The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,14
out onto Lord Everly’s pediment, and took it into his head to follow me when I went after Mr. Sharpe.” Sophia snatched up her sherry and downed the contents in one swallow. “He plucked me up, dragged me into the graveyard, and threatened me with the magistrate.”
Lady Clifford was giving her a strange look. “Lord Everly’s neighbor, you say? A tall gentleman, rather forbidding, with dark hair?”
“He’s taller than any aristocrat I’ve ever seen, and certainly much larger than any aristocrat needs to be. He did have dark hair, yes, and absurdly long legs. Rather alarming, taken all together.” Even now Sophia hadn’t fully recovered from the horrid sight of him coming over the fence.
“Well, that is a surprise. I heard he’d retired to his estate in Oxfordshire after his brother’s death. I wonder what he’s doing back in London?”
Sophia’s mouth fell open. “What, you mean to say you know who he is?”
“My dear child, everyone knows who he is. He’s Tristan Stratford, otherwise known as the—”
“The Ghost of Bow Street.” Sophia’s empty glass slid from her numb fingers and dropped onto the silver tray. She patted at her chest to calm a heart now pounding with delayed panic, and spluttered, “Dear God, the Ghost of Bow Street chased me across Westminster tonight.”
But of course, it was him. Who else could have tracked her all the way from Great Marlborough Street to St. Clement Dane’s without her noticing him? How many aristocrats in London could scale an eight-foot fence in under a minute? Who but the Cursed Ghost of Cursed Bow Street could have chased her such a distance, and through every back alley in London?
Naturally, Lord Everly’s neighbor must turn out to be the Ghost of Bow Street.
The shock on his face when she’d slipped through the fence, the fury when she’d taunted him from the other side…
Sophia shuddered. The more arrogant the gentleman, the more fragile his ego. The Ghost of Bow Street was likely more arrogant than most, and not accustomed to being challenged. If he happened upon her again, he’d certainly come after her, and he wouldn’t let her escape him a second time.
“I can’t fathom why Tristan Stratford is in London at all. His elder brother died recently, leaving Stratford the Earl of Gray. He’s resigned his place in the Bow Street Runners, and if the gossips have it right, he’s not pleased about any of it. Apparently, he’s never wanted the title.” Lady Clifford shrugged. “It’s his now, however, whether he wants it or not.”
“He’s Lord Gray.” He really was an earl, then. An earl, and a ghost, and a Bow Street Runner, all at once. God in heaven, what a disaster. Of all the men whose notice she might have caught, why did it have to be his?
He knew her first name, where she lived, and he’d already figured out she’d been following Peter Sharpe tonight. He was so stealthy he was more apparition than aristocrat, and she’d done a remarkably thorough job of making herself memorable.
Just like that, any hope she’d had of avoiding him crumbled like so much dust in her hand.
Oh, why had she climbed onto Lord Everly’s roof tonight? She’d known she could be seen from the upper floors of the townhouse next door, but it had been so silent, and without a glimmer of light to be seen. What business did Lord Gray have, wandering about in the dark and peering out his windows?
Sophia groaned and covered her face with her hands. Dear God, what a mess.
“Now, there’s to be none of that.” Lady Clifford tapped her on the head. “Go on up to your bedchamber, dearest, and put this out of your mind for the rest of the evening.”
“Put it out of my mind?” How could she do that, knowing the Ghost of Bow Street was after her? “It’s too late for that, my lady.”
Lady Clifford gave her a distracted smile. “My dear child, it’s never too late for anything. Now, off you go. Your friends are waiting for you.”
Sophia stumbled to her feet. There wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about Lord Gray right now. She’d think it through tonight, and come up with something. “Goodnight, my lady.”
Lady Clifford patted her cheek. “Goodnight, my love.”
Sophia dragged herself up the stairs, every muscle protesting. She wanted her bed, but when she reached the hallway outside the bedchamber she shared with Cecilia, Georgiana, and Emma, she paused.
“‘Farewell all,’ sighed she, ‘this last look and we shall be