He hadn’t, after all, made any secret of his feelings aboutLady Clifford.
“I was suspicious of Lady Clifford at first, but in this instance, she hasn’t done anything wrong.” Tristan paused, then added, “That is, nothing that would landher in prison.”
Sophia thought of Jeremy’s escape from Newgate, and sucked in a quick, stunned breath. She’d as good as admitted to Tristan Jeremy was still alive, and they were behind his miraculous escape. Tristan was well aware spiriting away an accused murderer before a noose could find his neck would most certainly landthem in prison.
He waslyingfor them.
Her pounding heart calmed a bit as warmth filled her chest, but it started thrashing again at Sampson Willis’s derisive snort. “I see. I suppose that little dark-haired chit you’ve been gallivanting about with is equally as innocent, isn’t she? What’s her name again? Sophia something?”
“Sophia Monmouth.” Tristan’s voice was even. “Yes, I was wrong about her, too. She’s innocent inthis business.”
Wrongabout her? A sharp arrow of hurt pierced Sophia’s chest. That meant he’d thought her guilty at some point, but then she already knew that. He hadn’t made a secret of it, and she could hardly blame him. She wasn’t, in fact, innocent at all, and hadn’t been since the age of seven, when she’d begun to see the law as a thing to be bent and shaped according to her needs.
As suggestions, not imperatives.
To a man like Tristan, a former Bow Street Runner, she was closer to being a criminal than she was a proper, law-abiding citizen, yet hewas defending—
“Tell me, Gray. Does your belief in the girl’s innocence arise from her spotless behavior, or might there be something else influencingyour opinion?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Tristan’s voice was tight with warning.
“Oh, I think you do.” There was a brief pause, then the sound of footsteps. When Willis spoke again, he was closer to the door. “She’s a pretty thing, Miss Monmouth. Perhaps I should have taken that into account when I assigned you to investigate her.”
“Miss Monmouth’s appearance has nothing to do with—”
“But it’s been days since you brought me a report of her activities,” Willis went on, as if Tristan hadn’t spoken. “I should have realized then the girl had turned your head. Ah, well, perhaps it was inevitable, what with the way you’ve been scrutinizing her every move. We all have our weaknesses, don’t we, Gray?”
Tristan said something in reply, but Sophia didn’t hear it. A dull roar filled her ears, and she sagged back against the wall. It was one thing to suspect her, but quite another to investigate her. Another still to—how hadWillis put it?
Scrutinizeher every move.
The meaning of Willis’s words sank in, and everything that had happened since that first night Tristan had chased her suddenly took on a more sinister cast. Of course, he’d been investigating her. Why, she couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t suspected itfrom the start.
A pair of gray eyes and tempting lips, that’s how.
But if he’d intended to turn her over to Willis, mightn’t he have done it when he found out about Jeremy’s escape? A tiny thread of hope rose in Sophia’s breast. Perhaps hehadcome to care for her, just as he claimed, but hadn’t known how to tellher the truth.
Except he’d had plenty of opportunity to confess it, and he hadn’t saida single word.
Still, that didn’t necessarily mean he—
“Perhaps it would be best if you returned to Oxfordshire, Gray.” It was Sampson Willis again, his voice heavy with derision, and something else, a hint of something that was more difficult to identify. It soundedlike…a warning.
“I’m not going anywhere until this matter is brought to a satisfactory end.” Tristan’s voice wasedged with ice.
Willis let out an impatient huff. “Come now, Gray. Isn’t your mother expecting you at your country estate? Aren’t you meant to be marrying soon, as well? Surely, your betrothed is anxious for your return.”
The tiny spark of hope still flickering in Sophia’s breast stuttered, then died.
Tristanwas betrothed.
A laugh tore loose from her throat, silent and bitter. Had she really thought hecaredabout her? Dear God, how could she have been such a fool? He was anearl, a Bow Street Runner, and she was a grubby little orphan from Seven Dials with a shadowy past, and very likely ashadowy future.
Gentlemen like the Earl of Gray didn’t fall in love with common criminals.
“Lady Esther Whitstone, isn’t it?” Willis asked. “Lovely girl, Lady Esther. She’ll make an admirable Countess of Gray. Substantial portion on her too, eh?”
Sophia’s hands came up instinctively to cover her ears, but it was too late for that. She’d heard it, and she couldn’t unhear it. Couldn’t undo it.
