Tristan had resumed pacing, but now he turned to Lyndon with a frown. “Lady Cerise? When did that start? I’m not sure she’s a wise choice as mistresses go, Lyndon.”
Lyndon dragged a weary hand down his face. “It’s…we were…oh, for God’s sake, Gray! What difference does it make when it started? Let’s concentrate on the matter at hand, shall we? The way I see it, you’ve taken a thief into your bed, yet you’re quibbling with me over whether Lady Cerise is a suitable mistress.”
“She isn’t a thief!” Tristan burst out, then snapped his mouth closed, surprised at hisown vehemence.
“Ah. Changed your mind about that, have you? Well, I won’t say I didn’t see that coming.” Lyndon studied him with narrowed eyes. “Very well, then. She’s not a thief, but she’s not an innocent, either.”
Tristan pressed his lips together to stop himself from leaping to Sophia’s defense again. The truth was, she wasn’t innocent. She’d already confessed to helping Jeremy Ives escape from Newgate. Then again, questions of guilt, innocence, and justice had become considerably murkier since he’d met Sophia. “In any case, Miss Monmouth’s not my mistress.”
Lyndon snorted. “Not if you have your way about it. Anyone can see you’re besotted with her.”
“I’m not besotted, just…” Tristan trailed off. Once again, Lyndon was right. If wanting Sophia more than any other woman he’d ever known—if finding her fascinating and worrying about her safety meant he was besotted—then he was certainly besotted with her. Since he’d met her, he’d hardly spared a thought foranything else.
That was rather a problem, wasn’t it? Tristan dropped into the chair across from Lyndon with a sigh. He’d spent one night with Sophia. They hadn’t made love, yet he already found it intolerable to wake withouther in his bed.
“Let me ask you this, Gray. Do you trustMiss Monmouth?”
Ah, that was the crux of the issue. Given the business with Ives and Sophia’s association with Lady Clifford, heshouldn’ttrust her, yet…
“I do. I’ve never known anyone like her before, Lyndon. She doesn’t think as we do, but I don’t question her honor. My every instinct tells me she’s a ladyof conscience.”
“I see.” Lyndon studied the tip of his boot. “Do these instincts originate in your brain, Gray, or between your legs?”
Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. Well, that was plain enough, but then Lyndon had never been one to mince words. He glanced at the bed, a pang of longing piercing his chest as he took in the rumpled sheets. Only mere hours ago, Sophia had been tucked into a blanket beside him, her legs pressed against his, her hair scattered in a wild tumble across his chest.
He met Lyndon’s gaze. “I don’t know, Lyndon. I can’t deny I want her. That’s the problem. I haven’t the faintest bloody idea about anything anymore.”
Lyndon let out a long sigh. “Christ, Gray. I liked you better when you were dull and responsible. When did you start making such a bloody messof everything?”
“Yes, well, Ididsay it was urgent.” A small smile crossed Tristan’s lips. “My apologies to Lady Cerise.”
Lyndon didn’t reply right away, but rose to his feet and wandered over to the window. The moon had disappeared while they’d been talking. The sun was feeble yet, still struggling through the fog of dirt and grime, but the city had begun to stir. Lyndon rested his palms on the sill, his head down. “You might be better off turning this business with Miss Monmouth back over to Sampson Willis.” Lyndon turned back to face Tristan. “You’re an earl now, Gray, not a BowStreet Runner.”
Tristan thought of the menacing figure who’d leapt out of the darkness last night, the sickening crack as Sophia’s head met the pavement, and shook his head. “No. I can’t simply walk away now. Someone attacked Sophia last night, Lyndon. I came upon them just in time, but I have no doubt he would have left her dead if he’d had the chance.”
Lyndon paled. “Jesus. This business is foul to the very core, isn’t it? I’m worried this won’t end well for you, or for Miss Monmouth. Your feelings for her are complicated, and it only becomes more so when you throw Lady Clifford into the mix. She plays fast and loose with the law, and those in London who are aware of the Clifford School know it.”
“I’m no longer so certain about Lady Clifford’s character, either. I don’t deny her code of ethics differs from mine, but shedoeshave one.” That had surprised Tristan, given what he knew about Lady Clifford, but it shouldn’t have. Gossips, after all, rarely troubled themselves muchwith the truth.
Lyndon sighed. “I met Miss Monmouth, talked to her. I don’t believe she’s a thief or a criminal, but I’m not sure it makes sense for you to trust her either, Gray. You hardly know her, for one, and you already know her hands aren’t entirely clean.”
Tristan knew it to be true, but it was difficult to hear it from Lyndon. Lyndon saw his struggle, and turned back to the window to give Tristan privacy, but the more Tristan tried to sort out his thoughts, the more they slipped from his hands. So, he sat quietly, utterly still, and let every encounter he’d had with Sophia since he first saw her on Lord Everly’s roof drift through his mind.
The boy’s tunic, and that black cap—he shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. Now he’d seen her curves laid bare, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever mistakenher for a boy.
The nimble grace with which she’d slipped through that wrought iron gate, the look on her face when he’d climbed it. She’d led him on quite a chase through London that night, and in truth, she hadn’t stopped since. He was still chasing her, not knowing which corner she’d dart around, which direction she’dlead him next.
She was reckless, stubborn and willful, yes, but more than anything else, she wasalive. Her vibrancy, her determination, the way she was a little too much to handle. It was like galloping through a forest on a magnificent horse that wasn’t quite broken—risky, even dangerous, but breathtaking. That wildness in her called to something inside him, the same thing that had turned him into a Bow Street Runner. They weren’t so very different, really. In some ways, Sophia was more like him than anyone else he’d ever known.
In the waysthat mattered.
Tristan lifted his gaze to Lyndon. “Sophia isn’t a thief, and she isn’t a criminal. She’s as ethical as you or me. She simply sees things differently than we do.”
Lyndon didn’t appear to hear him. “Gray? You may want to see this.” He was looking at something outside the window, his shoulders tense.
“I can’t walk away from this now, Lyndon,” Tristan murmured. His feelings for Sophiawerecomplicated, but they were too powerful to deny. He’d always been wary of intense emotions because he hadn’t wanted to become like his mother or his elder brother, Thomas, who were both victims of their passions. He’d never wanted that for himself, but perhaps he was more like them than he’d ever realized. He’d been swept up into the whirlwind of Sophia Monmouth before he was even aware his feet had left the ground.
Lyndon leaned further over the sill to get a better look out the window, and a soft exclamation fell from his lips. “What thedevil? I tell you, Gray, you’ll want to come and take a look out the window.”
