He entered her with a deep flex of his hips. Sophia cried out, her muscles instinctively grasping at the gentle but relentless intrusion. She was stretched tight, unable to take any more. Desperately she struggled to accommodate him, but it seemed impossible.

His mouth brushed over hers, and he whispered, "Easy. I won't hurt you. Relax, sweetheart." His hand slid between their bodies and she felt him stroke her while he pressed forward in slow nudges, his every movement careful and easy. Each plunge of his shaft drew a moan from her throat, and she bit her lip to hold in the sounds. Suddenly he was all the way inside her, gliding full and deep, burying every inch of his sex. He withdrew almost to the head of his shaft, then submerged the entire length with excruciating slowness, his chest hair teasing her nipples, his flat stomach brushing over hers. She writhed upward, her hips pushing into his long, pleasuring thrusts until she begged frantically, "Please don't be gentle, don't,don't , do it harder,please --"

His mouth covered hers, muffling her cries. Her body shook with violent spasms, gripping the hard organ inside her until Ross let out a groan and seized her hips with both hands, spending his own passion.

As her body continued to twitch and jerk with delight, Ross cradled her in his arms and kissed her again. Filled with his tongue and his sex, she felt another wave of sensation roll over her, and she moaned and shivered with a second climax.

After a long time Ross moved onto his side, taking care not to crush her. Sophia stretched luxuriously against him. "Ross..." she murmured drowsily. "I want to tell you something. Perhaps you won't believe me, but it's true."

"Yes?"

"I couldn't have gone through with it."

"You mean, breaking my heart? Yes, I know that."

"You do?"

He smoothed the reckless profusion of her hair and spread it over his chest. "It's not in your nature to hurt anyone. You could never have brought yourself to betray me."

Sophia was astonished by his belief in her. "How can you be so certain?"

"You are very easy to read." He played lightly with the lobe of her ear. "I've known for a while that you cared for me. But I wasn't certain how much until yesterday morning, when you saw me after we'd been apart for a week. Your face showed everything."

Perturbed by the revelation, Sophia sat up and leaned over him, her bare breasts half concealed by the wild locks of her hair. "If I am so transparent, then what am I thinking now?"

Ross studied her for a moment, and a slow smile curved his lips. "You're wondering how soon I'm going to make love to you again." Before she could reply, he pulled her farther atop his body, settling her legs on either side of his hips. To her astonishment, his sex stirred into vibrant life, springing hard against her vulnerable flesh. "And this is your answer," he murmured, pulling her head down to his.

Exhausted by the tumultuous weekend, Sophia cuddled on Ross's lap and dozed for most of the carriage ride back to London. Staring at the sleeping face on his shoulder, Ross marveled at the momentous change that had taken place in his life. He had become so accustomed to solitude that he had forgotten what it was like to need someone this way. Now all the desires that he had suppressed for so long--for sex, for affection and companionship--had been freed with a vengeance. It troubled him that Sophia had such power over him, a power that he himself had given her. God help him when she realized it. Yet he could not bear to withhold anything from her.

Her body bounced in his lap with each jolt of the carriage, arousing him and filling his mind with idle fantasies. Gently he held Sophia's head against his chest and watched the alterations of her expression as she slept: the tiny frown that gathered between her dark brows, the restless twitch of her mouth. It seemed that her dreams were far from peaceful. He stroked the side of her face and murmured quietly, and her frown smoothed away. Unable to help himself, Ross slid his hand to her breast and molded his fingers over the voluptuous curve. Even in sleep she responded to him, arching with a drowsy murmur. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and cradled her as she stretched and yawned.

"I'm sorry," he said, staring into the slumbrous depths of her eyes. "I didn't intend to wake you."

She blinked sleepily. "Are we almost there?"

"A half hour at most."

Her gaze turned wary. "What will happen tomorrow?" she asked.

"I'm going to find out if I was the man who sent your brother to the prison hulk all those years ago."

Her fingers slipped inside his waistcoat, seeking the warmth of his body. "Whatever you discover will not matter."

"Of course it will," he said gruffly.

"No." She levered herself upward. Her hand curved around his neck, and she applied her lips to his, exploring daintily, her tongue lapping into the warmth of his mouth. Ross remained stalwart for precisely five seconds, then responded to her tender witchery with a low groan. Her taste mingled with his, the kiss becoming full and deep as he immersed himself in her sweetness.

"Sophia," he said, tearing his mouth free. Although it was not the time or place he had planned, he could not prevent the words that escaped him. "I want to marry you."

She was very still, her face scant inches from his. Clearly, she had not expected such a proposal. Agitation caused her lashes to flutter, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. "Gentlemen in your position don't marry servants."

"It has been known to happen."

"Yes, and the men who make such mistakes are exposed to ridicule and sometimes even ostracism. And you are very much in the public view--oh, your critics would be merciless!"

"I've been publicly criticized too many times to count," Ross said firmly. "I am well used to it by now. And you are carrying on as if I am a peer of the realm, when I am no more than a professional man."

"A professional man from a wealthy family with ties to the aristocracy."

"Well, if we are to start defining ourselves, I should point out that you are the daughter of a viscount."

"But I was not reared as one. After my parents died, I had no further education. I can't ride a horse, or dance, or play an instrument. And I was taught nothing of etiquette and aristocratic manners--"

"None of that matters." She laughed in disbelief. "Perhaps not to you, but it does to me!"

"Then you will learn whatever is necessary."

Sophia fidgeted with a loose fold of his shirt. "I cannot marry you."

"Does that mean you don't want to?" His lips grazed the silken edge of her hairline and drifted to her temple.

"Your family would not approve of a marriage between us."

"Yes, they would." He kissed her throat. "My mother has made it clear that she will accept you with open arms. The rest of the family--aunts, uncles, and cousins--will follow her lead. And my grandfather has practically ordered me to propose to you."

"No!" Sophia exclaimed, astonished.

"He said that you were as pretty a miss as could be found anywhere. According to him, you are fertile ground for sowing, and I had better go about it right away."

"Good Lord!" Sophia was torn between laughter and dismay. "I can only imagine what else he said."

"He told me about his lifelong love for your grandmother, and how he wished that he had simply kidnapped Sophia Jane and eloped with her. He has lived with that regret for decades. God spare me from having to do the same."

Sophia's delicate face turned pensive. "I will stay with you for as long as you want me. Perhaps the best solution is that I become your mistress."

Ross shook his head decisively. "That is not what I need, Sophia. I'm not the kind of man who keeps a mistress. And you're not the kind of woman who would be happy with such an arrangement. There is no reason to make our relationship into something shameful. I want you to be my wife."

"Ross, I can't--"

"Wait," he murmured, sensing that he had pressed his advantage too soon. He should have waited patiently for the right time. "Don't give me an answer. Just consider the idea for a while."

"I don't need to consider it," she responded. "I really don't think--"

He covered her mouth with his, silencing her for a long time, so that she forgot what she had intended to say.

CHAPTER 12

Ross headed to Bow Street No. 3 immediately upon their arrival. Morgan had agreed to take up temporary residence at the public office during Ross's three-day absence, and the light at his desk was burning as evening settled over London. When Ross crossed the threshold, Morgan glanced up from his work and sighed in patent relief. "Thank God you're back."

"Has it been that bad?" Ross regarded him with a slight smile, standing with his hands thrust into his coat pockets. "Did anything out of the ordinary occur?"

"No, just the usual." Morgan rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, looking weary. "We served ten warrants, arrested a deserter, and investigated a murder at the thieves' kitchen on the east side of Covent Garden. And we looked into the matter of an escaping codfish from Lannigan's."

"A what?"

Despite Morgan's obvious weariness, a smile tugged at his wide mouth. "It seems that a young lad named Dickie Sloper took a fancy to a particular codfish at the shop. Dickie fastened a hook to the gills, attached the other end of the line to the button of his inexpressibles, and walked away. The fishmonger was understandably alarmed when he saw the cod jump off the table and slide out the door, seemingly of its own accord. When young Dickie was caught, he swore that he was innocent and the fish was willfully following him."

Ross snorted with laughter. "Will Lannigan press charges?"

"No. The fish was recovered in its entirety, and Lannigan was satisfied after Dickie spent the night in the Bow Street strong room."

Ross regarded Grant with an irrepressible smile. "Well, it appears that Bow Street can manage without me after all."

The assistant magistrate gave him a sardonic glance. "You wouldn't say that if you could see the work that has accumulated on your desk. The pile is as high as my chest. I've done my damnedest, but I couldn't keep up with it. And now that you're here, I'm going home. I'm tired, hungry, and I haven't bedded my wife in days. In other words, I've been living as you do, and I can't stand another bloody minute of it."

"Wait," Ross said, turning serious. "I have come to ask a personal favor of you."

Ross had never made such a request before. Morgan stared at him with a new alertness, settling back in his chair. "Of course," he said without hesitation.

Approaching the desk, Ross withdrew the diamond and-emerald necklace from his pocket and laid it gently on the scuffed mahogany surface. Even in the uncertain lamplight, the jewels glittered with unearthly brilliance.

Morgan's stunned gaze met his before returning to the necklace. His lips pursed in a quiet whistle. "Sweet Jesus. Where did that come from?"

"That is precisely what I want you to find out."

"Why not assign one of the runners? Sayer could easily handle such a task."

"Not as quickly as you," Ross replied. "And I want answers soon." Although Morgan had spent the better part of a year on the bench, he still had more experience and ability than any of the runners. No one knew his way around London as Grant Morgan did, and Ross trusted him to take care of the matter expediently.

"How did the necklace come into your possession?" Grant asked, and Ross explained the details. The assistant magistrate gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Miss Sydney is unharmed?"

"She is fine, other than being understandably anxious. I want this matter resolved immediately, to spare her needless worry."

"Of course." Picking up a penholder, Morgan tapped it repeatedly on the desk in a rapid staccato that belied his impassive facade. "Cannon," he said quietly, "I suppose you've considered the possibility that Miss Sydney may be involved with someone. These gifts could likely have come from a paramour."

Ross shook his head even before the other man had finished speaking. "No," he said firmly. "She has no paramour."

"How can you be certain?"

Annoyed by his friend's persistence, Ross scowled. "Because I am in a position to know."

"Ah." Grant seemed to relax, setting down the penholder and lacing his fingers together across his midriff. He pinned Ross with a glance of mingled speculation and amusement. "You've finally bedded her, then."