The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,78
sigh. “Christ, Gray. I liked you better when you were dull and responsible. When did you start making such a bloody mess of everything?”
“Yes, well, I did say it was urgent.” A small smile crossed Tristan’s lips. “My apologies to Lady Cerise.”
Lyndon didn’t reply right away, but rose to his feet and wandered over to the window. The moon had disappeared while they’d been talking. The sun was feeble yet, still struggling through the fog of dirt and grime, but the city had begun to stir. Lyndon rested his palms on the sill, his head down. “You might be better off turning this business with Miss Monmouth back over to Sampson Willis.” Lyndon turned back to face Tristan. “You’re an earl now, Gray, not a Bow Street Runner.”
Tristan thought of the menacing figure who’d leapt out of the darkness last night, the sickening crack as Sophia’s head met the pavement, and shook his head. “No. I can’t simply walk away now. Someone attacked Sophia last night, Lyndon. I came upon them just in time, but I have no doubt he would have left her dead if he’d had the chance.”
Lyndon paled. “Jesus. This business is foul to the very core, isn’t it? I’m worried this won’t end well for you, or for Miss Monmouth. Your feelings for her are complicated, and it only becomes more so when you throw Lady Clifford into the mix. She plays fast and loose with the law, and those in London who are aware of the Clifford School know it.”
“I’m no longer so certain about Lady Clifford’s character, either. I don’t deny her code of ethics differs from mine, but she does have one.” That had surprised Tristan, given what he knew about Lady Clifford, but it shouldn’t have. Gossips, after all, rarely troubled themselves much with the truth.
Lyndon sighed. “I met Miss Monmouth, talked to her. I don’t believe she’s a thief or a criminal, but I’m not sure it makes sense for you to trust her either, Gray. You hardly know her, for one, and you already know her hands aren’t entirely clean.”
Tristan knew it to be true, but it was difficult to hear it from Lyndon. Lyndon saw his struggle, and turned back to the window to give Tristan privacy, but the more Tristan tried to sort out his thoughts, the more they slipped from his hands. So, he sat quietly, utterly still, and let every encounter he’d had with Sophia since he first saw her on Lord Everly’s roof drift through his mind.
The boy’s tunic, and that black cap—he shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. Now he’d seen her curves laid bare, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever mistaken her for a boy.
The nimble grace with which she’d slipped through that wrought iron gate, the look on her face when he’d climbed it. She’d led him on quite a chase through London that night, and in truth, she hadn’t stopped since. He was still chasing her, not knowing which corner she’d dart around, which direction she’d lead him next.
She was reckless, stubborn and willful, yes, but more than anything else, she was alive. Her vibrancy, her determination, the way she was a little too much to handle. It was like galloping through a forest on a magnificent horse that wasn’t quite broken—risky, even dangerous, but breathtaking. That wildness in her called to something inside him, the same thing that had turned him into a Bow Street Runner. They weren’t so very different, really. In some ways, Sophia was more like him than anyone else he’d ever known.
In the ways that mattered.
Tristan lifted his gaze to Lyndon. “Sophia isn’t a thief, and she isn’t a criminal. She’s as ethical as you or me. She simply sees things differently than we do.”
Lyndon didn’t appear to hear him. “Gray? You may want to see this.” He was looking at something outside the window, his shoulders tense.
“I can’t walk away from this now, Lyndon,” Tristan murmured. His feelings for Sophia were complicated, but they were too powerful to deny. He’d always been wary of intense emotions because he hadn’t wanted to become like his mother or his elder brother, Thomas, who were both victims of their passions. He’d never wanted that for himself, but perhaps he was more like them than he’d ever realized. He’d been swept up into the whirlwind of Sophia Monmouth before he was even aware his feet had left the ground.