The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,88
to pounce as soon as Sharpe accosts their next victim. We have to find out who they’re targeting next, Tristan, and warn him of the danger. He has to know what to expect when he passes by the church, or this thing could go terribly wrong.”
“We’ll see what we can discover at Everly’s tonight. Whatever else happens, I intend to be at St. Clement Dane’s tomorrow night to catch Peter Sharpe, and find out who this fourth man is before he hurts someone else. Brixton and a few of Willis’s Bow Street Runners can come with me.”
Sophia shook her head. “Daniel’s not in London at the moment. Lady Clifford sent him off somewhere with Jeremy.”
Tristan blew out a breath. “Damn it. How far have they gone? Can he be brought back to London quickly?”
“I truly don’t know where they are, Tristan. I wasn’t lying to you about that. Lady Clifford is careful to keep each of us focused only on whatever part of a task we’ve been assigned. There’s fewer chances of errors that way.”
“Clever of her,” Tristan muttered, then tapped on the roof to signal the driver. “Will you come back to Great Marlborough Street with me?”
“No, not just yet. Drop me at No. 26 Maddox, will you? I need to speak to Lady Clifford. I’ll let her know what we’ve discovered about Lord Everly and the LCS, and see if Daniel can’t be made available tomorrow night. I’ll return to Great Marlborough Street later for our foray into Lord Everly’s study.”
Tristan’s gray eyes were dark with worry. “Or you could stay at the Clifford School. I promise I’ll come and see you as soon as everything is—”
Sophia pressed her fingers to his lips before he could say anything more. “You’re wasting your breath, my lord. You know very well I’m going with you.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. Very well, then, we’ll do this your way. But I’ll have my way, as well.” He turned her hand to press a kiss to her palm, his gaze meeting hers. “Don’t keep me waiting long tonight, Miss Monmouth.”
Chapter Eighteen
Darkness had settled over London by the time Sophia returned to Great Marlborough Street. Tribble opened the door to her knock, and offered her a solemn bow. “Good evening, Miss Monmouth.”
“Good evening, Tribble.” Sophia sank into an equally solemn curtsy and followed Tribble obediently down the hallway, but when they reached the library door, she pressed a finger to her lips before he could announce her. Tribble’s eyebrow ticked up a fraction at this untoward request, but he didn’t make a practice of arguing with Lord Gray’s guests. He offered her a stiff bow and disappeared back toward the entryway.
Tristan was standing in front of the window, his back to her. Sophia didn’t announce herself, but paused in the doorway. She couldn’t recall ever having had the opportunity to watch him without him noticing, and she took it now, studying his broad shoulders and muscled back. Her gaze lingered on his elegant fingers wrapped around the tumbler he held in his hand, and a shiver tripped down her spine.
He’d touched her with those strong hands, those long, teasing fingers. He’d made her squirm and writhe for him, cry out for him…
Perhaps he felt the intensity of her stare, because Tristan turned from the window, his eyes meeting hers. Surprise flashed in the gray depths, and something else that looked like relief, as if he hadn’t truly believed she’d return this evening, despite her promise. That flicker of doubt was so fleeting another person might not have noticed it, but Sophia did. She noticed everything about this man.
“You look surprised to see me, Lord Gray. Did you think I wouldn’t come? I did promise you I would.” She strode into the library, a smile on her lips.
“Not at all, Miss Monmouth. I simply expected you to come through the window rather than the door.”
“The evening’s just begun, my lord. We may yet find ourselves climbing through windows and dangling from rooftops. I do hope you’re prepared.”
He took a leisurely sip of his port, watching her approach over the edge of his glass. His gray eyes heated to molten silver as he swept his gaze over her. “I see you are. Dressed for prowling, are we?”
Sophia paused to glance down at her black tunic and breeches. “You may call it prowling, if you like. I prefer to think of it as pursuit of the guilty.”
“They’re one and the same for you, Miss Monmouth.” He linked