by Lisa Kleypas
She let go of his arm as soon as they stopped before a grouping of family portraits. “Who invited you?” she asked coldly.
Anthony smiled. “The Lyndhursts and Cannons are distantly related by marriage. I am frequently invited to the Silverhill estate.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
He gave a brief laugh. “I see that you’re still put out with me. Allow me to apologize for leaving so precipitately when last we met. I had received word of some urgent business that had to be attended to.”
Contempt flared inside her. “Involving your wife, perhaps?”
He smiled a bit sheepishly, as if at a minor faux pas. “My wife had nothing to do with us.”
“You asked me to marry you when you were already married. A bit deceptive, don’t you think?”
“I only did that to nudge you into doing what you already wanted to do. There was a strong attraction between us, Sophia. In fact, I sense that it is has not vanished entirely.”
She was astonished by the appraising glance he gave her. Good Lord, how easy it was for him to renew all the self-disgust and shame she had tried to dispel. “If you sense anything from me, it is loathing.”
“Women,” he replied, clearly amused. “You always say the opposite of what you mean.”
“Take it as you will. But stay away from me, or you will have to deal with my husband.”
“I don’t think so,” Anthony murmured with an insolent smile. “Cannon is a gentleman, and a cold fish besides. His kind always looks the other way.”
If Sophia had not been so outraged, she would have laughed scornfully at the notion that Ross was too much of a gentleman to protest being cuckolded. “Stay away from me,” she repeated, her voice unsteady despite the tight control she maintained over herself.
“You intrigue me, Sophia,” Anthony remarked. “You are far more spirited and worldly-wise than you were before. The change in you is quite lovely. It bears investigation, I think.”
“Investigation?” Her voice held utter bewilderment.
“Not now, of course, as you’ve just been wed. But sometime in the future, I may persuade you to renew our… friendship.” His smile was taunting and arrogant. “I can be very persuasive, as you well know.”
Sophia inhaled sharply. “There is no possible inducement to make me spend five minutes in your company.”
“Isn’t there? I would hate for certain rumors about you to circulate. What an embarrassment for your husband and his family. Perhaps you should consider being pleasant to me, Sophia. If not, the consequences could prove most distressing.”
She turned white with fear and rage. No doubt Anthony was enjoying the exchange, toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Whether his threats were serious or not, his efforts to set her off-balance were very effective. And she herself had given him that power by once having been stupid enough to trust him. If Anthony ever chose to tell people that he had known her intimately, she would not be able to refute his claims. An embarrassment to the Cannon family, indeed. Wretchedly Sophia contemplated the solemn portraits before her—the faces of her husband’s distinguished ancestors. How ill-suited she was to join such company.
“There, now,” Anthony murmured, seeming to relish her silent despair. “I see that we have reached an understanding.”
As Ross brought a glass of champagne punch to his mother, he saw Sophia standing near the entrance of the portrait gallery. She was conversing with a young man whom Ross had never met. Although a casual observer could not have read the expression on Sophia’s carefully blank face, Ross knew her too well.
“Mother,” Ross asked casually, “who is that?”
Catherine followed his gaze. “The blond gentleman speaking with Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“That charming boy is Mr. Anthony Lyndhurst, the son of Baron Lyndhurst. I have become quite attached to the family this past year. Such delightful people. You would have met them at your grandfather’s birthday weekend, but the baron’s sister was quite ill, and of course the family did not wish to leave her until she was out of danger.”
“Anthony,” Ross repeated, studying the slim, golden-haired man. There was no doubt in his mind that he was the same Anthony who had seduced Sophia.
“The youngest of three sons,” Catherine informed him, “and perhaps the most accomplished of the lot. He sings in the most lovely tenor—it would give you chills to hear him.”
Ross was far more interested in giving him chills. “Audacious bastard,” he said beneath his breath. Whether Anthony was apologizing for the past or, more likely, throwing it in Sophia’s face, Ross was going to set him straight on a few points.
“What did you say?” Catherine asked. “My goodness, the way you and Matthew have taken to muttering to yourselves of late, I am beginning to wonder if I have become hard-of-hearing.”
Ross tore his glance from Anthony Lyndhurst for one moment. “Forgive me, Mother. I referred to Lyndhurst as an audacious bastard.”
Catherine was obviously taken aback by the blunt comment. “Mr. Lyndhurst is merely chatting with Sophia, dear. There is no need to carry on as if he has done something ungentlemanly. It isn’t like you to be jealous and possessive. I do hope you will not make a scene.”
Instantly Ross adopted a bland smile. “I never make scenes,” he said mildly.
Pacified, Catherine beamed at him. “That’s better, dear. Now, if you will come this way, I want to introduce you to Lord and Lady Maddox. They have purchased the old Everleigh estate and are refurbishing the entire east—” Catherine broke off in perplexed surprise as she realized that her elder son was no longer with her. “All this mysterious dashing about!” she exclaimed to herself, vexed by his sudden disappearance. “Perhaps he has forgotten that he is not at Bow Street this evening.” Shaking her head in exasperation, she drank the rest of her champagne punch and headed toward a circle of friends.
After taking his leave of Sophia, Anthony Lyndhurst wandered away from the drawing room. He paused at a massive gold-framed mirror and preened expertly. When he was satisfied that his appearance was immaculate, he strolled out to an open conservatory to have a smoke and enjoy the evening breeze. The night was dark and warm, the air laced with the rustling of leaves as well as the flexible strains of music from inside.
Filled with anticipation, Anthony considered the unexpected changes in his former light-o‘-love. He had never revisited one of his paramours after he had left them. Once he was finished with a woman, he had no further interest in her. And Sophia had offered little in the way of sexual amusement, save for an innocent affection that had palled rather quickly. However, it was obvious that Sophia had received some tutoring in the intervening months. She wore the look of a well-pleasured woman, with her ripe mouth and blooming cheeks, and a sensuality in her movements that she had definitely not possessed when Anthony had known her. She seemed both elegant and sexually aware.
Surely Sir Ross had not effected such a change in her. Everyone knew him to be a cold and charmless bastard, not to mention notoriously celibate. Perhaps Sophia had taken yet another lover. The small but intriguing mystery occupied Anthony’s thoughts pleasantly as he reached into his pocket for a cigar.
All at once a shadow seemed to fly at him from nowhere. Anthony had no chance to make a sound before he was brutally slammed against the wall. Paralyzed in fright, he felt something hard press against his throat—an unyielding muscular arm that threatened to crush the life from him.
“Wh… wh…” Anthony gasped, struggling helplessly against his captor. The man was large and irate, with all the restraint of a ravening animal. Anthony’s bulging eyes beheld a dark visage that could have belonged to Satan himself. It took several moments for Anthony to recognize his assailant.
“Sir Ross—”
“You cowardly milksop,” Cannon growled. “I know your kind. You pick your victims carefully—innocent women who have no one to protect them from gutter-scum like you. But you have finally chosen the w
rong one. Find an excuse to leave Silverhill immediately, or I will smear you from here to London. And if you ever speak to my wife again, or dare to even glance in her direction, I will butcher you.”
“Cannon…” Anthony wheezed uncontrollably. “Be… civilized…”
“I’m afraid I am nothing close to civilized where my wife is concerned.”
“Please,” Anthony choked as the blunt pressure at his throat increased.
“There is something else I should make clear,” Cannon continued softly. “If you mention one word to anyone about your past with Sophia, I will personally throw you in Newgate. Of course, I can only keep you there for three days, but that will seem like a lifetime when you’re locked in a cell with creatures that are more animal than human. By the time you’re released, you’ll be cursing your mother for bearing you.”
“No,” Anthony begged. “Won’t say anything… won’t bother her…”
“That’s right,” Cannon said in a malevolent whisper. “You will avoid my wife so that she forgets your very existence. Your acquaintance with the Cannons is at an end.”
Somehow Anthony managed to nod, conveying acceptance in any way he could. Just as he thought he would faint, he was abruptly released. He fell to the floor, gasping and choking, rolling onto his side. When he finally managed to recover himself, Cannon’s brutal form had disappeared. Shivering with terror, Anthony struggled to his feet and ran toward the line of carriages on the front drive as if he were fleeing for his life.
Sophia chatted and laughed with the guests at the ball, while inside, she felt sick and numb. A glass of champagne punch had done nothing to relax her. Anxiously she wondered where her husband was. She considered various ways to tell him about her encounter with Anthony. Certainly the news would ruin his evening as well as hers. No man wished to be confronted with his wife’s paramour at his own wedding celebration.
As increasingly gloomy thoughts slunk through her mind, Sophia saw her husband approaching. He looked elegant and handsome, his dark face emphasized by a fresh white cravat. She decided he must have been relaxing with friends in the billiards room or the library, for something had evidently put him in a good humor.
“My sweet.” He took her gloved hand and lifted it to his mouth.
“I haven’t seen you for a while,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“I had to dispose of a rodent,” he said lightly.
“A rodent?.” she repeated, perplexed. “Couldn’t one of the servants have taken care of it?”
His white teeth gleamed as he laughed. “I wanted to take care of this one.”
“Oh.” She looked across the polished drawing room floor with a frown of worry. “Do you think there might be others scurrying around? They like to run up ladies’ skirts, you know.”
Still smiling, Ross slipped an arm around her waist. “My lady, the only creature that will nibble at your ankles tonight is me.”
Sophia glanced around to make certain they could not be overheard. “Ross,” she said unsteadily, “I-I must tell you something—”
“That your former lover is here? Yes, I know.”
“How could you?” she asked in astonishment. “I’ve never told you his full name.”
“I saw your face when he spoke to you.” Ross smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right. Lyndhurst can’t harm you, Sophia. You’re mine now.”
Slowly she relaxed in his hold, acutely relieved that there would be no explosions of jealousy and no bitter accusations. What an extraordinary man Ross was, she thought with a rush of love. So many other men would have scorned her for her lack of virginity and regarded her as soiled goods. But Ross had always treated her with respect. “You mustn’t refer to Anthony as my lover,” she chided softly. “He gave me only pain and shame. You are the only lover I’ve ever had.”
He bent his head and kissed her temple. “Don’t worry, my sweet. He won’t trouble you again. In fact, I suspect he has left the ball precipitately.”
Something in his tone made her wonder if he had actually approached Anthony. “Ross,” she said suspiciously, “about this ‘rodent’ you disposed of—”
“The opening march is beginning,” he interrupted, pulling her with him to the mass of whirling couples.
“Yes, but did you—”
“Come—it is our responsibility to lead.”
As Ross had intended, Sophia was distracted. “I’m not certain I can,” she said. “I’ve seen the march a few times, but I’ve never had the opportunity to try it.”
“It’s very simple,” he murmured, drawing her hand into the crook of his arm. “Just follow my lead.”
Although their hands were gloved, Sophia felt a thrill at the pressure of his fingers. She looked up at his dark face and said with a sudden throb in her voice, “I would follow you anywhere.”
Ross’s thick lashes veiled his smoky eyes. She sensed his rampant desire to be alone with her. “Three hours,” he said, speaking as if to himself.
“What?” she asked.
“Three hours until midnight. Then you will go upstairs, and I will follow soon after.”
“Oh. Isn’t that rather too early to retire from a ball such as this? I suspect some of the couples will be dancing until dawn.”
“We won’t be one of them,” he said firmly, escorting her to the drawing room. “I can think of a much better way to spend the rest of the evening.”
“Sleeping?” she said with false innocence.
Ross bent to whisper his alternative, and grinned as a wild blush rose in her face.
Chapter 16
Ross could barely contain his annoyance upon their return to Bow Street, when all half-dozen runners gathered to congratulate him on his nuptials. The runners loudly insisted on their rights to “kiss the bride,” and one after another, they bent over Sophia in a manner that was far more brotherly than amorous. However, Ross was scowling by the time he retrieved his giggling wife. He gave them all a warning stare. “Attend to your duties now.”
Grumbling good-naturedly, the runners filed out of Bow Street No. 4, but not before Eddie Sayer beseeched Sophia, “Do what you can to soften his temper. You’re our only hope, milady.”
Laughing, Sophia threw her arms around Ross’s neck and kissed his stern mouth. “There—will that serve to soften you?”
A reluctant grin curved his lips, and he kissed her possessively. “I’m afraid it’s having the opposite effect. But don’t stop.”
She gave him a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. “No more until this evening. You have work to do.”
“Morgan will take care of it. I’ll only stay long enough to attend to a few minor concerns, and then you and I are going on an errand.”
“What kind of errand?” She sighed as he kissed the side of her throat, his lips traveling in a leisurely path up to her ear.
“We are going to look at something.”
“Something large or small?”
“Large.” He nibbled at a sensitive place on her neck. “Quite large.”
“What kind of—” she began, but he silenced her with a thorough kiss.
“No more questions. Be ready to leave in an hour.”
Although Sophia had expected him to be delayed by work, Ross returned for her in precisely an hour and escorted her to their carriage. She pestered him with questions, but he was maddeningly taciturn, refusing to give any hint about the nature of the mysterious errand. As the carriage traveled westward, Sophia lifted a corner of the sheer panel that covered the window and watched the scenery outside. They passed spectacular arcades and markets where luxury goods were sold, including haberdashers, goldsmiths, button-makers, perfumers, and even a feather shop bearing the intriguing title of “Plumassier.”
As this was an area of London that Sophia had never visited before, she was fascinated by the masses of beautifully dressed people promenading through it.
Ladies and gentlemen of distinction visited the confectioner’s to eat ices, strolled thr
ough tea gardens, or stood at the window of a print shop to view racks of decorative cards. It was a world far removed from Bow Street, and yet it was located only a short distance away.
The carriage conveyed them to Mayfair, the most fashionable location in London, where great family mansions were built in rows. They stopped in Berkeley Square, before a classically designed, triple-pedimented house. The large plate-glass windows gave the white stone facade a feeling of lightness and grandeur at the same time. One footman opened the carriage door and put down a movable step for Sophia. The other footman received a set of keys from Ross and dashed up the front steps.
“Are we visiting someone?” Sophia asked, staring admiringly at the house.
“Not precisely.” Ross placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her up to the main entrance. “This house is owned by Lord Cobham, a contemporary of my grandfather’s. He resides at his county seat and has decided to rent this place, as it remains unused most of the time.”
“Why are we here?” She entered the cool marble hall, which was devoid of furniture or artwork. Rich blue lapis columns and doorcases contrasted crisply with the gleaming white walls.
Ross joined her, gazing upward at the gilded fretwork on the twenty-foot-high ceiling. “I thought that if this place pleases you, we might live here until our own house is built.” He looked vaguely apologetic as he added, “It is unfurnished because Cobham took most of the family heirlooms with him to the country. If we take it, you will have to decorate it.”
Sophia could not reply, only stared at her surroundings in amazement.
When it became clear that no immediate comment was forthcoming, Ross spoke matter-of-factly. “If you don’t like the house, you have only to say so. There are other residences to consider.”
“No, no,” Sophia said breathlessly. “Of course I like it. How could anyone not approve? It’s just that you have caught me off guard. I… I thought we were going to live at Bow Street.”
