood draining from her face. She tugged at her imprisoned wrist. "Let go," she said tightly. "If anything happens to me, Sir Ross will kill you."

  He drew closer, his lips at her ear. "Would you like to know what happened to John Sydney?"

  She jerked backward, nearly knocking her head against the wall. "What do you know about my brother?"

  A corner of his mouth lifted in the hint of a mocking smile. "Come."

  The sight of Nick Gentry plucking a pretty woman from the onlookers entertained them tremendously. Laughing and clapping, they surged around the carriage as Gentry pulled Sophia inside. Frightened yet intensely curious, she half sat, half fell against the leather-upholstered cushions. The door was closed, and the vehicle lurched as the team of six moved forward. The carriage rounded the street corner and gained momentum, accelerating to a reckless hurdle through the streets.

  "Where are we going?" Sophia asked tensely. "And why did you mention my brother's name? And why did you give me the gown and the necklace, and--"

  Gentry held up his hands in a gesture of mock self-defense. "Wait. I'll explain. Just...wait."

  He reached for a polished wood compartment beside the door and withdrew a glass and a small decanter of amber liquid. Either the jouncing of the carriage made it difficult for him to pour, or his hands were strangely unsteady, for he seemed unable to accomplish the task. Giving up with a curse, he lifted the spirits to his mouth and drank straight from the decanter.

  Carefully he replaced the articles in the compartment and settled his large hands on his knees. "We're going to my home on West Street. Near Fleet Ditch."

  Sophia could not prevent a quiver of distaste. The location was one of the most foul and dangerous in London, home to robbers and fugitives, conveniently located near the prisons of Newgate, Ludgate, and the Fleet. The huge sewer named Fleet Ditch spread its stench extravagantly through the twisted lanes and alleys that surrounded it.

  "You'll be safe with me," Gentry said shortly. "All I want is to talk with you in privacy."

  "Why me?" she demanded. "What have I done to attract your attention? We've never met, and I am certain that we have no acquaintances in common."

  "You'll understand after I explain a few things."

  Huddling in the corner of the seat, Sophia sent him a cold glare. "Explain, then. And afterward you will return me safely to Bow Street."

  Gentry's white teeth gleamed as he appeared both amused and admiring of her fearlessness. "Agreed," he said quietly. "Very well. What I wish to talk about are the last days of John Sydney." "You knew my brother?" Sophia asked warily.

  He nodded. "I was on the prison hulk where he died."

  "Why should I believe that?"

  "What reason would I have to lie about it?" Something in his eyes compelled her to accept his claim. The words plucked painfully at the inner wound that John's death had left. No one had ever told her what her beloved younger brother had suffered on the prison hulk, or how he had died. She had always longed to know, but now that the information seemed to be forthcoming, she was filled with dread.

  "Go on," she said hoarsely.

  Gentry spoke slowly, allowing her time to digest the information. "We were on theScarborough , anchored on the Thames. Six hundred convicts were housed below the decks, some in iron cells, some shackled to iron shafts embedded in oak planks. Most of us were fitted with a ball and chain around one leg. Thieves, murderers, pickpockets--no matter how great or small the crime, we were all subjected to the same treatment. The younger boys, such as John and myself, got the worst of it."

  "In what way?" Sophia brought herself to ask.

  "We were chained beside men who had been deprived of..." He paused, apparently searching for a proper word that she would understand. "Men who hadn't 'known' a woman in a long time. Do you understand what I mean?"

  She nodded cautiously.

  "When a man is brought to that state, he is willing to do things that he would not ordinarily do. Such as attack more vulnerable creatures than he...and subject them to..." He paused, his mouth twisting. His gaze became very distant, as if he were looking through a window at some unpleasant sight. He seemed removed from the memories, detached and somewhat contemplative. "Unspeakable things," he murmured.

  Sophia was silent with anguished horror, while one part of her mind summoned the question...why would Nick Gentry confess something so private and agonizing to a woman he didn't know?

  He continued, his voice low and matter-of-fact.

  "The prisoners were starved, filthy, choking on the foul air, riddled with prison fever. They kept us all together--the living, the dying, the dead. Every morning the bodies of those who hadn't survived the night were taken to the top deck, carried ashore, and buried."

  "Tell me about my brother," Sophia said, fighting to keep her voice from trembling.

  Gentry's gaze met hers, and she was struck by how vibrant and hopelessly blue his eyes were. "John became friends with a boy who was nearly his own age. They tried to protect each other, helped each other when possible, and talked of the day when they would be released. Although it was selfish, John dreaded the day that the boy would be released. That day was not long in coming. And when his friend was set free, John knew he would be alone again." Pausing, he raked a hand through his thick brown hair, disheveling the gleaming locks. It seemed increasingly difficult for him to speak. "As fate would have it, a fortnight before John's friend was to be released, there was an outbreak of cholera on the ship. John's friend took ill, and despite his efforts to care for him, the boy died. Which left John in a rather interesting position. He reasoned that since his friend was already dead, there was no harm in taking his place."

  Sophia was utterly bewildered. "What?" she asked faintly.

  He did not look at her. "If John assumed the boy's identity, he would gain release in a matter of days, rather than staying another year on the prison hulk. And there was no doubt that John would not have lasted that long. So in the night, he switched clothes with the boy's corpse, and when morning came, he volunteered the body as belonging to John Sydney."

  The carriage rolled to a halt, and the putrid stench of Fleet Ditch began to seep in
side. Sophia's heart beat with terrible force, seeming to drive the air from her lungs. "But that doesn't make sense," she said woodenly. "If your story is true, then--" She broke off suddenly, aware of an high-pitched buzzing in her ears.

  As Gentry stared at her, the coldness seemed to leave his face, and his chin shook as if he were struggling to master overpowering emotions. He set his jaw and forced out more quiet words. "The name of the dead boy was Nick Gentry."

  Suddenly Sophia burst into violent tears. "No," she sobbed. "It's not true. Why are you doing this to me? Take me back to Bow Street!"

  Through the hot, watery blur, she saw his face draw closer. "Don't you know me, Sophia?" came his anguished whisper. He shocked her by sinking to the floor and clutching handfuls of her skirts, his dark head buried against her knees.

  She was dumbstruck as she stared at the hands tangled in her skirts. A harsh sob lodged in her throat as she touched the back of his left hand. There was a small, star-shaped scar in the center. It was the same scar that John had gotten in childhood, when he had carelessly brushed it against a fireplace iron still hot from the coals. Tears continued to slip down her cheeks, and she covered the mark with her own hand.

  His head lifted, and he stared at her with eyes that she now recognized were exactly like her own. "Please," he whispered.

  "It's all right," she said unsteadily. "I believe you, John. I do know you. I should have seen it at once, but you are much changed."

  He responded with a sorrowful growl, struggling to contain his feelings.

  Sophia felt her own face contort with a confounding mixture of joy and wretchedness. "Why didn't you come to me years ago? I've been alone for so long. Why have you stayed away and let me grieve for you?"