The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,59

Clifford’s drawing room, hiked up her skirts, and covered her body with his…

“No.” Tristan tore his mouth from hers with a gasp.

They stood there staring at each other, both of them panting for breath, until he forced himself to turn away from the temptation of her swollen pink lips. He dragged in a few calming breaths until he subdued the demands of his body, then he turned back to her. “Where’s Ives, Sophia?”

“He’s safe,” she whispered. “Safe at last.”

Tristan dragged a hand through his hair. “Tell me where he is. For your own good, you need to tell me where you’ve taken him.”

Her face grew as hard as stone, but underneath her coldness she was trembling, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. “I don’t know what you mean, Lord Gray. I haven’t taken him anywhere. I told you. Jeremy Ives is dead.”

Tristan knew she’d say no more about Ives, but he wasn’t yet finished with her. “None of this was really about Sharpe, was it? It wouldn’t surprise me to discover I was your target all along.”

“My target?” She looked puzzled for an instant, but then her face drained of color. “No! It wasn’t…you weren’t—”

“You must have realized only I would be able to see you on the roof of Lord Everly’s pediment.” Tristan had promised himself he wouldn’t touch her again, but his hand seemed to move without his consent, reaching for a loose lock of her hair. He rubbed it between his fingers, his gaze holding hers. “Perhaps this was about me from the start.”

She opened her mouth, but he dropped her hair and held up his hand before a word could pass her lips. “No. I don’t want to hear any more.” Because a part of him was afraid she could make him believe anything she said.

“Tristan—”

“No. This ends here.”

For her, it did end here. Sophia’s part in this business was done. Jeremy Ives was innocent of the crime of which he’d been convicted, but he was free now, and all of London believed him to be dead. It had all ended just as she’d hoped it would.

But it hadn’t ended for Tristan. It would never end for him until Henry’s murderer was swinging from the end of a rope. Henry had been a good man, a just man, and a loyal friend. He and his wife and son deserved justice.

But none of that had anything to do with Sophia Monmouth. “You should be pleased, Sophia. Jeremy is safe. Isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I want.”

Tristan had no answer for that, other than that it didn’t matter what either of them wanted. He didn’t say it. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and drew out her locket. He cradled it in his hand for a moment, warming the silver against his skin, then he held it out to her. “I took this from Hogg yesterday. I thought you’d want it back. Take it.”

Her hand trembled as she reached for it. He dropped it into her palm. “There’s nothing more that needs to be said between us, and no reason for us ever to meet again.”

She said nothing, just closed her fingers tightly around the locket.

“Goodbye, Miss Monmouth.” Tristan offered her a formal bow, then went through the door without another word, and without a backward glance.

The housekeeper, Miss Browning, was nowhere to be seen, but the three young ladies were still hanging over the edge of the railing on the landing. Their eyes followed him as he came down the hallway and let himself out the front door.

They might as well look their fill now, because he had no reason to ever return to No. 26 Maddox Street, or see Sophia Monmouth again.

He went directly back to Great Marlborough Street, where he ordered Tribble to say he wasn’t at home to any callers, not even Lord Lyndon. After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the long, empty day to pass into dusk.

He spent it at his library window, staring out at the roof of Lord Everly’s pediment. He watched the shadows lengthen, and told himself he couldn’t still feel the strands of silky dark hair drifting through his fingers, see the glitter of tears on dark lashes, or taste the full lips that had opened so sweetly under his.

Chapter Twelve

Sophia was sitting on the edge of the settee staring down at the locket in her hands when the door of the