“I mean,” Jack replied, prowling about the table to cut off her retreat, “that you overlooked one particular danger in assuring Marston of your safety.” He met Sophie’s stare and smiled. “Me.”
Sophie took one long look into his glittering eyes and instinctively moved to keep the table between them. As the truth dawned, she lifted her chin. “How dare you eavesdrop on my conversations!”
Jack’s predatory smile didn’t waver. “As always, your conversation was most instructive, my dear. It did, however, leave me with one burning question.”
Sophie eyed him warily. “What?”
“Just what game are you playing, my dear?”
The sudden flare in his eyes startled Sophie anew. “Ah—you’re a gentleman, Mr. Lester.” It seemed the time to remind him.
“Gentleman rake,” Jack replied. “There’s a difference.”
Sophie was suddenly very sure there was. Eyes wider than ever, she took a step back, then smothered a yelp as, with one hand and a single shove, Jack sent the table shooting over the floor.
Sophie’s gaze followed it, until it came to a quivering halt by the wall, her basket still balanced upon it. Then she looked round—and jumped back a step when she found Jack directly in front of her. He advanced; she retreated another step. Two more steps and Sophie found the wall of the summer-house at her back. Jack’s arms, palms flat against the wall, one on either side, imprisoned her. She eyed first one arm, then the other. Then, very cautiously, she looked up into his face.
His expression was intent. “Now, Sophie—”
“Ah—Jack.” Any discussion was potentially dangerous; she needed time to consider just what he had heard, and what he might now think. Sophie fixed her gaze on his cravat, directly before her face. “I’m really quite overset.” That was the literal truth. “I—I’m rather overwrought. As you heard, I just turned away three suitors. Three offers. Not a small thing, after all. I fear my nerves are a trifle strained by the experience.”
Jack shifted, leaning closer, raising one hand to catch Sophie’s chin. He tipped her face up until her wise gaze met his. “I suggest you steel yourself then, my dear. For you’re about to re
ceive a fourth.”
Sophie’s lips parted on a protest; it remained unuttered. Jack’s lips closed over hers, sealing them, teasing the soft contours, then ruthlessly claiming them. Head whirling, Sophie clutched at his lapels. She felt him hesitate, then his head slanted over hers. Sophie shuddered as he boldly claimed her warmth, tasting her, teasing her senses with calculated expertise. Her fingers left his lapels to steal upwards, to clutch at his shoulders. He released her chin; he shifted, straightening, pulling her against him, one large hand gripping her waist. The kiss deepened again; her senses whirling, Sophie wondered how much deeper it could go. Then his hand swept slowly upward to firm about her breast, gently caressing even as he demanded her surrender.
Sophie tried to stiffen, to pull away, to refuse as she knew she should. Instead, she felt herself sink deeper into his arms, deeper into his kiss. Her breast swelled to his touch, her body ached for more.
Jack drew her hard against him, then lifted his head to breathe against her lips, “Will you marry me, Sophie?”
Sophie’s heart screamed an assent but she held the words back, hanging on to her wits by her fingernails. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking up into the warm blue of his. She licked her lips, then blushed as his gaze followed the action. She tried to speak, but couldn’t find her voice. Instead, she shook her head.
Jack’s blue eyes narrowed. “No? Why not?” He gave her no chance to answer but kissed her again, just as deeply, just as imperiously.
“You said you would only marry for love,” he reminded her when he again consented to lift his head. His eyes rose to hers, satisfaction flaring at her dazed expression. “You’re in love with me, Sophie. And I’m in love with you. We both know it.”
His head lowered again; Sophie realized she was in desperate straits. Faced with another of his kisses, and their increasingly debilitating effect on her wits, she seized the first word that crossed her mind. “Money,” she gasped.
Jack stopped, his lips a mere inch from hers. Slowly, he drew back, enough to look into her eyes. He studied them for a long moment, then slowly shook his head. “Not good enough this time, Sophie. You told them—your three importunate suitors—that you would never marry for money. You said it very plainly. They had money, but not your love. I’ve got your love—why do I need money?”
His gaze did not leave hers. Sophie could barely think. Again, she shook her head. “I can’t marry you, Jack.”
“Why not?”
Sophie eyed him warily. “You wouldn’t understand if I explained.”
“Try me.”
Pressing her lips together, Sophie just shook her head. She knew she was right; she also knew he wouldn’t agree.
To her dismay, a slow, thoroughly rakish smile lit Jack’s face. He sighed. “You’ll tell me eventually, Sophie.”
His tone was light, quite unconcerned. Sophie blinked and saw him look down. She followed his gaze—and gasped.
“Jack! What on earth are you doing?” Sophie batted ineffectually at his hands, busy with the buttons of her gown. Jack laughed and drew her closer, so that she couldn’t reach his nimble fingers. Then the gown was open and his long fingers slipped inside. They closed about her breast; Sophie’s knees shook.
“Sophie—” For an instant, Jack closed his eyes, his hand firming about her soft flesh. Then he bent his head and caught her lips with his.