The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,57
was snoring contentedly on a rug beside it. It was all very comfortable and proper, a glossy veneer of respectability concealing a multitude of sins.
“I’m Mrs. Browning, Lord Gray. I’m Lady Clifford’s housekeeper. If you require anything, please don’t hesitate to ring the bell.” Mrs. Browning punctuated this polite speech with a nod and left the drawing room, closing the door behind her.
Tristan didn’t spare her another glance. His gaze was fixed on Sophia Monmouth, who was waiting for him in front of the fireplace, as still as a marble statue, with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Good morning, Lord Gray.”
She was wearing a dark green gown today. The muted color shouldn’t have suited her, but every color seemed to flatter Miss Monmouth, even the dull, somber ones. This gown emphasized the unusual color of her eyes, turning them a soft, mossy green.
Tristan didn’t bother with pleasantries. “How did you do it?”
Her expression didn’t change, but her shoulders stiffened. “Do what, my lord?”
“Don’t,” Tristan grated. He stalked across the room to stand before her, so close a deep breath bathed him in the seductive scent of honeysuckle. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m referring to. It demeans both of us.”
She lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”
“I think you do, Miss Monmouth. I think you understand me perfectly.” Tristan edged even closer to her, studying her face for the faintest hint of guilt, the merest twitch of consciousness, but there was nothing. “Very well, if that’s how you wish to proceed. I’m speaking of Jeremy Ives’s miraculous escape from Newgate.”
“Escape?” Her smooth brow furrowed. “Jeremy Ives is dead, Lord Gray. His death was announced in the Times this morning. Surely you saw it?”
“I saw it, yes,” Tristan bit out. “Saw it, and knew it at once for the lie it is.”
Her chest rose and fell as her breathing quickened, but otherwise she showed no signs of agitation. “Lie? I don’t know what you mean.”
Tristan’s lips twisted, but it was a cold mockery of a smile. “Come now, Miss Monmouth. Of course, you do. Tell me, was the coffin your idea? I don’t deny it was an ingenious one. Jeremy Ives was in no condition to rise to his feet on his own. You sidestepped that problem neatly enough.”
She said nothing, just stared over his shoulder, her green eyes blank.
All at once, Tristan couldn’t bear her silence, her icy composure a moment longer. “If you’re going to lie to me, you’ll do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye, Miss Monmouth.” He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face toward his. He wasn’t rough, but he wouldn’t let her look away from him, either. “You owe me your gratitude. Aren’t you going to thank me for my part in Jeremy’s escape?”
“Your part? I don’t under—”
“You don’t understand? Curious, that a clever, clever young lady like yourself should be at such a loss this morning. I gave you Hogg, Miss Monmouth. If it weren’t for me, you never would have known which guard to bribe.”
“Mr. Hogg? You mean the guard from yesterday? Has someone bribed him?” She took care to keep her voice flat, but her green eyes darted away from his.
“No. Don’t look away from me.” He tightened his fingers on her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’ve implicated me in this debacle. Have you forgotten I brought you to Newgate, and called Hogg to your notice? Should news of our visit to Ives reach the magistrate, they may choose to conduct an investigation. Don’t suppose they won’t discover we were there, and spoke to Ives.”
Her chin rose. “There will be no investigation, my lord, and even if there was, you didn’t commit any crime. According to your own words, you have nothing to fear from the law if you’re innocent.”
“What would you know about innocence?” He swept a hard gaze over her, lingering on the pulse fluttering under the smooth skin of her throat. “You seem nervous, Miss Monmouth. Committing a crime does tend to agitate people, but then this isn’t your first crime, is it?”
“It’s curious, Lord Gray. I recall you telling me just the other day Peter Sharpe hadn’t been convicted of a crime, and therefore was an innocent man.” She spread her hands wide. “I haven’t been convicted of any crime. Am I not to be allowed the same courtesy as Mr. Sharpe?”