Before Sophie could respond, Skye rose to her feet. “I had best go and allow you to dress for the assembly. I just thought you should know the difficulties you are dealing with.”
“Thank you for telling me,” she said sincerely, swallowing the ache in her throat.
After Skye had left, Sophie slowly, mechanically, resumed brushing her hair, but her chest was tight with emotion. She couldn’t stop thinking about her dark-eyed troublemaker … or the grieving child who’d lost his mother to a murderous Parisian mob and then been locked away as a prisoner in a miserable garret, huddling with a tiny mouse for comfort. Part of Jack was still a wounded little boy inside, she realized.
Their grief was something else they had in common, Sophie reflected sorrowfully. They both had lost loved ones—she her young brother, Jack his mother and his adopted parents—although his loss had been far more traumatic than hers. His ordeal explained not only why he secretly supported the Arundel Home, but also his puzzling protectiveness of her … why he was so determined to rescue her from an unwanted fate.
The sympathy she felt for him was heart-deep. As was her sadness and regret for herself. Over the last few days, she’d begun yearning for a future with Jack … a future full of love and passion and laughter … a true meeting of soul mates. She’d wanted more than anything to be free to welcome his suit.
But now she knew her instincts were right all along. Jack didn’t truly want to wed her himself; he just sincerely wanted to save her from being forced to marry elsewhere.
Moreover, after learning of his wrenching past and his refusal to share anything of himself with even his closest loved ones, Sophie found it that much harder to believe he could ever open his heart to her.
When Jack entered the crowded drawing room at the start of the assembly, he quickly realized that Oliver Fortin was no longer avoiding him, since the older man approached at once.
Bowing curtly, Fortin spoke over the din of the chattering company. “I have come to a decision, my lord. I have no interest in reading your ancestor’s journal and mean to return it to you.” He paused, looking as if he was eating a bitter lemon. “Mrs. Fortin believes I should reconsider permitting our daughter to associate with your cousin, Lady Skye, but I cannot bring myself to allow it.”
With effort, Jack schooled his features to impassivity. “And you will not grant me the privilege either?”
Fortin eyed him in disapproval. “I hardly think that advisable. You understand it is my duty as a father to protect my daughter from … in such circumstances as these.”
From rakes such as yourself, Jack finished the unspoken thought.
Actually, he did understand. And a small part of him agreed and even appreciated Sophie’s father for wanting to protect her, although it didn’t lessen his frustration one iota since Fortin was clearly warning him off.
“As for your offer of patronage from your family,” Fortin continued, “it should not be necessary. You see—and I say this in strictest confidence—the Duke of Dunmore has requested an interview with me first thing in the morning.”
“Has he?” Jack responded rather too sharply.
“Indeed. I fully expect his grace to ask me for Sophie’s hand in marriage. And I will give my permission, most assuredly.” Fortin’s mouth stretched in a sudden smile that seemed as much relief as triumph at his daughter’s good fortune. “I confess I have been waiting for this day for aeons.”
Jack could only stare grimly. It was odd how the news hit him like a fist to his gut. For a moment he even heard the same low roaring in his ears that he’d experienced at learning a shipwreck had claimed the lives of his adopted parents.
Fortin took his leave with an almost gleeful bow, then moved away to rejoin his wife. Jack stood there frozen, trying to comprehend the decided feeling of panic washing over him.
Abruptly he clamped down on the sensation, refusing to tolerate any such weakness in himself. Yet he couldn’t help turning to search for Sophie in the crowd.
When he found her surrounded by a group of admirers, laughing at something Dunmore had said, her serene beauty struck Jack anew, as did a sharp sense of dread.
For despite his newly formed resolve to claim her, he realized he was almost out of time.
Jack was hard-pressed to explain the desperation he felt. He couldn’t stand the thought of Sophie becoming another man’s wife, sharing her smiles, her bed, her body. He wanted Sophie for himself. And whatever the cause of his possessiveness, he had to convince her to refuse the duke’s proposal.
The assembly was fully underway when Jack managed a private word with Sophie, asking her to meet him in the conservatory after supper ended. He also charged Skye with distracting the duke for the evening, but he had to quell his impatience for two more hours until the appointed time arrived.
Although the conservatory at the rear of the gardens was dark and deserted, he didn’t need a lantern to see, since moonlight seeping through the glass panels and high roof provided illumination. Dense with roses and flowering trees, the interior was warm and moist and sweet smelling.
When at last Sophie slipped through the open door, she looked ethereal in a gown of ivory silk lustring. A band tightened around his chest at her luminous beauty.
She paused, as if letting her vision adjust to the dimmer light, and called his name softly. Stepping toward her, Jack drew her against him and captured her mouth in a possessive kiss. To his gratification, Sophie sighed with gladness and returned his embrace with unmistakable fervor.
They both were breathing heavily when they finally drew apart.
Sophie remained standing in the circle of his arms, gazing up at him, studying his face. There was a new tenderness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before—a softness that faded at his urgent question.
“Are you aware that Dunmore requested an interview with your father tomorrow?” Jack demanded.
“Yes.” She sounded distressed. “His proposal may come much earlier than expected. I thought you and I would have more time together.”