The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,67

have that information.

She paused at the corner of Pollen Street, debating whether to continue on toward No. 26 Maddox, where Lady Clifford was likely watching for her, or to lead Sharpe away from the Clifford School.

That single, brief moment of hesitation was her undoing.

When the attack came, she wasn’t ready for it. Not because she hadn’t anticipated it, but because it didn’t come from behind her.

It came from in front of her.

Later, Sophia would recall there’d been a sound first—a faint, rhythmic tapping echoing in the empty street. She jerked her head toward it, but by then, it was too late.

By then, it was already happening.

There was no time for her to flee, or even to a draw a breath before the dark figure that emerged from the shadows crashed into her, throwing her to the ground. She tried to catch herself with her hands, but the blow knocked the breath from her lungs, and her face hit the pavement.

She was vaguely aware of the thump of pounding footsteps behind her, but even as she opened her lips to cry out for help a blinding pain exploded at the side of her head, stealing the words from her lips.

Unnecessary risk, Sophia…

She should have listened to Lady Clifford. She’d warned Sophia her recklessness would catch up to her someday.

Now, that day had come.

* * * *

Tristan’s every muscle was tensed to spring into action, but he forced himself to wait until he heard the thud of retreating footsteps fade into the foggy London night before he peeled himself off Sophia’s prone body. “Sophia?”

No answer, and she’d gone frighteningly still, her small body crumpled against the damp pavement, the blow forceful enough to have knocked her senseless.

Tristan turned her as gently as he could onto her back. As soon as he saw her face, his heart rushed into his throat. Her cheek was scraped raw from the dirt and grit on the street, her lower lip and forehead were gushing blood, and her temple was swelling with a knot the size of a fist.

And those were just the injuries he could see.

There’d be others, likely worse than these. Tristan hadn’t gotten a good look at the man who’d attacked her, but he’d seen enough to guess the villain had outweighed her by at least three stone. He’d fallen upon her like a fury, slamming her face-first into the street, then Tristan had made things worse by leaping onto the man’s back.

He hadn’t had any other choice, but as Tristan slid his arms underneath Sophia and gathered her against his chest, that didn’t make him feel any better. He’d knocked a tiny young woman to the ground. He was a monster, a beast, a hulking, clumsy brute of a man—

“Don’t take me…Lady Clifford.”

Tristan gazed down into her face, his heart pounding. Dear God, the wits had been knocked clean out of her head. “I’m not Lady Clifford. It’s Tristan—that is, Lord Gray.”

She cracked open one eye and peered up at him through the slit. A furrow appeared on her forehead as she stared at him, but then her brow cleared. “Yes, you are Lord Gray, aren’t you? What I mean is, please don’t take me to the Clifford School. Take me home with you.”

Tristan hesitated. There was no denying the idea of taking her to Great Marlborough Street filled him with a rush of possessive satisfaction, but it wasn’t proper, and No. 26 Maddox was closer—

“Please, Lord Gray. My friends will fall into a panic if I return in this state.” She raised a hand to her temple, wincing as her fingers found the knot there. “Oh, dear. There will be no hiding that, will there?”

“I’m afraid not.” Tristan took her wrist in gentle fingers and eased her hand away from the wound. “It’s a pity you discarded the enormous hat you wore to Jeremy’s trial. It might have done the job.”

Incredibly, a weak smile crossed her lips. “I promised Lady Clifford I’d be careful tonight. If she suspects I’ve been reckless, she’ll have my head for it.”

A short, incredulous laugh fell from Tristan’s lips. “I would think, Miss Monmouth, she’d be so pleased to find your head still attached to your neck, she’d let the incident go.”

A small hand curled into the edge of his coat, silencing him at once. “Please, Tristan?”

He blinked down at her, found a pair of wide, pleading green eyes gazing up at him, and that was the end of the argument. Tristan turned toward Great Marlborough Street