Jack shook her hand. “Have you found sufficient novels to keep you entertained, Miss Webb?” He eyed the pile of books Clarissa carried in her arms.
“Oh, yes,” Clarissa replied ingenuously. “Are you ready, Sophie?”
Sophie considered replying in the negative, but was convinced that, rather than leave, Jack Lester would insist on strolling with her up and down the aisles, distracting her from making any sensible selection. She glanced about; her gaze fell on her younger cousins, glued to the prospect outside. “I suspect we had better leave before Jeremy falls through the window.”
While Sophie and Clarissa went through the process of borrowing their chosen novels, Jack smiled smugly at the d
isapproving assistant.
To her relief, Sophie found the assistant disinclined to conversation, a fact for which she gave mute thanks. Clarissa summoned her brothers and sister and they all started for the door. As she stepped over the threshold and paused to get her bearings, Sophie felt her packaged novel lifted from her hands.
“Allow me, my dear.” Jack smiled as Sophie glanced up, consternation in her wide, slightly startled gaze. Puzzled, Jack inwardly frowned. “If you have no objection, I’ll escort you to Mount Street.”
Sophie hesitated, then, her lids veiling her gaze, inclined her head. “Thank you. That would be most kind.” With a determinedly light air, she surrendered her hand into his warm clasp and allowed him to settle it on his sleeve. While she waited beside him as he dismissed his groom and, with a simple admonition, succeeded in convincing Jeremy, George and Amy to leave the crowd about the organ-grinder, Sophie prayed that her momentary dismay had not shown; she did not wish to hurt him any more than she wished him to guess how much her heart had been bruised. As their little party got under way, she flashed Jack a bright smile. “Did you see Lady Hemminghurst’s new carriage?”
To her relief, his rakish smile appeared. “And those nags she insists are high-steppers?”
With Clarissa beside them, they chatted easily, more easily than she had hoped, all the way back to Mount Street. Indeed, the steps leading up to her uncle’s door appeared before them far sooner than she had expected. Jeremy and George bounded up the steps to ring the bell, Amy close behind. With a cheery smile, Clarissa bade their escort farewell and followed her siblings as they tumbled through the door.
Acutely conscious of the gentleman before her, of Ellen and the groom, still standing decorously a few steps behind, and of Minton, the butler, holding open the door, Sophie held firm to her composure and, receiving her book, presented with a flourish, calmly said, “Thank you for your escort, Mr. Lester. No doubt we’ll run into each other at the balls once they start.”
Jack’s slow smile twisted his lips. “I fear, my dear, that I’m not endowed with as much patience as you credit me.” He hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face. “Would you be agreeable if I called to take you driving again?”
Sophie held her breath and wished she could lie. When one dark brow rose, a gentle prompt, his gaze steady on hers, she heard herself say, “That would be most pleasant, sir.” His smile was triumphant. “But,” she hurried on, “my time is not always my own. My aunt has decided to start entertaining and I must assist her if required.”
Jack’s smile did not fade. “Indeed, my dear. But I’m sure she’ll not wish you to hide yourself away.” With smooth authority, he captured her hand. His eyes met hers; he raised her fingers, then turned them.
“No!” As surprised as he by her breathless denial, Sophie stared up at him, her heart thudding wildly. Abruptly, she dropped her gaze, quite unable to meet the startled question in his. Head bowed, she withdrew her hand from his and dropped a slight curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Lester.”
The words were barely audible.
Jack felt as if he’d taken a blow to the head. He forced himself to execute a neat bow. Sophie turned and quickly climbed the steps, disappearing inside without a backward glance.
Finding himself standing stock-still, alone in the middle of the pavement, Jack drew in a ragged breath. Then, his expression stony, he turned and strode briskly away.
* * *
WHAT IN THE NAME of all creation had gone wrong?
The question haunted Jack through the next three days and was still revolving incessantly in his brain as, the evening chill about him, he climbed the steps to knock on the Webbs’ oak-panelled door. Despite his initial intentions, it was the first time he had called in Mount Street since his unexpected expedition to Hatchard’s. He had returned home in a most peculiar mood, a mood that had been only slightly alleviated by the white and gold invitation he had discovered awaiting him.
“Mrs. Horatio Webb takes great pleasure in inviting Mr. Jack Lester to an impromptu dance to be held on Thursday evening.”
The words had not dissipated the cloud that had settled over him, but had, at least, given him pause. Thus, he had not pressed the, albeit minor, intimacy of a drive on Sophie but had waited instead to come up with her in her aunt’s ballroom, where, surely, she would feel more confident, less likely to take fright at his advances.
Quite clearly he had been too precipitate. He had put a foot wrong somewhere, although he wasn’t entirely sure where.
From now on, he would woo her according to the book, without any subtle deviations. He would simply have to conceal his feelings; he would not risk panicking her by heeding them.
Admitted by the butler, who recognized him well enough to greet him by name, Jack climbed the stairs, slightly mollified by the man’s cheery demeanour. Not what one was accustomed to in a butler but probably inevitable, given the junior Webbs. They would undoubtedly give any overly stuffed shirt short shrift.
Entering the salon on the first floor, Jack paused on the threshold and glanced around. A warm, welcoming atmosphere blanketed the room; it was not overly crowded, leaving adequate space for dancing, yet his hostess was clearly not going to be disappointed by the response to her summons. He discovered Sophie immediately, talking with some others. To his eyes, there was none to match her, her slim form sheathed in silk the colour of warm honey. With an effort, he forced his gaze to travel on, searching out his hostess. As he sighted her, Lucilla excused herself from a small knot of guests. She glided forward to greet him, regally gowned in satin and lace.
“Good evening, Mr. Lester.” Lucilla smiled benevolently. She watched approvingly as he bowed over her hand.
“Mrs. Webb.” Jack straightened. “May I say how honoured I was to receive your invitation?”
Lucilla airily waved her fan. “Not at all, Mr. Lester. It is I who am very glad to see you. I’ve been a trifle concerned that dear Sophie might be finding our present round of engagements somewhat stale. Dare I hope you might feel inclined to relieve her boredom?”