Jack, Ned and Toby looked relieved.
Somewhere in the gardens, a gong clanged. The music had stopped some minutes before and the heavy note vibrated through the twilight.
“Time to view the Grand Spectacle!”
Jeremy’s shout was echoed from all around. There was a surge of bodies as people left their booths to join the throng flocking to where a looming mountain, now brilliantly lit, rose craggily from amidst the otherwise unremarkable landscape. Fifteen minutes were spent in oohing and aahing at the various elements, some mechanical, others purely decorative, artfully placed within the alpine scene. Then the lights were doused. Chattering and exclaiming, the patrons returned to the walks, the booths and the dancing.
The last of their company to return to their booth, Sophie and Jack strolled through the twilight, her hand on his arm. She could feel the tension that gripped him, lending steel to the muscles beneath her fingertips.
“Sophie?”
Wreathed in shadows, Sophie looked up.
Jack stared at the pale oval of her face, the wide eyes and slightly parted lips. For a moment, he was still, then, concealed by the shadows, he bent his head and swiftly kissed her.
Sophie’s lips met his, her heart leaping at the brief caress. Her hands fluttered; her arms ached to hold him.
Jack caught her hands. “Not yet, sweetheart.” His smile was decidedly crooked. “Just pray your uncle’s carriage doesn’t break an axle.”
Sophie sighed feelingly and allowed him to resettle her hand on his sleeve.
Covering her hand with his, Jack gently squeezed her fingers. “We’d better get back to the booth.” As they strolled out of the shadows, he added, “The fireworks come later.”
Puzzled, Sophie looked up. “I hadn’t imagined fireworks to be one of your abiding interests.”
Jack glanced down at her, then his slow, rake’s smile curved his lips. “There are many kinds of fireworks, my dear.”
For an instant, Sophie glimpsed the dark, powerful passions behind his blue eyes. A distinctly delicious sensation slithered down her spine. But further discovery was denied her; they were caught up in the dancers and dragged into the heart of the revels once more.
The orchestra was now accompanied by a vocalist, a tenor whose pure notes drifted high over the booths to disappear into the increasing darkness. Stars speckled the sky as night slowly enfolded the scene. The Chinese lanterns came into their own, shedding their rosy glow over dancers and musicians alike. Laughter and the mellow murmur of conversation, softer now, muted by the effects of good food and fine wines, rippled through the shadows.
Throughout the evening, again and again, Sophie’s eyes met Jack’s. A magical web held them bound; neither was aware of those about them. And what passed between them was magical, too, carried in the weight of shared glances and the lingering touch of lovers’ hands.
Their surroundings were part of the magic. At the conclusion of the musical interlude, the tenor embarked on a solo performance. Breathless, conversing softly, the dancers headed back to their booths. As she strolled on Jack’s arm, Sophie noticed Belle Chessington on the arm of Mr. Somercote—surely a most unlikely Vauxhall patron. Belle waved and smiled hugely, her eyes sparkling. Mr. Somercote, too, smiled broadly, clearly both pleased and proud.
“Well, well,?
? Jack murmured. “You’ll have to tell your aunt she’s achieved a minor miracle. Somercote’s silence has been tripping the matchmakers up for years. It looks as if he’s finally found his tongue.”
Sophie laughed. “Indeed, you have to admit he won’t need many words, not with Belle on his arm.”
Jack smiled, then looked ahead.
And tensed. Sophie felt it, and followed his gaze to see the rotund figure of her uncle clearly visible in their booth.
“Just in time.” Jack quickened his pace.
As they entered the booth, Lucilla beckoned to Sophie. “Mrs. Chessington just stopped by. Wonder of wonders!”
From the corner of her eye, Sophie saw Jack greet Horatio. They exchanged a few words, Jack very serious, then both turned and left the booth.
Subsiding onto the chair beside her aunt, Sophie forced herself to concentrate enough to follow Lucilla’s discourse. It proved a supremely difficult task. Her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap, she was acutely conscious of every little sound, every movement in the booth.
She jumped when the gong rang again.
“The fireworks!”
Once more, the patrons poured from the booths and from the shadowy walks, heading for a small arena surrounded by lawns. Smiling indulgently, Lucilla allowed Jeremy and George to tug her to her feet. Sophie rose uncertainly, glancing about. Ned offered Clarissa his arm; together with Toby they joined the exodus. Jack was nowhere to be seen.