The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,75
whine before, droning orders at his servants.
She hesitated, biting her lip.
Approaching the carriage might be considered by some to be an unnecessary risk, but given the strangeness of its appearance in this place, at this time, Sophia deemed it a calculated one. Fortunately, the respective locations of Tristan’s and Lord Everly’s stables meant the carriage was facing away from her, so she kept low, out of sight of anyone who happened to glance out the back window.
Step by step, slowly, closer, and closer still…
“…don’t like it, this shifty business with Ives.”
Sophia froze at Jeremy’s name, a chill rushing over her skin.
“I don’t know why you’re in such a fuss over Ives. He’d dead, and we’re better off for it. Good riddance to him, I say.”
It was Lord Everly’s voice, sounding bored. Sophia clenched her hands into fists. Bored, as if the question of Jeremy’s life or death wasn’t of the least consequence.
Because to him, it wasn’t.
“So ye say, but Ives was taken out afore a single soul at Newgate could see ’is corpse, my lord. Only way to make sure ’e’s dead is to see ’im swing at the end of a noose,” another voice growled, this one harder and colder. “And we’ve that other matter to take care of.”
What other matter would that be? Sophia inched closer. She was almost certain she hadn’t heard the second voice before, but she didn’t dare peek through the back window of the carriage to check.
“I told you, it will be dealt with soon enough.” Lord Everly again, this time with an irritated huff.
“When will that be, my lord? If this thing goes wrong, it’ll be my neck on the noose. If I swing, I’ll see to it yer right beside me, Everly.”
There was a brief silence. When Lord Everly spoke again the languid note in his voice had disappeared. “Tomorrow night, then. I’ll give Sharpe his orders. Make sure you’re at the church in good time, and in the meantime, don’t come back here again. I told you once before I can’t be seen talking to you.”
The other man’s only reply was a muttered curse. Next came the unmistakable click of a latch, then the carriage door was thrown open. Sophia paused long enough to see a booted foot and the tip of a cane emerge, then she scurried back to the safety of Tristan’s kitchen as quietly as possible, taking care to keep low. She ducked through the door and pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding.
When no one came after her, she peeked around the edge of the door, hoping to get a look at Lord Everly’s partner—the man, she was certain—who’d executed Henry Gerrard.
Unfortunately, Lord Everly’s blasted carriage was still there, blocking her view of the mews. By the time it rolled into the stables, she only had time to catch a glimpse of a tall, wiry dark-haired man, dressed all in black, disappearing around the corner.
He were biggish, and thinner…tall, with black hair.
The fourth man.
Between Jeremy’s description of him and the snatches of conversation she’d just overheard, Sophia knew it must be him.
The fourth man had been talking with Lord Everly—scheming with him.
Lady Clifford had suspected all along there was someone else involved in this business, pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Someone with much more power than Peter Sharpe.
Someone like an earl.
Lord Everly, a member of the House of Lords, a devoted supporter of William Pitt’s government, and a respected peer of the realm, was involved in a murder.
Chapter Fifteen
Something had woken him, but this time, it wasn’t a nightmare.
Tristan cracked one eye open but remained still, half-afraid if he moved, the nightly terrors that had haunted him these past weeks—ghosts and white marble crypts, blood-stained corpses and an innocent boy clad in prison irons—would reappear, and drag him down once again into his nightmares.
But the terrors didn’t come. For the first time in weeks, all remained peaceful and quiet.
What had woken him, then? A sound, so soft he felt it more than heard it, a slight weight settling on the edge of the bed, the subtle shift of the coverlet sliding over his bare skin, and then…stillness, and silence.
His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t have to look to know what he’d find.
An empty bedchamber.
Sophia was gone.
Fool that he was, he’d expected to wake with her beside him, wrapped in his arms, her warm curves pressed against him, the scent of honeysuckle teasing his senses.