The Virgin Who Ruined Lord Gray by Anna Bradley

Author:Anna Bradley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2020-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.

Sophia lay on her back, still as a corpse, and gazed up at Tristan’s library window above her, blinking against the dampness that clung to her eyelashes. The mist was so heavy it felt suffocating, like fistfuls of damp soil were pressing her into the cold slate roof beneath her.

Her own little grave.

The only thing darker than the sky was Tristan’s townhouse. It was as silent as a tomb, every window shrouded in heavy silk draperies. It didn’t look as if he were home, but it didn’t matter much whether he was or not. Even if he was looking out his window at her at this very moment, she doubted it would make any difference.

Sophia wasn’t one to doubt Lady Clifford—she’d never known her ladyship to be wrong before—but in this particular instance, she wondered if her mentor had missed the mark. Lady Clifford hadn’t seen Tristan’s face this morning, or heard his tone of cold dismissal when he’d told Sophia there was no need for them ever to meet again.

This ends here…

Sophia didn’t imagine another sojourn on Lord Everly’s roof would change his mind.

It had been a simple enough thing to climb his lordship’s columns again, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun as it had been the first time. Tonight, the patter of raindrops on the slate roof didn’t sound like a symphony, or like bells chiming. It sounded, and felt, like a depressing drizzle, and chillier than it should be for August in London.

Worse, it was all to no purpose. She was dallying on a roof, wasting her precious time. There were only two reasons for her to linger on Great Marlborough Street. One was a man she’d sworn not to follow, and the other a man who’d never come.

She given her word to Lord Gray she wouldn’t follow Peter Sharpe again, and she intended to keep it, but just in case that wasn’t reason enough to curb her reckless tendencies, Lady Clifford had also made her promise she’d come directly back to No. 26 Maddox Street if Lord Gray didn’t appear.

He hadn’t appeared, for all that Sophia been lying here for what felt like an eternity. If she had been in her grave, the worms would have devoured her by now. Her spine ached from lying for so long on the hard slate, and she even caught herself wishing for a few layers of petticoats. She detested them, but even they’d be preferable to a chilled backside.

Peter Sharpe hadn’t turned up, either, but Sophia guessed he’d be back on the prowl soon enough. No doubt he had dozens of nefarious deeds to see to tonight, and because of her promise, he’d be free to indulge in his choice of petty crimes without any witnesses.

Bitter frustration flooded Sophia at the thought of him creeping about St. Clement Dane’s Church, the scene of the worst of his crimes, lying in wait for some unsuspecting victim to stumble upon him. It was

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