“The news is out.”
Jack grimaced. “Are you sure?”
“Put it this way.” Harry set his tankard down. “I was at Lady Bromford’s affair last night, and lo and behold, Lady Argyle made a play for me. Not a blush in sight, what’s more. She had her daughter in tow, a chit just out of the schoolroom.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Her ladyship was as clinging as Medusa. Totally unaccountable, unless she’d heard rather more than a whisper of our affairs.”
“And if she’s heard, others will, too.” Jack grimaced even more.
“Which means it won’t be long before we’re the toast of the tea parties. If I were you, I’d secure your golden head with all speed. An announcement in the Gazette should just be enough to buy your escape. As for myself, I’ve decided to run for cover.”
Jack grinned. “I did wonder over your sudden penchant for the lush green fields.”
“In the circumstances, Newmarket looks considerably safer than London.” Harry’s grin was crooked as he rose. “Given the danger, I feel confident I’ll find enough in the country to keep me amused for the rest of the Season.”
Jack shook his head. “You won’t be able to run forever, you know.”
Harry raised an arrogant brow. “Love,” he declared, “is not about to catch me.” With a last, long look, he turned to the door. His hand on the knob, he paused to look back, his grin distinctly wry. “Good luck. Just don’t get so distracted by the excitement at the gala that you forget to keep your back covered. Until your golden head says yes, you’re no safer than I.”
Jack had raised his hand in farewell; now he groaned. “God help me! Just when I thought I was home and hosed.”
* * *
HARRY’S DIRE PREDICTION was confirmed that evening at Lady Summerville’s ball. Jack bowed gracefully over her ladyship’s hand, disturbingly aware of the relish in her gimlet gaze. Luckily her duties prohibited her from pursuing him immediately, but her promise to look him up later left little doubt that his news was out. Fully alert, Jack artfully avoided two ostriched-plumed matrons, as imposing as battleships, waiting to ambush him just yards from the ballroom steps. He was congratulating himself on his escape when he walked straight into Lady Middleton’s clutches.
“My dear Mr. Lester! I declare, Middleton and I have not seen much of you this year.”
Biting back the retort that, if he had had his eyes about him, her ladyship would have seen even less of him, Jack bowed resignedly. On straightening, he was subjected to the scrutiny of her ladyship’s protuberant eyes, grotesquely magnified by lorgnettes deployed like gunsights. “Indeed, ma’am, I fear I have been greatly occupied thus far this Season.”
“Well! I hope you’re not going to be too occupied to attend my niece’s coming-out ball. She’s a sweet thing and will make some gentleman an unexceptionable wife. Your Aunt Harriet was particularly fond of her, y’know.” This last was accompanied by a pointed glance. Jack looked politely impressed. Her ladyship nodded, apparently satisfied. “Middleton and I will expect you.”
With a snap, she shut her lorgnettes and used them to tap him on the sleeve.
Choosing to interpret this as a dismissal, Jack bowed and slid into the crowd. It was, indeed, as Harry had foreseen; despite his efforts to make his intentions crystal clear, he was not yet safe. Doubtless, nothing less than the announcement of his betrothal would convince the matchmaking mamas that he had passed beyond their reach. Yet another good reason to add to the increasingly impressive tally indicating that the speedy curtailment of Miss Sophia Winterton’s Season was a highly desirable goal.
Looking about him, he spotted his quarry, elegant as ever in a gown of pale green figured silk, her curls glowing warmly in the candlelight. His height was both advantage and disadvantage, allowing him to scan the crowds but making him far too conspicuous a target. By dint of some rapid tacking by way of evasive action, he gained Sophie’s side without further difficulty.
As always, his appearance coincided with a thinning of the ranks about her. Sophie no longer noticed. She gave him her hand and a warmly welcoming smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lester.”
“Actually,” Jack said, straightening and scanning their surroundings, “it probably isn’t.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sophie stared at him.
“As an evening, I’ve probably faced better,” Jack replied, tucking her hand into his arm. “Ruthven, Hollingsworth—I’m sure you’ll excuse us.” With a nod for those two gentlemen, Jack led Sophie into the crowd.
Hearing Lord Ruthven chuckle, Sophie glanced back to see his lordship explaining something to a puzzled Mr. Hollingsworth. “What is it?” she asked, looking up at Jack.
“I’ve been pegged up for target practice.”
“Whatever do you…” Sophie’s words trailed away as she noticed the simpering glances thrown Jack’s way—mostly by debutantes who, two days ago, would certainly not have dared. She shot a suspicious glance at Jack. “You’ve put the story of your fortune about?”
Under his breath, Jack growled. “No, Sophie. I have not put the news about. It got out—doubtless from the other investors involved in the Indies Corporation.” He cast an exasperated glance down at her. His temper was not improved by the wary frown he saw in her eyes. “Devil take it, woman!” he growled. “No rake in his right mind, having declared his intention to wed, would then call the dragons down on his head by inventing a fortune.”
Sophie swallowed her giggle. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way.”
“Well, do,” Jack advised. “It’s the truth—and you’re not going to escape it. And speaking of escape, I do hope you realize that, until your uncle returns and our betrothal can be announced, I expect you to assist my cause.”
“In what way?” Sophie asked.
“By lending me your protection.”