The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,40

the liar. She doesn’t have any evidence against Sharpe. She accuses him, but of the two of them, she’s the only one I’ve caught in a crime.”

He’d been a fool to let those pink lips and green eyes seduce him into taking her at her word, especially given her association with Lady Clifford, who balanced on a fine line between guilt and innocence herself.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Lyndon agreed. “But I’m not sure it matters as far as you’re concerned, Gray. You’re not a Bow Street Runner anymore. Fulfill your promise to Sampson Willis, then put Miss Monmouth out of your mind.”

Tristan sat quietly, studying the flames dancing in the grate, then muttered, “It’s too late for that, Lyndon.”

Part of the trouble was, Tristan couldn’t quite convince himself Miss Monmouth wasn’t right about Sharpe. He didn’t have any real reason to suspect the man, but his instincts warned him there was something off about Sharpe, and he’d spent enough time scraping London’s criminal underbelly to know people were rarely as they seemed.

She’d taken an enormous risk, forcing herself on Peter Sharpe’s notice as she had. Sharpe was a dull-witted sort, but even he must have realized Miss Monmouth intended to do him mischief yesterday. If he really was the villain she claimed, she’d just made herself his next target.

“Miss Monmouth isn’t your responsibility, Gray—not beyond what Sampson Willis has asked of you,” Lyndon reminded him.

“I’ve already gone beyond that. Willis asked me to follow her, nothing more. It was my choice to interfere in her dealings with Sharpe. I’m involved now, whether it’s convenient or not.”

He should have known the dark, mysterious figure on Everly’s roof would lead him into trouble. A wise man would have tossed back the rest of his port and gone straight to his bed without a second glance.

A wise man, yes, but not a Bow Street Runner.

Lyndon gave a heavy sigh. “Scruples are inconvenient things. You do realize yours will be the end of you, don’t you?”

“No, my mother will be the end of me when she finds out I’m not returning to Oxfordshire straightaway. Go and see her, won’t you, Lyndon? There’s a good fellow.”

“Me?” Lyndon gulped. “I thought we were friends, Gray. What have I ever done to deserve such a dreadful fate as—”

“Careful, Lyndon,” Tristan warned with a grin.

“I only mean to point out the countess is…well, you must admit she’s a—”

A subdued knock on the library door saved Lyndon from having to articulate what, precisely, the Countess of Gray was.

“Yes?” Tristan called. “Come in.”

Tribble, Tristan’s butler entered. “There’s a young lady here to see you, Lord Gray. A Miss Monmouth.”

Tristan’s startled gaze met Lyndon’s, and they both shot to their feet at once.

“Miss Monmouth! Attractive lady, Tribble? Looks rather like a pixie?” Lyndon’s voice had risen an octave.

Tribble blinked. “I, er…as to that, I couldn’t say, my lord.”

“Never mind, Tribble.” Tristan shot Lyndon a warning look. “Did she say what she wanted?”

“No, my lord, only that she must see you at once. I tried to send her away, you not being home to callers, but the lady is rather…insistent.”

“Insistent?” It seemed an awfully tame word to describe Sophia Monmouth, but perhaps she was on her best behavior. “Yes, she is that, among other things. By all means, send her in, Tribble.”

Tribble bowed his way out, leaving Tristan and Lyndon standing there silently, staring at the door like a pair of fools. It wasn’t long before Tribble’s heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by a lighter tread.

A few moments later, Miss Monmouth appeared on the threshold. “Good morning, Lord Gray.” She strode into Tristan’s library, as if she had a perfect right to be there.

Lyndon stared at her, his eyes about to fall out of his skull, then he turned to Tristan with a half-dazed, and half-pitying look. “It all makes perfect sense now, Gray.”

She was wearing a day gown the color of the sun just before it burst over the horizon. It was simple, plain even—nothing at all remarkable about it—yet somehow, she made it look as if she’d wrapped herself in sunbeams. It wasn’t a shade of yellow many ladies could wear, but with her dark hair and skin and those bright green eyes, she looked like a spring day.

Tristan, amazed and appalled at himself at once, shook the fanciful notion from his head. “Miss Monmouth.” He bowed. “What an unexpected surprise to see you here.”

“Yes, I imagine it is. But my appearance isn’t as surprising as