plate of breakfast as if it were the first decent meal he'd had in months. Sophia stood at the range with the scrawny cook-maid, apparently showing her how to prepare the morning's fare. 'Turn them like this,' Sophia was saying, expertly flipping a row of little cakes on a griddle pan. The kitchen atmosphere was especially fragrant today, spiced with frying bacon, coffee, and sizzling batter.
Sophia looked fresh and wholesome, the trim curves of her figure outlined by a white apron that covered her charcoal-gray dress. Her gleaming hair was pinned in a coil at the top of her head and tied with a blue ribbon. As she saw him standing in the doorway, a smile lit her sapphire eyes, and she was so dazzlingly pretty that Ross felt a painful jab low in his stomach.
'Good morning, Sir Ross,' she said. 'Will you have some breakfast?'
'No, thank you,' he replied automatically. 'Only a jug of coffee. I never...' He paused as the cook set a platter on the table. It was piled with steaming batter cakes sitting in a pool of blackberry sauce. He had a special fondness for blackberries. 'Just one or two?' Sophia coaxed.
Abruptly it became less important that he adhere to his usual habits. Perhaps he could make time for a little breakfast, Ross reasoned. A five-minute delay would make no difference in his schedule.
He found himself seated at the table facing a plate heaped with cakes, crisp bacon, and coddled eggs. Sophia filled a mug with steaming black coffee, and smiled at him once more before resuming her place at the range with Eliza. Ross picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn't quite know what to do with it.
'They're good, sir,' Ernest ventured, stuffing his mouth so greedily that it seemed likely he would choke.
Ross took a bite of the fruit-soaked cake and washed it down with a swallow of hot coffee. As he continued to eat, he felt an unfamiliar sense of well-being. Good God, it had been a long time since he'd had anything other than Eliza's wretched concoctions.
For the next few minutes Ross ate until the platter of cakes was demolished. Sophia came now and then to refill his cup or offer more bacon. The cozy warmth of the kitchen and the sight of Sophia as she moved about the room caused a tide of unwilling pleasure inside him. Setting down his fork, Ross stood and regarded her without smiling. 'I must go now. Thank you for the breakfast, Miss Sydney.'
One last mug of coffee was pressed into his hands, and Sophia's dark blue eyes stared into his. 'Will you spend the day in the office, sir?'
Ross shook his head, fascinated by the little wisps of hair that had stuck to her forehead. The heat of the stove had made her cheeks pink and glistening. He wanted to kiss, lick, taste her. 'I will be out for most of the morning,' he said, his voice raspy. 'I am conducting an investigation--there was a murder in Russell Square last evening.'
'Be careful.'
It had been a long time since anyone had said that to him. Ross damned himself for feeling so easily unsettled...but there it was, that velvety tickle of pleasure he could not seem to elude. He nodded shortly, giving her a wary glance before leaving.
Sophia spent the first half of the day attending to a waist-high pile of papers, briefs, and correspondence that had been shoved into a corner of Sir Ross's office. As she filed the mass of information, she welcomed the opportunity to become familiar with the criminal records room, which was dusty and unkempt. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to organize the drawers of materials properly. While Sophia worked, she reflected on what she had learned of Sir Ross so far, including the stray comments she had heard from servants and clerks and runners. It seemed that the Chief Magistrate was an inhumanly self-controlled man who never swore or shouted or drank to excess. A few soft-voiced directions from him would make the fearsome runners hasten to obey. Sir Ross was admired by all who worked for him, but at the same time they delighted in jesting about his cold and methodical nature.
Sophia did not believe that he was cold. She perceived something beneath his austere facade, a powerfully contained sexuality that would be all-consuming if it were ever set free. Given the intensity of his nature, Sir Ross would not approach lovemaking in a casual way. It was too important, too rare for him; he would have to care deeply for his partner before he slept with her. If Sophia were to succeed in seducing him, she would have to earn his affection. But how did one go about making such a man fall in love? She suspected that he would respond to a woman who supplied the softness that was clearly missing in his life. After all, he was not some godlike being with limitless strength. He was a man, one who pushed himself too hard. For a man who carried so many burdens on his shoulders, it would be a relief to have someone take care ofhis needs.
Returning to Sir Ross's private office, Sophia used a rag to wipe the dust from the windowsill. She happened to see the object of her thoughts on the street below, as Sir Ross paused at the iron fence that fronted the building. He appeared to be speaking to a woman who had been waiting at the gate. The woman wore a brown shawl that covered her hair and shoulders, and Sophia remembered that Mr. Vickery had turned her away earlier in the day. The woman had wanted to see Sir Ross, and the clerk had told her to return tomorrow, since the Chief Magistrate was occupied with pressing matters.
However, Sir Ross opened the gate for the woman and walked with her to the entrance of Bow Street No. 3. Sophia was touched by his consideration for someone who was surely of a much lower class. She was ill-dressed and haggard, yet the Chief Magistrate gave her his arm as courteously as if she were a duchess.
When Sir Ross brought the woman into his office, Sophia noticed the hitch of a frown between his black brows. 'Good afternoon, Miss Sydney,' he said evenly, guiding his visitor to a chair. The woman was thin, middle- aged, and haggard in appearance, her eyes red from crying. 'This is Miss Trimmer, who I understand was turned away by Vickery this morning.'
'I believe Mr. Vickery was concerned that your schedule was already quite full,' Sophia murmured.
'I can always make time when it is necessary.' Sir Ross half sat, half leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. He spoke in a gently encouraging tone that Sophia had not heard from him before. 'You said that you fear for your sister's safety, Miss Trimmer. Pray tell me what has caused such concern.'
The trembling spinster clutched the ends of her shawl and spoke in a choked voice. 'My younger sister, Martha, is married to Mr. Jeremy Fowler.' She paused, evidently overcome by emotion.
'Mr. Fowler's employment is...?' Sir Ross prompted inquiringly.
'He is an apothecary. They live above the shop at St. James's market. There is trouble between Mr. Fowler and Martha, and--' She stopped and twisted the knitted shawl in tight, frantic fists. 'She did something a month ago that put him in a rage. And I haven't seen her since.'
'She is missing from her home?'
'No, sir...Mr. Fowler keeps Martha locked in a room and won't let her out. She's been there almost four weeks. No one can go inside to see her...I think she has taken ill, and I've begged Mr. Fowler to let her go, but he won't, as he's still of a mind to punish her.'
'Punish her for what?' Sir Ross asked quietly.
Red flags of shame crossed the woman's narrow cheeks. 'I think Martha took up with another man. It was very bad of her, I know. But Martha is good at heart, and I'm certain she is sorry for what she did and wants Mr. Fowler's forgiveness.' Miss Trimmer's eyes watered, and she blotted them with her shawl. 'No one will help me free my poor sister, as they all say it's a matter between husband and wife. Mr. Fowler says he's only done this because he loves Martha so, and she hurt him so awfully. No one, not even the rest of the Trimmers, blames him for locking her away.' Sir Ross's eyes were hard and icy. 'I am always puzzled by this so-called love that causes men to brutalize their wives. In my opinion, a man who truly loves a woman would never intentionally harm her, no matter how great the betrayal.' His gaze softened as he regarded the desperate woman before him. 'I will send a runner to the Fowler residence immediately, Miss Trimmer.'
'Oh, sir,' she faltered, weeping in patent relief. 'Thank you, and bless you a thousand times.'
Sir Ross glanced at Sophia. 'Do you know which men are available today, Miss Sydney?'
'Mr. Sayer and Mr. Ruthven,' Sophia murmured, relieved that he intended to free the captive Martha. She would not have been surprised if he had declined to help, as it was commonly thought that husbands had the right to do whatever they liked with their wives.
'Tell Ruthven to come.'
Sophia hastened to obey. She soon returned with Mr. Ruthven, a large, dark-haired runner with a rugged countenance and an aggressive disposition. His appetite for physical combat was well known, and few men were willing to provoke him. Unfortunately, his mind was not suited for the subtleties of investigative work, and therefore Sir Ross used him for tasks that were more physical than cerebral in nature.
