Stifling a sigh, he kept his eyes open.
“Are you enjoying the ball, Mr. Lester?”
Sophie’s calm and rather distant comment drew Jack’s eyes from contemplation of her curls. He considered her question, simultaneously considering her invitingly full lips. “I’m enjoying this waltz,” he replied.
Raising his eyes to hers, Jack watched a frown form in the sky-blue orbs. Puzzled, he continued, “But when are you going to call me Jack? I’ve been calling you Sophie for weeks.”
He had never before seen a lady blush and frown simultaneously.
“I know,” Sophie admitted, forcing herself to throw him a disapproving glance. “And you know you should not. It’s not at all acceptable.”
Jack simply smiled.
Sophie shot him an exasperated glance, then transferred her gaze to the safe space above his shoulder. As always, being in his arms had a distinctly unnerving affect on her. A fluttery, shivery awareness had her in its grip; breathless excitement threatened her wits. His strength reached out and enfolded her, seductively beckoning, enticing her mind to dwell on prospects she could not even dream of without blushing.
She blushed now, and was thankful to hear the closing bars of the waltz.
Jack saw her blush but was far too wise to comment. Instead, he smoothly escorted her into supper, adroitly snaffling a plate of delicacies and managing to install plate, glasses of champagne and Sophie at a small table tucked away near the conservatory.
He had reckoned without her court. They came swarming about, sipping champagne and, to Jack’s mind, making thorough nuisances of themselves. He bore it stoically, repeatedly reminding himself that Lucilla would not consider the first major ball of the Season a suitable venue for him to declare his intentions. When the light meal was over, he insisted on escorting Sophie all the way back to her aunt’s side.
The look he bent on Lucilla made her hide a grin.
With Sophie and Clarissa both claimed for the next dance, Lucilla turned her large eyes on Jack. “I must say, Mr. Lester, that you’re doing a very good job on Ned.”
Somewhat stiffly, Jack inclined his head. “I’m glad the transformation meets with your approval, ma’am.”
“Indeed. I’m most grateful. Immensely grateful.”
Seeing Lady Entwhistle fast approaching, clearly intent on having a word in Lucilla’s ear, Jack bowed briefly and drifted into the crowd. As he passed the dancers, he heard a silvery laugh. Glancing up, he saw Sophie, smiling brightly up at Lord Ainsley, a handsome and very rich peer.
Muting his growl, Jack swung into an alcove. What numbskull had invented the practice of wooing? Lucilla’s comment, which he felt confident in interpreting as open encouragement, was welcome enough. However, the last thing his passions needed right now was further encouragement, particularly when the object of said passions was behaving in a manner designed to enflame them.
Suppressing his curses, he set himself to endure. He could have left, but the night was yet young. Besides, he was not sufficiently sure of Ned to leave his protégé unsupported. At the thought, Jack drew his gaze from Sophie’s bright curls and scanned the dancers for Clarissa.
Predictably, Sophie’s cousin was smiling up at an elegant youth as she went down the floor in the dance. Jack silently harrumphed, then switched his gaze back to Sophie. Clarissa was clearly absorbed with her partner.
In so thinking, Jack erred.
Although Clarissa smiled and nodded at Mr. Pommeroy’s stilted conversation, her attention was far removed from that blameless young gentleman. From the corner of her eye, she could see Ned dancing with Miss Ellis in the next set. The sight filled Clarissa with a sort of quiet fury she had never before experienced. Regardless of its import, it was quite clearly time to refocus Ned’s attention on that which had brought him to town.
Her eyes narrowing, Clarissa herself refocused—on Mr. Pommeroy. She grimaced. Startled, Mr. Pommeroy stumbled and almost fell. Guiltily, for she had not meant to grimace openly, Clarissa applied herself to soothing her partner’s ruffled feathers while looking about her for inspiration.
Her court, unfortunately, had little to offer. They were so young; not even in her wildest dreams could she cast them in the role she was rapidly becoming convinced she needed filled. Back amongst them, responding to their quips with but half her mind, Clarissa grimly watched as Ned joined the crowd about two sisters also making their come-out this year. Inwardly sniffing, Clarissa shifted her gaze—and saw Toby coming towards her, a positive Adonis in tow.
“Ah, Clarissa?” Toby came to an uncertain halt before his sister. “Might I make known to you Captain Gurnard? He’s with the Guards.” Toby was unsure how his sister would react, but the captain had been keen to gain a personal introduction, something Toby could see no harm in.
Clarissa’s wide eyes took in every detail of the tall, broad-shouldered figure bowing before her. The captain was clad in scarlet regimentals; his tightly curled hair gleamed like fool’s gold in the candlelight. As he straightened, Clarissa caught the hard gleam in his eyes and the cynical tilt of his mouth before unctuous gratification overlaid them.
Clarissa smiled brilliantly and held out her hand. “How do you do, Captain? Have you been with the Guards long?”
Blinking, Toby inw
ardly shrugged and took himself off.
Dazzled, Captain Gurnard saw nothing beyond Clarissa’s guileless china-blue eyes and her delicately curved lips. He could only conclude that Fate had taken pity on him. With a consciously charming smile, he reluctantly released Clarissa’s hand. “I’ve been with my regiment for some years, my dear.”
“Some years?” Clarissa’s expression was all innocent bewilderment. “But—” She broke off and shyly put one hand to her lips. “Indeed,” she whispered, half-confidingly, “I had not thought you so old as all that, Captain.”