No, surely not! She couldn’t be so unlucky as to cross paths with the one aristocrat in London who could actually scale such a monstrous fence. Why, it was absurd, impossible, and yet even as she watched, open-mouthed, it was happening, his long legs making quick work of it, hauling himself closer and closer to the top…
Sophia retreated into the thick shadows of the graveyard behind her. Her muscles were tensed to run, and her mind was busily picking out the best route towards freedom, yet she stood as motionless as the gravestones in the graveyard at her back, unable to tear her gazeaway from him.
His big, capable hands dwarfed the spikes at the top of the fence. The knuckles of his ungloved hand were covered with scars, and there were nicks and scratches on the back of it that were utterly at odds with his elevated rank in life. Why would a gentleman with such fine gloves have such coarse hands?
Sophia wasted so much precious time staring at his hands, by the time she gathered her wits enough to move, he’d made it to the top of the fence and was seconds away from dropping down to the other side. They stared at each other as he balanced on the top edge, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Do you suppose youcan outrun me?”
Those gray eyes. Dear God, he looked like a wolf about to devour an entire herd of sheep, and he was coming afterher.
If he’d been another sort of man, Sophia would have said he’d never catch her, but this man was quick, long-limbed, strong. He’d gotten over that fence as easily as if he’d been mounting a horse, and there was no reason to suppose he was any less accomplished a runner than hewas a climber.
Worst of all, he was cunning. So cunning he’d followed her from Great Marlborough Street to St. Clement Dane’s without her knowing he was there. How had he managed it? She’d never blundered so badly before—
A thump echoed throughout the silent graveyard, the sound of boots hitting the ground, followed by a low chuckle. “I hope you’re as quick as you are clever.”
To Sophia’s everlasting shame, her knees trembled at the sight of him. Why, he was positively enormous! If he’d been wearing a billowing black cape and had a bloody dagger to hand, he’d be every inch the sinisterGothic villain.
“Because if I catch you…”
Theanticipationin his voice, his unmistakablepleasureinthat prospect…
A chill rushed over Sophia’s skin. There was only one sensible thing to do.
“You won’t escape mea second time.”
Flee.
She didn’t pause to respond to his threats, but whirled around and fled into the graveyard, praying the darkness would swallow her. If it came down to who was the faster of the two of them, she was doomed. He had the longest legs she’d ever seen. She hadn’t a chance of outrunning him. Her only hope was to get far enough ahead of him that she’d lose himin the shadows.
Fortunately, there was no shortage of shadows in the graveyard. Crooked headstones jutted from the earth like so many broken fingers, beckoning her forward. The clouds had thickened again, and the night air had turned heavy with the threat of rain, but a few pale rays of moonlight struggled free of the gloom, and Sophia could pick out a path before her—a way around the headstones that would keep her hidden until she reached the other side ofthe graveyard.
Crouching low, she weaved her way silently through the haphazard rows. Some of the mausoleums were still intact, their crosses straight, the statues of the Virgin still safe in their recessed nooks, holding court over the dead. But as she passed into the older part of the graveyard the carefully tended plots gave way to weeds strewn with bits of crumbled stone, the once-smooth marble now marred by damp, mossy cracks.
She paused when she reached a derelict white marble crypt, its iron door hanging partway across the arched entryway, teetering on its broken hinges. For an instant she was tempted to squeeze past the ruined gate and duck inside to hide from her pursuer, but if he happened to see her and follow her inside, she’d be trapped, and at his mercy.
So, she crept on. The scent of soil and decay rose into the air in the wake of her footsteps, but Sophia didn’t pause to remark it, nor did she look behind her, even when the heavy thud of his footsteps brought him so close, she imagined she could feel his hot breath on her neck.
Panic hovered on the edges of her consciousness, but she resisted the urge to bolt. She kept her gaze fixed on the street beyond the graveyard until she made it there by sheer force of will. She didn’t allow herself to think about how far she’d come, or how far she still had to go, but simply kept moving, ducking down narrow alleyways and pulling out every trick she’d ever learned to evade a pursuer.
This man, though, was no ordinary pursuer. He seemed to know every hidden alcove and crevice in London as well as she did, and his determination to catch her never flagged, his long legs easily closing whatever distance she managed to put between them.
But this wasn’t a game of distances. It was a game of cunning and stealth, and Sophia excelled at both. He was faster than she was, but she was wilier in the way of the pursued, who generally had a great deal more to lose thantheir pursuer.
Slowly, steadily she made her way to Beak Street, and from there to Kingly, then north as far as Tenison Court until Regent Street appeared before her, wide and open. Just to the west was Maddox Street, temptingly close, where Lady Clifford would be waiting for her, and Sophia might squeeze into Cecilia’s bed with Georgiana and Emma.
She paused in the shadows of a building at the corner of Beak and Regent Streets, listening, but it had been some time since she’d heard the echo of his footsteps behind her. Was it possible she’d lost him earlier, closer to Golden Square, or was he still there, lurking in the darkness, waiting for her to comeout of hiding?
She was close, so very close. Her throat ached with a desperate yearning to be safely at home, but she’d made it this far by suppressing her reckless instincts and letting caution and good sense guide her steps.
No unnecessaryrisks, Sophia.
She crept from her hiding place and dashed across Regent Street, her heart pounding and her harsh breaths echoing in her ears. As soon as she reached the other side, she ducked into the shadows again and crouched down, shivers darting down her exposed back as she waited for a heavy hand to land on her shoulder, a palm to cover her mouth, a deep, masculine voice to curse in her ear.
But when she dared to look behind her, there was nothing. No pursuer in a billowing black cloak. No ghosts, no bloody daggers, no Gothic villain. No aristocrat with one glove, scarred hands, and glittering gray eyes.
Regent Street was deserted.
Sophia didn’t move, but remained crouched in the gloom, gulping at the air, one breath after another until her heart ceased its panicked thrashing. Then she rose on shaking legs and dashed down New Burlington Road to Savile Row, then to Mill Street, and from there—finally,finally—toMaddox Street.
