could match her for agility, and this one wasn’t likely to be an exception, so—
Blast him, what was he doing?
Sophia stared, the hair on her arms rising in alarm as he grasped the iron rails and gave the fence a determined shake. If she didn’t know it to be impossible, she’d almost think he was testing it for stability before he—
Climbed the fence.
She watched in horror as he swung himself up and reached out to wrap two impossibly large hands around the spiked tops. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Perhaps the better question was, what was she doing? It was pure foolishness to stand about gaping and asking questions when it was plain to see he was about to clamber over the fence.
“If you intend to flee, I suggest you do so now.” His gray eyes met hers through the iron bars. “After such an impressive escape, I’d be disappointed indeed if you didn’t lead me on a chase.”
No, surely not! She couldn’t be so unlucky as to cross paths with the one aristocrat in London who could actually scale such a monstrous fence. Why, it was absurd, impossible, and yet even as she watched, open-mouthed, it was happening, his long legs making quick work of it, hauling himself closer and closer to the top…
Sophia retreated into the thick shadows of the graveyard behind her. Her muscles were tensed to run, and her mind was busily picking out the best route towards freedom, yet she stood as motionless as the gravestones in the graveyard at her back, unable to tear her gaze away from him.
His big, capable hands dwarfed the spikes at the top of the fence. The knuckles of his ungloved hand were covered with scars, and there were nicks and scratches on the back of it that were utterly at odds with his elevated rank in life. Why would a gentleman with such fine gloves have such coarse hands?
Sophia wasted so much precious time staring at his hands, by the time she gathered her wits enough to move, he’d made it to the top of the fence and was seconds away from dropping down to the other side. They stared at each other as he balanced on the top edge, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Do you suppose you can outrun me?”
Those gray eyes. Dear God, he looked like a wolf about to devour an entire herd of sheep, and he was coming after her.
If he’d been another sort of man, Sophia would have said he’d never catch her, but this man was quick, long-limbed, strong. He’d gotten over that fence as easily as if he’d been mounting a horse, and there was no reason to suppose he was any less accomplished a runner than he was a climber.
Worst of all, he was cunning. So cunning he’d followed her from Great Marlborough Street to St. Clement Dane’s without her knowing he was there. How had he managed it? She’d never blundered so badly before—
A thump echoed throughout the silent graveyard, the sound of boots hitting the ground, followed by a low chuckle. “I hope you’re as quick as you are clever.”
To Sophia’s everlasting shame, her knees trembled at the sight of him. Why, he was positively enormous! If he’d been wearing a billowing black cape and had a bloody dagger to hand, he’d be every inch the sinister Gothic villain.
“Because if I catch you…”
The anticipation in his voice, his unmistakable pleasure in that prospect…
A chill rushed over Sophia’s skin. There was only one sensible thing to do.
“You won’t escape me a second time.”
Flee.
She didn’t pause to respond to his threats, but whirled around and fled into the graveyard, praying the darkness would swallow her. If it came down to who was the faster of the two of them, she was doomed. He had the longest legs she’d ever seen. She hadn’t a chance of outrunning him. Her only hope was to get far enough ahead of him that she’d lose him in the shadows.
Fortunately, there was no shortage of shadows in the graveyard. Crooked headstones jutted from the earth like so many broken fingers, beckoning her forward. The clouds had thickened again, and the night air had turned heavy with the threat of rain, but a few pale rays of moonlight struggled free of the gloom, and Sophia could pick out a path before her—a way around the headstones that would keep her hidden until she reached the other side of the graveyard.
Crouching low, she weaved her