“And now, Sophie,” Jack said, turning to look down at her. “You’re going to tell me what’s wrong.”
It was a command, no less. Sophie dragged in a deep breath and forced herself to meet his gaze calmly. “Wrong?” She opened her eyes wide. “Why, Mr. Lester, nothing’s wrong.” She spread her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I’m merely feeling a trifle…warm.” That, she suddenly realized, was the literal truth. He stood over her, his dark brows drawn down, and she was violently reminded of their interlude in the glade in Leicestershire. That same something she had glimpsed then, behind the intense blue of his eyes, was there again tonight. A prowling, powerful, predatory something. She blinked and realized she was breathi
ng rapidly. She saw his lips compress.
“Sophie…”
His eyes locked with hers; he started to lean closer.
“Your glass of water, miss.”
Sophie wrenched her gaze away and turned to the waiter. She dragged in a quick breath. “Thank you, John.” She took the glass from the man’s salver and dismissed him with a weak smile.
It took considerable concentration to keep the glass steady. With her gaze fixed, unfocused, on the couples now dancing a boulanger, Sophie carefully sipped the cool water. An awful silence enfolded them.
After a few minutes, Sophie felt strong enough to glance up. He was watching her, his expression utterly impassive; he no longer seemed so threatening. She inclined her head. “Thank you, sir. I feel much better now.”
Jack nodded. Before he could find words for any of his questions, his attention was diverted by a group of younger folk who descended amid gusts of laughter to cluster not ten paces away.
Sophie looked, too, and saw her cousin surrounded by a group of young gentlemen, each vying for Clarissa’s attention. Noting the frenetic brittleness that had infused Clarissa’s otherwise bright expression, Sophie frowned. She looked up, and met an arrogantly raised brow.
She hesitated, then leaned closer to say, “She doesn’t really like having a fuss and flap made over her.”
Jack looked again at the fair young beauty. His lips twisted wryly as he watched her youthful swains all but cutting each other dead in an effort to gain her favour. “If that’s the case,” he murmured, “I fear she’ll have to leave town.” He turned back to Sophie. “She’s going to be a hit, you know.”
Sophie sighed. “I know.” She continued to watch Clarissa, then frowned as a particularly petulant expression settled firmly over her cousin’s features. “What…?” Sophie followed Clarissa’s gaze. “Oh, dear.”
Following Sophie’s gaze, Jack beheld a well-set-up young man, unquestionably recently up from the country if his coat was any guide, bearing determinedly down on the group about Sophie’s cousin. The young man ignored the attendant swains as if they didn’t exist, an action that won Jack’s instant respect. Directly and without preamble, the youngster addressed Clarissa; to Jack’s disappointment, they were too far away to hear his words. Unfortunately, the young man’s grand entrance found no favour in Clarissa’s eyes. As Jack watched, Clarissa tossed her silvery curls, an indignant flush replacing the sparkle of moments before.
“Oh, dear. I do hope he didn’t call her ‘Clary’ again.”
Jack glanced down. Sophie was watching the unfolding drama, small white teeth absent-mindedly chewing her lower lip. “Whatever,” he said. “It appears that his embassy has failed.”
Sophie sent him a worried frown. “They’ve known each other since childhood.”
“Ah.” Jack glanced back at the tableau being enacted but yards away. A wisp of remembered conversation floated through his mind. “Is that young sprig by any chance Ned Ascombe?”
“Why, yes.” Sophie stared up at him. “The son of one of my uncle’s neighbours in Leicestershire.”
Jack answered the question in her eyes. “Your aunt mentioned him.” Glancing again at the young couple, Jack felt an empathetic twinge for the earnest but callow youth who was, quite obviously, under the impression he held pride of place in the beautiful Clarissa Webb’s heart. As he watched, Ned gave up what was undeniably a losing fight and, with a galled but defiant expression, retired from the lists. Looking down at Sophie, Jack asked, “I take it he was not expected in London?”
Sophie considered, then said, “Clarissa didn’t expect him.”
Jack’s brows lifted cynically. “Your aunt gave me to understand that their future was all but settled.”
Sophie sighed. “It probably is. Clarissa does not really care for racketing about and she has never been one to enjoy being the centre of attention for very long. My aunt and uncle believe that, by the end of the Season, she’ll be only too happy to return to Leicestershire.”
“And Ned Ascombe?”
“And Ned,” Sophie confirmed.
Considering the colour that still rode Clarissa Webb’s cheeks, Jack allowed one brow to rise.
Sophie finished the last of her water. It was time and more to return to the safety of her circle. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Lester, I should return to my friends.”
Jack could have wished it otherwise but he was, once more, under control. Without a blink, he nodded, removing the glass from her fingers and placing it on a nearby table. Then he held out a hand.
Steeling herself against the contact, Sophie put her hand in his. He drew her to her feet, then tucked her hand into his elbow, covering her fingers with his. Hers trembled; with an effort, she stilled them. She glanced up and saw him frown.