Clarissa coloured, then waved a dismissive hand. “Sophie told me all about them.”
“Ah.” Lips quirking, Jack turned back to Sophie as they halted their mounts before the Webbs’ steps.
The junior Webbs had already gone in, leaving the grooms with their hands full. Sophie steeled herself and managed to survive the ordeal of being lifted down to the pavement by Jack Lester with commendable composure.
She looked up—and beheld his slow smile.
“Well, my dear?” Jack lifted a brow. “Was it bearable, riding with me?”
Sophie blushed rosily but was determined to give no ground. Lifting her chin, she looked him in the eye. “Indeed, sir. It was most enjoyable.”
Jack chuckled. “Good. Because from what I understand, your cousins wish it to be a frequent event.”
With an inclination of her head, Sophie indicated her acquiescence.
Her hand in his, Jack looked down at her, his smile a trifle crooked. “Until your aunt’s crush, then, Miss Winterton. Rest assured that, despite the sea of humanity that will no doubt be thrown up between us, I will endeavour to win through to your side.” With a rakish grin, he bowed over her hand.
And let her go.
With a very correct nod, Sophie escaped up the steps, refusing to give in to her heart and look back.
At the corner of the street, two horsemen sat their mounts, apparently discussing the weather. In actuality, their interest was a great deal more focused.
“Well, that’s a relief! It’s the older one Lester’s got his eye on—fancy that.” Hubert, Lord Maltravers, blinked blearily up at his companion. “A hard night followed by an ungodly early start may have taken its toll on my wits,” his lordship mused. “But stap me if I can see why.”
Captain Terrence Gurnard’s lips lifted in a sneer. “Tarnished his image, that’s why. The Webbs are a deal too downy to let their chick fly too close to his snare. But obviously the cousin has enough of the ready to satisfy Lester.”
“Odd.” His lordship frowned. “Thought she had nothing more than the usual. You know what I mean—expectations but no more. Would’ve thought Lester needed rather more than that.”
“Obviously not. The point, thank Heaven, doesn’t concern me. As long as he’s not got his eye on that juicy little plum, he can have the rest of London for all I care. Come, let’s get moving. We’ve seen all we need.”
Side by side, they steered their mounts through the streets in the direction of Hubert’s lodgings, the slightly rumpled figure of Lord Maltravers slumped in his saddle, the handsome, broad-shouldered guardsman towering over him.
“Y’know, Gurnard, I’ve been thinking.”
“I thought you didn’t do that until after noon.”
Hubert snorted. “No. I’m serious. This start of yours—sure there isn’t a better way? I mean, you could always try the cent per cents—doesn’t hurt to ask.”
“In this case, I fear it could hurt.” Gurnard winced. “A very great deal.”
Realization was slow but it eventually broke on Hubert. “Oh,” he said. “You’re already on their books?”
“Let’s just say that one or two moneylenders could scrape an acquaintance.”
“Hmm.” Hubert grimaced. “That does rather cut down on your options.” As they turned into Piccadilly, he ventured, “No chance this last opponent of yours would consider holding your vowels for latter payment?”
Slowly, Terrence Gurnard turned his head and looked his friend in the eye. “My last opponent was Melcham.”
Hubert blanched. “Oh,” he said. Then, “Ah.” Switching his gaze to the traffic, he nodded. “In that case, I quite see your point. Well, then—when’s the wedding?”
CHAPTER TEN
HER AUNT, SOPHIE MUSED, was not to be trusted. At least, not when it came to Jack Lester. Although she had expected to see Mr. Lester at her cousin’s come-out ball, Sophie had had no inkling that he would feature among the favoured few who had been invited to dine before the event. Not until he walked into the drawing-room, throwing all the other gentlemen into immediate shade.
From her position by the fireplace, a little removed from her aunt, Sophie watched as Jack bowed over Lucilla’s hand. His coat was of midnight blue, the same shade as his eyes at night. His smallclothes were ivory, his cravat a minor work of art. His large sapphire glowed amid the folds, fracturing the light. Beyond the heavy gold signet that adorned his right hand, he wore no other ornament, nothing to distract her senses from the strength of his large frame. After exchanging a few words, Lucilla sent him her way.
Stilling an inner quiver, Sophie greeted him with a calm smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lester.”