A Lady of Expectations

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GALA NIGHT AT VAUXHALL was a treat few among the ton cared to miss. With their party, swollen by the presence of Jeremy and Gerald, who had been included by special dispensation, Sophie strolled beside Jack down the Grand Walk. She saw many familiar faces, all bright with expectation of the night’s revelries. None were as bright as hers.

She glanced up at Jack and smiled, feeling her brittle tension tighten. Horatio was due back tonight; her uncle had sent word that despite the business that had delayed him, he would return this evening to join them at the Gardens. Jack smiled back, his hand warm over hers where it rested on his sleeve. He said nothing, but the expression in his eyes left her in no doubt of his thoughts.

Determined at least to appear calm, Sophie gave her attention to their surroundings, duly exclaiming at the brightly lit colonnade, which had been added since her last visit. Jeremy and George, and, to a lesser extent, Toby, Ned and Clarissa, looked about with avid interest, speculating on the age of the elms lining the gravelled promenade and eyeing the dense shrubbery separating the walks.

“I think the booth your uncle has rented is this way.”

Jack steered her to the right of the section of promenade known as the Grove. Toby followed with Lucilla on his arm, Ned and Clarissa behind with the two boys bringing up the rear. In the centre of the Grove, a small orchestra was setting up. Arranged about the perimeter were a large number of wooden booths, many already filled with patrons come to enjoy the night’s entertainments.

Their booth proved to have an excellent view of the orchestra.

“Ah, yes.” Lucilla settled herself on a chair by the wide front window. “A most satisfactory location. From here, one can see almost everything.”

Sophie noticed her aunt’s gaze was not on the musicians. Indeed, it seemed as if all of fashionable London were a part of the passing scene. Gentlemen and ladies of all degrees strolled upon the paths; many stopped to exchange pleasantries with her aunt before moving on. Then there were the bucks and their ladybirds, the bright lights of the demi-monde. Sophie found herself fascinated by one particular redhead-or rather her gown, a wispy concoction of silk and feathers that barely concealed her charms. Until she noticed the interest the lady evinced in return, and realized it was not for her. A frown threatening, Sophie glanced at her companion-the focus of the red-head’s attention-only to find he was watching her. A slow smile lifted his lips; one dark brow rose.

Sophie blushed vividly, and pointedly transferred her gaze to the orchestra. As if sensing her need, they promptly laid bow to string, filling the night with their magic. Soon, a bevy of couples was whirling in the light of the Chinese lanterns, suspended high overhead.

Jack rose. “Come,” he said, holding out his hand, a smile and an invitation in his eyes. “No one counts the dances at Vauxhall.”

For an instant, Sophie met his gaze. Then, with a calm decisiveness that surprised even her, she lifted her chin and put her hand in his. “How accommodating.”

Her uncle had better arrive soon; she couldn’t bear to wait much longer.

Luckily, Jack proved most efficient at distracting her, until her mind was filled with nothing beyond thoughts of him, of his teasing smile and the beckoning warmth behind his blue eyes. He danced with her twice, then relinquished her to Ned, who in turn passed her to Toby before Jack once more drew her into his arms.

Sophie laughed. “I find myself quite breathless, sir.”

Jack smiled down at her, a slow crooked smile. “Jack,” he said.

Sophie looked into his eyes; her breath vanished altogether. “Jack,” she whispered, letting her lashes fall.

Jack’s arm tightened about her; he swept her into the waltz.

Supper was provided in the booth, laid out on a narrow trestle table at the rear, along with a jug of lemonade and another of the famous Vauxhall punch. When they lifted the linen cloths from the dishes, they found delicate cucumber sandwiches, a selection of pastries and a large platter of the fabled wafer-thin ham.

“Exactly as I recall,” Lucilla declared, holding up one near-transparent slice. She looked at Sophie. “When your mother and I were debs, we were always famished after a night at Vauxhall.” Nibbling the ham, she added, “I told Cook to lay out a cold collation for when we get back.”

Jack, Ned and Toby looked relieved.

Somewhere in the gardens, a gong clanged. The music had stopped some minutes before and the heavy note vibrated through the twilight.

“Time to view the Grand Spectacle!”

Jeremy’s shout was echoed from all around. There was a surge of bodies as people left their booths to join the throng flocking to where a looming mountain, now brilliantly lit, rose craggily from amidst the otherwise unremarkable landscape. Fifteen minutes were spent in oohing and aahing at the various elements, some mechanical, others purely decorative, artfully placed within the alpine scene. Then the lights were doused. Chattering and exclaiming, the patrons returned to the walks, the booths and the dancing.

The last of their company to return to their booth, Sophie and Jack strolled through the twilight, her hand on his arm. She could feel the tension that gripped him, lending steel to the muscles beneath her fingertips.

“Sophie?”

Wreathed in shadows, Sophie looked up.

Jack stared at the pale oval of her face, the wide eyes and slightly parted lips. For a moment, he was still, then, concealed by the shadows, he bent his head and swiftly kissed her.

Sophie’s lips met his, her heart leaping at the brief caress. Her hands fluttered; her arms ached to hold him.

Jack caught her hands. “Not yet, sweetheart.” His smile was decidedly crooked. “Just pray your uncle’s carriage doesn’t break an axle.”

Sophie sighed feelingly and allowed him to resettle her hand on his sleeve.

Covering her hand with his, Jack gently squeezed her fingers. “We’d better get back to the booth.” As they strolled out of the shadows, he added, “The fireworks come later.”

Puzzled, Sophie looked up. “I hadn’t imagined fireworks to be one of your abiding interests.”

Jack glanced down at her, then his slow, rake’s smile curved his lips. “There are many kinds of fireworks, my dear.”

For an instant, Sophie glimpsed the dark, powerful passions behind his blue eyes. A distinctly delicious sensation slithered down her spine. But further discovery was denied her; they were caught up in the dancers and dragged into the heart of the revels once more.

The orchestra was now accompanied by a vocalist, a tenor whose pure notes drifted high over the booths to disappear into the increasing darkness. Stars speckled the sky as night slowly enfolded the scene. The Chinese lanterns came into their own, shedding their rosy glow over dancers and musicians alike. Laughter and the mellow murmur of conversation, softer now, muted by the effects of good food and fine wines, rippled through the shadows.

Throughout the evening, again and again, Sophie’s eyes met Jack’s. A magical web held them bound; neither was aware of those about them. And what passed between them was magical, too, carried in the weight of shared glances and the lingering touch of lovers’ hands.

Their surroundings were part of the magic. At the conclusion of the musical interlude, the tenor embarked on a solo performance. Breathless, conversing softly, the dancers headed back to their booths. As she strolled on Jack’s arm, Sophie noticed Belle Chessington on the arm of Mr. Somercote-surely a most unlikely Vauxhall patron. Belle waved and smiled hugely, her eyes sparkling. Mr. Somercote, too, smiled broadly, clearly both pleased and proud.

“Well, well,” Jack murmured. “You’ll have to tell your aunt she’s achieved a minor miracle. Somercote’s silence has been tripping the matchmakers up for years. It looks as if he’s finally found his tongue.”

Sophie laughed. “Indeed, you have to admit he won’t need many words, not with Belle on his arm.”

Jack smiled, then looked ahead.

And tensed. Sophie felt it, and followed his gaze to see the rotund figure of her uncle clearly visible in their booth.

“Just in time.” Jack quickened his pace.

As they entered the booth, Lucilla beckoned to Sophie. “Mrs. Chessington just stopped by. Wonder of wonders!”

From the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Jack greet Horatio. They exchanged a few words, Jack very serious, then both turned and left the booth.

Subsiding onto the chair beside her aunt, Sophie forced herself to concentrate enough to follow Lucilla’s discourse. It proved a supremely difficult task. Her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, she was acutely conscious of every little sound, every movement in the booth.

She jumped when the gong rang again.

“The fireworks!”

Once more, the patrons poured from the booths and from the shadowy walks, heading for a small arena surrounded by lawns. Smiling indulgently, Lucilla allowed Jeremy and George to tug her to her feet. Sophie rose uncertainly, glancing about. Ned offered Clarissa his arm; together with Toby they joined the exodus. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

“There you are, m’dear.” Horatio materialized outside the booth. “Come along now or you’ll miss the fun.”

Sophie stared at him, her heart sinking all the way to her slippers. Hadn’t Jack asked? Why wasn’t he here? Did that mean…? Forcing her shaking limbs to function, she picked up her half-cape. Swinging it about her shoulders, she left the booth.

Horatio offered her his arm. They started to stroll slowly in the wake of the others, now far ahead. But instead of joining his family, Horatio stopped in the shadows, well to the rear of the crowd.

“Now, my dear Sophie, I understand you have had some reservations about Jack’s financial situation.”

Slowly, Sophie turned to face her uncle, her heart thudding in her throat. She held herself proudly, a silent prayer on her lips.

Apparently oblivious, Horatio rattled on. “It really was quite remiss of him, I agree. He should have told you much earlier. But you’ll have to excuse him-not but what, with his experience, you might have expected a little more than the usual impulsive rush. But men in love, you know, tend to forget such minor matters as money.” Smiling genially, he patted Sophie’s hand.

Sophie drew in a slow, deep breath. “Uncle, are you telling me that Jack is truly wealthy? That he doesn’t need to marry a rich bride?”

Horatio’s grey eyes twinkled. “Let’s just say that for him, expectations alone will be a more than sufficient dower.”

A golden rocket burst in a flurry of brilliant stars, gilding Sophie’s face. Her eyes shone, reflecting the glory.

“Oh, Uncle!” Sophie flung her arms about Horatio’s neck.

Horatio chuckled and reciprocated her, then gently turned her. “Come, let’s join the festivities.”

Sophie was only too ready to do so. She peered into the darkness, eagerly searching the crowd every time another rocket lit up the scene. They found Lucilla and the boys in the front ranks. The boys pounced on Horatio, bombarding him with questions.

Then a large wheel lit up the night, hissing and spitting as the force of the rockets tied to its spokes whirled it round. In the midst of the crowd, Sophie stood very still, her face slowly draining of expression. The steadier illumination confirmed beyond doubt that Jack, Ned and Toby were not present. Neither was Clarissa.

The memory of Gurnard’s plan rushed into Sophie’s mind, thrusting all other considerations aside. This was the time Toby was to have taken Clarissa to meet the dastardly captain. Yet Ned had been with them-he wouldn’t let any harm come to Clarissa. But where were they? If Jack, Ned and Toby had gone to warn off the captain, where was Clarissa?

Sophie blinked in the glare of a set of coloured flares; elation, guilt and sheer frustration poured through her in a dizzying wave.

Horatio would know. She looked to where her uncle stood, Lucilla beside him, George’s hand in his. Jeremy was throwing questions at his father in a never-ending stream. There was no possibility of speaking to Horatio without alerting Lucilla and, potentially worse, the boys.

Everything was probably all right; Jack would surely have the matter in hand.

But maybe Jack was elsewhere, ignorant of Gurnard’s threat? Perhaps Toby and Ned had decided to handle it on their own? And Clarissa had followed?

Sophie turned and quietly made her way back through the crowd.

The majority of the patrons were viewing the fireworks, leaving the walks sparsely populated. Here and there, a couple or a small group still wandered, having seen the fireworks too many times. But the crush of revellers that had filled the walks earlier had given way to empty shadows.

Just beyond the booths, Sophie slowed. The Dark Walk, with the Temple of Diana, lay furthest afield, the narrowest and most heavily shaded of the Gardens’ promenades. And the most secluded.

Grimacing, Sophie halted. It would be the height of folly to risk the length of the Dark Walk at night, alone. But if she went back up the Grand Wall, wide and well lit, she could take a side path across to the Dark Walk, emerging just a little above the Temple. It was longer, but she was far more certain to reach her goal by that route.

Clutching her cape about her, she turned and hurried up the Grand Walk.

At the Temple of Diana, deep in the shadows of the Dark Walk, Jack waited with Toby, concealed in thick bushes by the temple’s side. A small structure in the Ionic style, the temple was little more than a decorative gazebo. The surrounding bushes had grown close over the years, filling the side arches until the space within resembled a room with green walls.

Jack peered through the shadows. Toby had delivered Clarissa to the temple at the appointed time. Ned had earlier hidden himself on the other side of the main archway, awaiting his moment of glory. Gurnard, however, was late.

The scrunch of heavy footsteps on gravel brought Jack’s head up. Out on the path, the figure of a man came into view, heading purposefully towards the temple. He made no attempt to conceal his approach; a guardsman’s red cape was thrown over one shoulder.

“Here he comes,” hissed Toby.

They waited, frozen in the shadows, as Gurnard climbed the short flight of steps and disappeared into the temple.

“So far so good,” Jack whispered.

Inside the temple, however, all was not going as either they, or Captain Gurnard, had planned.

Clarissa, delivered by a strangely serious Toby to the dim temple with a promise that her most ardent suitor-Ned, of course-would shortly join her, had entered the shadowy hall with high hopes. It was clear that Sophie would shortly receive the offer she desired; Clarissa, having expended considerable effort in encouraging Ned, expected that he would, tonight, at least take a more definite step in his wooing of her. With any luck, he might kiss her. Why else had he asked her here?

As the minutes ticked by, she had fallen to pacing, hands clasped behind her, her brow furrowed as she wondered how fast she could urge things along. A marriage in September, assuming Sophie did not opt for a long betrothal, seemed a distinct possibility.

She had reached this point in her cogitations when firm footsteps approached and ascended to the temple.

Starry-eyed, Clarissa turned.

And beheld the unmistakable outline of Captain Gurnard.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, not the least bit pleased at the prospect of having her tryst with Ned interrupted or-even worse-postponed.

Terrance Gurnard blinked. “Why, I’m here to meet you, my dear.”

“I’m afraid, sir, that my time this evening is spoken for.” If nothing else, Clarissa was Lucilla’s daughter. She delivered the captain’s dismissal with an affronted dignity that would have done justice to royalty.

For a moment, Gurnard was bewildered. Where was the youthful, wide-eyed innocent he had arranged to meet? Then he shook himself. The hoity young miss was just playing hard to get. “Nonsense, my dear,” he purred, advancing on Clarissa. “We all know you’re besotted with me. But fear not, for I’m equally besotted with you.”

Even in the dimness, Gurnard could not misinterpret the icy rigidity that laid hold of Clarissa’s slim frame. She drew herself up and, somehow, succeeded in looking down her nose at him. “My dear Captain, I believe you have lost your wits.” The cool incisiveness in her tone bit deep. “If you will but consider, the notion that I, with suitors such as Mr. Ascombe, could consider you, who have nought but your uniform to commend you, is highly insulting, sir!”

Rocked by the strident vehemence in her tone, Gurnard blinked. Then he sneered. “You were ready enough to encourage me to dangle after you-do you deny it?” Abruptly, he closed the gap between them. He did not have all night to accomplish what he must.

“That was because you were being useful.” Clarissa, her own considerable temper in orbit, continued with undisguised relish, “Useful in ensuring that Mr. Ascombe’s attention did not wander.”

“Useful, was I?” Gurnard ground out. “In that case, my dear, you’ll have to pay the piper.” Roughly, he grasped her arms, intending to pull her to him.

Used to wrestling with her brothers, Clarissa anticipated the move enough to wrench one arm free. “Let me go, sir!”

Her furious shriek jolted Ned from the dazed stupor into which he had fallen. He shot up the steps, only just remembering their plan in time to change his automatic. “Unhand her, you fiend!” to a relatively normal, if slightly strangled, “Clarissa?”

He saw her immediately, one arm held by Gurnard. With an heroic effort, assisted by the calming effects of the cold rage that poured through him, Ned strolled lazily forward. “There you are, m’dear. I apologize for my tardiness, but I was held up.” Commandingly, he held out his hand to Clarissa, his gaze, coldly challenging, fixed on Gurnard’s face.

In order to take her hand, Clarissa chose to use the arm Gurnard was holding. She did so without in any way acknowledging Gurnard’s grasp, much less his presence.

The action snapped Gurnard’s patience. He had no time to play games, nor to brook interference of any sort. He waited until, as Clarissa’s fingers slipped into Ned’s palm, Ned glanced at her. Then he attacked.

And was immediately sent to grass-or marble, as was the case-by a punishing left jab.

In the bushes to the side, Jack allowed the battle-ready tension that had instantly gripped him to fade. “He said his left jab was coming along.”

Inside the temple, Ned frowned, attempting to shield Clarissa from the sight of the captain stretched out on the marble floor. “I’m sorry, Clary. Not the sort of thing one should do in front of a lady, I know. You aren’t feeling faint or anything, are you?”

“Good heavens, no!” Clarissa, eyes alight, both hands clutching one of Ned’s forearms, peered around him at the captain’s prone form. Satisfied that the captain was, at last temporarily, beyond further punishment, she turned her glowing eyes on Ned. “That was marvellous, Ned! How thrillingly heroic. You rescued me!”

And with that, Clarissa promptly hurled herself into her knight errant’s arms.

The watchers in the bushes heard Ned mutter something that sounded like a weak disclaimer but his heart was clearly not in it. Then came silence.

Jack sighed and relaxed, looking up into the night sky, considering, with a certain rakish satisfaction, the prospect of the immediate future. Beside him, Toby shifted restlessly.

Then they heard Ned’s voice, and Clarissa’s replying; the pair turned, still hand in hand, Clarissa’s head against Ned’s shoulder, and made slowly for the steps.

“We’ll follow,” Jack said. “They may be almost betrothed but they’re not betrothed yet.”

They followed Clarissa and Ned at a distance; it was questionable whether either was aware of their presence.

When they reached the booth, it was to find Horatio beaming benevolently, and Ned standing, proud but a trifle hesitant, as Clarissa poured the details of her rescue into her mother’s ear. Jeremy’s and George’s eyes were wide as they drank it all in. Seeing Jack, Lucilla smiled and asked, “Where’s Sophie?”

Ned and Clarissa looked blank.

Toby blinked.

Jack froze-and looked at Horatio.

Suddenly serious, Horatio frowned. “I spoke with her, then we joined Lucilla and the boys. At the end of the fireworks display, Sophie had disappeared. I thought she was with you.”

“She must have gone to the temple,” Toby said, genuinely horrified.

“Gurnard’s still there,” Ned pointed out.

“I’ll find her.” Jack kept his expression impassive, despite the emotions roiling within. He exchanged a look with Horatio, who nodded. Striding to the door, Jack spared a glance for Lucilla. “Don’t worry,” he said. The smile that accompanied the words held a certain grim resolution.

Somewhat subdued, the rest of the party settled to listen to the last of the music.

“You know,” Lucilla murmured as Horatio took the seat beside her. “I’m really not sure we’ve done the right thing.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’m quite sure Sophie can handle Captain Gurnard. But can she handle Jack Lester?”

Horatio smiled and patted her hand. “I’m sure she’ll contrive.”

ON GAINING the Dark Walk, Sophie paused to catch her breath. Peering through the shadows, she could just make out the distant glimmer of the temple’s white pillars, set back in a small grove. The path leading to the water-gate lay nearby; somewhere beyond the temple lay one of the less-used street gates.

Dragging in a deep breath, Sophie quit the shadows. There was no one about. Her soft slippers made little sound on the gravel as she neared the temple steps. Standing at the bottom, she peered in but could see nothing but shadows. Surely Clarissa could not be inside?

For a full minute, she vacillated, then, holding her cape close about her, Sophie mounted the steps. If there was no one inside, it couldn’t hurt to look.

The shadows within enveloped her. Sophie glanced about, then stifled a shriek as a dark shape loomed beside her.

“Well, well, well. Come to look for your cousin, I take it?”

As the shape resolved itself into Captain Gurnard, Sophie gave an almost imperceptible gasp. Straightening, she nodded. “But as she isn’t here-”

“You’ll do just as well.”

The captain wrapped one hand about Sophie’s arm.

Instinctively, she tried to pull away. “Unhand me, sir! What on earth do you believe can come of this?”

“Money, my dear Miss Winterton. Lots of money.”

Sophie remembered his scheme. “You appear to have overlooked something, Captain. I am not an heiress.”

“No,” Gurnard acknowledged. “You’re something even better. You’re the woman Lester’s got his eye on.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sophie carefully tested the captain’s hold.

“It means,” Gurnard sneered, convincing her his grip was unbreakable by shaking her, “that Lester will pay and pay handsomely to have you returned to him. And he’ll pay even more to ensure you’re… unharmed, shall we say?”

Sophie recoiled as Gurnard thrust his face close to hers. “It seems Lester’s windfall is to be my gain.” With an abrupt laugh, he turned and dragged her towards the door. “Come on.”

Dredging up every ounce of her courage, Sophie went rigid and pulled back. Her full weight served only to slow the captain, but it was enough to make him turn with a snarl.

Sophie lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “There is, as I said, something you appear to have overlooked, Captain. I am not going to marry Mr. Lester.”

“Gammon,” said Gurnard, and tugged her on.

“But I’m not!” Sophie placed her free hand over her heart. “I swear on my mother’s grave that Mr. Lester has not asked for my hand.”

“It’s not my fault if he’s backward.” They had almost reached the top of the steps.

Sophie lost her temper. “You imbecile! I’m trying to make it plain to you that I am not going to marry Jack Lester!“

Gurnard stopped and turned to her, fury in every line of his large frame. “You,” he began, pointing a finger at her.

“Should learn to accept Fate graciously.”

There was a split second of silence, then Gurnard turned.

Only to meet a left jab that had a great deal more power behind it than the one he’d met earlier.

The result was the same. The captain’s head hit the marble with a resounding thump.

Sophie glared down at him, prostrate at her feet. “Of all the unmitigated scoundrels,” she began.

Jack shook his head and sighed. “Are you and your cousin so lost to all sensibility that you can’t even swoon at the sight of violence?”

Sophie blinked at him, then humphed. “If you must know, I’m feeling quite violent myself. Did you know he intended to-”

“I heard.” Jack reached for her and drew her to him. “But you don’t need to worry about him any more.”

Sophie readily went into his arms. “But shouldn’t we-”

“It’s already taken care of.” Jack looked down at Gurnard, then prodded him with the toe of his boot. His victim groaned. “I sincerely hope you’re listening, Gurnard, for I’m only going to say this once. I’ve had a word with an acquaintance of mine, the Earl of Melcham. He was most upset to hear of the method you’d selected to raise the wind. He doesn’t approve-not at all. And I’m sure you know what happens to those of whom Melcham disapproves.”

There was a stunned silence, then Gurnard groaned again.

Grimly satisfied, Jack turned Sophie towards the steps. “And now, my dear, I think it’s time we left.” Tucking her hand in his arm, he led her down onto the gravelled walk.

Sophie went readily, her mind seething with questions. “What happened to Clarissa? Did she go to the temple?”

Jack glanced down at her. “She did.”

Sophie glared at him. “What happened?”

Jack smiled and told her, adding that Horatio had approved their scheme. “If Clarissa had simply not shown up, Gurnard would have assumed she’d been prevented from doing so, not that she wouldn’t go to meet him. He’d have tried again to get her alone, and perhaps we wouldn’t have learned of his intentions in time to foil him. It was best to make the situation as clear as possible.”

“But what if he turns to some other young lady?”

“He won’t have time. As of tomorrow, courtesy of Melcham, to whom Gurnard is deeply in debt, the captain will have entirely too much on his mind to think of persuading any other young lady to his rescue.”

Sophie pondered his revelations, her feet following his lead. “So Ned floored the captain?”

“He seems to have floored Clarissa as well.” Jack’s lips curved in fond reminiscence. He slanted a glance at Sophie. “We all thought the opportunity too good to miss to advance Ned’s standing with your cousin.”

For an instant, Sophie stared into his smugly satisfied face. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh, dear. Was that supposed to be Ned’s great scene-so that Clarissa would think him her hero and respond suitably?”

Frowning, Jack nodded.

“Oh, poor Ned.” Sophie could not stop smiling. She glanced confidently up at Jack. “Just for your information, Clarissa settled on Ned some weeks ago, not all that long after we’d come up to town. She’s been trying to nudge him along for the past two weeks at least. I’m not at all surprised to hear she flung herself into his arms. After all, what better opportunity she could hope for?”

Jack looked down at her through narrowed eyes. “Remind me,” he said, “to tell Ned just what he’s getting into, marrying a Webb female.”

Sophie pressed her lips tightly together. When she was sure her voice was under control, she said, “I’m related to the Webbs; does that make me a ‘Webb female’, too?”

Jack’s glance was supercilious. “I haven’t yet decided.”

It was then, when he stood back to usher her through the watergate, that Sophie realized that they had been walking in the wrong direction. A leafy lane stretched before them. Not far ahead, the lane ended by the banks of the Thames. Sophie halted. “Ah… Jack…?”

Jack looked down at her and held out his hand. “Your uncle’s returned. He spoke to you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Eyes wide, Sophie studied his face. “He told me there’s no reason we can’t marry.”

“Precisely.” Jack smiled, closing his hand about the fingers she had automatically surrendered. He drew her closer and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Which is to say that by common consent, general agreement and the blessing of Fate, my wait is, at long last, over.”

“But shouldn’t we…?” Sophie glanced back at the dark shrubbery of the Gardens, slowly receding in their wake.

Jack cast her a reproving glance. “Really, my dear. You don’t seriously imagine that I, such as I am, could consider Vauxhall a suitable venue for a proposal, do you?”

There seemed no sensible answer to that.

But Sophie had no time to ponder the implications. They had reached the water’s edge. She glanced about, somewhat surprised at the bustling scene. A stone wharf lined the river and extended out in a jetty where a small flotilla of pleasure craft bobbed gently at their moorings.

“If habits linger, he’ll be at the end.”

A most peculiar sensation started to creep along Sophie’s nerves. She clung to Jack’s arm as they wended their way between Garden patrons haggling with the boatmen, and others embarking for a slow ride home. The craft were of a variety of sizes, some holding no more than a couple, while others could comfortably carry a small party. Still others had canopies erected over their bows under which lovers could pursue their acquaintance in privacy, screened by drapes which let down about the sides.

It was towards one of these last that Jack led her.

“Rollinson?”

Sophie suddenly felt quite light-headed.

The beefy boatman in charge of the largest and most opulent craft turned from desultory conversation with his crew to peer up at Jack. “There you be, Mr. Lester!” He grinned, displaying a row of decidedly haphazard teeth, and tipped his felt hat to Sophie. “Got your message. We’re here and ready, sir.”

“Very good,” Jack replied.

Sophie found it hard to follow the rest of their conversation, at least half of which was conducted in boatman’s cant. She glanced about, trying to interest herself in the scene, rather than dwell on what their presence here probably meant. If she thought of that, she might feel obliged to protest.

As it was, she was not to escape making some part of the decision on her fate. Their itinerary agreed upon, Jack leapt down to the wooden planking of the boat’s hull, which floated a good yard below the jetty.

He then turned to study Sophie, one brow rising. “Well, my dear?” With a graceful gesture, he indicated the boat and the curtain cutting off the bow. His slow, slightly crooked smile twisted his lips. “Will you trust yourself to me tonight?”

For an instant, Sophie stared down at him, oblivious of those about them, of the sly yet careful glances cast her by the boatmen. All she could see was Jack, waiting for her, a very definite glint in his eyes. For an instant, she closed her own. What he was suggesting was perfectly scandalous. Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and, with a soft smile, stepped to the edge of the jetty.

The familiar feel of Jack’s hands about her waist was reassuring, soothing the peculiar jitteriness that, all of a sudden, had afflicted her. He set her down beside him, one arm slipping about her to steady her as he helped her across the rowing benches. Parting the heavy damask curtain that screened the bow, he ushered her through.

Sophie entered a private and very luxurious world of moonlight glinting on water. The curtain fell closed behind them, sealing them in. With a slight lurch, the boat got under way. Jack’s arm came to urge her to a seat as the boat nosed out onto the river. Once clear of the craft by the jetty, the boat pulled smoothly, powerfully, upstream.

As her eyes adjusted to the deep shadows beneath the canopy, Sophie, fascinated, gazed about. She was seated amid a pile of huge silk cushions spread over a satin-draped platform, heavily padded, that was constructed to fit snugly across the bow. The platform all but filled the area behind the curtain, leaving barely enough room for a wine cooler, which, she noticed, contained a bottle, already open and chilling, and a small fixed buffet holding glasses and small dishes of unidentifiable delicacies. Jack turned from examining the buffet’s offerings to look down at her.

“I think we’ll leave the caviar for second course.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. She didn’t need to ask what he fancied for the first. His eyes, even in the shadows, gleamed as they rested on her. Clearing her throat, suddenly dry, she asked, a trifle unsteadily, “You planned this?”

His smile was smugly triumphant. “To the last detail,” Jack averred, coming to lounge on the cushions beside her. “It’s customary, you know.”

“Is it?” Sophie stared at him.

“Mmm-hmm.” Jack leaned back, gazing upward to where the canopy overhead was drawn partially back, revealing the black velvet of the sky sprinkled with jewelled stars. “Seductions are never so satisfying as when they’re well-planned.”

Sophie bit her lip and eyed him warily.

His gaze on her face, Jack laughed and, reaching up, drew her down to lie among the cushions beside him. Sophie hesitated, then yielded to his gentle strength. Propped on one elbow, Jack smiled down into her wide eyes. Then he bent his head and kissed her, long and lingeringly, before whispering against her lips, “I’m not teasing, Sophie.”

A thrill of desire raced through Sophie, all the way down to her toes. She opened her lips on a feeble protest-and Jack kissed her again. And kept kissing her until she had no breath left to speak.

“No, Sophie.” Jack dropped soft kisses on her eyelids as his fingers deftly unbuttoned her gown. “I’ve had more than enough of wooing you, my love. You’re mine, and I’m yours. And nothing else matters.” His voice deepened at the last as he looked down at her breast, the firm ivory flesh filling his palm.

Sophie arched lightly as his thumb circled the rosy peak. Unable to speak, barely able to breathe, she watched him from beneath heavy lids as he caressed her. Then he lowered his head and she stopped breathing altogether, her fingers sinking into his shoulders as his tongue lightly teased, knowingly tantalized.

“Besides,” Jack murmured against her soft skin. “We’ve only one thing left to discuss.”

“Discuss?” The word came out weakly on a slow exhalation, the best Sophie could manage, her mind struggling against the drugging haze of his caresses.

“Hmm. We have to discuss what I’ll accept as suitable recompense for my torture.”

“Torture?” Sophie knew about torture. She was being tortured now, his hands touching her so skilfully she was gripped by an urgent longing. “What torture?”

“The torture of having to woo you, sweet Sophie.”

Sophie stirred, consumed by the sweetest ache. “Was it torture?”

“Torture and worse,” Jack vowed, his voice deep and raspy.

Sophie sighed. “What do you consider suitable recompense?” She just managed to get the words out before he stole her breath again with a caress so artful she thought she could faint. She didn’t, but the sensations didn’t stop, darting through her like lightning, spreading like warm fire beneath her skin.

Aeons filled with pleasure seemed to have passed before she heard his soft murmur.

“I know what I want as my reward for wooing you. Will you give it me?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a soft whisper on the breeze.

Jack raised his head, a smile twisting his lips. “I haven’t yet told you what I want.”

Sophie returned his smile with one of her own. “It had better be me-for that’s all I have to give you.”

For the first time in his rakish career, Jack was lost for words. He looked down into her eyes, passion-filled and mysterious. “Sophie.” His voice was hoarse, dark with his turbulent passions. “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

“Then take me,” Sophie murmured, wondering, very distantly, how she dared. She reached up and drew his lips to hers before her sane self could resurface and disturb the glorious moment.

Thereafter, her sanity or otherwise was not in question; desire caught her and held her until she glowed with its flame. Jack fed her fires, never letting her cool, until she ached for him to join her. When he did, it was as if the sun shone brightly out of the night-dark sky. Sophie surrendered to joy and delight and rapturous, delirious pleasure. For one timeless moment, she felt that she had flown so high she could touch the stars gleaming in the firmament. Then she softly drifted back to earth, safe, forever, in Jack’s strong arms.

The gentle rocking of the boat, and Jack’s heavy weight, drew her slowly back to reality.

Surprisingly, Sophie found her mind oddly clear, as if the sensations that had held her body in thrall had proved so overpowering that her wits had disengaged and retreated to a safe distance. She could feel the cool caress of the river breeze on her naked skin and her lover’s touch as, propped now beside her, he gently stroked her hair from her face. She opened her eyes and looked up. He was a dark shadow as he hung over her, solid and comforting in the moonlight. Sophie listened for the shush of the water under the hull-and made a discovery. “We’re not moving.”

Jack’s smile gleamed in the moonlight. “We’re moored. Off a private park. The men left us nearly an hour ago.” He reached up to spread out her curling hair, released from its moorings. “They’ll come back later and take us home. My carriage will be waiting at the steps.”

Sophie blinked. “You really did think of everything.”

His smile grew broader. “I always aim to please.” He shifted slightly, drawing her more comfortably into his arms and tucking a silk shawl tenderly about her. “And now that I’ve pleased you, how soon can we be wed?”

Still slightly dazed, Sophie stared up at him, marshalling her wandering wits.

“Not that I’m trying to rush you, my love, but there are any number of reasons why an early, if not immediate, wedding would suit us best.”

As he turned her hand over to press a kiss into her palm, and the touch of his lips stirred the embers that were only now dying within her, Sophie abruptly nodded. “I see your point.” She stopped to clear her throat, amazed she could think at all. “My father’s due back for a quick visit next month-can we wait until then?”

Jack raised his head to look down at her. “It might be hard.” He smiled, his usual crooked smile. “But I suspect we can wait until then.”

Sophie sighed, deeply content. She put up a hand to brush back the dark locks from his forehead. “You’ll have to marry me; you’ve thoroughly compromised me. We’ve been away for far too long.”

“I always intended to marry you. From the moment I first saw you in Lady Asfordby’s ballroom.”

Sophie studied his face in the moonlight. “Did you really?”

“From the moment I saw you dancing with that upstart Marston,” Jack admitted. “I was smitten then and there.”

“Oh, Jack!”

After the necessary exchange of affection brought on by that revelation, Sophie was the first to return to reality. “Dear Heaven,” she exclaimed weakly. “We’ve been gone for hours.”

Jack caught the hint of concern dawning in her voice. “Don’t worry. Horatio knows you’re with me.”

Fascinated, Sophie stared at him. “Did you tell my aunt, too?”

“Good God.” Jack shuddered. “What a horrible thought. If I had, I’d lay odds she’d have given me instructions. I don’t think my pride could have stood it.” Jack dropped a soft kiss on one delectable rosy peak. “Your aunt, my love, is just plain dangerous.”

Privately, Sophie agreed but was far too distracted to find words to say so. Sometime later, her mind drifting in dazed consideration of the future he had spread before her, the home, the family-everything she had ever wanted-with him by her side, she returned to his point. “Speaking of marriage, sir, you have not yet asked me to marry you.”

“I have-you quibbled and refused.”

Sophie smiled into the night. “But you’re supposed to ask me again, now that my uncle has given me permission to receive your addresses.”

Jack sighed lustily, then shifted to move over her, one elbow planted on either side, his expression arrogantly commanding. His eyes, deep dark pools within which passion still smouldered, transfixed her.

“Very well, Miss Winterton. For the very last time-will you marry me? I realize, of course, that you are only a lady of expectations and not an heiress. However, as it transpires, I neither need nor want a wealthy bride. You, my beautiful, desirable Sophie-” Jack bent his head to do homage to her lips “-will do just wonderfully. You, my love, fulfil all my expectations.” Another kiss stole her breath. “Every last one.”

A soft smile curving her lips, her gaze misty with happiness, Sophie reached up to slide her arms about his neck. Her acceptance was delivered, not in words but in those actions which, to her mind, and Jack’s spoke best.

AS THE WEBB CARRIAGE rocked into motion, leaving the shadows of Vauxhall behind, Lucilla sank back against the squabs. On the opposite seat, Jeremy and George yawned and closed their eyes, their faces wreathed in seraphic smiles. Behind, in the smaller carriage, Toby, Ned and Clarissa were doubtless still exclaiming over their exciting evening. Lucilla, however, was not impressed.

She had just been informed that Jack would be returning Sophie to Mount Street by a different route.

It was several long moments before she trusted herself to speak.

“And you told me not to meddle.” With an audible humph, she cast a disgusted glance at her spouse.

Horatio was too wise to answer. He smiled serenely, glancing upriver as the carriage rattled over the bridge.