the longer they sat, heavy with all the unsaid words between them.
Sophia didn’t speak them, but instead sat quietly, her gaze moving over his face, memorizing every curve and angle. Tristan stared back at her, his own gaze tracing the bare skin of her neck, visible under the gaping neckline of his dressing gown.
“You’re beautiful, Sophia,” he murmured at last, his gray eyes meeting hers. “Inside and out, from your face to the depths of your heart. All of you, so beautiful.”
It was at once the last thing Sophia expected him to say, and the one thing she wanted to hear more than any other. She tried not to melt for him, tried to keep her heart from softening, but it was no use. She rose to her feet and went to him, her heart leaping in her chest when he opened his arms for her. She would have crawled into them, and they would inevitably have spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, if a knock on the door hadn’t interrupted them.
“What is it?” Tristan barked, impatience in every syllable.
Sophia bit her lip to smother a laugh, even as she pitied the servant who’d earned that irritable reply.
“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Tribble peered cautiously around the edge of the door. “Mr. Willis is here. I told him you weren’t at home to visitors, but he says he has urgent business with you.” Tribble paused. “I’m afraid he was quite insistent.”
“Sampson Willis has abominably bad timing,” Tristan snapped, his eyes never leaving Sophia’s face.
“Yes, my lord.”
Tristan sighed. “Very well. I’ll be down in a moment, Tribble.”
“Yes, my lord.” Tribble bowed himself out, closing the door behind him.
Tristan rose to his feet, took Sophia’s hand, and pressed a lingering kiss on her palm. “It seems Willis doesn’t care to wait until tonight for his explanation.”
“It seems not.” Sophia shrugged, but a smile tipped her lips as she looked up at Tristan. “Perhaps it’s just as well if you speak with him now.”
“Yes, I suppose I’d better.” Despite his words, Tristan didn’t move. He stood staring down at her, letting moment after moment slip away until at last, he reached out to trace the heavy silk neckline of the dressing gown, his finger brushing her skin. “I’ll be quick.”
“See that you are, my lord. I’ll be waiting.”
Muttered curses fell from Tristan’s lips as he made his way out the door, leaving Sophia alone in the quiet bedchamber.
But despite his promise, Tristan wasn’t quick. He was gone so long Sophia—who’d stretched out on the bed to wait for him—fell asleep. When she woke, it was near dusk. She crawled from the bed, still drowsy, and wandered to the window. Deepening purple shadows fell over Great Marlborough Street. Another half hour passed, dusk fading into evening, and still Tristan didn’t come.
Finally, unable to stand the silence any longer, she threw off Tristan’s dressing gown, donned her breeches and tunic, and made her way downstairs. She turned toward the hallway that led to the library, intending to go into the music room beyond, which also had a clear view of Lord Everly’s front door, but as she passed the library, she stopped short, her brow furrowing.
“…should know better than to trust Lady Clifford, Gray.”
The library door was open a crack, and Sampson Willis’s voice carried clearly into the hallway. Instinctively Sophia drew closer to the wall, her heart lurching unpleasantly in her chest at the mention of Lady Clifford.
It wasn’t at all unusual for powerful gentlemen in law enforcement to speak of Lady Clifford and the Clifford School in that contemptuous tone, but Sophia’s back still stiffened at Willis’s dismissive manner. She pressed closer to the door, curious to hear what Tristan would say in reply.
He hadn’t, after all, made any secret of his feelings about Lady Clifford.
“I was suspicious of Lady Clifford at first, but in this instance, she hasn’t done anything wrong.” Tristan paused, then added, “That is, nothing that would land her in prison.”
Sophia thought of Jeremy’s escape from Newgate, and sucked in a quick, stunned breath. She’d as good as admitted to Tristan Jeremy was still alive, and they were behind his miraculous escape. Tristan was well aware spiriting away an accused murderer before a noose could find his neck would most certainly land them in prison.
He was lying for them.
Her pounding heart calmed a bit as warmth filled her chest, but it started thrashing again at Sampson Willis’s derisive snort. “I see. I suppose that little dark-haired