The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,102

chit you’ve been gallivanting about with is equally as innocent, isn’t she? What’s her name again? Sophia something?”

“Sophia Monmouth.” Tristan’s voice was even. “Yes, I was wrong about her, too. She’s innocent in this business.”

Wrong about her? A sharp arrow of hurt pierced Sophia’s chest. That meant he’d thought her guilty at some point, but then she already knew that. He hadn’t made a secret of it, and she could hardly blame him. She wasn’t, in fact, innocent at all, and hadn’t been since the age of seven, when she’d begun to see the law as a thing to be bent and shaped according to her needs.

As suggestions, not imperatives.

To a man like Tristan, a former Bow Street Runner, she was closer to being a criminal than she was a proper, law-abiding citizen, yet he was defending—

“Tell me, Gray. Does your belief in the girl’s innocence arise from her spotless behavior, or might there be something else influencing your opinion?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Tristan’s voice was tight with warning.

“Oh, I think you do.” There was a brief pause, then the sound of footsteps. When Willis spoke again, he was closer to the door. “She’s a pretty thing, Miss Monmouth. Perhaps I should have taken that into account when I assigned you to investigate her.”

“Miss Monmouth’s appearance has nothing to do with—”

“But it’s been days since you brought me a report of her activities,” Willis went on, as if Tristan hadn’t spoken. “I should have realized then the girl had turned your head. Ah, well, perhaps it was inevitable, what with the way you’ve been scrutinizing her every move. We all have our weaknesses, don’t we, Gray?”

Tristan said something in reply, but Sophia didn’t hear it. A dull roar filled her ears, and she sagged back against the wall. It was one thing to suspect her, but quite another to investigate her. Another still to—how had Willis put it?

Scrutinize her every move.

The meaning of Willis’s words sank in, and everything that had happened since that first night Tristan had chased her suddenly took on a more sinister cast. Of course, he’d been investigating her. Why, she couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t suspected it from the start.

A pair of gray eyes and tempting lips, that’s how.

But if he’d intended to turn her over to Willis, mightn’t he have done it when he found out about Jeremy’s escape? A tiny thread of hope rose in Sophia’s breast. Perhaps he had come to care for her, just as he claimed, but hadn’t known how to tell her the truth.

Except he’d had plenty of opportunity to confess it, and he hadn’t said a single word.

Still, that didn’t necessarily mean he—

“Perhaps it would be best if you returned to Oxfordshire, Gray.” It was Sampson Willis again, his voice heavy with derision, and something else, a hint of something that was more difficult to identify. It sounded like…a warning.

“I’m not going anywhere until this matter is brought to a satisfactory end.” Tristan’s voice was edged with ice.

Willis let out an impatient huff. “Come now, Gray. Isn’t your mother expecting you at your country estate? Aren’t you meant to be marrying soon, as well? Surely, your betrothed is anxious for your return.”

The tiny spark of hope still flickering in Sophia’s breast stuttered, then died.

Tristan was betrothed.

A laugh tore loose from her throat, silent and bitter. Had she really thought he cared about her? Dear God, how could she have been such a fool? He was an earl, a Bow Street Runner, and she was a grubby little orphan from Seven Dials with a shadowy past, and very likely a shadowy future.

Gentlemen like the Earl of Gray didn’t fall in love with common criminals.

“Lady Esther Whitstone, isn’t it?” Willis asked. “Lovely girl, Lady Esther. She’ll make an admirable Countess of Gray. Substantial portion on her too, eh?”

Sophia’s hands came up instinctively to cover her ears, but it was too late for that. She’d heard it, and she couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t undo it.

Her throat closed. She’d taken Tristan to No. 26 Maddox Street, given him access to Lady Clifford, and shared everything she knew about Peter Sharpe with him. She’d fallen right into line, and right into his bed. He’d been damn clever, the way he’d gone about it, but then he was the Ghost of Bow Street. He knew how to manage a suspect, and his efforts had paid off.

Lady Clifford, Cecilia and her other friends, Daniel and Jeremy—she’d put them all at risk when she’d