Her head tilted back so she could meet his gaze, and her eyes sparkled with anticipation at the thought of a shopping expedition. "With pleasure, sir."
As Ross stared into Sophia's upturned face, he was greatly puzzled. It had been a long time since anyone had paid such close attention to such trivial matters as his cravats and the temperature of his shaving water. But part of him relished it...the almost wifely attentiveness on which he was becoming far too dependent. As with all things he did not understand, Ross examined Sophia's possible motives. He could not come up with a single reason that she would wish to pamper him.
Sophia's thick lashes lowered as she glanced once more to where his shirt revealed his bare throat. Her breath quickened slightly, betraying her awareness of him. He thought of sliding his hand behind her neck, holding her steady as he bent to capture her mouth. But it had been a long time since he had made such an advance to a woman, and he was not completely certain that she would welcome his attentions.
"Miss Sydney," he murmured, staring into the soft sapphire depths of her eyes, "the next time you dispose of my clothing, you had better give me advance warning." A roguish smile tugged at his lips as he leaned a fraction closer and added, "I would hate to come down here without my trousers."
To Ross's chagrin, he was not the only man at Bow Street to appreciate Sophia's considerable charms. As Morgan had predicted, the runners were after her like a pack of frolicsome wolves, sniffing and nipping at her heels. Before reporting to him at nine each morning, they would wait at the kitchen door for leftover scraps from breakfast. They would tease and flirt with her, and spin exaggerated tales of their own accomplishments.
Discovering that Sophia was willing to treat minor wounds, the men began to invent aches and pains that required her attention. After learning that she had bound at least three hairy sprained ankles and administered two poultices and wrapped a sore throat in the course of a single week, Ross lost his temper. "You tell the runners," he snapped at Vickery, "that if they are becoming so damned clumsy and sickly of late, they can see a bloody sawbones! I am forbidding Miss Sydney to treat any more injuries, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." Vickery stared at him with obvious amazement. "I've never seen you in a temper before, Sir Ross."
"I'm not in a temper!"
"You are shouting and cursing," Vickery pointed out reasonably. "If that isn't a temper, what is?"
Ross struggled to emerge from the red haze that had surrounded him. With great effort, he modulated his tone. "I raised my voice merely for the purpose of being emphatic," he said through his teeth. "My point is, the runners are not going to fake injuries and illness as an excuse to have Miss Sydney doctor them. She has enough responsibility as it is--I won't have her plagued by the pack of rutting idiots who work for me."
"Yes, sir," Vickery replied, averting his face, but not before Ross saw the twitch of a perceptive smile at his lips.
As word of Bow Street's pretty new employee spread among the patrols, Sophia was besieged by eager constables. She treated them all with the same friendly politeness. Ross sensed that she was guarding herself and her heart very carefully. After the wretched way she had been treated by her lover, any man would have an uphill battle to gain her trust.
Ross was increasingly curious about the man who had betrayed Sophia--what he had looked like, and what it was about him that had attracted her. Unable to help himself, Ross finally asked Eliza if Sophia had confided anything about her erstwhile lover. It was Sophia's day off, and she had taken Ernest on an outing to Bond Street. Bow Street seemed strangely empty without her, and though the day was only half over, Ross found himself watching the clock impatiently.
A knowing smile crossed the cook-maid's face at his question.
"If Sophia did say anything about him, Sir Ross, it was told in confidence. Besides, you lectured me just last month about my gossiping ways, and now I've made a pledge to reform myself."
Ross gave her a hard, level stare. "Eliza, why is it that now, when I'm finally interested in something you have to gossip about, you've decided to reform?"
She laughed, her crooked teeth displayed like a basket of gaming chips. "I'll tell you what she has said about him--if you will tell me why you want to know."
Ross kept his face expressionless. "I was merely asking out of a polite concern for her well-being."
Eliza snorted with skeptical amusement. "I'll tell you, sir, but you mustn't let on, or Miss Sophia will have me done to a turn. His name was Anthony. She said he was young and handsome, with fair hair. She likes fair-haired men, you see."
Ross received the information with a slight frown. Goon. "They met while Miss Sophia was out on a walk and he was riding through the woods. He charmed her...quoting poetry and such."
Ross grunted in displeasure. The image of Sophia in another man's arms--a fair-haired, poetry-quoting one--chafed like new leather against a blister. "Unfortunately, he forgot to mention that he had a wife."
"Yes. The coward simply left her after he'd taken his pleasure--he never bothered to tell her about his wife. Miss Sophia says she will never love again."
"She'll marry someday," Ross replied cynically. "It is only a matter of time."
"Yes, Miss Sophia will probably marry," Eliza said pragmatically. "What I said was, she will neverlove again."
He shrugged casually. "If one is to marry, it is best to do it for reasons other than love."
"That is exactly what Miss Sophia says." Eliza took her leave, pausing at the door to add with a bit too much sincerity, "How sensible you both are!" She departed with a chuckle while Ross scowled after her.
After a fortnight of diligent work, the runners Sayer and Gee finally managed to locate Nick Gentry, the popular figure of the London underworld. Every parlor and tavern was instantly ablaze with the news that he had been taken to Bow Street and held for questioning. The minute that Gentry was brought to the premises, he was imprisoned in the strong room, an area that Sophia had never been allowed to see. Naturally her curiosity about the forbidden cellar-level room was rampant, but Sir Ross had ordered her to stay away from it.
As word of Nick Gentry's detainment spread through the slums and rookeries of London, a large crowd gathered outside Bow Street No. 3, blocking the entire thoroughfare so that no vehicles could pass. Gentry's influence permeated every corner of the city. Although he called himself a thief-taker, he had in reality done much to organize crime in London. He directed gangs in their illegal activities, telling them how and when to commit crimes they might not have attempted without his guidance. Pickpockets, burglars, whores, and murderers all reported to him, receiving his assistance in matters ranging from disposing of stolen goods to helping felons avoid arrest.
Sophia had hoped for a glimpse of the notorious criminal, but he had been brought to Bow Street under cover of night. Sir Ross had been with him in the strong room every minute, settling in for a long period of questioning. "Sir Ross can only old Gentry for three days," Ernest informed Sophia breathlessly." 'E'll try his hardest to make Gentry admit to helping those men escape Newgate, but Gentry will never crack."
"You sound as if you admire Mr. Gentry," Sophia remarked.
The boy considered the question thoughtfully, blushing under her attention. "Well...Nick Gentry is not all bad. 'E does 'elp people sometimes...gives them jobs and money..."