“Are you saying that you haven’t stolen from people, and framed and betrayed and blackmailed—”
Gentry interrupted her with a sound that expressed pure annoyance. “I’m not a saint.”
Despite Sophia’s distress, she almost wanted to laugh at the understatement.
His eyes narrowed. “I only take advantage of people who are so dull-witted that they deserve to be badly used. Besides, I never get credit for the good I’ve done.”
“Such as?”
“I’m a damned good thief-taker. My men and I have captured almost twice as many criminals as Sir Ross and his runners.”
“People say that you sometimes manufacture evidence. That you use evil methods to force confessions that may not be true.”
“I do what needs to be done,” he said flatly. “And if the criminals I arrest are not guilty of one particular crime, they are usually guilty of at least a dozen others.”
“But why don’t you—”
“Enough,” he said shortly, standing and striding back to the sideboard. “I don’t want to talk about my work.”
Sophia watched as he poured another brandy and drank it in a few careless gulps. She could hardly believe that this truculent stranger was her brother. “Nick,” she said, testing his name on her tongue. “Why did you give me those presents? It nearly drove me mad, wondering who had sent them. And I was terrified that Sir Ross would think I was carrying on with a secret lover.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, flashing her a contrite smile. “I wanted to be a—a benefactor. To give you the things you deserve. I never meant for us to meet. But the need to see you became so strong that I couldn’t bear it any longer.”
“And that is why you approached me at Silverhill Park?”
He gave her the smile of a naughty schoolboy. “I liked the idea of doing it under Cannon’s nose. And I knew I could slip in and out of a large crowd without being caught. The masquerade made it almost too easy.”
“Was that necklace stolen?”
“Of course not,” he said indignantly. “I bought it for you.”
“But what am I to do with such a necklace? I could never wear it!”
“You will wear it,” he said. “I have a fortune, Sophia. I’m going to buy you a house somewhere… France or Italy… where you can live like a lady. I’ll give you an account so that you’ll never have to worry about money again.”
Her mouth hung open as she stared at him. “John… Nick … I don’t want to live abroad! Everything that holds value for me is here.”
“Oh?” His voice became dangerously soft. “What would keep you here?”
Chapter 14
The roar of angry demonstrators penetrated the walls of the Red Lion tavern on Threadneedle. A crowd huddled inside, necks craning for the best view of the table where Ross sat with the tailors’ and employers’ representatives. During the first hour of negotiations for imposing new wage structures, Ross had listened to grievances from both sides. As tempers were running high, Ross deduced that the debates would last through the afternoon and well into the night. Thinking momentarily of Sophia and how much he wanted to go home to her, he fought to suppress his impatience.
A buxom waitress who had soaked herself in cologne water to mask other, far more pungent scents sidled up to Ross with the jug of coffee he had requested.“‘Ere you are, Sir Ross,” she purred, deliberately brushing one massive breast against his shoulder as she leaned over him. “Whot else for yer appetite, sir? Some Welsh rabbit or apple puffs?” She put her broad face next to his and said meaningfully, “Ye can ’ave anyfing ye wants, Sir Ross.”
Accustomed as he had become to such invitations during the past few years, Ross gave her a polite but cool smile. “You’re very kind, but no.”
She made a little face, pouting in disappointment. “Later, mayhap.” As she walked away, her hips swung like a pendulum.
One of the tailors’ representatives, a fellow named Brewer, regarded him with a sly smile. “I see what you’re about, Sir Ross. Pretend you don’t want a woman, and she’ll work all the harder to attract you, eh? You’re a canny one… I’ll wager you understand them quite well.”
Ross grinned suddenly. “There are two things a man should never do, Brewer—keep a woman waiting, and claim to understand her.”
As the tailor chuckled, Ross’s attention was caught by the sight of a huge figure entering the tavern. It was Sir Grant Morgan, his dark head rising far above the crowd’s, his keen gaze scanning the room. Finding Ross, he pushed his way unceremoniously through the gathering. People hastened to move aside, having no desire to be trampled by the grim-faced giant.
Knowing at once that something was untoward, Ross stood to meet the assistant magistrate as he approached. “Morgan,” he said curtly, “why are you here?”
“The necklace,” came the former runner’s succinct reply, in a tone so low that no one else could hear. “I found the jeweler who made it—Daniel Highmore, of Bond Street. I made him tell me who purchased it.”
Ross experienced a savage thrill of anticipation at the prospect of finally identifying Sophia’s stalker. “Who?”
“Nick Gentry.”
Ross stared at Morgan blankly. His initial astonishment was quickly replaced by an elemental, purely masculine urge to kill. “Gentry must have seen Sophia while he was at Bow Street. When she came down to the strong room. By God, I’m going to tear him limb from limb!” Becoming conscious of the host of interested gazes fastened on them, all clearly speculating as to what they were discussing, Ross strove to keep his voice quiet. “Morgan, take over the negotiations. I’m going to pay a visit to Gentry.”
“Wait,” Morgan protested. “I’ve never arbitrated a professional dispute before.”
“Well, now you’re going to learn. Good luck.” With that, Ross strode through the tavern and headed outside to where his horse was tethered.
Sophia did not know what to make of her brother. As they talked, she tried to understand the man John had become, but he was a complex figure, seeming to have little regard for his own life or anyone else’s. “The greater the rogue, the greater the luck” was a saying she had heard at Bow Street—it explained the jaunty defiance of many of the criminals brought before the bench. And it certainly described Nick Gentry. He was definitely a rogue, alternately charming and callous, an ambitious man who had inherited blue blood but had received no land, education, wealth, or social connections along with it. Instead he sought power through corrupt avenues. It seemed that his criminal success had made him as savage as he was smart, as cruel as he was confident.
Hesitantly she told him about her years in Shropshire, her desire to avenge his “death,” and her plan to come to London and destroy Sir Ross Cannon.
“How in hell were you planning to do that?” Gentry asked mildly, his gaze sharp as it rested on her face.
Sophia colored, and answered with a half-truth. “I was going to try to uncover damaging information in the criminal records room.” Although she would have liked to be completely honest, her instincts warned that it would be foolish to tell him about her affair with Sir Ross. They were, after all, bitter enemies.
“My clever girl,” Gentry murmured. “You have access to the Bow Street criminal records?”
“Yes, but I—”
“Excellent.” He sat back in his chair, idly studying the tips of his boots. “There are some things you can find out for me. I can make use of your presence at Bow Street.”
The suggestion that he wished to use her for his own purposes, probably criminal ones, caused Sophia to shake her head decisively. “John, I will not spy for you.”
“Just a few little things,” he murmured with a cajoling smile. “You want to help me, don’t you? And I’ll help you. We’ll both have our revenge against Cannon.”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “But I only wanted revenge because I thought he had sent you to your death on the prison hulk.”
Gentry scowled. “Well, Cannon
did send me there, and it was no bloody thanks to him that I survived!”
“Anyone else would have dispatched you to the gallows without a second thought,” Sophia pointed out. “After what you did—robbing that carriage, causing that poor old man’s death…”
“It wasn’t me that gave him a knock on the head,” Gentry said defensively. “I was only out to rob the old cheeser, not kill him.”
“No matter what your intentions, the result was the same. You were an accomplice to murder.” Staring into his stony face, Sophia softened her tone as she continued. “But the past cannot be changed. All we can do is deal with the future. You can’t really mean to go on this way, John.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are not invulnerable. You will make a mistake sooner or later, one that will have you swinging on the gallows. And I could not bear to lose you a second time. Besides, this is not the life for you. You were not supposed to—”
“It is exactly the life for me,” he cut in tersely. “Sophia, whatever memories you have of me don’t apply now. Do you understand?”
“No,” she said stubbornly. “I don’t understand how you can live like this. You are better, more worthy, than this.”
Her words earned a peculiar mirthless grin. “That shows what you know.” He stood and went over to the fireplace, bracing a large hand on the white marble mantel. The firelight played over his hard young features, striping them with black and gold. After a moment’s contemplation, he turned toward her. His expression was intent, but his tone was deceptively lazy. “Let’s talk about Bow Street some more. You say you can get into the criminal records room. It so happens that I need some information—”
“I’ve already told you no. I won’t betray Sir Ross’s trust in me.”
“You have for the last two months,” he said irritably. “What’s stopping you now?”
Sophia realized that he was not going to be satisfied until she told him the truth.
“Nick,” she said carefully, “there is a… a certain relationship that has developed between Sir Ross and myself.”
“My God.” He raked his hands through his hair distractedly. “You and he…” Words seemed to fail him.
Understanding the unspoken question, Sophia gave him a cautious nod.
“My sister and the Monk of Bow Street,” Gentry muttered in disgust. “A fine revenge this is, Sophia! Jumping into bed with the man who nearly killed me! If that’s your idea of retribution, I’ve got a few things to explain to you.”
“He has asked me to marry him.”
Gentry’s eyes flashed with astonished fury, and he seemed to stop breathing. “I’d rather see you dead than marry the likes of him.”
“He’s the best man I’ve ever known.”
“Oh, he’s a damned paragon!” Nick said caustically. “And if you marry him, he’ll never let you forget it. He will make you believe that you’re not good enough for him. You’ll be crushed by his damned honor and respectability. Cannon will make you pay a thousand times over for not being perfect.”
“You don’t know him,” she said.
“I’ve known him a damned sight longer than you have. He’s not human, Sophia!”
“Sir Ross is forgiving and kind, and he is well aware that I am not perfect.”
Suddenly her brother stared at her in a calculating way that made her uneasy, his dark brows lowering at the inner corners in a devilish slant. “You’re very sure of him, then,” he remarked silkily.
She met his gaze with earnest resolution. “Yes.”
“Then let’s put your faith to the test, Sophia.” Nick casually rested an elbow on the mantel. “You’ll get that information I want from the criminal records room. Or… I will tell your steadfast, oh-so-forgiving lover that he has proposed marriage to the sister of his worst enemy. That Sophia and the despicable Nick Gentry have the same blood flowing through their veins.”
Sophia nearly reeled backward in shock. “You’re blackmailing me?” she said in an airless whisper.
“It’s up to you. You can get me what I want… or you can take the risk of losing Sir Ross. Now how much faith do you have in his forgiveness?”
Sophia couldn’t speak. A thought blazed through her mind: Dear Lord, will the past always return to haunt me?
“Do you want me to tell him that I’m your brother?” he prodded.
She just couldn’t be certain. She knew that Ross was everything she had claimed and more. And once he learned of her relationship to Nick Gentry, he would try to find a way to overlook yet another terrible fact about her. But this might be the straw that broke the camel’s back. There was a chance that Ross might never be able to look into her eyes without remembering that she was the sister of his hated adversary.
And suddenly Sophia realized that she would die before letting that happen. She could not survive Ross’s rejection, not now, after they had become so close. She could not take a risk—she had too much to lose.
Her voice came out in a croak. “No.”
Strangely, Gentry’s eyes seemed to flicker with disappointment, almost as if he had hoped that she would defy him. “I thought so.”
Sophia stared at her brother intently, wondering if he was playing games with her. “You couldn’t really bring yourself to blackmail me,” she said, though she couldn’t prevent the wobble of uncertainty in her tone.
He gave her a callous smile. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
Before she could reply, the door vibrated with an imperative thump, and a muffled voice asked for entrance. Obviously annoyed, Gentry went to let the man in. The visitor was one of the most peculiar creatures Sophia had ever seen, a heavyset man with bulbous features and a distinctive lavender pallor. The blue-black shadows on his bristly cheeks contributed to his grimy, dark appearance. Sophia wondered how many of these strange underworld figures must work for her brother.
“Blueskin,” Gentry greeted his henchman.
“Someone’s come looking for ye,” the man muttered. “The Monk ‘isself.”
“Cannon?” Gentry asked incredulously. “Damn his eyes, he just raided the place in February! What in the bloody hell is he hoping to find?”
“ ‘Tis no raid,” Blueskin replied.“ ’E’s come alone.”
Sophia shot to her feet in alarm. “Sir Ross is here?”
“It appears so,” Gentry said in disgust, motioning for Sophia to follow him. “I’ll have to see him. You can go ”With Blueskin out the back way before Cannon has a look at you.“
Blueskin interrupted. “D’ye want me to ‘ave the boys throw ’im out, Gentry?”
“No, idiot. Then he’ll come back with a hundred constables and take the place apart brick by brick. Now, take this woman back to Bow Street. Anything happens to her, and I’ll slit you from ear to ear.” Nick returned his attention to Sophia. “About those criminal records—I want you to find out what Cannon may have learned from a man named George Fenton when he was held for questioning two weeks ago.”
“Who is Fenton?”
“One of my spruce prigs.” Seeing her confusion, he clarified impatiently. “A highly trained thief. I need to know what Fenton told Cannon—if he stayed loyal to me and kept his gob shut.”
“Yes, but what will happen to Mr. Fenton if it turns out—”
“That’s not your concern,” he replied, pushing her toward the back door. “Now go quickly, before Cannon finds us together. Blueskin will keep you safe.”
Less than a minute after Sophia had left, Cannon shoved his way inside the apartment. Nick sat in his chair by the hearth, stretching out in a provokingly idle position, as if it were of little concern to him that the Chief Magistrate of Bow Street had just invaded his home. Cannon approached him and stopped just a few feet away, his eyes appearing oddly light in his wrath-darkened face.
Despite his animosity toward the Chief Magistrate, Nick had to concede a certain grudging respect for him. Cannon was smart, seasoned, and powerful… a man?
??s man. And he possessed an unyielding morality that fascinated Nick. A man handicapped by principles, who could accomplish all that Cannon had, was someone to be reckoned with.
The air was alive with challenge and aggression, yet they both managed to converse in a normal tone.
“You gave the necklace to Miss Sydney,” Cannon said without preamble.
Nick inclined his head in mocking commendation. “You found that out damned quickly.”
“Why?” The magistrate looked as though he wanted to tear him apart piece by piece.
Shrugging, Nick offered a casually spoken lie. “I’ve fancied the little muff ever since I saw her at Bow Street. I want a chance at her after you’re finished.”
“Stay away from her.” Cannon’s words were quiet but fatally sincere. “Or I’ll kill you.”
Nick threw him a cold grin. “Apparently you’re not done with her yet.”
“I’ll never be done with her. And the next time you send her a gift, I’ll personally shove it up your—”
“All right,” Nick interrupted in rising irritation. “Warning taken. I won’t bother your fancy piece. Now get the hell out of my house.”
Cannon stared at him with a lethal dispassion that would have alarmed any other man. “It’s only a matter of time before you overreach yourself,” he said softly. “One of your schemes will fall through. Some piece of evidence will implicate you. And I’ll be there to watch you hang.”
Nick smiled thinly, reflecting that Cannon wouldn’t be so smug if he knew that Sophia was his sister. “I’m sure you will,” he muttered. “But don’t expect to take any satisfaction in my death. You may even come to regret it.”
A look of puzzled speculation crossed the older man’s face, and then he contemplated Nick with narrowed eyes. “Before I leave,” he growled, “I want you to explain something. The gown you sent to Miss Sydney… she claims it is almost identical to one that her mother once possessed.”