“He’s taller than any aristocrat I’ve ever seen, and certainly much larger than any aristocrat needs to be. He did have dark hair, yes, and absurdly long legs. Rather alarming, taken all together.” Even now Sophia hadn’t fully recovered from the horrid sight of him comingover the fence.
“Well, thatisa surprise. I heard he’d retired to his estate in Oxfordshire after his brother’s death. I wonder what he’s doing back in London?”
Sophia’s mouth fell open. “What, you mean to say you know who he is?”
“My dear child, everyone knows who he is. He’s Tristan Stratford, otherwiseknown as the—”
“The Ghost of Bow Street.” Sophia’s empty glass slid from her numb fingers and dropped onto the silver tray. She patted at her chest to calm a heart now pounding with delayed panic, and spluttered, “Dear God, the Ghost of Bow Street chased me across Westminster tonight.”
But of course, it was him. Who else could have tracked her all the way from Great Marlborough Street to St. Clement Dane’s without her noticing him? How many aristocrats in London could scale an eight-foot fence in under a minute? Who but the Cursed Ghost of Cursed Bow Street could have chased her such a distance, and through every back alley in London?
Naturally, Lord Everly’s neighbor must turn out to be the Ghostof Bow Street.
The shock on his face when she’d slipped through the fence, the fury when she’d taunted him fromthe other side…
Sophia shuddered. The more arrogant the gentleman, the more fragile his ego. The Ghost of Bow Street was likely more arrogant than most, and not accustomed to being challenged. If he happened upon her again, he’d certainly come after her, and he wouldn’t let her escape hima second time.
“I can’t fathom why Tristan Stratford is in London at all. His elder brother died recently, leaving Stratford the Earl of Gray. He’s resigned his place in the Bow Street Runners, and if the gossips have it right, he’s not pleased about any of it. Apparently, he’s never wanted the title.” Lady Clifford shrugged. “It’s his now, however, whether he wants it or not.”
“He’s Lord Gray.” He reallywasan earl, then. An earl, and a ghost, and a Bow Street Runner, all at once. God in heaven, what a disaster. Of all the men whose notice she might have caught, why did ithave to behis?
He knew her first name, where she lived, and he’d already figured out she’d been following Peter Sharpe tonight. He was so stealthy he was more apparition than aristocrat, and she’d done a remarkably thorough job of making herself memorable.
Just like that, any hope she’d had of avoiding him crumbled like so much dust in her hand.
Oh,whyhad she climbed onto Lord Everly’s roof tonight? She’d known she could be seen from the upper floors of the townhouse next door, but it had been so silent, and without a glimmer of light to be seen. What business did Lord Gray have, wandering about in the dark and peering out his windows?
Sophia groaned and covered her face with her hands. Dear God, what a mess.
“Now, there’s to be none of that.” Lady Clifford tapped her on the head. “Go on up to your bedchamber, dearest, and put this out of your mind for the rest of the evening.”
“Put it out of my mind?” How could she do that, knowing the Ghost of Bow Street was after her? “It’s too late forthat, my lady.”
Lady Clifford gave her a distracted smile. “My dear child, it’s never too late for anything. Now, off you go. Your friends are waiting for you.”
Sophia stumbled to her feet. There wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about Lord Gray right now. She’d think it through tonight, and come up withsomething. “Goodnight, my lady.”
Lady Clifford patted her cheek. “Goodnight, my love.”
Sophia dragged herself up the stairs, every muscle protesting. She wanted her bed, but when she reached the hallway outside the bedchamber she shared with Cecilia, Georgiana, and Emma, she paused.
“‘Farewell all,’ sighed she, ‘this last look and we shall be separated forever!’ Tears followed her words, and sinking back, she resigned herself to the stillness of sorrow.”Cecilia, who was reading aloud, gave adramatic sigh.
“She can’t resign herself yet,” Georgiana objected. “It’s only the first page!”
There was the soft crinkle of paper, then Cecilia’s voice again. “‘He now seized the trembling hand of the girl, who shrunk aghast with terror—”
“Why are they always shrinking?” Georgiana demanded. “I’ve never shrunk aghast in terror in my life.”
“Hush, will you?‘Shrunk aghast in terror,’” Cecilia repeated in a louder voice. “‘She sunk at his feet, and with supplicating eyes that streamed with tears, implored him to have pity on her.’ My goodness. That does sound promising, doesn’t it?”
“I do like it when their eyes stream with tears,” Emma allowed.
Sophia heard more pages turning, then Cecilia said, “Oh, listen to this! There’s a ruffian, a pistol pointed at someone’s breast, and a scuffle with some banditti coming up. Also, it looks as if Adeline is going to fall dreadfully ill with fever, so that’s something to look forward to.”
“What do you suppose banditti is, precisely?” Emma asked. “Have either of you everseen banditti?”
“In London?” Georgiana scoffed. “Certainly not. There are no banditti in London,only in Italy.”
