“Sophia,” he thundered, “if that is you, I’m going to beat you senseless.”
“Gentry is waiting with me,” came her voice again. “Don’t try to cross that wall!”
“I wasn’t planning to,” he retorted, struggling to contain his fury as he realized that she had disobeyed his request to stay safe. “Stay there.”
It seemed to take forever to make his way back through the prison. Ross moved in contained panic, running when possible, ignoring the screams and epithets that filled the air as he passed floor after floor. Finally he went out through the entrance and headed around the building in a full-tilt run. He saw a small crowd of onlookers, horse and foot patrols, and Sayer and Gee, all waiting at a respectful distance from his wife and her captive.
“Sir Ross,” Sayer said anxiously, “she got to him before any of us saw him—she told us to stay back here or—”
“Keep everyone away while I deal with this,” Ross snapped.
Obediently the runners steered the crowd back several more yards as Ross strode to his wife. Sophia’s face relaxed when she saw him, and she yielded the pistol to him without a murmur.
“Where did you get this?” he asked mildly, his voice . strained with the effort to keep from bellowing.
“I took it from the footman,” Sophia said apologetically. “It wasn’t his fault, Ross. I’m sorry, but I heard the gaol-keeper tell Mr. Sayer that Gentry had escaped… and then they left, and I was looking through the carriage window, and I happened to see my brother on the rooftop—”
“Later,” Ross interrupted, yearning to apply his hand to her posterior until she howled. Instead he focused on solving the problem at hand.
He glanced at Gentry, who observed them with a sneer. “So this is how you take care of my sister?” Gentry demanded. “Well, she’s in good hands, isn’t she? Traipsing around Newgate at night with a pistol!”
“John,” Sophia protested. “He didn’t—”
Ross silenced her by placing a firm hand on the back of her neck. “You are fortunate that she stopped you,” he informed Gentry coldly.
“Oh, I’m a lucky bastard indeed,” Gentry muttered.
Ross stared at him speculatively, wondering if he was about to make a grave mistake, and knowing that he probably was. He had conceived of a plan that might save his brother-in-law’s neck and even benefit Bow Street, but it was an obvious gamble. There was an explosive mixture of elements in Gentry’s character—the brave thief-taker, the sinister underworld lord, the hero, the devil. Curiously, Gentry seemed caught in the middle, unable to decide what he was going to be. But if placed in the right hands, and molded by a will stronger than his own…
No one has ever given him an opportunity to change, Sophia had said. If he had just one chance at a different life… think of the kind of man he could become.
Ross was going to give him that chance, for Sophia’s sake. If he did not try to help her brother, it would be a permanent wedge between them. “I am going to make you an offer,” he told Gentry. “I advise you to consider it carefully.”
A cynical smile crossed the young man’s face. “This should be interesting.”
“You’re aware of the evidence against you. If I choose, I can make it disappear.”
Gentry stared at him with sudden alert interest, as he was entirely familiar with the process of deal-making. “What of the witness who is ready to testify?”
“I can also manage that.”
“How?”
“How I handle it is none of your business.” Ross did not glance at Sophia when he heard her sharply indrawn breath. He sensed her astonishment that he would be willing to compromise his principles for her brother’s sake. In almost a dozen years in the judiciary, he had never done anything that could be considered corrupt. Manipulation of evidence and witnesses went completely against his nature. However, he swallowed down his scruples and continued grimly. “In return for my efforts, I want something from you.”
“Of course,” Gentry said sardonically. “That’s not hard to guess. You want me to leave the country and disappear.”
“No. I want you to become a runner.”
“What?” Gentry demanded.
“Ross?” Sophia asked at the same time.
Were Ross not so doggedly intent, he would have been amused by the blank looks in the identical pairs of blue eyes before him.
“Don’t play with me, Cannon,” Gentry said in annoyance. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll—”
“You call yourself a thief-taker,” Ross said. “Let’s see if you are man enough to do it by the rules. Without brutality or lies or false evidence.”
Gentry seemed aghast at the notion of becoming a public servant. “How in God’s name did you come up with such an insane idea?”
“I thought of something Morgan says… a runner and the criminal he catches are two sides of the same coin.”
“And you think Morgan is going to trust me?”
“Not at first. You’ll have to earn his trust day by day.”
“I’ll be damned if I scrape and bow to a bunch of Robin Redbreasts,” Gentry sneered, using the nickname inspired by the runners’ dress uniforms.
“You’ll hang if you don’t,” Ross told him. “I’m going to keep possession of the evidence against you, and I will use it at the first sign that you are not performing your job to Morgan’s satisfaction.”
“How do you know I won’t bolt?”
“Because if you do, I will personally track you down and kill you. Your sister’s life, not to mention my own, would be far more pleasant without you in it.”
The atmosphere was alive with hostility. Ross could see that Gentry almost believed the threat. He waited patiently, letting him mull over his options.
The young man sent him a baleful stare. “You’re going to use me,” he muttered. “I’ll be some kind of damned feather in your cap, and you’ll use any public favor I’ve got left to further your own plans for Bow Street. The newspapers will hail you for converting Nick Gentry into a Bow Street runner. You’ll make me betray everyone I know, and give evidence against all my accomplices. And after ensuring that I’m despised by every man, woman, and child from Dead Man’s yard to Gin Lane, you’ll send me to catch thieves and murderers in the places where I’m most hated. On top of all that, the salary you give me won’t be worth a damn.”
Ross considered the accusation thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “that sums it up fairly well.”
“Jaysus.” Gentry let out a mirthless laugh. “Go swive yourself, Cannon!”
One of Ross’s black brows arched. “Shall I take that as a yes?”
Gentry responded with a curt nod. “I’m going to regret this,” he said sourly. “At least the hangman would have snuffed me quickly.”
“Now that we’ve come to an agreement, I’ll take you back to your cell,” Ross said pleasantly. “You’ll be released tomorrow morning. In the meanwhile, I have some arrangements to make.”
“Ross,” Sophia said anxiously, “must John go back in there tonight?”
“Yes.” His gaze dared her to protest.
Prudently she kept her mouth closed, although it was clear that she longed to plead for her brother’s sake.
“It’s all right, Sophia,” Gentry murmured. “I’ve stayed in worse places than this.” He slanted a baleful glance at Ross as he added, “Courtesy of your husband.”
Over the course of a ten-year relationship, Ross had never managed to shock Sir Grant Morgan as he did now. Returning to Bow Street No. 3, he went directly to Morgan’s office and described the agreement he had reached with Gentry.
Morgan stared at him with complete incomprehension. “What did you say? Nick Gentry can’t be a runner.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s Nick Gentry, that’s why!”
“You can make him into a runner.”
“Oh, no,” Morgan said vehemently, shaking his head. “God, no. I haven’t complained about the extra work you’ve heaped on me, or all the trials-by-fire you’ve put me through. And if the appointment goes through, I’ll do my best to fill your shoes. But I’ll be damned if you’re going to retire and leave me with the task of training Nick Gentry! If you think he can be a runner, train him yourself!”
“You are better equipped than I to manage him. You were a runner—you came from the streets just as he did. And remember, he’s only twenty-five—still young enough to be influenced.”
“He’s a hardened case, and only a fool would believe otherwise!”
“In time,” Ross continued, ignoring the protest, “Gentry might be the best man you’ve got. He’ll do the worst and most dangerous jobs without flinching. I am giving you a weapon, Grant—one that could be used very effectively.”
“Or blow up in my face,” Morgan muttered. Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the ceiling with a surly grunt. Clearly, he was envisioning the prospect of training Nick Gentry. Suddenly he let out a sardonic laugh. “It might be worth it, though. After all the trouble that little bastard has caused us, I would enjoy running him through the wringer.”
Ross smiled, reflecting on Nick Gentry’s strapping form and thinking that only someone of Morgan’s stature could refer to him as “little.”
“You’ll give it some consideration, then.”
“Are you giving me a choice?”
Ross gave a brief shake of his head.
“I didn’t think so,” Morgan muttered. “Damnation. I hope you retire soon, Cannon.”
Sophia was in bed by the time Ross entered the darkened room, and she remained still and quiet, hoping he would think she was asleep. He had refrained from venting his displeasure with her during the carriage ride from Newgate, and she knew that he intended to wait until they were in the privacy of their apartments. Now, however, was the time of reckoning. She reasoned that if she could delay him until the morning, his wrath might cool.
Unfortunately, it seemed that Ross was not inclined to wait. He lit the lamp and turned it up until it emitted a relentless glow.
Slowly Sophia sat up and gave him a placating smile. “What did Sir Grant say when you told him—”
“We’ll discuss that later,” he said tersely, refusing to be distracted. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he placed his large hands on either side of her, pinning her in place beneath the covers. “Right now, I want to discuss your actions this evening. And you’re going to explain how you could have taken such a risk when you know how I feel about your safety!”
Sophia shrank backward against the pillows as he proceeded to deliver a blistering lecture that would have caused anyone else to wither. However, she knew that his ire was born of his love for her, and so she received every word with humble agreement. When he was finished—or perhaps he was merely taking a breath before resuming—she broke in remorsefully.
“You are absolutely right,” she said. “If I were in your position, I would feel the same way. I should have stayed in the carriage as you asked.”
“That’s right,” Ross muttered, his wrath seeming to ease when it became clear that she was not going to argue with him.
“With your experience, you know best in these situations. And not only did I put myself in danger, but I jeopardized the baby’s welfare, and I am very sorry about that.”
“As well you should be.”
Leaning forward, Sophia rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I would never intentionally cause you a moment of worry.”
“I know that,” he said gruffly. “But dammit, Sophia, I refuse to be known as a man who can’t control his own wife.”
Sophia smiled against his shoulder. “No one would dare think such a thing.” Slowly she eased onto his lap. “Ross… what you did for my brother was so wonderful…”
“I didn’t do it for him. I did it for you.”
“I know. And I adore you for that.” Gently she plucked at the knot of his cravat, loosening the dark silk.
“Only for that?” he asked, his arms tightening around her slender body.
“For a thousand different reasons.” Deliberately she rubbed her br**sts against his chest. “Let me show you how much I love you. How I need you in every way.”
Abandoning the lecture, Ross pulled his shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. When he turned back to Sophia, she was smiling, amusement and arousal mingling deliciously inside her.
“What is so funny?” he asked, jerking the hem of her nightgown up to her waist.
“I just thought of how the Cockney phrase for wife is ‘trouble and strife,’”she said, gasping a little as his hand settled on her bare stomach. “In my case, it has turned out to be accurate, hasn’t it?”
Ross’s eyes glinted with an answering smile, and he bent to capture her mouth with his. “Never too much trouble for me to handle,” he assured her, and spent the rest of the night proving it.
After the birth of their daughter, Dr. Linley commented that it was the first delivery at which he had feared more for the father’s well-being than the mother’s. Ross had remained in a corner of the bedroom despite everyone’s efforts to make him wait outside. He sat in a straight-backed chair and gripped the edges until the satinwood threatened to splinter in his fingers. Although his expression was blank, Sophia understood his fear. She tried to reassure him in the intervals between contractions that she was all right, that the pain was horrid but manageable, but eventually the effort of giving birth required all her attention, and she almost forgot his presence in the room.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” Linley said, regarding her with an encouraging smile. “Give a shout when the pains come, if it helps. At this point in labor, I’ve had women cursing me and my entire ancestry.”
Sophia giggled weakly and shook her head. “My husband might faint if I scream.”
Epilogue
“He’ll survive,” Linley said dryly.Toward the end, when the pain finally overwhelmed her, she did let out a cry of distress, and Linley supported her neck with his arm and held a damp white handkerchief before her face. “Breathe through this,” he murmured.