“No.” This time, Sophie got the intonation right. But her eyes closed and her fingers sank into Jack’s shoulders as he continued to caress her.
“But yes, sweet Sophie,” Jack whispered in her ear. “Unless you can give me a good reason why not.”
Sophie knew there had to be hundreds of reasons—but she could think of only one. The one he wanted to hear. She opened her eyes and found his face. She tried to glare. His fingers shifted beneath her bodice; Sophie sucked in a breath. She didn’t have the courage to call his bluff. He probably wasn’t bluffing. “All right,” she said and felt his fingers still. She leaned against him, seeking his strength as she sought for her words. “I told you I’m a lady of expectations, nothing more,” she began.
“And I’ve told you that doesn’t matter.”
“But it does.” Sophie glanced up, into the warm blue eyes so close to hers. She put all the pleading sincerity she could into her eyes, her voice. “Your dreams are mine: a home, a family, estates to look after. But they’ll remain nothing but dreams if you don’t marry well. You know that.”
She saw his face still, his expression sober. Sophie clung to him and willed him to understand.
Her heart was in her eyes, there for Jack to see. He drank in the sight, then closed his eyes against the pain behind. He dropped his forehead to hers and groaned. “Sophie, you have my heartfelt apologies.”
Sophie felt like sagging—with relief or was it defeat?
“I should have told you long ago.” Jack pressed a soft kiss against her temple, hugging her to him.
Sophie frowned and pushed back to look up at him. “Told me what?”
Jack smiled crookedly. “That I’m horrendously wealthy—disgustingly rich.”
Sophie’s face crumpled; her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jack,” she finally got out around the constriction in her throat. “Don’t.” Abruptly, she buried her face in his shoulder.
It was Jack’s turn to frown and try to hold her away. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t lie,” Sophie mumbled against his coat.
Jack stiffened. Thunderstruck, he stared down at the woman in his arms. “Sophie, I’m not lying.”
She looked up, her eyes swimming, softly blue, her lips lifting in a heart-rending smile. She raised a hand to his face. “It’s no use, Jack. We both know the truth.”
“No, we do not.” Jack withdrew his hand from her breast and caught her hand, holding it tightly. “Sophie, I swear I’m rich.” When she simply smiled, mistily disbelieving, he swore. “Very well. We’ll go and ask your aunt.”
The look Sophie sent him made Jack grimace. “All right, not Lucilla. Horatio, then. I assume you’ll accept your uncle’s word on my finances?”
Surprised, Sophie frowned. Horatio, she well knew, was a man of his word. Not even for love would he so much as bend the truth. And Jack was suggesting Horatio would bear out his claims. “But my uncle’s just left. We don’t know when he’ll return.”
Jack swore some more, distinctly colourfully. He considered his options, but the only others who knew of his recent windfall were relatives, friends or employees, none of whom Sophie would believe. “Very well.” Grimly, he surveyed Sophie’s doubting expression. “We’ll wait until he returns.”
Her mind reeling, Sophie nodded, struggling to see her way forward. She glanced down, and blushed rosily. Tugging her fingers from Jack’s clasp, she drew back enough to do up the buttons of her gown. Whatever the truth, she would have to keep Jack at arm’s length until Horatio returned—or it wouldn’t matter what her uncle said.
“Sophie?” Jack sensed her withdrawal. He had half a mind to draw her back to him, back into his arms where she belonged.
From under her lashes, Sophie glanced up at him almost guiltily. “Ah, yes.” She tried to step back but Jack’s arm was firm about her waist. “Now, Jack,” she protested, as she felt his arm tighten. She braced her hands against his chest. “We’ve agreed, have we not?” The light in his eyes left her breathless. “We’ll wait until my uncle returns.”
Jack’s blue eyes narrowed. “Sophie …” His gaze met hers, full of breathless anticipation, yet, for all that, quite determined. Jack heaved a disgusted sigh. “Very well,” he bit out. “But only until your uncle returns—agreed?”
Sophie hesitated, then nodded.
“And you’ll marry me three weeks after that.”
It was not a question; Sophie only just stopped her nod.
“And furthermore,” Jack continued, his blue gaze holding hers, “if I’m to toe the line until your uncle gets back, then so shall you.”
“Me?”
“No more flirting with your suitors—other than me.”
“I do not flirt.” With an offended air, Sophie drew back.
“And no more waltzing with anyone but me.”
“That’s outrageous!” Sophie disengaged from Jack’s arms. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know only too well,” Jack growled, letting her go. “Fair’s fair, Sophie. No more going to supper with any gentleman but me—and certainly no driving or going apart with anyone else.”
Smoothing down her skirts, Sophie humphed.
Jack caught her chin on his hand and tipped her head up until her eyes met his. “Are we agreed, Sophie?”
Sophie could feel her pulse racing. Her eyes met his, intensely blue, and she felt like she was drowning. His face, all hard angles and planes, was very near, his lips, hard and finely chiselled, but inches away. “Yes,” she whispered and breathed again when he released her.
With his customary grace, Jack offered her his arm.
Drawing her dignity about her, Sophie picked up her basket and placed her hand on his sleeve. She allowed him to lead her down the steps and back towards the house, all the way struggling to cope with the sensation of being balanced on a knife-edge. Determined to give the reprobate by her side no inkling of her difficulty, she kept her gaze on the scenery and her head very high.
Jack viewed the sight through narrowed eyes. Then he smiled, slowly, and started to plan.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE PARTY broke up the next morning. By then, everyone was aware that something had changed, that Jack stood, in some unspecified way, as Sophie’s protector. Despite her disapproval of his tactics, Sophie could not help feeling grateful, especially when he helped shoulder the responsibility for their return to the capital. Even with Lucilla all but fully recovered, with her uncle absent, she had not been looking forward to travelling with all her cousins, Toby the only adult male in sight.
But by mid-morning, when she emerged from the door of her great-aunt’s home, all was under control. Her younger cousins were to ride as before, much to their delight. With Jack, Toby and Ned to keep them in line, Sophie had no residual qualms. The carriage stood waiting, Clarissa already aboard. Her arms full of rugs and cushions, Sophie glanced back.
Lucilla came slowly through the hall, leaning heavily on Jack’s arm. Although still wan, her aunt showed no signs of faintness. Sophie turned and hurried down the steps to prepare Lucilla’s seat in the carriage.
At the top of the steps, Lucilla paused to breathe in the crisp morning air. Blue skies had returned; fluffy white clouds held no lingering menace. With a small, highly satisfied smile, she glanced at Jack beside her. “I’m very glad you did not disappoint me, Mr. Lester.”
Recalled from his study of Sophie’s curvaceous rear, neatly outlined as she stood on the carriage step and leaned in, Jack looked down at Lucilla, one brow slowly rising. “That was never my intention, ma’am.”
Lucilla’s smile broadened. “I’m so glad,” she said, patting his arm. “Now, if you’ll give me your arm …?”
Jack got his revenge by lifting her easily and carrying her down the steps. As he settled her amid Sophie’s cushions and rugs, Lucilla favoured him with a dignified glare. Then her lips twitched and she lay back on the seat, waving him away.
His own lips curving, Jack hand
ed Sophie up, resisting the temptation to bestow a fond pat on her retreating anatomy. And then they were away.
FIVE NIGHTS LATER, under the glare of the chandeliers in the Duchess of Richmond’s ballroom, Sophie dimly wondered why she had imagined awaiting her uncle’s return in the bosom of the ton would be safer than at Little Bickmanstead. Mere hours had sufficed for Jack to make it patently clear that he had meant every word he had uttered in Great-Aunt Evangeline’s summer-house. Twenty-four hours had been enough for her to realize that, that being so, the possibility of ever denying him receded even further with every successive day.
Casting a glance up at him as he stood, planted immovably by her side, starkly handsome in severe black and white, Sophie stifled a sudden tremor.
Jack caught her glance. He bent his head to hers. “There’s another waltz coming up.”
Sophie shot him a warning glance. “I’ve already danced one waltz with you.”
His rakish grin surfaced. “You’re allowed two dances with any gentleman.”
“But not two waltzes, if I’m wise.”
“Don’t be wise, my Sophie.” His eyes gently teased. “Come dance with me. I promise you no one will remark unduly.”
Resistance, of course, was useless. Sophie allowed him to lead her to the floor, knowing any show of reluctance would be pure hypocrisy. She loved being held in his arms; at the moment, waltzing was the only safe way to indulge her senses.
As they circled the floor, she noted the looks of resignation many of her mother’s old friends turned upon them. In contrast, Lady Drummond-Burrell, that most haughty of Almack’s patronesses, smiled with chilly approval.
“Amazing,” Jack said, indicating her ladyship with an inclination of his head. “Nothing pleases them more than the sight of a fallen rake.”
Sophie tried to frown but failed. “Nonsense,” she said.
“No, it’s not. They’ll all approve once the news gets out.”
Sophie did frown then. Jack had told her how the change in his fortune had come about. “Why hasn’t it got out by now? Presuming it’s real, of course.”
The arm about her tightened, squeezing in warning. “It’s real,” Jack replied. “But I confess I purposely neglected to mention it to anyone.”
“Why?”
“You’ve met the elder Miss Billingham; just imagine her sort, multiplied by at least a hundred, all with yours truly in their sights.”
Sophie giggled. “Surely you weren’t afraid?”
“Afraid?” Jack raised an arrogant brow. “Naturally not. I merely have an innate dislike of tripping over debs at every turn.”
Sophie laughed, the delicious sound teasing Jack’s senses, tightening the tension inside him until it was well-nigh unbearable. He metaphorically gritted his teeth. The wait, he promised himself, would be worth it.
At the end of the dance, he escorted Sophie back to her aunt and took up his position—by her side.
Sophie knew better than to argue. Lord Ruthven stopped by, then Lord Selbourne joined them. With practised ease, Sophie laughed and chatted. While there were many gentlemen who still sought her company, her suitors, not only the three she had already dismissed but all the others who had viewed her with matrimony in mind, rarely hove in sight. Jack’s presence, large and dark by her shoulder, was more than enough to make them think twice. Their rides in the Park every morning continued, but with Jack by her side, she found herself blissfully free of encumbrances. It was impossible to misinterpret his interest; as he was so tall, whenever he spoke with her, he bent his head to hers, and she, motivated by her instincts, naturally turned into his strength, reinforcing the image that they were one, wanting only the official announcement. Horatio’s absence explained their present hiatus; none doubted the announcement would eventually come, as her mother’s old friends’ attitudes clearly showed.
She was his, and every passing day made her more aware of that truth. And that much more nervous of her uncle’s return. She still doubted Jack’s story; she had seen the passion in him and knew his love to be strong enough to motivate the most enormous lie. Regardless of what he said, it was possible. Only Horatio could lay her doubts to rest—and none knew when he would return.
With an inward sigh, Sophie mentally girded her loins. She glanced across at Clarissa, holding court on the other side of her aunt’s chaise. Her cousin looked radiant, charming her many youthful swains yet, as Sophie had noticed, careful to give none any particular encouragement. Beside her, Ned occupied a position that had much in common with Jack’s. Sophie’s lips twitched; she returned her gaze to Lord Selbourne. There was a light in Ned’s eyes that she did not think Clarissa had yet noticed.
Ned, in fact, was almost as impatient as Jack. But both his and Clarissa’s parents had agreed that no formal offer should be considered until after Clarissa’s Season. Which meant he had a far longer wait ahead of him; and, to his mind, far less assurance of gaining the prize at the end.
Which left him feeling distinctly uneasy. His silver princess still smiled on her court; he had even heard her laugh with that bounder Gurnard.
“This wooing business seems to drag on forever,” he later grumbled to Jack as they both kept watch over their ladies, presently gracing the floor in other men’s arms.
Jack shot him a sympathetic glance. “As you say.” After a moment, he continued, “Has Clarissa let slip any information as to when they might retire to Leicestershire?”
“No,” Ned replied. He cast a puzzled glance at Jack. “But I thought they were staying until the end of the Season. That’s more than a month away, isn’t it?”
Jack nodded. “Just a thought.” As Sophie whirled past in Ruthven’s arms, Jack’s easy expression hardened. “As you say, this business of wooing is an ordeal to be endured.”
While Jack, Ned and the ladies of his family were thus engaged, Toby had embarked on amusement of a different kind. At that moment, he was strolling along the pavement of Pall Mall, along the stretch which housed the most notorious gaming hells in town, in company with Captain Terrence Gurnard.
The captain stopped outside a plain brown door. “This is the place. A snug little hell—very exclusive.”
Toby smiled amiably and waited while the captain knocked. After a low-voiced conversation with the guardian of the portal, conducted through a grille in the door, they were admitted and shown into a sizeable room, dimly lit except for the shaded lamps which shed their glow onto the tables. There were perhaps twenty gentlemen present; few raised their heads as Toby followed Gurnard across the room.
With his usual air of interested enquiry, Toby glanced about him, taking in the expressions of grim determination with which many of the gentlemen applied themselves to their cards and dice. There was a large table devoted to Hazard, another to Faro. Smaller tables attested to the hell’s reputation for variety; there were even two older gentlemen engaged in a hand of Piquet.
This was the third night Toby had spent with Gurnard, and the third hell they had visited. He was, as usual, following one of his father’s maxims, that which declared that experience was the best teacher. After tonight, Toby felt, he would have learned all he needed of gaming hells. His real interest tonight lay in the play. Gurnard had allowed him to win for the past two nights; Toby had begun to suspect the captain’s motives.
Initially, Gurnard had brushed against him with apparently no particular intent; they had subsequently struck up an acquaintance. It was after their sojourn at Little Bickmanstead that the captain had sought him out and, being apparently at a loose end, had offered to show him the sights. Toby had accepted the offer readily; he had not previously spent much time in the capital.
Now, however, he wondered whether the captain had taken him for a flat.
By the end of the evening, which Toby promptly declared once his losses had, almost mysteriously, overtaken his current allowance, he was quite sure the captain had done just that. Comforting himself with the reflection that, as his father was wont to sa
y, there was no harm in making mistakes just as long as one didn’t make the same mistake twice, he frowned slightly as he looked across at Gurnard. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet that last vowel until the pater returns to town—but he should be back any day.”
He hadn’t expected to outrun his ready funds. However, as his father had settled a considerable sum on him two years before, and managed it for him under his direction the better to teach him the ways of finance, Toby had no real qualms about asking Horatio for an advance. “I’ll speak to him as soon as he returns.”
Gurnard sat back, his face flushed with success and the wine he had steadily consumed. “Oh, you don’t want to do that.” He held up his hand in a fencer’s gesture. “Never let it be said that I caused father and son to fall out over the simple matter of a few crowns.”
Toby could have set him straight—he fully expected his father to have a good laugh over his adventure—but some sixth sense made him hold back. “Oh?” he said guilelessly. There were rather more than “a few crowns” involved.
Gurnard frowned, his face a mask of concentration. “Perhaps there’s some way you can repay the debt without having to apply to your pater?”
“Such as?” Toby asked, a chill stealing down his back.
Gurnard looked ingenuous. He frowned into space. Then his face cleared. “Well, I know I’d count it a blessing to have a few minutes alone with your sister.”
He leant across the table and, with just the slightest hesitation, conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Your sister mentioned that your party are planning to attend the gala at Vauxhall. Perhaps, in repayment of your debt, you could arrange for me to meet with her in the Temple of Diana—just while the fireworks are on. I’ll return her to you when the show’s over, and no one will be any the wiser.”
Not only a flat—a foolish flat. Toby hid his reaction behind a vacant expression. The poor light concealed the steely glint in his eyes. “But how will I get Clarissa to agree?”
A Lady of Expectations Page 24
