"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.
On the days that Ross served as sitting magistrate, Sophia brought his lunch plate to the office after early court sessions were finished. While he ate at his desk, she would straighten his papers and dust his shelves and carry reports to the criminal records room. However, he was not one to take regular meals, often regarding food as an unwelcome interruption to his work.
The first time that Ross had refused lunch, informing Sophia that he was too busy to eat, she had offered the plate to Vickery, who was copying a runner's report.
"Vickery is busy also," Ross said shortly. "You may take the plate away." "Yes, sir," Sophia replied, seeming not at all perturbed. "Perhaps later--"
"Iam a bit hungry," the clerk interrupted, staring at the covered plate with stark longing. A stocky man with a hearty appetite, Vickery did not like to miss a meal. "That smells delicious, Miss Sydney...may I ask what it is?"
"Marjoram sausage and potatoes. And green peas in cream."
Ross's appetite kindled at the savory fragrance that wafted from the plate. Lately Sophia had taken a strong hand in the kitchen, showing the inept cook-maid how to prepare edible meals. She paid close attention to his likes and dislikes, observing that he preferred well-seasoned food and had an incurable sweet tooth. In the past several days Ross had succumbed to the temptation of crisp-crusted charlotte pudding mounded high with orange filling...plum cake rich with molasses and currants...sugared apples wedged between thick layers of dough. Not surprisingly, he had begun to put on weight. The hollows of his cheeks had filled out, and his clothes no longer hung in loose folds--all of which would doubtless please his mother, who had often worried over his leanness.
Vickery closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Green peas in cream...my mother used to make them that way. Tell me, Miss Sydney, did you add a pinch of nutmeg as she did?"
"Why, yes--" Sophia began.
"Give him the tray," Ross growled. "It's obvious that I won't have a moment's peace otherwise."
Sophia sent him a vaguely apologetic smile as she obeyed.
Vickery accepted the lunch tray and unfolded the cloth napkin with obvious delight. Beaming, he called after her when she left, "Thank you, Miss Sydney!"
While Ross signed warrants, he was irritably aware of Vickery's lip-smacking and moans of enjoyment as he devoured the lunch. "Do you have to make so much noise?" Ross finally asked, looking up from his desk with a scowl.
Vickery stuffed his mouth with another large spoonful of peas. "Forgive me, sir. But this is a meal fit for a king. The next time you wish to forgo your lunch, sir, I will gladly take it in your stead."
There would not be a next time, Ross had vowed silently, annoyed beyond bearing to see someone else enjoyinghis meal. From then on, lunch in his office became a sacred ritual, and no one dared to interfere.
Sophia's influence soon extended to more personal details of his life. She made certain that the ewer of water for his morning shave was always steaming hot, and she added glycerine to his shaving soap to soften his obstinate beard. Observing that his boots and shoes needed attention, she mixed her own recipe for blacking and frequently nagged Ernest to keep Ross's footwear polished.
One morning, having discovered that most of his cravats had disappeared from the top drawer of his gentleman's chest, Ross went to the kitchen in his shirtsleeves. He found Sophia at the table, making notes in a little stitched-together book. Noticing that he was not wearing his coat or waistcoat, she gave him a swift but thorough glance that went from head to toe. At this sign of discreet feminine interest, Ross suddenly had trouble remembering why he had come downstairs in the first place. "Miss Sydney--" he began gruffly.
"Your cravats," she said with a snap of her slender fingers, evidently recalling that she had removed them from his chest. "I washed and pressed them yesterday, but I forgot to have them returned to your room. I will send Lucie up with them shortly."
"Thank you," Ross said, distracted by a silky lock of golden hair that had slid loose from her topknot. He was almost overcome by the temptation to reach out and wind the soft strands around his finger.
"Before you return to your room, sir, you should be aware that some of your cravats are gone."
"Gone?" he repeated with an inquiring frown.
"I sold them to the ragman." An impudent smile danced on her lips as she continued, silently daring him to protest. "Several of them were frayed and worn. A man in your position couldn't possibly be seen in them. So you will have to purchase new ones."
"I see." Thoroughly engaged by her impertinence, Ross leaned over her and placed one hand on the top of the chair where she sat. Although he did not touch her, she was completely trapped. "Well, Miss Sydney, since you have taken it upon yourself to dispose of my cravats, I think you should be the one to replace them. Ernest will accompany you to Bond Street this afternoon, and you can purchase the new ones on my credit. I will leave the selection to your taste."