The thought caused Sophia's anger to flare violently. Who was Sir Ross, that he should decide who lived or died? Why was he fit to sit in judgment upon others? Was he so infallible, so wise and perfect? He probably thought he was, the arrogant bastard.

But she was perplexed by the memory of his easy forgiveness that morning, when she had confessed the story of her short-lived affair. Most people would have condemned her as a harlot and said that her dismissal was well deserved. She had expected Sir Ross to censure her. Instead he seemed understanding and kind, and had even admitted that he himself had made mistakes.

Troubled, she nudged the frayed muslin curtain aside to gain a better view of his office window.

As if he could somehow feel Sophia's gaze, Sir Ross turned and glanced directly at her. Although there was no lamp or candle burning in her room, the moonlight was sufficient to illuminate her. He could see that she was dressed only in the fragile night rail.

Being a gentleman, Sir Ross should have turned away immediately. But he stared at her intently, as if he were a hungry wolf and she were a rabbit that had ventured too far from the warren. Though Sophia's entire body burned with embarrassment, she lingered to give him a good look. Silently she counted the seconds: one...two...three. Then she moved aside slowly, drew the curtain shut, and raised her palms to her flaming face. She should be pleased that he had shown an interest in what she looked like in her nightclothes. Instead she was profoundly uneasy, almost frightened--as if her plan to seduce and destroy him might somehow end in her own downfall.

CHAPTER 2

Ross began the day as usual, performing his morning ablutions with economic speed and dressing in his usual attire of a dark coat and gray trousers. He tied his black silk cravat in a simple knot, and brushed his hair until it settled neatly into place. Giving a cursory glance in the looking glass beside the washstand, he saw that the smudges beneath his eyes were more pronounced than usual. He had not slept well the previous night. He had been occupied with thoughts of Sophia, his body teeming with the awareness that she was sleeping only a few rooms away.

It had been impossible to stop thinking about the moment when he had seen her at the window, her long hair streaming in ripples, her nightgown ghostly in the moonlight. Ross had been utterly seduced by the image, his blood coursing as he imagined what the female body beneath the gown might look like.

Scowling, Ross vowed that there would be no more nightly reveries concerning Sophia. No more fantasies, and certainly no more gazing at her window. From now on it would be work as usual.

Grimly determined, he went down to the kitchen, where he intended to fetch his first jug of coffee and carry it to his office. When that was done, he would take his daily walk through Covent Garden and the surrounding streets, much in the manner of a physician taking the pulse of a favorite patient. No matter how detailed the reports of the Bow Street runners were, there was nothing quite like seeing and hearing things for himself.

Ross took pleasure in the orderly progression of activities at Bow Street each day. Just after dawn, the bells of St. Paul's rang through Covent Garden and along the tranquil shop fronts and residences of Bow Street. The sounds of market carts caused shutters to snap open and curtains to be drawn, as did the cries of muffin sellers and newspaper boys. At seven o'clock, smells of hot bread and rolls floated from the baker's, and at eight, patrons would begin to drift through the opening doors of the coffeehouses. When nine o'clock arrived, people would gather at the Bow Street office, waiting for the clerks and officers to open the doors. At ten, the sitting magistrate--who happened to be Morgan today--would assume his place at court.

Everything as it should be, Ross thought with satisfaction.

As Ross entered the kitchen, he saw Ernest sitting at the scrubbed wooden table. The boy wolfed down a plate of breakfast as if it were the first decent meal he'd had in months. Sophia stood at the range with the scrawny cook-maid, apparently showing her how to prepare the morning's fare. "Turn them like this," Sophia was saying, expertly flipping a row of little cakes on a griddle pan. The kitchen atmosphere was especially fragrant today, spiced with frying bacon, coffee, and sizzling batter.

Sophia looked fresh and wholesome, the trim curves of her figure outlined by a white apron that covered her charcoal-gray dress. Her gleaming hair was pinned in a coil at the top of her head and tied with a blue ribbon. As she saw him standing in the doorway, a smile lit her sapphire eyes, and she was so dazzlingly pretty that Ross felt a painful jab low in his stomach.

"Good morning, Sir Ross," she said. "Will you have some breakfast?"

"No, thank you," he replied automatically. "Only a jug of coffee. I never..." He paused as the cook set a platter on the table. It was piled with steaming batter cakes sitting in a pool of blackberry sauce. He had a special fondness for blackberries. "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 ofhis 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.