The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,69
to her head. That villain had dealt her a vicious blow.
“Who attacked me? Sharpe? I knew he was following me, of course. He’s as subtle as a herd of cattle.”
Tristan didn’t answer right away. He finished tending to her hand, then laid it carefully on her lap. “Not Sharpe. The other man.”
Sophia frowned. “There was another man?”
Tristan braced his hands on his knees and met her gaze. “Yes. Did you think I simply leapt on you and nearly knocked the brains from your head on a whim?”
“Well, no.” She kept her gaze on her hands, avoiding his eyes. “Though after that business with Jeremy, perhaps you had reason to.”
Tristan stared at her. It was the closest she’d come to confessing her part in the business with Jeremy Ives. Strangely enough, as determined as he’d been this morning to have the truth out of her, it no longer seemed to matter now. He gripped his knees to keep himself from touching her. “I won’t pretend I was pleased by it, but I wouldn’t hurt you, Sophia. Not ever.”
They looked at each other, and Tristan had to force himself not to touch her, to take her soft hand in his again.
Sophia cleared her throat. “There was another man, then? Aside from Sharpe?”
“Yes. I saw him slip from the shadows after Sharpe disappeared. Sharpe knew you were on the pediment roof, Sophia. As soon as you dropped to the ground, he went after you.”
She blew out a breath. “I was afraid of that. I nearly took him straight to No. 26 Maddox. I know he saw my face at Ye Old Mitre Pub, but I was hoping he didn’t know who I was, or where I came from.”
“He knows.” Tristan’s tone was grim. “So does the man who attacked you. Sharpe was there to distract you from his partner, who was hiding in the shadows, waiting for you. They knew you’d likely head toward Maddox Street. If you’d veered off, one of them certainly would have grabbed you.”
“The fourth man,” Sophia whispered. “The man Jeremy said was at St. Clement Dane’s the night of Henry Gerrard’s murder. It has to be him.”
Tristan set the cloth aside. “Yes. I didn’t see the man’s face. He was wearing a cap, but he was dressed all in black, and he was carrying a weapon. A stick, perhaps, or a club of some sort.”
Sophia swallowed. “A club?”
“Yes, and he didn’t hesitate to use it.” Tristan caught her chin in his fingers and turned her head to get a look at the injury on her temple, brushing a fingertip over the knot. “He leapt on you, and then I leapt on him. I still don’t know how he managed to squirm free of me.”
Or more to the point, why. Sophia’s attacker and Sharpe together might have had a chance at subduing him. Tristan hadn’t the faintest doubt the mysterious man who’d leapt from the shadows had intended to kill Sophia, but instead of persisting, they’d both fled into the night.
“You, ah…you saw me on Lord Everly’s roof tonight, then? You followed me?” The look she gave him from under cover of her thick, dark lashes was almost shy.
Tristan glanced down at her small hands, which were resting palm up in her lap. Her tender, olive-tinted skin was shredded to ribbons and oozing blood, despite his efforts. Her knees were even worse, and her forehead was smeared with blood from the nasty cut there.
How many bruises, as yet invisible, would appear on that smooth skin before the night was over? Yet it could have been worse—so much worse. He thought of the club in that scoundrel’s black-gloved hand, and a shudder of fear wracked him.
What if he hadn’t happened to see her on Everly’s roof tonight? What would have happened to her then? Even now she could be lying in a bloody heap in the middle of Pollen Street, alone and breathing her last breath.
Just like Henry.
He’d failed Henry, and tonight he’d nearly failed Sophia.
Tristan slid from the table onto the settee, dragged the silver tray with the supplies toward him, then reached for her legs and draped them over his thighs. He didn’t ask her permission, but she didn’t object—just watched him with huge green eyes.
He plucked up the damp cloth again, wetted it in the basin and began to dab at her knees, but he hardly knew what he was doing.