With a turn of the latch, Gavin opened the door. Henry stood behind Mrs. Edson, his expression grim. He stepped forward into the chamber.
“Mrs. Edson told me you were set upon by thieves last night. Are you well?”
“Well enough,” Gavin replied, slanting his housekeeper a speaking glance.
“I knew you’d want Mr. MacIntyre to be informed.” The matron clipped off the words. “I’m not one to run carrying tales, no matter how exciting.”
“Indeed. It’s one of the qualities I most value in you, Mrs. Edson.”
The housekeeper’s gaze lit on Sophie. Mrs. Edson held her features firm, though her mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile and had thought better of it. Just as he thought, Sophie’s telltale blush laid waste to any attempt at discretion.
“Might I bring tea and biscuits?”
“No, thank you. That will be all for now.”
The matron went on her way, closing the door behind her. Gavin spoke a few words of introduction. All the while, Henry eyed Sophie as if she were Delilah, come to call with shears in hand. Damned odd, given the man had seemed ready to charge to her defense just two nights earlier.
“Sophie Devereaux.” Henry uttered her name as if it were an epithet. “Have you taken it upon yourself to enlighten Professor Stanwyck as to the truth? Or should I?”
Perched on the settee, Sophie curled her fingertips into the arm of the piece. Her complexion blanched as her mouth thinned to a seam. Henry’s tone was unacceptable. He had no call to unsettle her.
He turned to his assistant. “Blast it, Henry, what’s got into you? I’ll ask you not to speak to the lady in that manner.”
“I see she hasn’t told you.”
“Told me what?”
Henry marched to the settee, glaring down at her. “Are you going to tell him the truth, or should I have that honor?”
What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? Gavin clamped a hand over the younger man’s arm. “Have you gone mad? Move away from the lady.”
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but Henry cut her off. “He deserves the truth. Because of you, he was nearly killed. He deserves to know—”
Gavin dug his fingers into his assistant’s lapels and pulled him roughly aside. “I will not tolerate such boorishness in a lady’s presence. Especially from you.”
“Lady?” Henry’s brows rose. “I do not know if that description applies.”
Bugger it, he’d gone too far. Had the man been drinking so early in the morning? Gavin reined in an impulse to plow his fist into Henry’s reddened face.
Sophie’s hand upon his forearm calmed him. “There is no need for violence. I should go.”
“Tell him, Miss Devereaux.” The anger in Henry’s voice had dimmed. “Or should I call you Miss Adams?”
Sophie went very still. The look in her eyes seemed a confession.
He gave his assistant a shake, as if that would tamp down the anger in his eyes. “Enough, Henry.”
“She is known to her readers as S. Adams.”
“S. Adams? God above, Henry, I am the one who was drugged last night. And yet you’re barging in here spouting drivel about false identities. What’s come over you?”
Sophie lifted her hand and stepped away. Two arms’ length separated them, as if she’d deliberately put the distance between them as a buffer.
“There is no need to be angry with Mr. MacIntyre.” Her softly spoken words were edged with steel. “He is speaking the truth. S. Adams is an alias, one I’ve used long enough for it to be as comfortable as a long-cherished blanket. Shall we say the public is far more receptive to an exposé if the readers do not know a woman is holding the pen.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophie faced the men with her chin held high, her spine stiff as a washerwoman’s board. It wouldn’t do to reveal that her nerves had nearly gotten the better of her. The accusation in Henry’s eyes had set her pulse racing, until he’d spoken the name she used as a byline. It was bad enough he’d learned she was a reporter. Thank heavens he had not gained knowledge of her mission, of her role within the Colton Agency.
