The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray - Anna Bradley Page 0,92
them—the eyes he was still drowning in today—and his stomach lurched with fear.
If Everly had had his way, it wouldn’t have been a single murder.
It would have been two.
“Tristan? Are you unwell?”
Tristan opened his mouth to answer her, but no words came out. The fourth man had murdered Henry Gerrard, and only two nights ago he’d tried to murder Sophia.
Tried, and nearly succeeded.
If Tristan hadn’t spotted Sophia on Everly’s pediment roof that night, the villain would have spilled her blood all over Pollen Street. Panic rose in Tristan’s throat when he thought of how near a thing it had been.
If he’d come upon them even a few seconds later, he would have lost her. Now, sitting across from her, looking into her eyes, he knew without a shadow of a doubt if the worst had happened, he never would have recovered from the loss of her.
I’m in love with her.
This wild, reckless lady, so small and dainty yet so fierce, this dark-haired pixie, half-angel and half-thief, with her devastating green eyes and her troubling tendency to climb onto roofs and slip through fences. Stubborn, clever, brave—perhaps just a bit broken. She wasn’t at all the sort of lady he imagined he’d ever fall in love with, yet she was all he could think about, all he could see.
He stared at her, dumbfounded. Did she love him back? Did she even trust him? If not, would she ever? The questions spun inside his head, but no sooner did they arise than he tossed them aside again, unanswered.
It didn’t matter. He was in love with her, and there was no going back from that. She might walk away from him and never look back, and it wouldn’t make any difference. He’d go on loving her against reason, sanity, or logic. He’d go on loving her even after he’d lost all hope.
She reached across the table and grasped his hand, her green eyes troubled. “Tristan? Are you all right? You’re scaring me.”
Tristan forced a smile to his lips. “Just reminding myself you’re here with me, and you’re safe and well. Well, aside from scraped palms and knees.”
Her eyes went soft as they moved over his face. “Only because of you. I had no right to expect you to follow me that night, but you did.”
It was on the tip of Tristan’s tongue to tell her he’d follow her everywhere, anywhere for the rest of his life if she’d let him, but this wasn’t the time to declare himself. He wouldn’t speak to her of love with the same breath as he spoke to her of murder.
“Henry’s mistake was in thinking Sharpe and Everly were working alone.” Tristan’s lips twisted with sadness as he thought of his friend. “He hadn’t counted on there being a fourth man there that night, lurking in the shadows.”
“You realize what this means, Tristan.” Sophia’s voice was quiet. “At the least we’re accusing Everly—a member of the House of Lords—of sending innocent men to prison to put an end to the London Corresponding Society, which is a perfectly lawful reform group. At worst, we’re accusing him of being an accessory to murder.”
“We are, and that’s to say nothing of Pitt himself. There’s no denying he’s the primary beneficiary of the scheme, and Everly doesn’t stir a step without Pitt’s approval. I find it difficult to believe he’d go as far as this without Pitt knowing of it.”
Tristan had known all along this business went much deeper than a few thefts—a Bow Street Runner doesn’t get murdered over a stolen pocket watch—but he’d never imagined it might reach such staggeringly high levels. At the very least, Everly was involved.
As for Pitt, they’d likely never know whether or not he’d set the whole plot in motion. If he had, they’d never be able to prove it. But Sharpe, Everly, and the fourth man—the murderer who’d killed Henry and tried to kill Sophia? Tristan’s jaw hardened. They’d be held accountable for their crimes.
He rose, and held his hand out to Sophia. “Come with me.”
She took his hand without hesitation, and hope shot through him. Perhaps she did trust him, after all. “The library. I’ve got copies of the Proceedings there. We may find this business didn’t start with Patrick Dunn, after all. Peter Sharpe may have accused a number of men of theft over the past year, all of them members of the London Corresponding Society.”
Sophia had only gone back as far as May in the Proceedings, but it turned out Tristan