The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,33

same she felt warmth creeping into her cheeks. She wasn’t a blushing virgin any more than she was a swooning one, but for a brief moment she thought she saw a flare of heat in those gray eyes.

She cleared her throat. “Let’s put the cane aside for the moment, shall we? What would you say, my lord, if I told you Peter Sharpe is a despicable liar?”

“I’d say I think it’s much more comfortable for you to believe Sharpe is lying than it is for you to believe your friend Ives is a murderer. Unfortunately, the truth doesn’t support that conclusion.”

“Indeed? Which truth are you referring to, my lord? Yours, or mine?”

“There is only one truth, Miss Monmouth.” The heat in his eyes cooled until they looked like sheets of gray ice. “The truth is Mr. Ives was found crouched over the lifeless body of Henry Gerrard, soaked in his blood. I regret that truth should be so disagreeable to you, but the facts are what they are.”

Sophia studied him, considering his words. One truth? How naïve he was, to think a truth so absolute one couldn’t find a dozen different ways to turn it sideways, to twist it until it became a lie. What must it be like, to have such faith?

Sophia supposed she’d never know. “Since you rely so heavily on facts, Lord Gray, I must assume you wish to have all of them before you draw any conclusion about a thing so crucial as a man’s guilt or innocence?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Despite what you may think of me, I have no wish to send an innocent man to the noose.”

“Of course not. May I conclude, then, you believe yourself to be in full possession of all the facts related to Peter Sharpe’s accusation against Mr. Ives?”

“I do, yes.”

“That’s a great relief to me, Lord Gray. Tell me, then, what do you make of this business with Patrick Dunn?”

Sophia could see at once he hadn’t the faintest idea who Patrick Dunn was. To his credit, he didn’t try and pretend he did. “I’m not familiar with that name. Who is he?”

“A weaver, formerly of Clare Court. Until recently he lived there with his wife and their two young children. Now he lives on the Thames, aboard the prison hulk Warrior, awaiting transportation to a penal colony in Australia.”

“His crime?”

Sophia leaned toward him. “Why, theft, my lord. Three months ago, Patrick Dunn was convicted of stealing a watch from Peter Sharpe.”

Chapter Seven

If he’d seen nothing but triumph in her eyes, Tristan would have found it easier to look away from her, but the more time he spent with Sophia Monmouth, the less able he was to make sense of her. There seemed to be a dozen different versions of her lurking under that enigmatic exterior, each one an echo of another, like layers of warped reflections in a cracked looking glass.

Tristan muttered a curse. No, there was nothing simple about her. She wore boy’s clothing, but she wasn’t a boy. She climbed, ran, and hid as if she were fleeing a crime, but she wasn’t a thief. She was one of Lady Clifford’s creatures, but she wasn’t a liar.

At least, not in this instance.

Even knowing what he did about her association with the Clifford School, Tristan was having a difficult time casting Miss Monmouth as a deceitful villainess. Her eyes, in particular, didn’t mark her as dishonest, and he’d looked enough villains in the eye to know one could see their darkness at a glance.

As much as he wished otherwise, he couldn’t question her sincerity on this. One look into those fierce green eyes and he knew she wasn’t lying about Peter Sharpe. Whether what she’d told him was true or not, he could see she believed every word she’d said.

Not a boy, not a thief, and not a liar. So much for the facts being what they were.

“Peter Sharpe has been the victim of theft before, Lord Gray.” She was assessing every shift in his expression. “Don’t you find that curious?”

“This is London, Miss Monmouth. Crime isn’t a notable occurrence here. Hence I leave my answer to your deductive powers.”

“Very well. What would you say, then, if I told you the crime Mr. Dunn is meant to have committed against Mr. Sharpe is remarkably similar to the crime Jeremy is accused of committing?”

Tristan did find that curious. “How similar?”

“Peter Sharpe is both the victim and the only witness to both crimes, and they both occurred at St. Clement