The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,66
promise she’d come directly back to No. 26 Maddox Street if Lord Gray didn’t appear.
He hadn’t appeared, for all that Sophia been lying here for what felt like an eternity. If she had been in her grave, the worms would have devoured her by now. Her spine ached from lying for so long on the hard slate, and she even caught herself wishing for a few layers of petticoats. She detested them, but even they’d be preferable to a chilled backside.
Peter Sharpe hadn’t turned up, either, but Sophia guessed he’d be back on the prowl soon enough. No doubt he had dozens of nefarious deeds to see to tonight, and because of her promise, he’d be free to indulge in his choice of petty crimes without any witnesses.
Bitter frustration flooded Sophia at the thought of him creeping about St. Clement Dane’s Church, the scene of the worst of his crimes, lying in wait for some unsuspecting victim to stumble upon him. It was too maddening to contemplate, but this was what came of making promises, wasn’t it? She’d know better than to give her word next time.
Still, she’d given it this time, and she wouldn’t go back on it now.
Sophia cast one last despairing look at Tristan’s dark windows before sliding to the edge of the pediment, shimmying down the columns to the top railing of the wrought iron fence, and dropping silently onto the pavement.
Just as she had the first night, she kept to the shadows as she crept through the streets toward No. 26 Maddox Street. The night was a black one, the moon shrouded by a layer of clouds. It was easy enough to sneak along without anyone taking notice of her.
She headed down Great Marlborough Street, weaving between the townhouses where she could lose herself in the gloom. She stole toward Mill Street, but she hadn’t gotten further than half a block when she caught a faint whiff of smoke. Sophia wrinkled her nose with distaste as the acrid stench drifted toward her. Sharpe would do well to give up those pipes if he wanted to skulk about the streets unnoticed. It was the easiest thing in the world to track him with that stream of smoke trailing behind him—
Sophia froze, pressing her back against the wall.
But she wasn’t tracking him, was she? Yet there was no mistaking that hint of smoke. Either Great Marlborough Street was crowded with pipe-loving criminals, or…
Or Peter Sharpe was tracking her.
Sophia melted into the thickest of the shadows and waited. A moment later she heard the steady tread of footsteps coming up Great Marlborough Street behind her. The hair on her neck and arms rose, just as it always did when she felt an unfriendly presence nearby.
He wasn’t particularly skilled at stalking his prey. He shuffled clumsily along behind her, almost as if he wanted her to know he was there. She couldn’t imagine what he had to gain by revealing himself, but one thing was clear enough. He’d known she was waiting outside Lord Everly’s townhouse tonight, but instead of informing Lord Everly, who would certainly have sent for the night watchman, Sharpe had come after her himself.
Peter Sharpe wasn’t clever, but after that ill-advised scene in front of Ye Old Mitre Pub, it wouldn’t take amazing powers of deduction for him to conclude someone had been following him, and to guess she was the most likely culprit. Now it seemed he’d decided to return the favor.
Blast it. Ill-advised was putting it far too kindly. The foolishness of that stunt was now being impressed on her with a vengeance. Her throat tightened as Lady Clifford’s last warning before she’d left this evening echoed inside her head.
He’s dangerous, and he’s seen your face.
Still, how difficult could it be to evade him? He might try to come after her, but he’d never catch her. No one ever did, with the notable exception of Lord Gray. He’d caught her, and given how disappointed she’d been when he hadn’t come for her tonight, it seemed he had a hold on her still.
Now wasn’t the time to dwell on it, however.
Sophia focused her attention on the thump of heavy boots hitting the pavement, her ears pricking as she neared Pollen Street on their right. They were getting too close to No. 26 Maddox Street for her comfort. Sharpe had seen her face, yes, but he might not yet have realized she was connected with the Clifford School, and she’d just as soon he didn’t