As the warmth of the day increased, the Cannons and their guests elected to nap or relax indoors. However, Ross had never napped in his life, and the very idea of sleeping in the middle of the day was inconceivable to him. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested to Sophia.

“A walk? But everyone is resting comfortably inside,” she protested.

“Good,” he said in satisfaction. “Then we’ll have the entire outdoors to ourselves.”

Rolling her eyes, Sophia went to change into her lightest dress, then accompanied him on a stroll through the countryside. They walked toward the town until the steeple of the local church was visible in the distance. As they approached a grove of walnut trees, Sophia decided that she’d had quite enough exercise. Declaring that she needed to rest, she tugged Ross beneath the shade of the largest tree.

Agreeably, Ross sat with his arms around her, the neck of his shirt open to catch the occasional cooling puff of a breeze. Talking idly, they discussed subjects that ranged from the serious to the trivial. Sophia had never imagined that a man would listen to a woman as he did. He was attentive, interested, never mocking her opinions even when he disagreed with them.

“You know,” she told him dreamily, lying across his lap and staring at the dark, saucer-sized leaves overhead, “I think that I enjoy talking with you even more than making love with you.”

A lock of black hair fell over Ross’s forehead as he looked down at her. “Is that a compliment to my conversational skills, or a complaint about my lovemaking?”

She smiled as she caressed his shirt-covered chest. “You know that I would never complain about that. It’s just that I never expected to have this kind of relationship with a husband.”

“What did you expect?” Ross asked, clearly amused.

“Well, the usual sort of arrangement. We would discuss light things, nothing improper, and we would have our separate areas of the house, and spend most days apart. You would visit my room some nights, and of course I would consult with you on certain matters…” Sophia paused as she saw the odd look that crossed his face.

“Hmm.”

“What?” she asked, perturbed. “Did I say something that bothered you?”

“No.” His expression was contemplative. “It occurred to me that you just described the kind of marriage I had with Eleanor.”

Sophia sat up from his lap and smoothed her untidy hair. Ross mentioned his first wife so seldom that there were times Sophia actually forgot that he’d been married before. He seemed to belong to her so completely that she had difficulty imagining him living with another woman, loving her, holding her in his arms. Feeling a sharp bite of jealousy, Sophia strove to appear serene.

“Did you find it a pleasant arrangement?”

“I suppose I did.” His gray eyes were thoughtful. “But I doubt I would be satisfied with that now. I’ve come to want something different in a relationship.” A long hesitation passed before he murmured, “Eleanor was a good wife… but so very delicate.”

Sophia plucked a blade of grass and examined it closely, twirling it in her fingers. She wondered what had attracted him to such a fragile, excessively ladylike creature. It seemed an ill-fitting match for a man who was so robust.

Somehow Ross was able to read her thoughts. “Eleanor appealed to my protective instinct” he said. “She was lovely and frail and helpless. Every man who ever met her wanted to take care of her.”

The needles of jealousy jabbed Sophia despite her efforts to ignore them. “And naturally you could not resist.”

“No.” Ross propped up one knee and rested his arm on it, watching her lazily as she pulled at more bits of grass. Her tension must have been visible, for after a moment he asked softly, “What are you thinking?”

Sophia shook her head, embarrassed by the question that had come to mind, a question that was completely pointless and prying, and obviously born of jealousy. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Tell me.” His hand settled over her plucking fingers. “You were going to ask about Eleanor.”

She looked up at him, turning pink. “I was wondering how someone so fragile could have satisfied you in bed.”

He was very still, a breeze lightly lifting the lock of hair off his forehead. The consternation on his face was easy to read. He was too much of a gentleman to answer such a question, as he would never dishonor the memory of his wife. But as their gazes held, Sophia read his unspoken reply, and it soothed her immeasurably.

Feeling reassured, Sophia turned her palm upward and slipped her fingers through his. He bent over her, his lips brushing hers in a husbandly kiss. Although he had not intended the gesture as a sexual advance, the taste of him was so intoxicating that Sophia slid her hand behind his neck and kissed him harder. Ross pulled her over his lap and took full advantage of her invitation. Her arms went around his back, fingers splaying over the hard flex of muscle. She sighed and squirmed deliciously as she felt his arousal rising beneath her.

The quiet catch of his laughter tickled her ear. “Sophia… you’re going to cripple me.”

She loved the way he looked at her, the dance of silver flame in his eyes. “I can hardly believe,” she said in a passion-drowsed voice, “that a man with your appetite could have remained celibate for five years.”

“I wasn’t celibate the entire time,” he admitted.

“You weren’t?” She sat bolt upright in his lap. “You never told me that. Whom did you sleep with?”

Ross pulled the tortoiseshell comb from her hair and sifted his fingers through the rippling golden locks. “The widow of an old friend. For the first year after Eleanor died, I could not even contemplate making love to another woman. But eventually I had needs…” He paused, looking uncomfortable, and his hand stilled in her hair.

“Yes?” Sophia prompted. “And you renewed your acquaintance with this widow?”

He nodded. “She was similarly lonely, and also desirous of intimacy, so we met discreetly for about four months, until…”

“Until?”

“She began to cry one day after we…” A flush of embarrassment crept over his face. “And she said that she had fallen in love with me. She told me that if I did not return her feelings, she could not continue the affair, as it would be too painful for her.”

“Poor lady,” Sophia said, feeling genuine sympathy for the widow. “And so the relationship ended.”

“Yes. And afterward I felt a great deal of guilt for the pain I had caused her. I also learned something—that as pleasant as the affair had been, it was not nearly as fulfilling without love. So I decided that I would wait until I found the right woman. That was three years ago. The time passed quickly, especially since I was occupied with work.”

“But there must have been nights when you found it impossible,” Sophia said. “A man of your physical nature…”

Ross smiled wryly, not quite meeting her gaze. “Well, there are ways a man can solve that problem by himself.”

“You mean you…”

He looked at her then, a touch of color lingering on his cheekbones. “Haven’t you?”

The canopy of leaves rustled over them, and a lone bird chirped innocently, while Sophia struggled to answer. “Yes,” she finally admitted. “Not long after you were shot. You remember that morning when you kissed me and took me into your bed, and we almost…” Her scalding blush spread everywhere. “After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you touched me, and one night the feelings were so desperate that I—” Mortified, she put her hands over her face with a groan.

Ross twisted his hand in her hair and eased her head back, smiling as he kissed her. Still red-faced, Sophia relaxed in his lap and closed her eyes against the splashes of sunlight that slipped through the swaying branches overhead. His mouth possessed hers with slow, tempting kisses, and she did not protest when she felt him unfastening her clothes. His hands slipped inside the garments to fondle her breasts, hips, thighs.

“Show me,” he murmured, his lips at her throat.

“Show you what?”

“How you pleasured yourself.”

“No,” she protested, giggling nervously at the outrageous request. He persisted, however, coaxing and teasing and demanding until she acceded with an embarrassed sigh. Her hand trembled as she reached down to the place he had exposed, her drawers at her knees, her skirts rucked up to her waist. “There,” she said, breathing fitfully.

Ross’s fingers lightly covered hers, learning the small, subtle motion. Her hand fell away, and he continued to caress her. “Like this?” he murmured.

She writhed in his lap, breathing too hard to speak.

A tender smile curved his lips as he watched her taut face. “Now, isn’t this better than napping?” he asked, his fingers circling wickedly.

Suddenly lost to shame, she purred and twisted in his lap as sensations flowed over her in an endless river.

The only obstacle to Sophia’s happiness was her growing concern for her brother. Nick cut a swath through London with the same cheerful carnage as always, acting alternately as a master criminal and a “thief-taker general.” Society was divided in its opinion of him. Most still regarded him as a dashing public benefactor for his ability to track and arrest thieves and persuade gang members to inform on each other. However, a small but growing number of people were beginning to condemn his corrupt methods. “When Gentry enters the room,” it was said, “one can smell the brimstone.” It was clear that despite the power he held in the underworld, his throne was an unstable one.

After Sophia had sent Nick the information he had requested, he did not ask her for additional favors, nor was there any further mention of blackmail. From time to time he sent her notes that expressed his brotherly devotion, having an errand boy slip them to her undetected. It broke Sophia’s heart to read these short letters, for her brother’s lack of education was more than obvious. The words were labored and misspelled, but his fanciful intelligence and cautious love for her shone through. The notes gave her glimpses of what kind of man Nick could have become. If only his ambition and keen mind could have been turned to good purposes instead of wicked ones, she reflected sadly. Instead her brother was busy developing an extensive network of spies and informers all over London, not to mention a virtual corporation of thieves. He ran a sophisticated smuggling operation that imported huge quantities of luxury goods and distributed them with stunning efficiency. Nick was smart, bold, and ruthless, a combination of characteristics that made him a criminal mastermind. And what Ross had not admitted to Sophia—but was perfectly clear just the same—was that he wanted to bring Gentry down before he himself retired.

Soon Sophia’s worry over Nick was temporarily set aside by a discovery that overwhelmed her with excitement. Before sharing the news with Ross, she had Eliza prepare one of his favorite dishes—broiled salmon with lime-and-parsley sauce—-and she donned a light sea-green gown with white lace spilling from the neck and sleeves. At the end of the day, when he returned to Bow Street No. 4 after being out on an investigation, Ross was pleasantly surprised by the sight of the small table arranged by the window, with supper waiting beneath domed silver covers. Sophia had lit the room with candles, and she greeted him with a bright smile.

“This is what every man should come home to,” Ross said with a grin, catching her around the waist and pressing a lusty kiss on her lips. “But why aren’t we eating downstairs as usual?”

“We are celebrating something.”

Ross studied her as he contemplated what the mysterious “something” could be. Gradually a cast of apprehensiveness came into his eyes, as if he suspected what she was going to tell him.

“Would you like to guess?” Sophia asked.

His tone remained relaxed. “I’m afraid I can’t, my love. You may as well tell me.”

She took his hand and squeezed it hard. “Nine months from now, the Cannon family will have a new addition.”

To her surprise, Ross’s face froze for an instant. Quickly he masked his reaction with a smile and pulled her close. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “That is good news indeed. Although it is hardly unexpected after what we’ve been doing for the past three months.”

She laughed and hugged him tightly. “I am so happy! I’ve been to see Dr. Linley, and he says I’m in the best of health and there is no reason to worry about anything.”

“I have complete faith in his opinion.” He kissed her forehead gently. “Do you feel well?”

“Yes.” Sophia drew back and smiled at him, sensing that something was not quite right, but she could not identify the problem. Ross had certainly taken the news well. However, she had expected his reaction to be a bit more enthusiastic. Well, she reasoned, perhaps it was simply the difference between men and women. After all, to most men, matters relating to childbirth and children were strictly a woman’s territory.

She let him seat her at the table, and the conversation passed from the subject of her pregnancy to that of the house they were soon to move into. A nursery would have to be set up, of course, and they would need to hire a nurserymaid. While they ate and talked, Sophia kept glancing at Ross, feeling that he was keeping something from her. His eyes revealed nothing, and his face looked as if it had been cast in bronze as the candlelight slid over his hard features.

When they finished eating, Sophia stood and stretched. “It is late,” she said with a yawn. “Will you come to bed now?”

He shook his head. “I’m not ready to sleep yet. I’m going outside for a walk.”

“All right,” she said, her smile turning uncertain. “I will be waiting for you.”

Ross disappeared from their private apartments as if he were escaping prison. Frowning at his odd behavior, Sophia went into the bedroom and washed her face with cool water. As she began to undo the buttons on her bodice in preparation for a sponge bath, some instinct prompted her to go to the window. Pushing the curtain aside, she stared at the courtyard that backed both buildings of the public office. Ross was there, his dark form illuminated by the moonlight, the crisp white of his shirtsleeves contrasting with the rich gleam of his waistcoat.

Sophia was perplexed to see him holding a cigar and what seemed to be a matchbox. Ross rarely smoked, and when he did, it was a social ritual performed in the company of others. He struck a match and endeavored to light the cigar, but his hands were unsteady, and the little flame shook violently in his grasp.