After taking his leave of Sophia, Anthony Lyndhurst wandered away from the drawing room. He paused at a massive gold-framed mirror and preened expertly. When he was satisfied that his appearance was immaculate, he strolled out to an open conservatory to have a smoke and enjoy the evening breeze. The night was dark and warm, the air laced with the rustling of leaves as well as the flexible strains of music from inside.

Filled with anticipation, Anthony considered the unexpected changes in his former light-o'-love. He had never revisited one of his paramours after he had left them. Once he was finished with a woman, he had no further interest in her. And Sophia had offered little in the way of sexual amusement, save for an innocent affection that had palled rather quickly. However, it was obvious that Sophia had received some tutoring in the intervening months. She wore the look of a well-pleasured woman, with her ripe mouth and blooming cheeks, and a sensuality in her movements that she had definitely not possessed when Anthony had known her. She seemed both elegant and sexually aware.

Surely Sir Ross had not effected such a change in her. Everyone knew him to be a cold and charmless bastard, not to mention notoriously celibate. Perhaps Sophia had taken yet another lover. The small but intriguing mystery occupied Anthony's thoughts pleasantly as he reached into his pocket for a cigar.

All at once a shadow seemed to fly at him from nowhere. Anthony had no chance to make a sound before he was brutally slammed against the wall. Paralyzed in fright, he felt something hard press against his throat--an unyielding muscular arm that threatened to crush the life from him.

"Wh...wh..." Anthony gasped, struggling helplessly against his captor. The man was large and irate, with all the restraint of a ravening animal. Anthony's bulging eyes beheld a dark visage that could have belonged to Satan himself. It took several moments for Anthony to recognize his assailant. "Sir Ross--"

"You cowardly milksop," Cannon growled. "I know your kind. You pick your victims carefully--innocent women who have no one to protect them from gutter-scum like you. But you have finally chosen the wrong one. Find an excuse to leave Silverhill immediately, or I will smear you from here to London. And if you ever speak to my wife again, or dare to even glance in her direction, I will butcher you."

"Cannon..." Anthony wheezed uncontrollably. "Be...civilized..."

"I'm afraid I am nothing close to civilized where my wife is concerned."

"Please," Anthony choked as the blunt pressure at his throat increased.

"There is something else I should make clear," Cannon continued softly. "If you mention one word to anyone about your past with Sophia, I will personally throw you in Newgate. Of course, I can only keep you there for three days, but that will seem like a lifetime when you're locked in a cell with creatures that are more animal than human. By the time you're released, you'll be cursing your mother for bearing you."

"No," Anthony begged. "Won't say anything...won't bother her..."

"That's right," Cannon said in a malevolent whisper. "You will avoid my wife so that she forgets your very existence. Your acquaintance with the Cannons is at an end."

Somehow Anthony managed to nod, conveying acceptance in any way he could. Just as he thought he would faint, he was abruptly released. He fell to the floor, gasping and choking, rolling onto his side. When he finally managed to recover himself, Cannon's brutal form had disappeared. Shivering with terror, Anthony struggled to his feet and ran toward the line of carriages on the front drive as if he were fleeing for his life.

Sophia chatted and laughed with the guests at the ball, while inside, she felt sick and numb. A glass of champagne punch had done nothing to relax her. Anxiously she wondered where her husband was. She considered various ways to tell him about her encounter with Anthony. Certainly the news would ruin his evening as well as hers. No man wished to be confronted with his wife's paramour at his own wedding celebration.

As increasingly gloomy thoughts slunk through her mind, Sophia saw her husband approaching. He looked elegant and handsome, his dark face emphasized by a fresh white cravat. She decided he must have been relaxing with friends in the billiards room or the library, for something had evidently put him in a good humor.

"My sweet." He took her gloved hand and lifted it to his mouth.

"I haven't seen you for a while," she said. "Where have you been?"

"I had to dispose of a rodent," he said lightly.

"Arodent ?." she repeated, perplexed. "Couldn't one of the servants have taken care of it?"

His white teeth gleamed as he laughed. "I wanted to take care of this one." "Oh." She looked across the polished drawing room floor with a frown of worry. "Do you think there might be others scurrying around? They like to run up ladies' skirts, you know."

Still smiling, Ross slipped an arm around her waist. "My lady, the only creature that will nibble at your ankles tonight is me."

Sophia glanced around to make certain they could not be overheard. "Ross," she said unsteadily, "I-I must tell you something--"

"That your former lover is here? Yes, I know."

"How could you?" she asked in astonishment. "I've never told you his full name."

"I saw your face when he spoke to you." Ross smiled reassuringly. "It's all right. Lyndhurst can't harm you, Sophia. You're mine now."

Slowly she relaxed in his hold, acutely relieved that there would be no explosions of jealousy and no bitter accusations. What an extraordinary man Ross was, she thought with a rush of love. So many other men would have scorned her for her lack of virginity and regarded her as soiled goods. But Ross had always treated her with respect. "You mustn't refer to Anthony as my lover," she chided softly. "He gave me only pain and shame.You are the only lover I've ever had."

He bent his head and kissed her temple. "Don't worry, my sweet. He won't trouble you again. In fact, I suspect he has left the ball precipitately."

Something in his tone made her wonder if he had actually approached Anthony. "Ross," she said suspiciously, "about this 'rodent' you disposed of--"

"The opening march is beginning," he interrupted, pulling her with him to the mass of whirling couples.

"Yes, but did you--"

"Come--it is our responsibility to lead."

As Ross had intended, Sophia was distracted. "I'm not certain I can," she said. "I've seen the march a few times, but I've never had the opportunity to try it."

"It's very simple," he murmured, drawing her hand into the crook of his arm. "Just follow my lead."

Although their hands were gloved, Sophia felt a thrill at the pressure of his fingers. She looked up at his dark face and said with a sudden throb in her voice, "I would follow you anywhere."

Ross's thick lashes veiled his smoky eyes. She sensed his rampant desire to be alone with her. "Three hours," he said, speaking as if to himself.

"What?" she asked.

"Three hours until midnight. Then you will go upstairs, and I will follow soon after."

"Oh. Isn't that rather too early to retire from a ball such as this? I suspect some of the couples will be dancing until dawn."

"We won't be one of them," he said firmly, escorting her to the drawing room. "I can think of a much better way to spend the rest of the evening."

"Sleeping?" she said with false innocence.

Ross bent to whisper his alternative, and grinned as a wild blush rose in her face.

CHAPTER 16

Ross could barely contain his annoyance upon their return to Bow Street, when all half-dozen runners gathered to congratulate him on his nuptials. The runners loudly insisted on their rights to "kiss the bride," and one after another, they bent over Sophia in a manner that was far more brotherly than amorous. However, Ross was scowling by the time he retrieved his giggling wife. He gave them all a warning stare. "Attend to your duties now."

Grumbling good-naturedly, the runners filed out of Bow Street No. 4, but not before Eddie Sayer beseeched Sophia, "Do what you can to soften his temper. You're our only hope, milady."

Laughing, Sophia threw her arms around Ross's neck and kissed his stern mouth. "There--will that serve to soften you?"

A reluctant grin curved his lips, and he kissed her possessively. "I'm afraid it's having the opposite effect. But don't stop."

She gave him a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. "No more until this evening. You have work to do."

"Morgan will take care of it. I'll only stay long enough to attend to a few minor concerns, and then you and I are going on an errand."

"What kind of errand?" She sighed as he kissed the side of her throat, his lips traveling in a leisurely path up to her ear.

"We are going to look at something."

"Something large or small?"

"Large." He nibbled at a sensitive place on her neck. "Quite large."

"What kind of--" she began, but he silenced her with a thorough kiss.

"No more questions. Be ready to leave in an hour."

Although Sophia had expected him to be delayed by work, Ross returned for her in precisely an hour and escorted her to their carriage. She pestered him with questions, but he was maddeningly taciturn, refusing to give any hint about the nature of the mysterious errand. As the carriage traveled westward, Sophia lifted a corner of the sheer panel that covered the window and watched the scenery outside. They passed spectacular arcades and markets where luxury goods were sold, including haberdashers, goldsmiths, button-makers, perfumers, and even a feather shop bearing the intriguing title of "Plumassier."

As this was an area of London that Sophia had never visited before, she was fascinated by the masses of beautifully dressed people promenading through it.

Ladies and gentlemen of distinction visited the confectioner's to eat ices, strolled through tea gardens, or stood at the window of a print shop to view racks of decorative cards. It was a world far removed from Bow Street, and yet it was located only a short distance away.

The carriage conveyed them to Mayfair, the most fashionable location in London, where great family mansions were built in rows. They stopped in Berkeley Square, before a classically designed, triple-pedimented house. The large plate-glass windows gave the white stone facade a feeling of lightness and grandeur at the same time. One footman opened the carriage door and put down a movable step for Sophia. The other footman received a set of keys from Ross and dashed up the front steps.

"Are we visiting someone?" Sophia asked, staring admiringly at the house.

"Not precisely." Ross placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her up to the main entrance. "This house is owned by Lord Cobham, a contemporary of my grandfather's. He resides at his county seat and has decided to rent this place, as it remains unused most of the time."

"Why are we here?" She entered the cool marble hall, which was devoid of furniture or artwork. Rich blue lapis columns and doorcases contrasted crisply with the gleaming white walls.

Ross joined her, gazing upward at the gilded fretwork on the twenty-foot-high ceiling. "I thought that if this place pleases you, we might live here until our own house is built." He looked vaguely apologetic as he added, "It is unfurnished because Cobham took most of the family heirlooms with him to the country. If we take it, you will have to decorate it."

Sophia could not reply, only stared at her surroundings in amazement.

When it became clear that no immediate comment was forthcoming, Ross spoke matter-of-factly. "If you don't like the house, you have only to say so. There are other residences to consider."

"No, no," Sophia said breathlessly. "Of course I like it. How could anyone not approve? It's just that you have caught me off guard. I...I thought we were going to live at Bow Street."

He looked both appalled and amused by the idea. "God forbid. No wife of mine will take up residence at the public office. A place like this is more fitting, not to mention comfortable."

"It's very grand," Sophia commented doubtfully, thinking privately that the word "comfortable" would be more accurately applied to a cozy cottage or a small town house. "Ross," she said carefully, "if you spend all your time working at Bow Street, I do not think I would like to be alone in such a large place. Perhaps we could find some nice terrace on King Street--"