which a large sapphire lay, winking wickedly.
Jack watched as, her surprise at seeing him plainly writ in her large eyes, Sophie halted on the second-last stair, her lips parting slightly, the gentle swell of her breasts, exposed by her gown, rising on a sharp intake of breath.
His eyes on hers, he slowly raised a brow. “Good evening, Miss Winterton.”
Sophie’s heart stuttered back to life. Large, dark and handsome, he bowed gracefully, his gaze quizzing her as he straightened. Giving her wits a mental shake, she descended the last step, dipping a curtsy, then extending her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Lester. I had not expected to see you here, sir.”
His brow lifted again; to her relief, he made no direct reply. “Might I request the pleasure of a waltz, my dear? The third, if you have it to spare.”
She had not even had time to look at her dance card. Shooting him a cool glance, Sophie opened it, then, meeting his eyes briefly, she lifted the tiny pencil and marked his name in the appropriate spot.
The answer to the question in her mind came with his smooth, “And, perhaps, if you’re not already bespoken, I might escort you to supper at the conclusion of the dance?”
Blinking, Sophie found she had unthinkingly surrendered her hand to his. Her gaze flew to his as he drew her gently to his side. Her heart leapt to her throat and started beating erratically there. “That will be most pleasant, Mr. Lester,” she murmured, looking away.
“It will, you know.”
His tone was gently teasing, on more levels than one. Elevating her chin, Sophie drew her composure more firmly about her. Ahead of them, her aunt was strolling through the crowd, Clarissa by her side.
To Sophie’s surprise, having escorted her as far as the chaise where her aunt finally deigned to rest, Mr. Lester exchanged a few pleasantries with Lucilla, then, with an elegant bow, excused himself, leaving her to weather a spate of introductions as a small host of gentlemen gravitated to her side.
Despite the nature of Lady Entwhistle’s little ball, despite the fact that the
Clarissa, by her side, proved a potent attraction for the younger gentlemen. She was soon casting anxious glances at Sophie.
Keeping her voice firm and clear, Sophie calmly apologized to Mr. Harcourt. “Indeed, sir, I’m most sorry to disappoint you but I fear my card is full.”
Minutes later, she heard Clarissa copy her words, prettily turning Lord Swindon away.
As her equilibrium, momentarily undermined, returned, Sophie became conscious of a niggling disquiet, a sense that something was not entirely right. Only when, for the third time, she found her gaze scanning the room, searching automatically, did she realize just what it was she felt.
Feeling very like muttering a curse, she instead pinned a bright smile on her lips and, with renewed determination, gave her attention to her court. “Will your sister be coming up to London, Lord Argyle? I should be delighted to meet her again.”
She was here to find a husband, not to fall victim to a rake’s blue eyes.
By dint of sheer determination, Jack managed to keep himself occupied until the country dance preceding the supper waltz was in progress. He was, he kept reminding himself, far too experienced to cram his leaders. Instead, he had forced himself to circulate, artfully sidestepping subtle invitations to lead other young ladies onto the floor. Now, as the last strains of the music died, he threaded his way through the crowd to come up by Sophie’s side. Fate was smiling on him again; she had just finished thanking her partner, Lord Enderby.
“Miss Winterton.” With a slight bow, Jack reached for Sophie’s hand. “Evening, Enderby.” A nod was enough to distract her recent partner.
“Eh?” Squinting slightly, Lord Enderby switched his near-sighted stare from Sophie to Jack. “Oh, it’s you, Lester. Surprised to see
Jack smiled-into Sophie’s eyes. “I discovered that, this Season, there was to be an unlooked-for distraction in London.”
“Really?” Lord Enderby’s eyes were too weak to appreciate the action taking place before them. “What’s that?”
Feeling the warmth rise to her cheeks, Sophie held her breath, her gaze daring her next partner to say anything untoward.
Jack’s gaze grew more intent. “Far be it from me to reveal any secrets,” he said. “You’ll learn the truth soon enough.” His gaze remained on Sophie’s face. “But I’m come to steal Miss Winterton from you, Enderby. My dance is next, I believe, my dear?” With a calmly proprietorial air, Jack tucked Sophie’s hand into the crook of his elbow and, with the barest of nods for Lord Enderby, now thoroughly bemused, turned her down the room.
Sophie blinked and grabbed her wandering wits. “I believe you’re right, Mr. Lester. But shouldn’t we return to my aunt?”
“Why?”
She glanced up to find an improbably mild expression inhabiting her companion’s patrician features as, undeterred by her remonstrance, he led her further and further from her aunt. “Because it’s expected,” she replied.
He smiled then, a slow, devilish smile, and looked down, meeting her gaze. “You’re not a deb, my dear.” His voice had deepened; she felt as well as heard it. Then his intent look softened and he looked ahead. “And, despite the throng, the room is not so crowded your aunt cannot keep you in view, if she’s so inclined.”
That, Sophie realized as she calmed her leaping heart, was true. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Lucilla, with Clarissa beside her, almost at the other end of the room. There were many bodies between, but the crowd was not so thick it blocked them off.
“I don’t intend to kidnap you, you know.”
The soft statement pulled her gaze back to his face.
Jack smiled and tried his best to make the gesture reassuring. “I merely thought you might like to see who else is here tonight.”
Her “Oh,” was there in her eyes. Then, with a last, still-suspicious glance, she gave up her resistance, her hand settling on his arm.
He did as he had indicated, embarking on a gentle perambulation of the room. “Lady Entwhistle’s lucky to see so many here so early in the Season. Lord Abercrombie,” Jack indicated that well-known huntsman. “Have you met him before?” Sophie nodded. “He, for one, rarely leaves Northamptonshire until late April. The thaw must be extensive to have driven him south this early.”
Sophie had, indeed, been surprised to find so many of the ton’s more mature yet eligible bachelors present. “I hadn’t realized that the weather was to blame.”
Again, she was aware of his gaze. “For some,” he said, his voice low. Sternly quelling a shiver, Sophie pretended to look about.
“So, how do you find Society after four years away? Does it still hold some allure?”
Sophie glanced up at the question; a cynical ripple in his smooth tones gave her pause. “Allure?” she repeated, putting her head on one side. “I do not know that that is the right term, Mr. Lester.” She frowned slightly. “There’s glamour, perhaps.” With one hand, she gestured about them. “But any with eyes must see it is transitory, an illusion with no real substance.” They strolled on and Sophie smiled wryly. “I have long thought the Season society’s stage, where we all come together to impress each other with our standing before summer draws us back to our true professions, to the management of our estates.”
His gaze on her face, Jack inclined his head, his expression enigmatic. “You are wise beyond your years, my dear.”
Sophie met his gaze; she arched a sceptical brow. “And you, sir?” She let her gaze slide away. Greatly daring, she continued, “I find it hard to believe that your view of the Season agrees with mine. I have always been told that gentlemen such as yourself pursue certain interests for which the Season is indispensible.”
Jack’s lips twitched. “Indeed, my dear.” He let a moment stretch in silence before adding, “You should not, however, imagine that such interests are behind my presence here in town this early in the year.”
Resisting the urge to look up at him, Sophie kept her gaze on those surrounding them. “Indeed?” she replied coolly. “Then it was boredom that fetched you south?”
