The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,50

to some degree. The lad’s pale blue eyes were still swimming with tears, but he offered Tristan a wobbly smile. “Goodbye, my lord. I thank ye for coming to see me today.”

Tristan managed a smile and a goodbye for Jeremy, but the boy’s words echoed in his head as he and Miss Monmouth followed Hogg back through the dank stone passageways and into the turnkey’s lodge.

Thank ye for coming to see me today.

For all the good it had done, Tristan thought as they emerged into the fresh air, leaving the hell that was Newgate behind them.

For all the good any of it had done.

Chapter Ten

It was some time after they returned to the carriage before either Sophia or Lord Gray said a word. The minutes ticked by, but Lord Gray didn’t instruct his coachman to drive, and Sophia, who was staring blindly out the window, didn’t ask him to.

It had taken every bit of her strength to leave Jeremy’s cell just now—every bit of her forbearance not to collapse with fury and grief when she saw what they’d done to him. She’d been on the verge of sinking to her knees with each step through that endless, winding maze of stone and iron. She gripped the folds of her cloak in cold, numb fingers, her eyes dry despite the misery lodged in her throat. The brutality of Jeremy’s fate, the injustice of it was too profound for tears.

“I believe you, Miss Monmouth.”

Lord Gray’s voice was so quiet Sophia might not have heard him but for the stillness inside the carriage. She turned away from the window and found him staring straight ahead, his face strangely blank.

“About Jeremy Ives,” he clarified, when she didn’t reply. “He’s no murderer. He didn’t kill Henry. I…don’t know who did.”

He turned to face her then, and Sophia’s breath hitched in her throat at his lost expression, the bleak hopelessness in his eyes. She hadn’t known Henry Gerrard. She’d grieved for him still, even shed tears over his fate, but she hadn’t truly understood the depth of the loss of him until she saw it in Lord Gray’s eyes.

Henry Gerrard had a life, and friends and family. How could she have forgotten, even for a single moment, Jeremy wasn’t the only victim of this crime? She knew better than anyone a tragic loss, especially a violent one, couldn’t be kept inside a clenched fist. It couldn’t be contained. It was like a contagion, infecting everyone it touched.

“My mother was murdered,” Sophia whispered, then froze, shocked she’d said the words aloud. She never spoke of her mother, not to anyone, and she was choosing to start with Lord Gray?

It seemed so.

“I saw it happen. I was hiding in a cupboard, and saw it through the keyhole.” It hadn’t been the first time she’d been in that cupboard, or even the first time a man had knocked her mother down.

But this had been different. This time, her mother hadn’t gotten up again.

“There was…a great deal of blood.” Sophia didn’t look at Lord Gray as she spoke, but she was aware he’d gone still beside her. “I was very young at the time, but I remember trying to staunch the blood.” Even at seven years old, Sophia knew what to do when there was blood.

Bits of wadded linen for blood, and kisses for bruising…

It hadn’t worked, of course, but she’d stayed there for hours, crooning to her mother and stroking the matted dark hair until the light in the window faded, then lightened—once, then again, and again a third time. Three days. By the time Lady Clifford and Daniel came, her mother’s body had begun to decay.

Sophia had fled back into the cupboard when she heard their steps on the splintered boards in the hallway. Years later, Lady Clifford told her they’d known she was there because she’d left a trail of bloody footprints from her mother’s body to the cupboard door.

Sophia risked a glance at Lord Gray. His stern face had softened, and his gray eyes had gone dark with shared grief. “Will you…will you tell me a little about Mr. Gerrard?”

His throat worked, and without thinking, Sophia reached across the seat and took his hand. He jerked in surprise at the touch of her fingers, but he didn’t pull away. “He was…alive. I know that sounds foolish, but no other word fits quite as well as that one. He loved to laugh.” He made a helpless gesture with his hand. “It’s been weeks, and even now, I