Delicate but strong, lissome, with perfectly proportioned curves—
“Well?Is she, then?”
Lyndon’s amused voice broke into his musings, and Tristan turned from the window.“Is she what?”
Lyndon raised an eyebrow athim. “Lovely?”
A denial rose to Tristan’s lips, but all that emerged was a resigned sigh. “She is, damn her. Exceedingly.”
“Ah. I thought so.” Lyndon shot him a satisfied grin, then slid his queen across the chessboard. “Checkmate.”
Tristan turned back to the window, and his gaze fell on the roof of Lord Everly’s pediment. Cursed Everly and his cursed pediment. This wasallhisfault.
“Come away from that window, will you? She’s not therenow,for God’s sake, and your incessant hovering is irritating me.” Lyndon was tidying the chess set away in its wooden box, his lips tight with annoyance. “Why are you in such fits over this woman, Gray? So, she’s attractive. London is teeming with attractive ladies, and you’ve never gotten into a dither over any ofthem.”
“They aren’t liars or felons.” It wasn’t a convincing reply, but what could he say? That he found Sophia Monmouth, with her pert mouth and barbed tongue far more tempting than any of the noted beauties in London?
Lyndon’s face darkened. “I beg to differ. Lady Clarissa Warrington is a thief. By the time I broke with her she’d squeezed a fortune in jewels out of me.”
“That’s not the same thing, Lyndon.” Tristan crossed the room and threw himself into one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. “I wouldn’t hold Lady Clarissa up as a model of virtue, but I never saw her commit an actual crime. IsawMiss Monmouth slide her locket into Sharpe’s coat, as stealthyas any thief.”
Lyndon sank into the chair opposite Tristan. “Perhaps he deserved it. He may be every bit the liar Miss Monmouth claims he is, and as guilty as any other criminal lockedup in Newgate.”
“He may be, but he hasn’t been convicted of any crime, and it’s just as likely Miss Monmouth is the liar. She doesn’t have any evidence against Sharpe. She accuses him, but of the two of them, she’s the only one I’ve caught in a crime.”
He’d been a fool to let those pink lips and green eyes seduce him into taking her at her word, especially given her association with Lady Clifford, who balanced on a fine line between guilt and innocence herself.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” Lyndon agreed. “But I’m not sure it matters as far as you’re concerned, Gray. You’re not a Bow Street Runner anymore. Fulfill your promise to Sampson Willis, then put Miss Monmouth outof your mind.”
Tristan sat quietly, studying the flames dancing in the grate, then muttered, “It’s too late forthat, Lyndon.”
Part of the trouble was, Tristan couldn’t quite convince himself Miss Monmouth wasn’t right about Sharpe. He didn’t have any real reason to suspect the man, but his instincts warned him there was something off about Sharpe, and he’d spent enough time scraping London’s criminal underbelly to know people were rarelyas they seemed.
She’d taken an enormous risk, forcing herself on Peter Sharpe’s notice as she had. Sharpe was a dull-witted sort, but even he must have realized Miss Monmouth intended to do him mischief yesterday. If he really was the villain she claimed, she’d just made herself his next target.
“Miss Monmouth isn’t your responsibility, Gray—not beyond what Sampson Willis has asked of you,” Lyndon reminded him.
“I’ve already gone beyond that. Willis asked me to follow her, nothing more. It was my choice to interfere in her dealings with Sharpe. I’m involved now, whether it’s convenient or not.”
He should have known the dark, mysterious figure on Everly’s roof would lead him into trouble. A wise man would have tossed back the rest of his port and gone straight to his bed without asecond glance.
A wise man, yes, but not a BowStreet Runner.
Lyndon gave a heavy sigh. “Scruples are inconvenient things. You do realize yours will be the end of you, don’t you?”
“No, my mother will be the end of me when she finds out I’m not returning to Oxfordshire straightaway. Go and see her, won’t you, Lyndon? There’sa good fellow.”
“Me?” Lyndon gulped. “I thought we were friends, Gray. What have I ever done to deserve such a dreadful fate as—”
“Careful, Lyndon,” Tristan warned with a grin.
“I only mean to point out the countess is…well, you mustadmit she’s a—”
A subdued knock on the library door saved Lyndon from having to articulatewhat, precisely, the Countess of Gray was.
“Yes?” Tristan called. “Come in.”
Tribble, Tristan’s butler entered. “There’s a young lady here to see you, Lord Gray. AMiss Monmouth.”
