But the terrors didn’t come. For the first time in weeks, all remained peaceful and quiet.
What had woken him, then? A sound, so soft he felt it more than heard it, a slight weight settling on the edge of the bed, the subtle shift of the coverlet sliding over his bare skin, and then…stillness, and silence.
His eyes snapped open, but he didn’t have to look to knowwhat he’d find.
An empty bedchamber.
Sophia was gone.
Fool that he was, he’d expected to wake with her beside him, wrapped in his arms, her warm curves pressed against him, the scent of honeysuckle teasing his senses.
He gave a hopeful sniff, but not a trace of honeysuckle remained.
She’d takenthatwith her, too.
He struggled upright and reached for the coverlet she’d been wrapped in when she fell asleep beside him last night. It was cold, much as his bedchamber was. The servant hadn’t yet been in to build up the fire. A thin slice of moon was still visible in the sky, but the sun’s first rays were driving it back as they crept over the edgeof the horizon.
She’d left when it was still dark, then. Given he’d been wrapped around her when she fell asleep, she must have been stealthy indeed to slip from his bed without waking him. But then he already knew she was stealthy. If she could climb to the roof of Lord Everly’s pediment, then she could certainly leave Tristan’s bed withouthis knowing it.
Perhaps it was just as well she’d left. He was…well, notquitebetrothed yet, but only because he’d remained in London. If he’d gone to Oxfordshire as his mother demanded, Lady Emilia—that is, LadyEsther—would be well on her way to becoming the Countess of Gray.
If he’d been another kind of man, he might have tried to coax Sophia into a passionate affair regardless of a betrothal, but Tristan didn’t trifle with young ladies, or indulge in scandalous liaisons. He was no rake, and he wouldn’t become one now, no matter how much he desired Sophia Monmouth.
She’d done the right thing, leaving him alone in his bed this morning. It was better for them both this way. He lay back down and dragged the coverlet up his chest. The only reasonable thing to do was go back to sleep. The sun hadn’t even fully risen, and he’d gotten precious little rest the night before.
He squeezed his eyes closed and waited, but sleep had fled his bed, much as Sophia had. He rolled over onto his back, then shifted onto his side, then his other side, squirming and kicking at the coverlet until it was tangled so tightly around him his legs began to tingle from lackof blood flow.
Only his legs, though. His cock seemed lively enough. It was wide awake and throbbing maddeningly. He slid his hand under the coverlet and gave it a comforting squeeze, but it refusedto be pacified.
It wanted Sophia.Hewanted Sophia, a lady he had no right to want, and no claim on. It occurred to him with a jolt of panic he might never want anyone else, ever again. Certainly not Lady Emil—Lady Esther. Perhaps if Lady Esther did become the Countess of Gray, he’d be able to remember her name.
As for Sophia…
Tristan couldn’t understand how things had come to such a pass so quickly. He wasn’t the sort of man who lost his head over a woman. He’d had liaisons before, but they’d always been discreet, tidy affairs with discreet, tidy widows. He’d never lost control with any of them—it had been rather like scratching an itch. Satisfying in the moment, but forgettable.
Nothing like the wild, messy, desperate passionof last night.
A few short weeks ago he’d been on his way back to Oxfordshire, reconciled to his fate, but now here he was flopping about uselessly in his bed with a throbbing cock, worrying over a wild, dark-haired pixie of a woman who bent the law tosuit her whims.
And he didn’tcare. He, the Ghost of Bow Street, a man who’d spent years of his life dedicated to eradicating crime in London, didn’tcareif the lady he’d taken to his bed climbed columns, dressed in breeches, and bribed a prison guard to free a convicted murderer from the dungeons at Newgate. Aninnocentconvicted murderer, to be fair, but a bribe was a bribe, and breecheswere breeches.
How could he have become so besotted with a headstrong, willful chit like Sophia Monmouth? Worst of all, she was reckless. Not five hours after she’d been threatened by a club-wielding villain, she’d gone wandering off into the dark again, as if it were inconceivable the blackguard who’d attacked her once already might decide to have another go at her.
Sophia Monmouth was going to be the death of him. Of him, or herself.
Tristan tossed the covers back and threw his legs over the side of the bed. What had he done with his breeches? He rose and stumbled about in the dark until he found them tangled in the bed hangings. He pulled them over his hips and yanked the bell to summon a servant, then strode over to his desk. He snatched up paper and a quill, scrawled a quick note, then paced from one end of the bedchamber to the other as he waited for a servant to appear.
A few moments later, Tribble himself came in. “Goodmorning, Lord—”
“Never mind the pleasantries, Tribble.” Tristan handed the paper to him and waved a hand toward the door. “Have one of the footmen take that to Lyndon, and hurry, man. Tell him it’s urgent, and to come at once.” Lyndon wasn’t going to be pleased to be rousted from his bed in the wee hours of the morning, but it couldn’t be helped.
As it happened, Lyndonwasn’tpleased, particularly when he discovered the reason he’d been summoned. He stood in the middle of Tristan’s bedchamber, his clothing askew and his hair standing on end, frowning as he listened to Tristan explain his dilemma.
At last, he held up a hand for silence. “A moment, if you would, Gray. Do you mean to tell me you spent the night with Miss Monmouth, then woke to find she’d left you alone in your bed?That’swhy you dragged me out here in the middleof the night?”
Tristan blinked. “Well,notjustthat.”
“Good Lord, Gray. You said it wasurgent. I thought your bloody townhouse was on fire!” Lyndon threw himself into a chair and thumped a booted foot down on the ottoman. “I left Lady Cerise in such a pout I feared a bird would fly through the window and land on her lower lip. Nothing less than sapphires and diamonds will sooth her hurt feelings. I’ll make certain Rundell & Bridge send the bill to you.”
