A Lady of Expectations

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 handed 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 say, 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?”

“Just tell her you’re taking her to meet her most ardent admirer. Don’t tell her my name-I want to surprise her. Women like the romantic touch.” Gurnard smiled and waved a languid hand. “Dare say you haven’t noticed, but your sister and I are deeply in love. You needn’t fear I’ll take advantage. But with all the attention that’s focused on her we’ve found it hard to find the time to talk, to get to know each other as we’d like.”

Concluding that the captain was the sort of gentleman he should hand over to higher authorities, Toby slowly nodded. “All right,” he agreed, his tone bland. He shrugged. “If you’ll be happy with that instead of the money…?”

“Definitely,” Gurnard replied, his eyes suddenly gleaming. “Ten minutes alone with your sister will be ample recompense.”

“Toby, is anything wrong?”

Bringing up the rear as his exuberant siblings tumbled back into the house after their morning ride, Toby jumped and cast a startled glance at Sophie. Seeing the conjecture in her cousin’s open face, she nodded.

“I thought so.” With a glance at the horde disappearing up the stairs, Clarissa trailing absent-mindedly behind, she linked her arm with Toby’s. “Come into your father’s study and tell me all.”

“It’s nothing really dreadful,” Toby hurried to assure her as they crossed the threshold of his father’s sanctum.

“Then there’s probably no reason for you to be so worried about it,” Sophie returned. Sinking into one of the armchairs by the hearth, she fixed Toby with a commanding if affectionate eye. “Open your budget, my dear, for I really can’t let this go on. Doubtless I’m imagining all sorts of unlikely horrors; I’m sure you can set my mind at rest.”

Toby grimaced at her, too used to Lucilla to take offence. He fell to pacing before the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s that bounder Gurnard.”

“Bounder?” Sophie looked her surprise. “I know Ned’s been calling him that for ages, but I thought that was just Ned.”

“So did I-but now I know better. Dashed if Ned wasn’t right.”

Sophie looked pensive, then cast a glance up at Toby. “I’ve just remembered. Your mother said she didn’t trust the man, and Clarissa agreed.”

“Did she?” Toby brightened. “Well, that makes it easier, then.”

“Makes what easier?” Sophie stared at Toby, consternation in her eyes. “Tobias Webb, just what is going on?”

“No need to get into a flap. At least, not yet.”

When Toby said no more but continued to pace the hearthrug, Sophie straightened her shoulders. “Toby, if you don’t tell me what this is all about immediately, I’ll feel honour bound to speak to your mother.”

Toby halted, his expression horrified. “Saints preserve us all,” he said. And proceeded to tell Sophie the story.

“That’s iniquitous!” Sophie was incensed. “The man’s worse than a mere bounder.”

“Undoubtedly. He’s a dangerous bounder. That’s why I want to wait until Papa gets back to lay this before him. I think it would be best for all concerned if Gurnard is stopped once and for all.”

“Unquestionably,” Sophie agreed. After a moment, she added, “I don’t think it would serve any purpose to tell Clarissa. She doesn’t like the man as it is; I can’t see her doing anything rash.”

Toby nodded.

“And I really don’t think telling your mama would be a good idea.”

“Definitely not.” Toby shuddered at the thought.

“I suppose,” Sophie suggested. “We could seek professional assistance.”

“The Runners? And risk a brouhaha like they made over Lady Ashbourne’s emeralds?” Toby shook his head. “That’s not a decision I’d like to make.”

“Quite,” Sophie agreed. “Still, at least we know Gurnard’s unlikely to make a move before the gala.”

“Precisely.” Toby’s blue gaze rested consideringly on Sophie. “All we really need do is hold the fort until then.”

AN HOUR LATER, Jack sat in his chair in his parlour in Upper Brook Street, the table before him spread for an early luncheon, and attacked the slices of sirloin on his plate with an air of disgruntled gloom. “Permit me to warn you, brother mine, that this wooing business is definitely plaguesome.”

Harry, who had looked in on his way down to the country, raised an amused brow. “You’ve only just discovered that?”

“I cannot recall having wooed a lady-nor any other kind of female-before.” Jack scowled at a dish of roast potatoes, then viciously skewered one.

“I take it all is not proceeding smoothly?”

For a full minute, Jack wrestled with a conscience that decreed that all matters between a lady and a gentleman were sacrosant, then yielded to temptation. “The damned woman’s being noble,” he growled. “She’s convinced herself that I really need to marry an heiress and is determined not to ruin my life by allowing me to marry her.”

Harry choked on his ale. Jack rose to come around the table and thump his back but Harry waved him away. “Well,” he said, still breathless, “that was the impression you wanted to give, remember.”

“That was then, this is now,” Jack answered with unshakeable logic. “Besides, I don’t care what the ton thinks. My only concern is what goes on in one particular golden head.”

“So tell her.”

“I’ve already told her I’m as rich as Croesus, but the witless woman doesn’t believe me.”

“Doesn’t believe you?” Harry stated. “But why would you lie about something like that?”

Jack’s expression was disgusted. “Well might you ask. As far as I can make out, she thinks I’m the sort of romantic who would marry a ‘lady of expectations’-her words-and then valiantly conceal the fact we were living on tick.”

Harry grinned. He reached for the ale jug. “And if things had been different? If we hadn’t been favoured by fortune and you’d met her-what then? Would you have politely nodded and moved on, looking for an heiress, or would you do as she suspects and conceal the reckoning?”

Jack shot him a malevolent glance. “The subject doesn’t arise, thank God.”

When Harry’s grin broadened into a smile, Jack scowled. “Instead of considering hypothetical situations, why don’t you turn that fertile brain of yours to some purpose and think of a way to convince her of our wealth?”

“Try a little harder,” Harry offered. “Be your persuasive best.”

Jack grimaced. “Can’t be done that way; believe me, I’ve tried.” He had, too-twice. But each time he resurrected the subject, Sophie turned huge eyes full of silent reproach upon him. Combined with a brittlely fragile air, such defences were more than enough to defeat him.

“I need someone to vouch for me, someone she’ll believe. Which means I have to wait until her uncle returns to town. He’s off looking over the Indies Corporation’s next venture at Southampton. The damnable situation is that no one has any idea of when he’ll be back.”

Viewing his brother’s exasperated expression, evoked, so it seemed, by the prospect of having to wait a few days to make a certain lady his, Harry raised a laconic brow. Everything he had heard thus far suggested that Jack was poised to take the final momentous step into parson’s mousetrap and, amazing though it seemed, he would have a smile on his face when he did so. Love, as Harry well knew, was a force powerful enough to twist men’s minds in the most unexpected ways. He just hoped it wasn’t contagious.

The sound of the knocker on the door being plied with determined force disrupted their peace.

Jack looked up.

Voices sounded in the hall, then the door opened and Toby entered. He glanced at Jack, then, noticing Harry, nodded politely. As the door shut behind him, Toby turned to Jack. “I apologize for the intrusion, but something’s come up and I’d like your opinion on the matter. But if you’re busy I can come back later.”

“No matter.” Harry made to rise. “I can leave if you’d rather speak privately.”

Jack raised a brow at Toby. “Can you speak before Harry?”

Toby hesitated for only an instant. Jack had spent all the Season at Sophie’s feet, concentrating on nothing beyond Sophie and her court. Harry Lester, on the other hand, was by reputation as much of a hellion as Jack had been and had not shared his brother’s affliction. Toby’s gaze swung to Harry. “The matter concerns a Captain Gurnard.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Captain Terrence Gurnard?” The words sounded peculiarly flat and distinctly lethal. When Toby nodded, Harry settled back into his seat. “What, exactly, is that bounder up to?”

Jack waved Toby to a seat. “Have you eaten?” When Toby shook his head, his eyes going to the half-filled platters still on the table, Jack rang for Pinkerton. “You can eat while you fill us in. I take it the problem’s not urgent?”

“Not that urgent, no.”

While he fortified himself, Toby recounted his outings with Gurnard and the ultimate offer to discount his losses against an arranged clandestine meeting with Clarissa.

“So you won for the first two nights but lost heavily on the third?”

Toby nodded at Harry. “He was setting me up, wasn’t he?”

“It certainly sounds like it.”

Jack glanced at his brother. “I’ve not heard much of Gurnard-what’s the story?”

“That, I suspect, is a matter that’s exercising the minds of quite a few of the man’s creditors.” Harry took a long sip of his ale. “There are disquieting rumours doing the rounds about the dear captain. Word has it he’s virtually rolled up. Fell in with Duggan and crew. A bad lot,” Harry added in an aside to Toby. “But the last I heard, he’d been unwise enough to sit down with Melcham.”

“Melcham?” Jack tapped a fingernail against his ale mug. “So Gurnard’s very likely up to his eyebrows in debt.”

Harry nodded. “Very possibly over his head. And if Melcham holds his vowels, as seems very likely, his future doesn’t look promising.”

“Who’s Melcham?” Toby asked.

“Melcham,” Jack said, “is quite a character. His father was a gamester-ran through the family fortune, quite a considerable one as it happened, then died, leaving his son nothing but debts. The present earl, however, is cut from a different cloth than that used to fashion his sire. He set out to regain his fortune by winning it back from those who had won it from his father. Them and their kind, which is to say the sharps who prey on the susceptible. And he wins. Virtually always.”

“The sharps can’t resist the challenge,” Harry added. “They line up to be fleeced, knowing Melcham’s now worth a not-so-small fortune. The catch is that he’s also won a lot of powerful friends-and paying one’s debts is mandatory.”

“In other words,” Jack summed up, straightening in his chair, “Gurnard is in a lot of trouble. And once the news gets out, he’ll no longer be the sort of escort wise mamas view with equanimity.”

“But not yet,” Harry said. “The news hasn’t hit the clubs. That was privileged information, courtesy of some friends in the Guards.”

Jack nodded. “All right. So Gurnard has decided that the most sensible way to get himself out of the hole he has nearly buried himself in is to marry an heiress-a very wealthy heiress.”

“Clarissa?” asked Toby.

“So it appears.” Jack’s expression was as grim as Harry’s. “And time is not on his side. He’ll have to secure his heiress before his pressing concerns become public knowledge.” Jack turned to Toby. “Exactly how did he want this meeting arranged?”

Toby had started to repeat the directions Gurnard had been at pains to impress upon him when the door opened and Ned walked in. Toby broke off in midsentence. Ned’s amiable smile faded as he took in Toby’s expression and Harry’s grim face. He looked at Jack.

Jack smiled, a predatory glint in his eye. “What did Jackson say today?”

Drawing a chair up to the table, Ned dropped into it. “I have to work on my right hook. The left jab’s coming along well enough.” Ever since Jack had introduced him to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, Ned had been taking lessons, having uncovered a real aptitude for the sport. His eyes slid around the table once more.

“Excellent.” Jack’s gaze was distant, as if viewing some invisible vista. Then he abruptly refocused on Ned. “Strangely, I believe we may have found a use for your newly discovered talents.”

“Oh?” Jack’s smile was making Ned uneasy.

The smile grew broader. “You want to consolidate your position in Clarissa’s affections, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Ned admitted, somewhat cautiously.

“Well, I’m pleased to announce that a situation has arisen which calls for a knight-errant to rescue a fair damsel from the unwanted attentions of a dastardly knave. And as the fair damsel is Clarissa, I suspect you had better polish up your armour.”

“What!”

It took another ten minutes to explain all to Ned’s satisfaction and by then Jack had been sidetracked. “You told all this to Sophie?” he asked, fixing Toby with a disbelieving stare.

Toby looked guilty. “I couldn’t avoid it-she threatened to speak to Mama.”

Jack looked disgusted. “Meddlesome female,” he growled, and he didn’t mean Lucilla.

“I pointed out that we needn’t worry until the gala. If Papa returns before that, there’ll be no reason for Sophie to worry at all.”

Jack nodded. “Well, don’t tell her anything more. We can take care of it-and the fewer complications the better.”

Toby nodded, entirely in agreement.

“But how, exactly, are we to take care of it?” Ned’s expression was grimly determined.

Succinctly, assisted by helpful suggestions from his inventive brother, Jack laid their campaign before them.

By the time he’d finished, even Ned was smiling.

“ARGH!” Jack stretched his arms above his head, then relaxed into his chair. “At last I think I see the light.”

Harry grinned. “Think Ned can pull it off?”

The brothers were once more alone, Ned and Toby having taken themselves off with some vague intention of keeping a watchful eye on Clarissa during her afternoon’s promenade in the Park.

“Think?” Jack replied. “I know it! This performance should land Clarissa firmly in his arms, relieving Sophie of further anxiety on the point and myself of the charge of overseeing that youthful romance once and for all.”

“Has it been such a burden?” Harry drained his tankard.

“Not a burden, precisely. But it hurts to watch one of us succumb so young.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, at least neither of us fell young, and I don’t think you need worry about Gerald.”

“Thank God. At least I have the excuse of being the head of the family-it’s expected, after all.”

“Rationalize it any way you want, brother mine; I know the truth.”

Jack’s blue eyes met Harry’s green ones across the width of the table. Their gazes locked, then Jack sighed. “Well, at least with Ned safely settled, I’ll be able to give my full attention to a certain golden head. And with Horatio Webb’s help, I’ll conquer her stubbornness.”

“Let me be the first to wish you happy.”

Jack glanced at Harry and realized his brother was serious. He smiled. “Why thank you, brother mine.”

“And I’ll give you a warning, too.”

“Oh?”

“The news is out.”

Jack grimaced. “Are you sure?”

“Put it this way.” Harry set his tankard down. “I was at Lady Bromford’s affair last night, and lo and behold, Lady Argyle made a play for me. Not a blush in sight, what’s more. She had her daughter in tow, a chit just out of the schoolroom.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Her ladyship was as clinging as Medusa. Totally unaccountable, unless she’d heard rather more than a whisper of our affairs.”

“And if she’s heard, others will, too.” Jack grimaced even more.

“Which means it won’t be long before we’re the toast of the tea parties. If I were you, I’d secure your golden head with all speed. An announcement in the Gazette should just be enough to buy your escape. As for myself, I’ve decided to run for cover.”

Jack grinned. “I did wonder over your sudden penchant for the lush green fields.”

“In the circumstances, Newmarket looks considerably safer than London.” Harry’s grin was crooked as he rose. “Given the danger, I feel confident I’ll find enough in the country to keep me amused for the rest of the Season.”

Jack shook his head. “You won’t be able to run forever, you know.”

Harry raised an arrogant brow. “Love,” he declared, “is not about to catch me.” With a last, long look, he turned to the door. His hand on the knob, he paused to look back, his grin distinctly wry. “Good luck. Just don’t get so distracted by the excitement at the gala that you forget to keep your back covered. Until your golden head says yes, you’re no safer than I.”

Jack had raised his hand in farewell; now he groaned. “God help me! Just when I thought I was home and hosed.”

HARRY’S DIRE PREDICTION was confirmed that evening at Lady Summerville’s ball. Jack bowed gracefully over her ladyship’s hand, disturbingly aware of the relish in her gimlet gaze. Luckily her duties prohibited her from pursuing him immediately, but her promise to look him up later left little doubt that his news was out. Fully alert, Jack artfully avoided two ostriched-plumed matrons, as imposing as battleships, waiting to ambush him just yards from the ballroom steps. He was congratulating himself on his escape when he walked straight into Lady Middleton’s clutches.

“My dear Mr. Lester! I declare, Middleton and I have not seen much of you this year.”

Biting back the retort that, if he had had his eyes about him, her ladyship would have seen even less of him, Jack bowed resignedly. On straightening, he was subjected to the scrutiny of her ladyship’s protuberant eyes, grotesquely magnified by lorgnettes deployed like gunsights. “Indeed, ma’am, I fear I have been greatly occupied thus far this Season.”

“Well! I hope you’re not going to be too occupied to attend my niece’s coming-out ball. She’s a sweet thing and will make some gentleman an unexceptionable wife. Your Aunt Harriet was particularly fond of her, y’know.” This last was accompanied by a pointed glance. Jack looked politely impressed. Her ladyship nodded, apparently satisfied. “Middleton and I will expect you.”

With a snap, she shut her lorgnettes and used them to tap him on the sleeve.

Choosing to interpret this as a dismissal, Jack bowed and slid into the crowd. It was, indeed, as Harry had foreseen; despite his efforts to make his intentions crystal clear, he was not yet safe. Doubtless, nothing less than the announcement of his betrothal would convince the matchmaking mamas that he had passed beyond their reach. Yet another good reason to add to the increasingly impressive tally indicating that the speedy curtailment of Miss Sophia Winterton’s Season was a highly desirable goal.

Looking about him, he spotted his quarry, elegant as ever in a gown of pale green figured silk, her curls glowing warmly in the candlelight. His height was both advantage and disadvantage, allowing him to scan the crowds but making him far too conspicuous a target. By dint of some rapid tacking by way of evasive action, he gained Sophie’s side without further difficulty.

As always, his appearance coincided with a thinning of the ranks about her. Sophie no longer noticed. She gave him her hand and a warmly welcoming smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lester.”

“Actually,” Jack said, straightening and scanning their surroundings. “It probably isn’t.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sophie stared at him.

“As an evening, I’ve probably faced better,” Jack replied, tucking her hand into his arm. “Ruthven, Hollingsworth-I’m sure you’ll excuse us.” With a nod for those two gentlemen, Jack led Sophie into the crowd.

Hearing Lord Ruthven chuckle, Sophie glanced back to see his lordship explaining something to a puzzled Mr. Hollingsworth. “What is it?” she asked, looking up at Jack.

“I’ve been pegged up for target practice.”

“Whatever do you…” Sophie’s words trailed away as she noticed the simpering glances thrown Jack’s way-mostly by debutantes who, two days ago, would certainly not have dared. She shot a suspicious glance at Jack. “You’ve put the story of your fortune about?”

Under his breath, Jack growled. “No, Sophie. I have not put the news about. It got out-doubtless from the other investors involved in the Indies Corporation.” He cast an exasperated glance down at her. His temper was not improved by the wary frown he saw in her eyes. “Devil take it, woman!” he growled. “No rake in his right mind, having declared his intention to wed, would then call the dragons down on his head by inventing a fortune.”

Sophie swallowed her giggle. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way.”

“Well, do,” Jack advised. “It’s the truth-and you’re not going to escape it. And speaking of escape, I do hope you realize that, until your uncle returns and our betrothal can be announced, I expect you to assist my cause.”

“In what way?” Sophie asked.

“By lending me your protection.”

Sophie laughed, but the smile was soon wiped from her face. A succession of cloying encounters set her teeth on edge; some of the warm hints directed at Jack left her positively nauseous. Somehow, he managed to keep a polite expression on his face and, by dint of his quick wits and ever-ready tongue, extricated himself from the ladies’ clutches. She admired his address, and was more than ready to acquiesce to his unvoiced plea. She remained fixed by his side, anchored by his hand on his sleeve, and defied all attempts to remove her. That she managed to do so while restraining her comments to the realms of the acceptable was, she felt, no reflection on the provocation provided. Indeed, on more than one occasion she found herself blushing for her sex. Miss Billingham proved the last straw.

“My mama was quite bowled over to hear of your windfall, sir,” she declared, batting her sparse lashes and simpering. “In light of our time spent together at Mrs. Webb’s house party, she has charged me to ask you to call. Indeed,” she went on, dropping her coy smile long enough to shoot a venomous glance at Sophie, “Mama is very keen to speak to you immediately.” Greatly daring, Miss Billingham placed her hands about Jack’s arm and smiled acidly at Sophie. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Winterton?”

Sophie stiffened, then smiled sweetly back. “I greatly fear, Miss Billingham,” she said, before Jack would speak, “that I cannot release Mr. Lester. There’s a waltz starting up.” With calculated charm, Sophie smiled dazzlingly up at Jack. “Our waltz, I believe, Jack.”

Jack’s slow smile was triumphant. “Our waltz, dear Sophie.”

They left Miss Billingham, open-mouthed, staring after them.

Sophie was seething as they took to the floor. “How dare she? How can they? They’re all quite shameless. I thought it was only rakes who were so.”

Jack chuckled and drew her closer. “Hush, my sweet Sophie.” When she glared in reply, her full breasts swelling with indignation, he brushed a most reprehensible kiss across her curls. “It doesn’t matter. You’re mine-and I’m yours. When your uncle returns, we can tell the world.”

Sophie took comfort in the warmth of his gaze, and in the delight she saw behind it. Did he really find it so surprising that she would fly to his aid?

Whatever the case, she thought, as she felt the waltz, and him, weave their accustomed magic, Horatio had better return soon. In such difficult circumstances, there was no telling what scandalous declaration she might feel obliged to make.