“Just one or two?” Sophia coaxed.

Abruptly it became less important that he adhere to his usual habits. Perhaps he could make time for a little breakfast, Ross reasoned. A five-minute delay would make no difference in his schedule.

He found himself seated at the table facing a plate heaped with cakes, crisp bacon, and coddled eggs. Sophia filled a mug with steaming black coffee, and smiled at him once more before resuming her place at the range with Eliza. Ross picked up his fork and stared at it as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“They’re good, sir,” Ernest ventured, stuffing his mouth so greedily that it seemed likely he would choke.

Ross took a bite of the fruit-soaked cake and washed it down with a swallow of hot coffee. As he continued to eat, he felt an unfamiliar sense of well-being. Good God, it had been a long time since he’d had anything other than Eliza’s wretched concoctions.

For the next few minutes Ross ate until the platter of cakes was demolished. Sophia came now and then to refill his cup or offer more bacon. The cozy warmth of the kitchen and the sight of Sophia as she moved about the room caused a tide of unwilling pleasure inside him. Setting down his fork, Ross stood and regarded her without smiling. “I must go now. Thank you for the breakfast, Miss Sydney.”

One last mug of coffee was pressed into his hands, and Sophia’s dark blue eyes stared into his. “Will you spend the day in the office, sir?”

Ross shook his head, fascinated by the little wisps of hair that had stuck to her forehead. The heat of the stove had made her cheeks pink and glistening. He wanted to kiss, lick, taste her. “I will be out for most of the morning,” he said, his voice raspy. “I am conducting an investigation—there was a murder in Russell Square last evening.”

“Be careful.”

It had been a long time since anyone had said that to him. Ross damned himself for feeling so easily unsettled… but there it was, that velvety tickle of pleasure he could not seem to elude. He nodded shortly, giving her a wary glance before leaving.

Sophia spent the first half of the day attending to a waist-high pile of papers, briefs, and correspondence that had been shoved into a corner of Sir Ross’s office. As she filed the mass of information, she welcomed the opportunity to become familiar with the criminal records room, which was dusty and unkempt. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to organize the drawers of materials properly. While Sophia worked, she reflected on what she had learned of Sir Ross so far, including the stray comments she had heard from servants and clerks and runners. It seemed that the Chief Magistrate was an inhumanly self-controlled man who never swore or shouted or drank to excess. A few soft-voiced directions from him would make the fearsome runners hasten to obey. Sir Ross was admired by all who worked for him, but at the same time they delighted in jesting about his cold and methodical nature.

Sophia did not believe that he was cold. She perceived something beneath his austere facade, a powerfully contained sexuality that would be all-consuming if it were ever set free. Given the intensity of his nature, Sir Ross would not approach lovemaking in a casual way. It was too important, too rare for him; he would have to care deeply for his partner before he slept with her. If Sophia were to succeed in seducing him, she would have to earn his affection. But how did one go about making such a man fall in love? She suspected that he would respond to a woman who supplied the softness that was clearly missing in his life. After all, he was not some godlike being with limitless strength. He was a man, one who pushed himself too hard. For a man who carried so many burdens on his shoulders, it would be a relief to have someone take care of his needs.

Returning to Sir Ross’s private office, Sophia used a rag to wipe the dust from the windowsill. She happened to see the object of her thoughts on the street below, as Sir Ross paused at the iron fence that fronted the building. He appeared to be speaking to a woman who had been waiting at the gate. The woman wore a brown shawl that covered her hair and shoulders, and Sophia remembered that Mr. Vickery had turned her away earlier in the day. The woman had wanted to see Sir Ross, and the clerk had told her to return tomorrow, since the Chief Magistrate was occupied with pressing matters.

However, Sir Ross opened the gate for the woman and walked with her to the entrance of Bow Street No. 3. Sophia was touched by his consideration for someone who was surely of a much lower class. She was ill-dressed and haggard, yet the Chief Magistrate gave her his arm as courteously as if she were a duchess.

When Sir Ross brought the woman into his office, Sophia noticed the hitch of a frown between his black brows. “Good afternoon, Miss Sydney,” he said evenly, guiding his visitor to a chair. The woman was thin, middle-aged, and haggard in appearance, her eyes red from crying. “This is Miss Trimmer, who I understand was turned away by Vickery this morning.”

“I believe Mr. Vickery was concerned that your schedule was already quite full,” Sophia murmured.

“I can always make time when it is necessary.” Sir Ross half sat, half leaned against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. He spoke in a gently encouraging tone that Sophia had not heard from him before. “You said that you fear for your sister’s safety, Miss Trimmer. Pray tell me what has caused such concern.”

The trembling spinster clutched the ends of her shawl and spoke in a choked voice. “My younger sister, Martha, is married to Mr. Jeremy Fowler.” She paused, evidently overcome by emotion.

“Mr. Fowler’s employment is… ?” Sir Ross prompted inquiringly.

“He is an apothecary. They live above the shop at St. James’s market. There is trouble between Mr. Fowler and Martha, and—” She stopped and twisted the knitted shawl in tight, frantic fists. “She did something a month ago that put him in a rage. And I haven’t seen her since.”

“She is missing from her home?”

“No, sir… Mr. Fowler keeps Martha locked in a room and won’t let her out. She’s been there almost four weeks. No one can go inside to see her… I think she has taken ill, and I’ve begged Mr. Fowler to let her go, but he won’t, as he’s still of a mind to punish her.”

“Punish her for what?” Sir Ross asked quietly.

Red flags of shame crossed the woman’s narrow cheeks. “I think Martha took up with another man. It was very bad of her, I know. But Martha is good at heart, and I’m certain she is sorry for what she did and wants Mr. Fowler’s forgiveness.” Miss Trimmer’s eyes watered, and she blotted them with her shawl. “No one will help me free my poor sister, as they all say it’s a matter between husband and wife. Mr. Fowler says he’s only done this because he loves Martha so, and she hurt him so awfully. No one, not even the rest of the Trimmers, blames him for locking her away.”

Sir Ross’s eyes were hard and icy. “I am always puzzled by this so-called love that causes men to brutalize their wives. In my opinion, a man who truly loves a woman would never intentionally harm her, no matter how great the betrayal.” His gaze softened as he regarded the desperate woman before him. “I will send a runner to the Fowler residence immediately, Miss Trimmer.”

“Oh, sir,” she faltered, weeping in patent relief. “Thank you, and bless you a thousand times.”

Sir Ross glanced at Sophia. “Do you know which men are available today, Miss Sydney?”

“Mr. Sayer and Mr. Ruthven,” Sophia murmured, relieved that he intended to free the captive Martha. She would not have been surprised if he had declined to help, as it was commonly thought that husbands had the right to do whatever they liked with their wives.

“Tell Ruthven to come.”

Sophia hastened to obey. She soon returned with Mr. Ruthven, a large, dark-haired runner with a rugged countenance and an aggressive disposition. His appetite for physical combat was well known, and few men were willing to provoke him. Unfortunately, his mind was not suited for the subtleties of investigative work, and therefore Sir Ross used him for tasks that were more physical than cerebral in nature.

“Go with Miss Trimmer to St. James’s market,” Sir Ross told the runner calmly. “She will show you to the rooms above Fowler’s Apothecary Shop, where her sister has been imprisoned for well nigh a month. Do whatever is necessary to free her, and be mindful of the possibility that you will meet with some resistance from her husband.”

Realizing that he was being called upon to intervene in a marital dispute, the runner scowled slightly. “Sir, I was just on my way to the Tothill Bank—there was a robbery there, and I—”

“You’ll have time to earn your private commissions later,” Sir Ross said. “This is more important.”

“Yes, sir.” Clearly annoyed, Ruthven turned to leave.

“Ruthven,” Sir Ross murmured, “what if it were your sister who had been locked in a room for a month?”

The runner considered his words, becoming a bit shamefaced. “I will take care of it immediately, Sir Ross.”

“Good,” the magistrate said brusquely. “And, Ruthven, after you free Mrs. Fowler, I want to question her husband.”

“Shall I bring him directly to the strong room, sir?”

“No, take him to Newgate. He can wait there and contemplate his actions for a while before I talk to him.”

As the runner escorted Miss Trimmer from the office, Sophia approached Sir Ross and regarded him thoughtfully. He remained in his half-seated position on the desk, which brought their faces nearly level. His expression was brooding, deep brackets carved on either side of his lips. Although Sophia had heard of the Chief Magistrate’s well-known compassion for women and children, she was surprised by his willingness to interfere in a conflict between husband and wife. A wife was legally considered to be a man’s property, and he could do as he pleased with her, short of actual murder. “That was very kind of you,” she said.

The frown remained on Sir Ross’s face. “I’d like to make Fowler suffer in the same way his wife has. I can only keep him in Newgate for three days—not nearly long enough.”

Sophia was in complete agreement, but she could not resist playing the devil’s advocate. “Some would say that Mrs. Fowler deserved such punishment for sleeping with another man,” she pointed out.

“Regardless of her behavior, her husband had no right to retaliate in such a manner.”

“What would your response be if your wife betrayed you with someone else?”

It was apparent that the question surprised the magistrate. In one abrupt moment Sophia had turned the conversation into something personal. Sir Ross stared at her steadily, sudden tension causing his shoulder muscles to strain tightly against his coat. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “My wife was not the kind of woman who would have succumbed to that particular temptation. The issue was never a concern for me.”

“What if you married again?” Sophia asked, held prisoner by his vivid silver gaze. “Wouldn’t you worry about your wife’s fidelity?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I would keep her so busy in my bed that she would have neither the time nor the inclination to seek another man’s company.”

The words caused an odd quiver to shoot through Sophia’s belly. It was an admission of nothing less than an all-consuming sexual appetite. It confirmed everything she had learned about him so far. Sir Ross was not a man to do anything by half measures. Before she could stop herself, Sophia imagined what it might be like to lie tangled with him in intimacy, his mouth at her breasts, his hands moving gently over her body. Her face flamed with a mixture of embarrassment and awareness.

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I should not have spoken so frankly.”

Another surprise—Sophia had never encountered a man from any walk of life who would lower himself to apologize to an employee, much less to a female one. “It was my fault,” she managed to say. “I should not have asked such personal questions. I don’t know why I did.”

“Don’t you?” His gaze snared hers again, and the hot flicker in his eyes made it difficult for her to breathe.

Sophia had been trying to discover more about his character and the workings of his heart. It was all for the purpose of manipulation, of course. All part of her quest to make him fall in love with her. Unfortunately, she was finding it difficult to ignore a growing attraction to the man she planned to hurt. She wanted to remain cool and uninvolved when they finally shared a bed. However, there were so many seductive qualities about him: his intelligence, his compassion for vulnerable creatures, the raw need beneath his self-controlled facade.

Just as she felt a reluctant softening in her heart toward him, she thought of her dead brother, and her determination burned with new vigor. John must be avenged, or else his life would be robbed of any meaning at all. To let go of the past meant that she had failed John, and that was something she could not do.

After a moment of calculation, she admitted carefully, “I suppose I am curious about you. You rarely talk about yourself, or of your past.”

“There is little in my past that would interest you,” he assured her. “I am an ordinary man from an equally ordinary family.”

The statement should have reeked of false humility.

After all, Sir Ross was a man of remarkable accomplishments and abilities. Surely he was aware of his own achievements, his keen mind, his good looks, his sterling reputation. However, Sophia realized that he did not consider himself superior to any other man. He demanded so much of himself that he could never live up to his own impossible standards.

“You are not ordinary,” she half whispered. “You are fascinating.”

There was no doubt that Sir Ross was often approached by women who had a personal interest in him. As a handsome widower with deep pockets and considerable social and political influence, he was probably the most eligible man in London. Yet Sophia’s bold statement had clearly caught him off guard. He gave her a baffled stare, seeming unable to form a reply.

Silence weighted the air. Finally Sophia spoke, trying to sound brisk. “I will see about supper. Will you eat in the kitchen or here?”

Sir Ross focused on his desk with inordinate attention. “Send a tray up here. I have more to do tonight.”

“You should sleep,” she said. “You work far too much.”

He picked up a letter and broke the seal. “Good night, Miss Sydney,” he murmured, his gaze falling on the page.

Sophia left the office and wandered through the hallway with a frown. Why should she care if he refused to get the rest he needed? Let him work himself into an early grave, she thought. It hardly mattered to her if he ruined his health, the stubborn ox! But the irritation stayed with her as she recalled the weary smudges beneath his eyes. She reasoned that her concern stemmed from her desire for revenge. After all, one could hardly seduce a man when he was exhausted and half starved.