The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,29

to devote myself to you,” he added, removing his hat and tossing it onto the seat beside him as if he were settling in for a long, tedious ordeal.

“I’m flattered, my lord. What shall we do first? Macbeth is on at Drury Lane. Do you enjoy plays with villainesses, Lord Gray?” Sophia asked, stifling a laugh at his expression. No doubt the Ghost of Bow Street wasn’t accustomed to such pert replies, particularly from a lady who was undeniably in his custody, and less than half his size.

“I’d rather see them on the stage than the streets. Does that answer your question, Miss Monmouth?”

Her own expression must have been priceless just then, because his stern lips gave a subtle twitch. It was a pitiful attempt at a smile, but even that little twitch transformed his face.

Sophia blinked at him, her gaze lingering on that little quirk at one corner of his mouth. On second thought, it might be best if Lord Gray kept his charming little quirks and twitches to himself. He wasn’t her friend, and it would be a great inconvenience if she became intrigued by him.

Sophia settled back against her seat as if making herself comfortable, even as she assessed her situation out of the corner of her eye. The carriage door on the right wouldn’t do for an escape. He was too close to it, his muscular body between it and her, but the other—

“I beg your pardon, but if you don’t mind, Miss Monmouth.” Lord Gray jerked his chin at her, a tinge of red creeping into his cheekbones.

Sophia stared at him, puzzled. Was he blushing? Why would he—

“Here.” He fished around in his pocket and, to Sophia’s shock, pulled out her fichu and handed it to her with a bow of his head that could only be described as courtly.

Oh. Her bodice. She’d forgotten all about it. The entire time she’d been tweaking him and congratulating herself on her cleverness, her breasts had been no more than two stitches away from bursting from her seams. “I…thank you. I beg your pardon.”

Sophia wrapped the fichu around her neck and stuffed it into the neckline of her dress while Lord Gray looked out the window, at his hat, down at his hands—anywhere but at her exposed bosom.

She took her time patting the linen into place even as her gaze wandered back to the carriage doors. No, the one on the right was out of the question, but she might be able to manage the other. If she was quick enough, and could take him by surprise—

“I wouldn’t attempt it if I were you, Miss Monmouth. You won’t make it three steps down Newgate Street before I’ll catch you.” He didn’t move, but he’d tensed like a coiled spring ready to explode into action. “You might also wish to consider I’ve just witnessed you commit a crime, and we’re less than a block from Newgate Prison.”

Sophia stiffened at the veiled threat. If she found herself locked into a cell at Newgate, she’d likely never come back out again. People like her never did, whether they were guilty or not. One needn’t look any further than Jeremy’s predicament for proof of that.

There was also the minor inconvenience that she was, in fact, guilty.

Sophia eyed Lord Gray, her brain spinning with a confusing mix of half-truths and outright lies. She wasn’t good at talking her way out of messes. That was why she took such care never to get caught. Her talents lay more in the physical realm: scampering, scurrying, climbing—that sort of thing. But now here she was, at the mercy of Lord Gray, the cursed Ghost of Bow Street. He wasn’t going to let her go until he got what he wanted from her.

Perhaps not even then.

She huffed, and forced herself to settle into her seat.

Lord Gray knew a surrender when he saw one. “Wise of you. Let’s begin with something simple, shall we? You’re a…student at the Clifford School?”

“Yes.” He already knew this, so it cost Sophia nothing to tell him the truth.

“Ah. Very good, Miss Monmouth. Progress already.” His lips quirked in that ghost of a smile again. “Now, this is the second time I’ve witnessed you harassing Mr. Sharpe. What is it you want with him?”

A fair question—a predictable one, even—yet not one Sophia was keen to answer. Again, it was more than likely he already knew what she was about, but any acknowledgment of it could be brought up in court as evidence against