A Lady of Expectations and Other Stories: A Lady Of Expectations / The Secrets of a Courtesan / How to Woo a Spinster. Stephanie Laurens
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her lips and, with renewed determination, gave her attention to her court. “Will your sister be coming up to London, Lord Argyle? I should be delighted to meet her again.”
She was here to find a husband, not to fall victim to a rake’s blue eyes.
By dint of sheer determination, Jack managed to keep himself occupied until the country dance preceding the supper waltz was in progress. He was, he kept reminding himself, far too experienced to cram his leaders. Instead, he had forced himself to circulate, artfully sidestepping subtle invitations to lead other young ladies onto the floor. Now, as the last strains of the music died, he threaded his way through the crowd to come up by Sophie’s side. Fate was smiling on him again; she had just finished thanking her partner, Lord Enderby.
“Miss Winterton.” With a slight bow, Jack reached for Sophie’s hand. “Evening, Enderby.” A nod was enough to distract her recent partner.
“Eh?” Squinting slightly, Lord Enderby switched his near-sighted stare from Sophie to Jack. “Oh, it’s you, Lester. Surprised to see you here. Thought you’d be at Newmarket.”
Jack smiled—into Sophie’s eyes. “I discovered that, this Season, there was to be an unlooked-for distraction in London.”
“Really?” Lord Enderby’s eyes were too weak to appreciate the action taking place before them. “What’s that?”
Feeling the warmth rise to her cheeks, Sophie held her breath, her gaze daring her next partner to say anything untoward.
Jack’s gaze grew more intent. “Far be it from me to reveal any secrets,” he said. “You’ll learn the truth soon enough.” His gaze remained on Sophie’s face. “But I’m come to steal Miss Winterton from you, Enderby. My dance is next, I believe, my dear?” With a calmly proprietorial air, Jack tucked Sophie’s hand into the crook of his elbow and, with the barest of nods for Lord Enderby, now thoroughly bemused, turned her down the room.
Sophie blinked and grabbed her wandering wits. “I believe you’re right, Mr. Lester. But shouldn’t we return to my aunt?”
“Why?”
She glanced up to find an improbably mild expression inhabiting her companion’s patrician features as, undeterred by her remonstrance, he led her further and further from her aunt. “Because it’s expected,” she replied.
He smiled then, a slow, devilish smile, and looked down, meeting her gaze. “You’re not a deb, my dear.” His voice had deepened; she felt as well as heard it. Then his intent look softened and he looked ahead. “And, despite the throng, the room is not so crowded your aunt cannot keep you in view, if she’s so inclined.”
That, Sophie realized as she calmed her leaping heart, was true. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Lucilla, with Clarissa beside her, almost at the other end of the room. There were many bodies between, but the crowd was not so thick it blocked them off.
“I don’t intend to kidnap you, you know.”
The soft statement pulled her gaze back to his face.
Jack smiled and tried his best to make the gesture reassuring. “I merely thought you might like to see who else is here tonight.”
Her “Oh,” was there in her eyes. Then, with a last, still-suspicious glance, she gave up her resistance, her hand settling on his arm.
He did as he had indicated, embarking on a gentle perambulation of the room. “Lady Entwhistle’s lucky to see so many here so early in the Season. Lord Abercrombie,” Jack indicated that well-known huntsman. “Have you met him before?” Sophie nodded. “He, for one, rarely leaves Northamptonshire until late April. The thaw must be extensive to have driven him south this early.”
Sophie had, indeed, been surprised to find so many of the ton’s more mature yet eligible bachelors present. “I hadn’t realized that the weather was to blame.”
Again, she was aware of his gaze. “For some,” he said, his voice low. Sternly quelling a shiver, Sophie pretended to look about.
“So, how do you find Society after four years away? Does it still hold some allure?”
Sophie glanced up at the question; a cynical ripple in his smooth tones gave her pause. “Allure?” she repeated, putting her head on one side. “I do not know that that is the right term, Mr. Lester.” She frowned slightly. “There’s glamour, perhaps.” With one hand, she gestured about them. “But any with eyes must see it is transitory, an illusion with no real substance.” They strolled on and Sophie smiled wryly. “I have long thought the Season society’s stage, where we all come together to impress each other with our standing before summer draws us back to our true professions, to the management of our estates.”
His gaze on her face, Jack inclined his head, his expression enigmatic. “You are wise beyond your years, my dear.”
Sophie met his gaze; she arched a sceptical brow. “And you, sir?” She let her gaze slide away. Greatly daring, she continued, “I find it hard to believe that your view of the Season agrees with mine. I have always been told that gentlemen such as yourself pursue certain interests for which the Season is indispensible.”
Jack’s lips twitched. “Indeed, my dear.” He let a moment stretch in silence before adding, “You should not, however, imagine that such interests are behind my presence here in town this early in the year.”
Resisting the urge to look up at him, Sophie kept her gaze on those surrounding them. “Indeed?” she replied coolly. “Then it was boredom that fetched you south?”
Jack glanced down at her. “No, Miss Winterton. It was not boredom.”
“Not boredom?” Determination not to allow him to triumph, Sophie swung about and, disregarding the crazed beating of her heart and the constriction which restricted her breathing, met his blue gaze. “Indeed, sir?”
He merely raised an arrogant brow at her, his expression unreadable.
She met his gaze coolly, then allowed hers to fall, boldly taking in his large, immaculately clad frame. The sapphire glinted in the white folds of his cravat; he wore no fobs or other ornament, nothing to detract from the image created by lean and powerful muscles. “Ah,” she declared, resisting the urge to clear her throat. Settling her hand once more on his sleeve, she fell in by his side. “I see it now. Confess, sir, that it is the prospect of your mounts having to wade through the mire that has driven you, in despair I make no doubt, from Leicestershire.”
Jack laughed. “Wrong again, Miss Winterton.”
“Then I greatly fear it is the lure of the gaming rooms that has brought you to town, Mr. Lester.”
“There’s a lure involved, I admit, but it’s not one of green baize.”
“What, then?” Sophie demanded, pausing to look up at him.
Jack’s gaze rose to touch her curls, then lowered to her eyes, softly blue. His lips lifted in a slow smile. “The lure is one of gold, my dear.”
Sophie blinked and frowned slightly. “You’ve come seeking your fortune?”
Jack’s gaze, darkly blue, became more intent. “Not my fortune, Miss Winterton.” He paused, his smile fading as he looked into her eyes. “My future.”
Her gaze trapped in his, Sophie could have sworn the polished parquetry on which she stood quivered beneath her feet. She was dimly aware they had halted; the crowd about them had faded, their chattering no longer reaching her. Her heart was in her throat, blocking her breath; it had to be that that was making her so lightheaded.
The midnight blue gaze did not waver; Sophie searched his eyes, but could find no hint, in them or his expression, to discount the wild possibility that had leapt into her mind.
Then he smiled, his mouth, his expression, softening, as she had seen it do before.
“I believe that’s our waltz starting,