Sophie pressed her lips tightly together. When she was sure her voice was under control, she said, “I’m related to the Webbs; does that make me a ‘Webb female’, too?”
Jack’s glance was supercilious. “I haven’t yet decided.”
It was then, when he stood back to usher her through the watergate, that Sophie realized that they had been walking in the wrong direction. A leafy lane stretched before them. Not far ahead, the lane ended by the banks of the Thames. Sophie halted. “Ah…Jack…?”
Jack looked down at her and held out his hand. “Your uncle’s returned. He spoke to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes.” Eyes wide, Sophie studied his face. “He told me there’s no reason we can’t marry.”
“Precisely.” Jack smiled, closing his hand about the fingers she had automatically surrendered. He drew her closer and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Which is to say that by common consent, general agreement and the blessing of Fate, my wait is, at long last, over.”
“But shouldn’t we..?” Sophie glanced back at the dark shrubbery of the Gardens, slowly receding in their wake.
Jack cast her a reproving glance. “Really, my dear. You don’t seriously imagine that I, such as I am, could consider Vauxhall a suitable venue for a proposal, do you?”
There seemed no sensible answer to that.
But Sophie had no time to ponder the implications. They had reached the water’s edge. She glanced about, somewhat surprised at the bustling scene. A stone wharf lined the river and extended out in a jetty where a small flotilla of pleasure craft bobbed gently at their moorings.
“If habits linger, he’ll be at the end.”
A most peculiar sensation started to creep along Sophie’s nerves. She clung to Jack’s arm as they wended their way between Garden patrons haggling with the boatmen, and others embarking for a slow ride home. The craft were of a variety of sizes, some holding no more than a couple, while others could comfortably carry a small party. Still others had canopies erected over their bows under which lovers could pursue their acquaintance in privacy, screened by drapes which let down about the sides.
It was towards one of these last that Jack led her.
“Rollinson?”
Sophie suddenly felt quite light-headed.
The beefy boatman in charge of the largest and most opulent craft turned from desultory conversation with his crew to peer up at Jack. “There you be, Mr. Lester!” He grinned, displaying a row of decidedly haphazard teeth, and tipped his felt hat to Sophie. “Got your message. We’re here and ready, sir.”
“Very good,” Jack replied.
Sophie found it hard to follow the rest of their conversation, at least half of which was conducted in boatman’s cant. She glanced about, trying to interest herself in the scene, rather than dwell on what their presence here probably meant. If she thought of that, she might feel obliged to protest.
As it was, she was not to escape making some part of the decision on her fate. Their itinerary agreed upon, Jack leapt down to the wooden planking of the boat’s hull, which floated a good yard below the jetty.
He then turned to study Sophie, one brow rising. “Well, my dear?” With a graceful gesture, he indicated the boat and the curtain cutting off the bow. His slow, slightly crooked smile twisted his lips. “Will you trust yourself to me tonight?”
For an instant, Sophie stared down at him, oblivious of those about them, of the sly yet careful glances cast her by the boatmen. All she could see was Jack, waiting for her, a very definite glint in his eyes. For an instant, she closed her own. What he was suggesting was perfectly scandalous. Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and, with a soft smile, stepped to the edge of the jetty.
The familiar feel of Jack’s hands about her waist was reassuring, soothing the peculiar jitteriness that, all of a sudden, had afflicted her. He set her down beside him, one arm slipping about her to steady her as he helped her across the rowing benches. Parting the heavy damask curtain that screened the bow, he ushered her through.
Sophie entered a private and very luxurious world of moonlight glinting on water. The curtain fell closed behind them, sealing them in. With a slight lurch, the boat got under way. Jack’s arm came to urge her to a seat as the boat nosed out onto the river. Once clear of the craft by the jetty, the boat pulled smoothly, powerfully, upstream.
As her eyes adjusted to the deep shadows beneath the canopy, Sophie, fascinated, gazed about. She was seated amid a pile of huge silk cushions spread over a satin-draped platform, heavily padded, that was constructed to fit snugly across the bow. The platform all but filled the area behind the curtain, leaving barely enough room for a wine cooler, which, she noticed, contained a bottle, already open and chilling, and a small fixed buffet holding glasses and small dishes of unidentifiable delicacies. Jack turned from examining the buffet’s offerings to look down at her.
“I think we’ll leave the caviar for second course.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. She didn’t need to ask what he fancied for the first. His eyes, even in the shadows, gleamed as they rested on her. Clearing her throat, suddenly dry, she asked, a trifle unsteadily, “You planned this?”
His smile was smugly triumphant. “To the last detail,” Jack averred, coming to lounge on the cushions beside her. “It’s customary, you know.”
“Is it?” Sophie stared at him.
“Mmm-hmm.” Jack leaned back, gazing upward to where the canopy overhead was drawn partially back, revealing the black velvet of the sky sprinkled with jewelled stars. “Seductions are never so satisfying as when they’re well-planned.”
Sophie bit her lip and eyed him warily.