Sophia melted into the thickest of the shadows and waited. A moment later she heard the steady tread of footsteps coming up Great Marlborough Street behind her. The hair on her neck and arms rose, just as it always did when she felt an unfriendly presence nearby.
He wasn’t particularly skilled at stalking his prey. He shuffled clumsily along behind her, almost as if he wanted her toknowhe was there. She couldn’t imagine what he had to gain by revealing himself, but one thing was clear enough. He’d known she was waiting outside Lord Everly’s townhouse tonight, but instead of informing Lord Everly, who would certainly have sent for the night watchman, Sharpe had come after her himself.
Peter Sharpe wasn’t clever, but after that ill-advised scene in front of Ye Old Mitre Pub, it wouldn’t take amazing powers of deduction for him to concludesomeonehad been following him, and to guess she was the most likely culprit. Now it seemed he’d decided to return the favor.
Blast it. Ill-advised was putting it far too kindly. The foolishness of that stunt was now being impressed on her with a vengeance. Her throat tightened as Lady Clifford’s last warning before she’d left this evening echoed inside her head.
He’s dangerous, and he’sseen your face.
Still, how difficult could it be to evade him? He mighttryto come after her, but he’d never catch her. No one ever did, with the notable exception of Lord Gray.He’dcaught her, and given how disappointed she’d been when he hadn’t come for her tonight, it seemed he had a hold on her still.
Now wasn’t the time to dwellon it, however.
Sophia focused her attention on the thump of heavy boots hitting the pavement, her ears pricking as she neared Pollen Street on their right. They were getting too close to No. 26 Maddox Street for her comfort. Sharpe had seen her face, yes, but he might not yet have realized she was connected with the Clifford School, and she’d just as soon he didn’t have that information.
She paused at the corner of Pollen Street, debating whether to continue on toward No. 26 Maddox, where Lady Clifford was likely watching for her, or to lead Sharpe away from the Clifford School.
That single, brief moment of hesitation was her undoing.
When the attack came, she wasn’t ready for it. Not because she hadn’t anticipated it, but because it didn’t come from behind her.
It came fromin frontof her.
Later, Sophia would recall there’d been a sound first—a faint, rhythmic tapping echoing in the empty street. She jerked her head toward it, but by then, it was too late.
By then, it was already happening.
There was no time for her to flee, or even to a draw a breath before the dark figure that emerged from the shadows crashed into her, throwing her to the ground. She tried to catch herself with her hands, but the blow knocked the breath from her lungs, and her face hit the pavement.
She was vaguely aware of the thump of pounding footsteps behind her, but even as she opened her lips to cry out for help a blinding pain exploded at the side of her head, stealing the wordsfrom her lips.
Unnecessary risk, Sophia…
She should have listened to Lady Clifford. She’d warned Sophia her recklessness would catch upto her someday.
Now, that day had come.
* * * *
Tristan’s every muscle was tensed to spring into action, but he forced himself to wait until he heard the thud of retreating footsteps fade into the foggy London night before he peeled himself off Sophia’s pronebody. “Sophia?”
No answer, and she’d gone frighteningly still, her small body crumpled against the damp pavement, the blow forceful enough to have knockedher senseless.
Tristan turned her as gently as he could onto her back. As soon as he saw her face, his heart rushed into his throat. Her cheek was scraped raw from the dirt and grit on the street, her lower lip and forehead were gushing blood, and her temple was swelling with a knot thesize of a fist.
And those were just the injuries he could see.
There’d be others, likely worse than these. Tristan hadn’t gotten a good look at the man who’d attacked her, but he’d seen enough to guess the villain had outweighed her by at least three stone. He’d fallen upon her like a fury, slamming her face-first into the street, then Tristan had made things worse by leaping ontothe man’s back.
He hadn’t had any other choice, but as Tristan slid his arms underneath Sophia and gathered her against his chest, that didn’t make him feel any better. He’d knocked a tiny young woman to the ground. He was a monster, a beast, a hulking, clumsybrute of a man—
“Don’t take me…Lady Clifford.”
Tristan gazed down into her face, his heart pounding. Dear God, the wits had been knocked clean out of her head. “I’m not Lady Clifford. It’s Tristan—thatis, Lord Gray.”
She cracked open one eye and peered up at him through the slit. A furrow appeared on her forehead as she stared at him, but then her brow cleared. “Yes, you are Lord Gray, aren’t you? What I mean is, please don’t take me to the Clifford School. Take mehome with you.”
Tristan hesitated. There was no denying the idea of taking her to Great Marlborough Street filled him with a rush of possessive satisfaction, but it wasn’t proper, and No. 26 Maddox was closer—
