Chapter Eighteen
Darkness had settled over London by the time Sophia returned to Great Marlborough Street. Tribble opened the door to her knock, and offered her a solemn bow. “Good evening,Miss Monmouth.”
“Good evening, Tribble.” Sophia sank into an equally solemn curtsy and followed Tribble obediently down the hallway, but when they reached the library door, she pressed a finger to her lips before he could announce her. Tribble’s eyebrow ticked up a fraction at this untoward request, but he didn’t make a practice of arguing with Lord Gray’s guests. He offered her a stiff bow and disappeared back toward the entryway.
Tristan was standing in front of the window, his back to her. Sophia didn’t announce herself, but paused in the doorway. She couldn’t recall ever having had the opportunity to watch him without him noticing, and she took it now, studying his broad shoulders and muscled back. Her gaze lingered on his elegant fingers wrapped around the tumbler he held in his hand, and a shiver trippeddown her spine.
He’d touched her with those strong hands, those long, teasing fingers. He’d made her squirm and writhe for him, cry out for him…
Perhaps he felt the intensity of her stare, because Tristan turned from the window, his eyes meeting hers. Surprise flashed in the gray depths, and something else that looked like relief, as if he hadn’t truly believed she’d return this evening, despite her promise. That flicker of doubt was so fleeting another person might not have noticed it, but Sophia did. She noticed everythingabout this man.
“You look surprised to see me, Lord Gray. Did you think I wouldn’t come? I did promise you I would.” She strode into the library, a smile on her lips.
“Not at all, Miss Monmouth. I simply expected you to come through the window ratherthan the door.”
“The evening’s just begun, my lord. We may yet find ourselves climbing through windows and dangling from rooftops. I do hope you’re prepared.”
He took a leisurely sip of his port, watching her approach over the edge of his glass. His gray eyes heated to molten silver as he swept his gaze over her. “I seeyouare. Dressed for prowling, are we?”
Sophia paused to glance down at her black tunic and breeches. “You may call it prowling, if you like. I prefer to think of it as pursuitof the guilty.”
“They’re one and the same for you, Miss Monmouth.” He linked his fingers with hers and drew her forward, turning her so her backside was against the edge of his desk. “May I offer you a drink? Some sherry, perhaps?”
Sophia cocked her head to the side, eyeing the ruby red liquor in his glass before taking it from his hand and sipping from it. “I prefer port.”
He laughed softly, his gaze darting to her mouth. He touched his thumb to her chin to raise her head, and leaned in to taste her lips. “I prefer port as well, particularly from your mouth.” He pressed his glass to her lips once more, tipping in another sip of port, his eyes gleaming as he looked down at her.
Sophia licked delicately at the corner of her lip, but when he let out a soft hiss and leaned toward her again, she pressed her hands to his chest. “You do remember why we’re here, Tristan? Let’s concentrate on the matter at hand.” She nodded to the window behind them.
“That would be easier if you weren’t wearing breeches.” Tristan ran his hand up her thigh and over her hip. “Ican see your—”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but your hand on my backside isn’t helping my concentration. Or yours, I’d wager.”
“On the contrary. I’m perfectly able to concentrate onyour backside.”
A grin stole over Sophia’s lips. “Pay attention, will you? Has anyone left Lord Everly’s housethis evening?”
He sighed, but he removed his hand and shoved both of them into his pockets. “Not yet. I only hope he has an engagement tonight. If he leaves, he’ll call his carriage and go through the front door. We’re not likely to miss him, but it will be far trickier to track Sharpe’s movements, as he might go out the servants’ entrance.”
“He may have already done so.” Sophia tapped her lip, thinking. “I’m not as concerned with Mr. Sharpe, however. He isn’t likely to be lurking about Lord Everly’s study.”
Tristan frowned. “It’s risky to assume that, Sophia. He could be anywhere on the ground floor, or inthe kitchens.”
“We should be able to tell if anyone is in the kitchens from outside the door. We’ll wait until it’s dark and silent, thensneak inside.”
Tristan rested his forehead against hers for a quiet moment, then he drew her toward the window. “Watch for Everly.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on the top of her head. “As soon as he leaves, we’ll go.”
Midnight came and went, but there was no discernible activity from Lord Everly’s townhouse. Sophia grew more anxious as the moments slipped by, but at last a carriage emerged from the darkness, rattled down the street, and stopped in front of Lord Everly’s townhouse.
“About bloody time,” Tristan muttered. “I thoughthe’d never go.”
The door opened, and the light illuminated Lord Everly’s round figure as he hurried down the front steps. He climbed into the carriage, and it disappeared down Great Marlborough Street.
Tristan dropped a quick kiss on the top of Sophia’s head, then took her hand and led her from the library. Tribble had vanished, and none of Tristan’s other servants were about. No one saw them as they crossed the hallway toward the staircase leading to the lower floor, and within minutes they were standing in the mews outside of Lord Everly’s kitchen door.
They listened for a few moments, but it was silent on the other side, and no lights shone through the narrow crack underneath the door.
Sophia sucked in a breath, rested her fingers against the wood, and pushed. The breath rushed from her lungs when the door opened with a soft squeak. For all her brave talk about the carelessness of Everly’s servants, she couldn’t quite believe they hadn’t discovered the buckleunder the door.
