Her body bounced in his lap with each jolt of the carriage, arousing him and filling his mind with idle fantasies. Gently he held Sophia’s head against his chest and watched the alterations of her expression as she slept: the tiny frown that gathered between her dark brows, the restless twitch of her mouth. It seemed that her dreams were far from peaceful. He stroked the side of her face and murmured quietly, and her frown smoothed away. Unable to help himself, Ross slid his hand to her breast and molded his fingers over the voluptuous curve. Even in sleep she responded to him, arching with a drowsy murmur. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and cradled her as she stretched and yawned.
“I’m sorry,” he said, staring into the slumbrous depths of her eyes. “I didn’t intend to wake you.”
She blinked sleepily. “Are we almost there?”
“A half hour at most.”
Her gaze turned wary. “What will happen tomorrow?” she asked.
“I’m going to find out if I was the man who sent your brother to the prison hulk all those years ago.”
Her fingers slipped inside his waistcoat, seeking the warmth of his body. “Whatever you discover will not matter.”
“Of course it will,” he said gruffly.
“No.” She levered herself upward. Her hand curved around his neck, and she applied her lips to his, exploring daintily, her tongue lapping into the warmth of his mouth. Ross remained stalwart for precisely five seconds, then responded to her tender witchery with a low groan. Her taste mingled with his, the kiss becoming full and deep as he immersed himself in her sweetness.
“Sophia,” he said, tearing his mouth free. Although it was not the time or place he had planned, he could not prevent the words that escaped him. “I want to marry you.”
She was very still, her face scant inches from his. Clearly, she had not expected such a proposal. Agitation caused her lashes to flutter, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “Gentlemen in your position don’t marry servants.”
“It has been known to happen.”
“Yes, and the men who make such mistakes are exposed to ridicule and sometimes even ostracism. And you are very much in the public view—oh, your critics would be merciless!”
“I’ve been publicly criticized too many times to count,” Ross said firmly. “I am well used to it by now. And you are carrying on as if I am a peer of the realm, when I am no more than a professional man.”
“A professional man from a wealthy family with ties to the aristocracy.”
“Well, if we are to start defining ourselves, I should point out that you are the daughter of a viscount.”
“But I was not reared as one. After my parents died, I had no further education. I can’t ride a horse, or dance, or play an instrument. And I was taught nothing of etiquette and aristocratic manners—”
“None of that matters.”
She laughed in disbelief. “Perhaps not to you, but it does to me!”
“Then you will learn whatever is necessary.”
Sophia fidgeted with a loose fold of his shirt. “I cannot marry you.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to?” His lips grazed the silken edge of her hairline and drifted to her temple.
“Your family would not approve of a marriage between us.”
“Yes, they would.” He kissed her throat. “My mother has made it clear that she will accept you with open arms. The rest of the family—aunts, uncles, and cousins—will follow her lead. And my grandfather has practically ordered me to propose to you.”
“No!” Sophia exclaimed, astonished.
“He said that you were as pretty a miss as could be found anywhere. According to him, you are fertile ground for sowing, and I had better go about it right away.”
“Good Lord!” Sophia was torn between laughter and dismay. “I can only imagine what else he said.”
“He told me about his lifelong love for your grandmother, and how he wished that he had simply kidnapped Sophia Jane and eloped with her. He has lived with that regret for decades. God spare me from having to do the same.”
Sophia’s delicate face turned pensive. “I will stay with you for as long as you want me. Perhaps the best solution is that I become your mistress.”
Ross shook his head decisively. “That is not what I need, Sophia. I’m not the kind of man who keeps a mistress. And you’re not the kind of woman who would be happy with such an arrangement. There is no reason to make our relationship into something shameful. I want you to be my wife.”
“Ross, I can’t—”
“Wait,” he murmured, sensing that he had pressed his advantage too soon. He should have waited patiently for the right time. “Don’t give me an answer. Just consider the idea for a while.”
“I don’t need to consider it,” she responded. “I really don’t think—”
He covered her mouth with his, silencing her for a long time, so that she forgot what she had intended to say.
Chapter 12
Ross headed to Bow Street No. 3 immediately upon their arrival. Morgan had agreed to take up temporary residence at the public office during Ross’s three-day absence, and the light at his desk was burning as evening settled over London. When Ross crossed the threshold, Morgan glanced up from his work and sighed in patent relief.“Thank God you’re back.”
“Has it been that bad?” Ross regarded him with a slight smile, standing with his hands thrust into his coat pockets. “Did anything out of the ordinary occur?”
“No, just the usual.” Morgan rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, looking weary. “We served ten warrants, arrested a deserter, and investigated a murder at the thieves’ kitchen on the east side of Covent Garden. And we looked into the matter of an escaping codfish from Lannigan’s.”
“A what?”
Despite Morgan’s obvious weariness, a smile tugged at his wide mouth. “It seems that a young lad named Dickie Sloper took a fancy to a particular codfish at the shop. Dickie fastened a hook to the gills, attached the other end of the line to the button of his inexpressibles, and walked away. The fishmonger was understandably alarmed when he saw the cod jump off the table and slide out the door, seemingly of its own accord. When young Dickie was caught, he swore that he was innocent and the fish was willfully following him.”
Ross snorted with laughter. “Will Lannigan press charges?”
“No. The fish was recovered in its entirety, and Lannigan was satisfied after Dickie spent the night in the Bow Street strong room.”
Ross regarded Grant with an irrepressible smile. “Well, it appears that Bow Street can manage without me after all.”
The assistant magistrate gave him a sardonic glance. “You wouldn’t say that if you could see the work that has accumulated on your desk. The pile is as high as my chest. I’ve done my damnedest, but I couldn’t keep up with it. And now that you’re here, I’m going home. I’m tired, hungry, and I haven’t bedded my wife in days. In other words, I’ve been living as you do, and I can’t stand another bloody minute of it.”
“Wait,” Ross said, turning serious. “I have come to ask a personal favor of you.”
Ross had never made such a request before. Morgan stared at him with a new alertness, settling back in his chair. “Of course,” he said without hesitation.
Approaching the desk, Ross withdrew the diamond and-emerald necklace from his pocket and laid it gently on the scuffed mahogany surface. Even in the uncertain lamplight, the jewels glittered with unearthly brilliance.
Morgan’s stunned gaze met his before returning to the necklace. His lips pursed in a quiet whistle. “Sweet Jesus. Where did that come from?”
“That is precisely what I want you to find out.”
“Why not assign one of the runners? Sayer could easily handle such a task.”
“Not as quickly as you,” Ross replied. “And I want answers soon.” Although Morgan had spent the better part of a year on the bench, he still had more experience and ability than any of the runners. No one knew his way around London as Grant Morgan did, and Ross trusted him to take care of the matter expediently.
“How did the necklace come into your possession?” Grant asked, and Ross explained the details. The assistant magistrate gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Miss Sydney is unharmed?”
“She is fine, other than being understandably anxious. I want this matter resolved immediately, to spare her needless worry.”
“Of course.” Picking up a penholder, Morgan tapped it repeatedly on the desk in a rapid staccato that belied his impassive facade. “Cannon,” he said quietly, “I suppose you’ve considered the possibility that Miss Sydney may be involved with someone. These gifts could likely have come from a paramour.”
Ross shook his head even before the other man had finished speaking. “No,” he said firmly. “She has no paramour.”
“How can you be certain?”
Annoyed by his friend’s persistence, Ross scowled. “Because I am in a position to know.”
“Ah.” Grant seemed to relax, setting down the penholder and lacing his fingers together across his midriff. He pinned Ross with a glance of mingled speculation and amusement. “You’ve finally bedded her, then.”
Ross wiped his face of all expression. “That has no relevance to the matter of the necklace.”
“No,” Morgan said easily, seeming to enjoy Ross’s discomfort. “But it has been a long time for you, hasn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that I had bedded her,” Ross said curtly. “I have the utmost respect for Miss Sydney. Moreover, it would be entirely inappropriate for me to take advantage of a woman who is in my employ.”
“Yes, sir.” Grant paused before asking with a straight face, “So… how was it?” He grinned as Ross sent him a warning look.
To Ross’s disgruntlement, Morgan’s comment about the pile on his desk was an understatement. Reports, files, correspondence, and assorted documents formed a precarious mountain. He sighed heavily as he entered his office. Not long ago he would have thought nothing of such a pile. Now it seemed ridiculous for one man to handle so much. A year earlier, he had accepted commissions to serve as the justice for Essex, Kent, Hertfordshire, and Surrey, in addition to the responsibilities he already had for Westminster and Middlesex. It had made him the most powerful magistrate in England, and he had taken satisfaction in the increasing reach of his authority. Until now. Now he wanted to ease back from the relentless flood of responsibility and have a private life. He wanted a wife, a home… even children someday.
He did not know any man who would willingly assume his post at Bow Street, not even Grant. Although Morgan was ambitious and dedicated, he would never allow his profession to take precedence over his marriage. Ross would simply have to obtain help in the administration of the Bow Street office, since it was too much for one man to handle. At the very least, he would have to fill his commission with three more justices, and hire a half-dozen additional runners. Moreover, it would be necessary to open two or three additional magisterial offices in Westminster. Picturing the reception that would get in Parliament, along with the accompanying requests for financial grants, Ross smiled darkly.
His smile faded as he rummaged through his desk for the key to the criminal records room. Locating it, he went down the hall and unlocked the door, then entered and set a lamp on a table. The room smelled of dust and vellum, tiny motes floating lazily through the lamplight. After a brief search, Ross found the drawer most likely to contain the file for John Sydney. Filled with equal parts of dread and resolution, he paged through sheaves of documents, but he could find nothing pertaining to the case of a pickpocket named Sydney.
Closing the drawer, Ross considered the row of cabinets thoughtfully. Apparently Sydney’s case had been too insignificant to warrant an entire file. However, the boy must have been mentioned in the court records. A frown settled between Ross’s brows as he turned toward another cabinet and opened it decisively.
A quiet voice interrupted his search. “I’ve already looked there.”
He glanced at the doorway and saw Sophia’s slender figure. She came forward, the light playing on her exquisite features. A melancholy smile curved her lips. “I have searched through every drawer and file in this room,” she murmured. “There is no mention of John.”
Guilt and concern assailed him, but Ross kept his face impassive while he considered the problem. “The court records dated before the past ten years have been moved to a storage room on the top floor. I will go find them now.”
“Later,” Sophia said gently. “You can ask Mr. Vickery to locate them tomorrow.”
Understanding that she was no more eager than he to find the information, Ross approached her and hooked an arm around her waist. She yielded at once as he brought her h*ps against his. He lowered his mouth to her throat and searched with his tongue until he felt the throb of her pulse. “And in the meantime?” he asked, urging her into the rock-hard shape of his erection.
She circled her arms around his neck and rubbed her lips over his in the barest promise of a kiss. “In the meantime, I am going to keep you very busy.”
“My room or yours?” he asked.
Sophia gave a breathless laugh as she remembered the last time he had asked her that question, right there in his office. “Which would you prefer?”
Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “My bed is bigger.”
Brilliant sunlight streamed into the room, for they had forgotten to close the curtains the previous evening. Still half asleep, Sophia reflected that the sun must be very strong to cut through the haze of coal smoke that hovered over the city.
There was movement beside her, and she rolled onto her side, pushing up on one elbow. Ross stretched lazily as he awakened, tangled black lashes lifting to reveal drowsy gray eyes. He was so handsome with his hair disheveled and his face still sleep-flushed that Sophia nearly caught her breath.
Ross had been insatiable during the night. He had touched, kissed, and tasted every inch of her body, his hands gentle, his mouth insistent. The intimate memories filled her with wonder, and she felt her face turning pink. Moving experimentally, she discovered that the muscles on the inner sides of her thighs were sore, as well as her shoulders and the back of her neck.
Seeing her slight grimace, Ross sat up and leaned over her, a frown crossing his forehead. “Did I hurt you last night?”