The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,122

with you, I didn’t think about the investigation at all.”

She raised her head to stare at him. “How could you forget you were investigating me? You’re a Bow Street Runner, Tristan.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t forget, precisely. It was more that the investigation ceased to matter to me. The mistake I made was in thinking it wouldn’t matter to you.”

She lay her head back on his shoulder. “It doesn’t now.”

Tristan waited, knowing there was more. Sophia didn’t speak for a long time, but then she sniffled, and he felt the trickle of tears against his shoulder. “Are you betrothed, Tristan?”

He pressed his cheek into her hair, regret sweeping over him. “No. I’m not betrothed.”

“I heard Sampson Willis say—”

“Shhh.” Tristan pressed a kiss to her temple. “I know what he said, but it isn’t true. I won’t deny there’s a lady in Oxfordshire my mother wishes to see become the Countess of Gray, but I’m not betrothed to her. I haven’t seen the lady in years. I can’t even remember her face.” More often than not he couldn’t even remember her name, but it didn’t seem gentlemanly to say so.

“You don’t…you don’t love her, then?” Sophia asked with another sniffle.

Tristan’s injuries prevented him from taking her into his arms, but he nestled her as close against him as he could, and then the words began to spill from his lips in an awkward rush. “No. I’ve only ever loved one lady. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you, Sophia. Well, perhaps not the first time, because I thought you were a boy, but—”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to mention that. It’s not very flattering, Lord Gray.”

Tristan blinked. “In my defense it was dark and rainy that night, and you were dressed in breeches with your hair hidden under a cap.”

“Of course, I was. I can’t be expected to climb or run in skirts and petticoats, can I?”

Her tone was teasing, and he couldn’t help but drop another kiss onto her temple. “No, indeed, and I realized my mistake soon enough.” Pain arced across his chest as he reached for a lock of her hair, but he sighed with satisfaction as the silky strands slid between his fingers. “I’ll never forget that moment when I took your cap off.” His voice dropped lower. “All that thick, dark hair tumbling over your shoulders, and the greenest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. So beautiful, I thought I’d imagined you.”

Sophia raised her head again. Her gaze met his, and whatever she saw in his eyes made her breath catch.

“I should have known right then what would happen,” Tristan murmured, still toying with her hair. “I should have known I’d fall in love with you. Perhaps I did know, even then, because I’ve been chasing you ever since.”

Sophia let out a shaky laugh. “Perhaps I should have known as well, since you’re the only one who’s ever caught me. But Tristan, I…you’re an earl, and I’m just—”

“You’re just the only woman I’ve ever loved, and the only woman I ever will love. The only woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He let the lock of her hair fall onto his shoulder and turned her face to his. “Do you love me at all, Sophia? Because nothing else matters.”

She gazed up at him, the firelight catching the tears shimmering in the green eyes he loved so well. “I do love you, Tristan. You’re good and kind, and the best man I’ve ever known, for all that you are an aristocrat, and terribly proper.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps I am, but I see a great many improprieties in our future, my lady.”

She raised her hand, and her fingertips drifted over his lips. “Oh, dear. I’ve ruined a perfectly good earl, haven’t I?”

“You didn’t ruin me, pixie.” He pressed a kiss to her fingertips, then buried his face in her hair with a sigh. “You’re the one who saved me.”

Epilogue

Three months later.

Tristan woke to the sensation of something soft tickling his lips.

It felt like…a butterfly? With every flutter of the butterfly’s wings the delicate scent of honeysuckle drifted like a cloud around him, and he inhaled deeply, losing himself in the sweetness.

Ah, a dream, then. Tristan had left his nightmares behind weeks ago, but it was a bit jarring to leap from blood and gravestones to butterflies in fields of honeysuckle.

He burrowed into his pillow, a smile curving his lips. Not that he was complaining. Who didn’t like butterflies? And the