That admission went a long way towards easing the tension that held Jack in its grip. He could feel it flowing from him, the muscles of his shoulders and back relaxing.
Still considering her suitors, Sophie frowned. “I’m afraid I would not be happy accepting any of my present suitors.”
An icy chill stole over Jack’s heart. It beat three times before he asked, “None?”
Sophie shook her head. “I don’t know what to do. I must accept someone by the end of the Season.”
The chill was slowly spreading through Jack’s veins. He touched his tongue to his lips, then asked, “Why not me?”
Startled, Sophie glanced up at him. “But…” She frowned. “I can’t marry you—you know I can’t.” She could see very little of his expression through the shadows veiling his face. And nothing at all of his eyes.
“Why not?” Sight wouldn’t have helped her; Jack’s expression was hard, impassive, all emotion suppressed. “We both know I’ve all the attributes you seek in a husband: a country estate, a wish to reside in the country, a desire for children, to have a family about me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Sophie stared up at him.
“And, of course,” Jack continued, his lips twisting in an uncertain smile, “we have something else between us.” Raising a hand, he delicately drew the tip of one finger from the point of Sophie’s shoulder, exposed by her wide neckline, across to the base of her throat, then down to where the deep cleft between her breasts was visible above her gown. Sophie shivered and caught her breath.
“A…compatibility,” Jack said, “that makes all the rest fade into insignificance.” His eyes rose to trap Sophie’s stunned gaze. “Isn’t it so, Sophie?”
Sophie swallowed. “But I have no fortune. Nothing but expectations.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Jack’s gaze sharpened. He drew a deep breath. “Sophie—”
In a sudden breathless rush, Sophie put her fingers over his lips. “No!” she squeaked, and cursed her quavering voice. At last she understood—and knew what she must do. Drawing in a determined breath, consciously steeling herself, she drew back, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “I’m afraid you don’t understand, Jack. I’ve never been wealthy in my life—I came to London determined to marry well.” The lie came out so easily. Her eyes falling from his, Sophie searched for more words to shore it up. “I know I didn’t say so, but I thought you understood. Nothing…” She paused to make sure her voice would not waver. “Nothing I’ve seen in London has changed my mind; I require that my preferred suitor has considerable wealth.”
The words came out more than creditably. Sophie heard them; her heart thudded painfully in her breast but she held herself erect, head high. Far better he think her lost to all sensibility than that he offer to marry her, mortgaging his future, turning his back on those responsibilities that were so very important to him. He was just like Lucilla—ready to sacrifice all for love. She wouldn’t allow it.
“But…” Jack couldn’t have felt more stunned had she slapped him. His brain reeled, grappling with the fact that Sophie did not know of his true circumstances. He had assumed Horatio would tell Lucilla, wh
o in turn would have told Sophie. Obviously not. The facts were on his lips. Chill reason froze them there.
He looked down at Sophie’s face, calm and serene in the moonlight, the face of the woman he had thought he understood. But she was intent on marrying for money—so intent she would happily put aside what was between them, turn away from his love, and hers, in exchange for cold hard cash. Fate was playing games with him; his golden head had gold on her mind. Did he really want to win her by revealing his disgusting wealth? How would he feel when she smiled and came to his arms, knowing that it had taken money to get her there?
There was a bitter taste in his mouth. Jack drew a sharp breath and looked up, over Sophie’s head. He felt cold. A steel fist had closed about his heart, squeezing unmercifully.
He took a jerky step back. “I regret, Miss Winterton, if my…attentions have been unwelcome. I will not trouble you more. I realize my actions must have complicated your search for…a suitable suitor. You have my apologies.” With a curt bow, Jack turned to leave. And hesitated.
His face in profile, Sophie saw his lips twist in the travesty of a smile. Then he turned his head to look down at her. “I can only hope, my dear, that when you find your pot of gold at the end of the rainbow you’re not disappointed.” With a curt nod, he strode away, opening and shutting the door carefully.
Leaving Sophie in the centre of the empty room.
For a long moment, she remained as she was, proudly erect, then her shoulders slumped. Sophie bowed her head, drawing in an aching breath, squeezing her eyes tight against the pain that blossomed inside.
Ten minutes later, she returned to the ballroom, no trace of misery on her face. Coolly composed, she joined her little circle, brightly responding to Belle Chessington’s quips. A quick glance about revealed the fact that Jack’s dark head was nowhere to be seen. Sophie crumpled inside. She had done the right thing. She must remember that.
If this was what it took to ensure he prospered and lived the life he should live, so be it.
From an alcove by the card room, almost at the other end of the floor, Jack brooded on Sophie’s ready smiles. If he had needed any further proof of the superficiality of her feelings for him, he had just received it. Raising his glass, he downed a mouthful of the golden liquor it contained.
“There you are. Been looking all over.” Ned ducked round the palm that blocked the opening of the alcove. His eyes fell on Jack’s glass. “What’s that?”
“Brandy,” Jack growled and took another long sip.
Ned raised his brows. “Didn’t see any of that in the refreshment room.”
“No.” Jack smiled, somewhat grimly, across the room and said no more. Ned didn’t need to drink himself into a stupor.
“I danced the last cotillion with Clarissa,” Ned said. “Her blasted card was virtually full and that bounder Gurnard’s taking her in to supper. Should I hang around here or can we leave?”