Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (44 page)

The comment cut off Sophie's protests. Taken aback, she frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“Leave you to get acquainted.” With a farewell pat for the mare, Horatio strode back to see how his sons were faring.

Sophie looked after him, her eyes narrowing. Then she snorted disgustedly and turned back to the mare. As if in argument, the mare shook her head, then snorted once, ears pricking forward. Sophie grinned. “Aren't you a clever creature?” she crooned.

The mare nodded vigorously.

When, at length, they were ready to leave their equine partners, they strolled together back along the mews and around to the house, Horatio with them.

In reply to Jeremy and George's eager question, Horatio replied, “You should give them a day or two to get over their journey, and for those not used to the noise to become more accustomed, before you take them out.”

The boys whooped. “Monday, then!”

“However,” Horatio smoothly continued, cutting across their transports. “You cannot, I'm afraid, simply take off with a groom here in town.” He glanced first at Sophie, then at Clarissa, walking on either side of him. “Neither your aunt nor I would be happy with that.”

“But Toby will be here soon, will he not?” Clarissa ventured.

Horatio nodded. His eldest son, presently at Oxford, was expected to join the family any day. “True. But even so, you must remember that Toby is barely twenty. It would hardly be fair to foist the responsibility for all of you onto his shoulders. Indeed, although your mother and I have no doubt of his willingness to act as your escort, he is not yet experienced enough to adequately guard against the dangers which might face you here in the capital. This is not Leicestershire, as you know.”

“What, then?” Sophie asked, knowing he was right. “Where will we find a suitable escort?”

Horatio smiled his most inscrutable smile. “Your aunt has promised to see to it.”

 

T
UESDAY AFTERNOON
saw the Webb ladies taking the air in the Park. The weather continued unseasonably mild; everyone was out to take advantage. Bright walking gowns splashed colour across the lawns. One or two ladies had even felt the need for parasols.

From her perch in the barouche beside her aunt, with Clarissa gaily smiling from the opposite seat, Sophie nodded and waved greetings, determined thus to keep her mind on noting any newcomers, rather than allowing her gaze to wander farther afield, searching for one she would do well to forget.

After completing a leisurely circuit, her aunt directed her coachman to pull up alongside Lady Abercrombie's carriage.

Her ladyship, as sociable as her husband was not, was all smiles. “Lucilla, dear! How positively delightful! Do you intend to remain all Season?”

While Lucilla exchanged gossip with her ladyship, both Sophie and Clarissa did what young ladies were supposed to do on such occasions: they responded to any query directed their way but otherwise allowed their gaze to idly roam the passing scenery, which was to say, the passing crowd.

Engaged in this necessary occupation, Sophie greeted any acquaintances who passed, exchanging commonplaces all but automatically, while her wandering gaze became gradually more intent. When it finally occurred to her what she was doing, she frowned and shook herself.

With a determined air, she looked about for distraction. And discovered Mr. Marston, waiting, sober and serious as a judge, to greet her.

“Oh, good day, sir.” Annoyed at her awkwardness—she was surely more experienced than this!—Sophie summoned a smile. “I did not know you had intended to come to London.”

Phillip Marston took her hand and bowed. He shook hands with both Clarissa and Lucilla, who, on hearing his voice, had turned, brows flying upward. After exchanging a few words, Lucilla turned back to Lady Abercrombie, leaving Mr. Marston to gravely tell Sophie, “Indeed, Miss Winterton, it was not my intention to join the frivolity.” A disdainful glance at two young gentlemen who came up to speak to Clarissa declared his opinion very clearly. “Nevertheless, I felt that, in this case, my presence was necessary.”

Sophie was mystified. “Indeed, sir?”

“I flatter myself that I am fully cognizant of the inherent sensibility of your mind, Miss Winterton. I greatly fear that you will find little to entertain a lady of your refined nature here in the capital.” Phillip Marston cast a glance at Lucilla, once more deeply engrossed with Lady Abercrombie, and lowered his voice. “As your aunt was determined to bring you to town, I felt that the least I could do, as I assured my dear mama, was to journey here to do what I may to support you through this time.”

Utterly dumbfounded, Sophie silently searched for the prescribed reply to that revelation, and discovered that there wasn't one. In fact, as the full implication of Mr. Marston's declaration impinged on her mind, she decided she did not approve—of him or it. Drawing herself up, she fixed him with a distinctly frosty gaze. “I must inform you, sir, that I find the entertainments to which my aunt escorts me quite fascinating.”

A condescending smile lifted Mr. Marston's thin lips. “Your loyalty to your aunt does you credit, my dear, but I feel I must point out that the Season has not yet begun. The entertainments thus far are doubtless mild enough. You will understand my concern once the more…rackety gentlemen are included. Then, I venture to say, you will be only too glad of my escort.”

Sophie struggled for words. She dragged in a deep breath, glanced up—and felt a surge of inexpressible relief. Her heart leapt. She promptly tried to dampen her reaction, only to see the corners of Jack Lester's lips lift.

With determined calm, Sophie coolly extended one hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lester.”

“Miss Winterton.” With suave grace, Jack bowed. “I had hoped to discover you here.” He ignored Mr. Marston beside him.

Mr. Marston, Sophie noticed, was not ignoring him. He drew himself up, his nostrils pinched as if Mr. Lester's appearance was offensive. Just what he could find amiss with that supremely elegant figure Sophie was at a loss to guess. “Ah…I believe you have met Mr. Marston before, Mr. Lester? He's down from Leicestershire. I was just commenting on what a surprise it was to see him here.” Sophie watched as the two men exchanged glances, Marston visibly bristling.

“Marston.” With a brief nod, Jack dismissed the fellow from his thoughts and turned to Clarissa as her two admirers withdrew. “Miss Webb.” Jack shook her hand, then indicated the figure beside him. “I believe Mr. Ascombe is known to you both?”

Sophie blinked, then smiled delightedly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Clarissa's jaw drop. Ned had been to a tailor—a good one. His coat of Bath superfine now hugged his shoulders, doing far more justice to his lean frame than his previous suiting ever had. And he had had a haircut—his crisp brown locks were now in fashionable disarray. His breeches, his boots—all were new and all contributed to a remarkable transmogrification. Taking it all in with one comprehensive glance, Sophie retained sufficient wit to respond to the subtle prompt in Jack's steady blue gaze. She held out her hand and smiled warmly. “Indeed, yes. It's good to see you, Ned.”

Some of Ned's stiffness faded. He slanted Sophie a grin. “You look ravishing, Sophie. Determined to cut a swath through the
ton?
”

Sophie was impressed by the clear confidence in Ned's tone. A quick glance to her right showed that she wasn't alone. Clarissa was staring at Ned, confusion clearly writ in her large blue eyes. “I'm certainly determined to enjoy myself this Season,” Sophie responded. “Will you be in town for the duration?”

“I expect so,” Ned replied, his gaze fixed on Sophie. “I hadn't realized before just how many distractions there were to be found in the capital.”

“Hello, Ned.”

At Clarissa's somewhat tentative greeting, Ned turned to her with an easy but in no way especial smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Webb. You're looking quite splendid. Have you been enjoying your stay thus far?”

Sophie bit her lip. The quick glance she sent Jack was a mistake. The devilish light in his blue eyes very nearly overset her control.

Clarissa, clearly bemused by the change in her childhood companion, mumbled a disjointed response, lost as Mr. Marston cut in.

“Afternoon, Ascombe.” Phillip Marston eyed Ned's new finery with a critical eye. “Your father, I suspect, would be quite surprised to see you thus decked out.”

Used to Phillip Marston's sober declarations, Ned merely grinned and shook his hand.

Sophie smothered a giggle. Jack caught her eye; she looked away, her jaws aching.

Then Lucilla joined the fray. She greeted Jack as an old acquaintance, complimented Ned on his good sense, and, under cover of a rapid-fire monologue on the varied entertainments to be found in the capital, managed to divulge that her charges would dearly like to ride in the Park in the mornings but lacked suitable escorts. “For even when Toby arrives,” she declared, “I would not be happy to allow a group of such innocents to brave the Park without someone more experienced to handle the reins, as it were.”

Stunned, Sophie directed a look of pointed reproof at her aunt. Lucilla pretended not to notice. Predictably, a deep voice answered.

“Mr. Ascombe and I would be only too happy to be of assistance, Mrs. Webb. Would you be content to release your charges to our care?”

Impotent, Sophie watched as Lucilla bent a look of shining approval on Jack. “Indeed, Mr. Lester. I cannot think of anyone I'd trust more.”

Jack very nearly winced but inclined his head in acceptance of her commission. In this instance, her stipulation that he was being entrusted with her charges and therefore, as a gentleman, expected to respect her confidence, was no handicap.

And there was hay yet to be made from the situation. “Perhaps Miss Winterton and Miss Webb would care to stroll the lawns while we discuss the most appropriate time to meet?”

Lucilla's eyes widened slightly.

Sophie was not at all certain of the wisdom of strolling beside Jack Lester, even in the middle of the Park. Maintaining an appropriate distance was imperative; closing the physical distance between them was unlikely to help her cause.

“What a perfectly splendid idea!” Clarissa turned to Lucilla, her eyes bright and eager.

With a sigh and a lifted brow, Lucilla relaxed against the squabs. “By all means—but only for fifteen minutes. I'll await you here.”

To Sophie's immense relief, Phillip Marston said nothing, merely frowning into the distance in an abstracted fashion. Then, rather abruptly, he bowed and took his leave of them.

Jack barely noticed. He handed Sophie down from the carriage, his satisfaction implicit in his smile. She was a picture in muslin the colour of old gold, a fairy princess with a touch of rose in her cheeks.

With her hand snugly tucked in his arm, they strolled across the broad expanse of clipped grass. Beside them, Clarissa, on Ned's arm, kept shooting shy glances up at him. Very correctly, the party remained together, clearly within sight of Lucilla in the barouche.

Aware, again, as she paced beside him of that strength that seemed an integral part of Jack Lester, impinging on her senses as if she had no defence, Sophie struggled to remain calmly aloof. Just friends—only friends. To her surprise, her companion proved to have a ready line of patter to meet even this occasion, one she doubted he had had much previous experience of.

“The
ton
seems uncommonly eager to commence this Season.” Jack commented, idly scanning the host dotting the lawns. “I don't think I've seen such a turnout this early for years.”

“My aunt was commenting on that fact,” Sophie returned, keeping her gaze firmly on their surroundings. “I believe that a number of ladies are considering holding coming-out balls next week.”

“My own ball will be held on Friday,” Clarissa volunteered, suppressed excitement quivering in her tone. “Mama says there's no reason not to get into the swing of things.”

“Your mother is indeed very wise, Miss Webb.” Jack smiled down at Clarissa's delicately flushed face. A few days of Ned's company had more than sufficed to bolster his instinctive liking into solid support. He was quite determined that, come the end of the Season, Ned would retire from the lists with Clarissa's favour firmly in his possession. “I suspect there are few subjects on which you would not be wise to heed your mother's advice.”

“Have you been on an excursion to the Royal Exchange, Miss Webb? I'm told the wild beasts are a fearsome spectacle.” Ned's tone was commendably even, devoid of overeagerness.

Hearing Clarissa, still warily suspicious but too unsure of this new Ned to risk any airs, answer with unaffected openess, Sophie was hard put to hide her grin.

Seeing her lips quirk, and deciding he had done enough today in furthering Ned's enterprise, Jack slowed his pace.

Sophie noticed. Her head came up. Looking her escort firmly in the eye, she raised a brow at him. When he merely smiled back, maddeningly, she surrendered to temptation. “Am I right, sir, in supposing you are helping Ned to adjust to town life?”

Jack smiled and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ned's a likeable chap. But having come up fresh from the country, he was facing opposition of unfair proportions. I thought it only fair to even the odds a little.”

Sophie felt her lips soften. “Indeed?” she replied, her eyes on his. “So your actions are prompted by nothing more than a passing interest in righting an inequity?”

“I'm very keen on righting inequities,” Jack informed her, his brows rising arrogantly. Then, abandoning his haughty attitude, he added, his tone deepening, “Not that I don't have reasons of my own to wish Clarissa settled.”

“Oh?” Sophie held his gaze, warmly blue. Caution went winging. “And what might those be, sir?”