A Lady of Expectations

basis of monetary worth, then my own claims outshine you both.”

“Is that so?” the marquess enquired, his attitude verging on the belligerent.

“Indeed.” Mr. Chartwell held his ground against the combined glare of his rivals.

“Enough!” Sophie’s declaration drew all three to face her. Rigid with barely suppressed fury, she raked them with a glinting, narrow-eyed gaze. “I am disgusted with all of you! How dare you presume to know my thoughts-my feelings-my requirements-and to comment on them in such a way?”

The question was unanswerable; all three men shuffled uncomfortably. Incensed, Sophie paced slowly before them, her glittering gaze holding them silent. “I have never in my life been so insulted. Do you actually believe I would marry a man who thought I was the sort of woman who married for money?” With an angry swirl, Sophie swung about, her skirts hissing. “For wealth and establishments?” The scorn in her voice lashed at them. “I would draw your attention to my aunt, who married for love-and found happiness and success. My mother, too, married purely for love. My cousin Clarissa will unquestionably marry for love. All the women in my family marry for love-and I am no different!”

Sophie blinked back the tears that suddenly threatened. She was not done with her suitors yet. “I will be perfectly frank with you gentlemen, as you have been so frank with me. I do not love any of you, and I will certainly not marry any of you. There is no earthly use persisting in your pursuit of me, for I will not change my mind. I trust I make myself plain?”

She delivered her last question with a passable imitation of Lucilla at her most haughty. Head high, Sophie looked down her nose and dared them to deny her.

Typically, Phillip Marston made the attempt. As startled as the others, he nevertheless made an effort to draw his habitual superiority about him. “You are naturally overwrought, my dear. It was unforgivable of us to subject you to such a discussion.”

“Unforgivable, ungentlemanly and totally unacceptable.” Sophie wasn’t about to quibble. Mr. Chartwell and the marquess shuffled their feet and darted careful, placating glances at her.

Heartened, Mr. Marston grew more confident. “Be that as it may, I strongly advise you to withdraw your hasty words. You cannot have considered. It is not for such as us to marry for love; that, I believe is more rightly the province of the hoi polloi. I cannot think-”

“Mr. Marston.” Sophie threw an exasperated glance at the heavens. “You have not been listening, sir. I care not what anyone thinks of my predilection for love. It may not be conventional, but it is, I should point out, most fashionable these days. And I find I am greatly addicted to fashion. You may think it unacceptable, but there it is. Now,” she continued, determined to give them no further chance to remonstrate, “I fear I have had quite enough of your company for one afternoon, gentlemen. If you wish to convince me that you are, in fact, the gentlemen I have always believed you, you will withdraw and allow me some peace.”

“Yes, of course, my dear.”

“Pray accept our apologies, Miss Winterton.”

Both the marquess and Mr. Chartwell were more than prepared to retreat. Phillip Marston was harder to rout.

“Miss Winterton,” he said, his usual frown gathering, “I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to leave you thus unguarded.”

“Unguarded?” Sophie barely restrained her temper. “Sir, you are suffering from delusions. There is no danger to me here, in my great-aunt’s summer house.” Sophie glanced briefly at Mr. Chartwell and the marquess, then returned her gaze, grimly determined, to her most unwanted suitor. “Furthermore, sir, having expressed a desire for your absence, I will feel perfectly justified in requesting these gentlemen to protect me-from you.”

One glance was enough to show Phillip Marston that Mr. Chartwell and the marquess would be only too pleased to take out their frustrations on him. With a glance which showed how deeply against the grain retreat went with him, he bowed curtly. “As you wish, Miss Winterton. But I will speak with you later.”

Only the fact that he was leaving allowed Sophie to suppress her scream. She was furious-with all of them. Head high, she stood by the table and watched as they clattered down the steps. They paused, exchanging potent looks of dislike, then separated, each heading towards the house by a different route.

With a satisfied humph, Sophie watched them disappear. Slowly, her uplifting fury drained. The tense muscles in her shoulders relaxed. She drew in a soft breath.

It tangled in her throat as she heard a deep voice say from directly behind her,

“You’re wrong, you know.”

With a strangled shriek, Sophie whirled round. One hand at her throat, she groped with the other for the table behind her. Eyes wide, she stared up at Jack’s face. “Wh-what do you mean, wrong?” It was an effort to calm her thudding heart enough to get out the words.

“I mean,” Jack replied, prowling about the table to cut off her retreat, “that you overlooked one particular danger in assuring Marston of your safety.” He met Sophie’s stare and smiled. “Me.”

Sophie took one long look into his glittering eyes and instinctively moved to keep the table between them. As the truth dawned, she lifted her chin. “How dare you eavesdrop on my conversations!”

Jack’s predatory smile didn’t waver. “As always, your conversation was most instructive, my dear. It did, however, leave me with one burning question.”

Sophie eyed him warily. “What?”

“Just what game are you playing, my dear?”

The sudden flare in his eyes startled Sophie anew. “Ah- you’re a gentleman, Mr. Lester.” It seemed the time to remind him.

“Gentleman rake,” Jack replied. “There’s a difference.”

Sophie was suddenly very sure there was. Eyes wider than ever, she took a step back, then smothered a yelp as, with one hand and a single shove, Jack sent the table shooting over the floor.

Sophie’s gaze followed it, until it came to a quivering halt by the wall, her basket still balanced upon it. Then she looked round-and jumped back a step when she found Jack directly in front of her. He advanced; she retreated another step. Two more steps and Sophie found the wall of the summer-house at her back. Jack’s arms, palms flat against the wall, one on either side, imprisoned her. She eyed first one arm, then the other. Then, very cautiously, she looked up into his face.

His expression was intent. “Now, Sophie-”

“Ah-Jack.” Any discussion was potentially dangerous; she needed time to consider just what he had heard, and what he might now think. Sophie fixed her gaze on his cravat, directly before her face. “I’m really quite overset.” That was the literal truth. “I-I’m rather overwrought. As you heard, I just turned away three suitors. Three offers. Not a small thing, after all. I fear my nerves are a trifle strained by the experience.”

Jack shifted, leaning closer, raising one hand to catch Sophie’s chin. He tipped her face up until her wise gaze met his. “I suggest you steel yourself then, my dear. For you’re about to receive a fourth.”

Sophie’s lips parted on a protest; it remained unuttered. Jack’s lips closed over hers, sealing them, teasing the soft contours, then ruthlessly claiming them. Head whirling, Sophie clutched at his lapels. She felt him hesitate, then his head slanted over hers. Sophie shuddered as he boldly claimed her warmth, tasting her, teasing her senses with calculated expertise. Her fingers left his lapels to steal upwards, to clutch at his shoulders. He released her chin; he shifted, straightening, pulling her against him, one large hand gripping her waist. The kiss deepened again; her senses whirling, Sophie wondered how much deeper it could go. Then his hand swept slowly upward to firm about her breast, gently caressing even as he demanded her surrender.

Sophie tried to stiffen, to pull away, to refuse as she knew she should. Instead, she felt herself sink deeper into his arms, deeper into his kiss. Her breast swelled to his touch, her body ached for more.

Jack drew her hard against him, then lifted his head to breathe against her lips, “Will you marry me, Sophie?”

Sophie’s heart screamed an assent but she held the words back, hanging on to her wits by her fingernails. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking up into the warm blue of his. She licked her lips, then blushed as his gaze followed the action. She tried to speak, but couldn’t find her voice. Instead, she shook her head.