In fact, she didn’t remember a time in her life when she’d felt more alive, more stalwart, more content... more pleased with herself.
Almost lovingly, she dusted the picture with her sleeve, then blew at it, and set it down.
He seemed to notice it for the first time then, and he glared at it, then turned to glare at her.
“What is that?”
Sophia didn’t understand the question. “You’ve seen it before,” she told him matter-of-factly. “You know what it is!”
“Yes,” he argued, “I do know what it is, but what I want to know is ... what is it doing on my desk?”
“Perhaps you should have asked that instead,” Sophia reprimanded him with a nod and smile, and then answered his question, “I had to put it somewhere.”
She thought perhaps he resented sharing his desk with her.
His eyes glittered with animosity. “Try the garbage.”
She tilted him a curious glance.
He was staring at the picture with utter revulsion, as though it were some atrocity she had heaped on his desk. Judging by his expression, she thought he didn’t like Harlan—and considered that maybe it wasn’t entirely her to whom he objected.
Harlan had never done anything to Jack that she knew of, had never even mentioned him, in fact.
Then again... if Harlan had done something to spur Jack’s animosity, it wasn’t likely that Harlan would come right out and say so.
In any case, why would Harlan have suggested Jonathon secure passage on Jack’s ship if the two had no love for each other?
Interesting, she thought, and studied him more closely.
He dismissed her again and returned to his reading. She set the portrait down and walked boldly around the desk to look over his shoulder.
Harlan had rarely discussed his affairs with her, much less worked in her presence, though Sophie had practically begged him to. Her mind thirsted for knowledge. She had so many questions, and not nearly enough answers. It just wasn’t fair that women weren’t encouraged to pursue a proper education. She envied both Jack and Harlan with all her heart.
“Mizz Vanderwahl,” he protested, sensing her at his back. His tone lacked any patience at all, and Sophie crossed her eyes at him. Whatever happened to his simply calling her Sophie?
Mizz Vanderwahl, she mouthed, mimicking him, and felt strangely pleased with her brattiness. Never as a child had she dared speak out of turn. Even if she was far too old to indulge in such impishness, it felt wickedly good to do it privately.
He very nearly caught her.
He turned his papers over and looked up at her, and she donned a pleasant expression and smiled.
“Can I do something for you?”
Sophie shook her head, smiling sweetly, and he turned away once more to read. She frowned at his back, pouting really, though she had no notion as to why. Why should it matter to her if their acquaintance had gone beyond any form of reparation?
It didn’t, she assured herself.
And yet a feeling, something like a lead weight, sank in her belly.
“I was just curious,” Sophie told him, and wondered why she suddenly felt so disheartened. She came a little closer, trying to see what it was that held his attention.
He sighed, a sound much like those her father had made when her mother had tried him to the edge of his patience.
“Do you mind?” he asked, and set the papers down on his desk. In fact, he made a point of turning them over again ... as though he didn’t trust her, and didn’t want her nosing over his shoulder.
Why didn’t he trust her?
Sophie wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. By Jove, if he didn’t trust her, he could just say so! She wanted to hear it from his own two lips! And she wanted to know why! They stared at each other, at an impasse.
Sophie stood her ground.
Chapter 15
The woman just didn’t know how close she was to finding herself in a very precarious position.
Jack was trying, he really was, but she wasn’t making this easy on him.
He’d let her stay mostly because at the first rumble of thunder, his conscience had pricked him, and he hadn’t liked the idea of her lying in her bed getting thoroughly drenched.
But he was beginning to regret it now.
His body was tense and he was beginning to feel a bit like a starved, caged lion—except that the object of his hunger had managed to lock herself up with him, and he was almost beyond the point of restraint.
He stared at her, trying to clear the damnable fog from his brain. It was difficult enough to focus on his research with her in the same room, much less with her standing at his back. The scent of her dizzied him. His mouth grew dry with desire and his heart beat like a cannon blasting in his chest.
“I am working,” he told her curtly, and tried not to notice the silhouette of her body beneath her gauzy white gown. His heartbeat quickened. “I see you managed to salvage at least something from your wardrobe?”
She smiled and leaned a hip against his desk. She was too close, way too close.
“A few things actually.”
Jack’s gaze was drawn down to the vee in her gown, and then down again to where the material tucked neatly between her legs, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the shape of her thighs.
Christ.
His mouth watered.
“I’m ... uh ... glad,” he said, and closed his eyes, shielding them from the sight of her.
What he wouldn’t give just now to sit her on his desk, hike up her gown, and feast on the nectar of her body. His hands shook as he shoved his papers aside.
Hell, he couldn’t read anyway, his eyes were clouded with desire. How long had it been since he’d wanted a woman this badly?
He couldn’t remember.
Reminding himself that she belonged to someone else—never mind that the man was undeserving—Jack turned to face her, intending to rise from his chair, to walk away from temptation.
Physical evidence kept him firmly planted in his seat.
His eyes were drawn to the dark aureoles visible beneath her fine gown, and he swallowed. He tried to ignore the heat filling his loins. He shifted in his seat slightly.
“Jack?” she prompted, his name coming tentatively to her lips.
The sound of it surprised him, pleased him, sent a shock of a different sort leaping through him.
It was the first time she’d used his given name... but he wanted more. He’d like to hear it whispered in his ear while his body undulated atop her.
He looked up at her to find her hugging herself sweetly, almost like a little girl. “I was wondering ... did you always know what you wanted to be?”
Her voice was soft and sweet and her mood had shifted one hundred eighty degrees.
No longer was she the vixen ready to do battle. She suddenly was looking at him like an expectant child, ready for her bedtime story.
The image should have cooled his ardor, but only managed to confuse him.
Here she stood before him, alone in his room, prim in her nightgown, her eyes full of curiosity ... but for something far more innocent than what he wanted to show her.
She was an incredible contradiction—bold enough to share his room without asking permission and pure enough to stand before him in her nightgown, staring up at him with an expression that looked suddenly and very dangerously like... admiration.
Was she truly interested?
Or was she trying to soften him up?
In any case, he thought about her question a moment, because it took that long to register. “I think so,” he answered, clearing his throat.
Her honey-colored eyes glimmered with intelligence.
He could see so much in them... passion, excitement, joy. Despite the state of their personal affairs, she seemed intoxicated with life in the way he usually was when he was on the brink of some new discovery.
Was she always so ebullient?
Or was she simply looking
forward to seeing her lover as she’d claimed? That thought soured his mood.
Damned Penn.
Why was it the bastard always ended up with the things Jack most wanted? At the instant, he was feeling bitter in a way he’d never let himself give in to—not even on receiving the news that Penn had been awarded yet another grant. His grant. He’d warrant Penn had no idea why he was even out there... beyond the arguments he had stolen from Jack. He was probably wandering around in a daze, tripping over the very evidence Jack was hungry to uncover.
Which led him to wonder ... what did Sophia know about her fiancé’s affairs? If she was spying for him, it had to mean she knew something, at least. And if she did... well, then maybe he could pick her brain ...
“Do you enjoy anthropology, Sophia?”
For an instant, Sophie started at his question.
She didn’t ever remember Harlan once asking her, though she’d been greedy for the conversation.
“Actually...” She blinked away her surprise and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes.”
“I suppose you would have to share a passing interest, at least?” he suggested.
Sophie thought he must be referring to Harlan, and chafed at the reminder of Harlan’s letter—his ready dismissal of her curiosity. “I never pretend an interest in anything,” she assured him, and hesitated, unsure why it seemed suddenly inappropriate to address him so formally. “... Mr. MacAuley.”
Perhaps it was simply because she was standing before him dressed only in her nightgown, a tattered one at that. Honestly, she ought to be more abashed by the fact, but she considered herself a practical woman, and her manner of dress simply couldn’t be helped at the moment. She was fortunate, indeed, that she was wearing what she was, and had decided not to dwell upon her lack of choice. What good would it do her anyhow? She couldn’t exactly complain when it was her own fault that she was minus a few gowns.
“I wasn’t implying you were pretending at all,” he countered. “Only that you are no stranger to the field.” He sat back in his chair and cocked his head at her. “I imagine your fiancé spoke often of his ... second love.”
Her heart squeezed at his question.
“His second love?” For an instant, the allusion flew past her entirely. Foremost in her mind was Harlan’s dalliances. And then she realized what he was implying. “Oh, yes! Well, no, actually,” she confessed. “Harlan rarely spoke of his activities to me at all.”
She sighed, realizing just how little time they had actually spent together as adults. “In fact,” she confessed a little sadly, “I rarely saw him after our engagement.”
His brows lifted and he stared at her, scrutinizing her much too closely. “Really?”
Sophie looked away, uncomfortable with his regard. She didn’t want him to know anything.
It wasn’t any of his affair.
“Really,” she replied, and changed the subject at once. “However,” she told him with a smile, “When we were children, he often shared his aspirations with me.”
“Did he?”
Was he truly interested or was he merely humoring her?
It didn’t matter. Sophie was hungry for the opportunity to expound upon this subject. She pulled herself up on the desk, eager for his conversation. “In fact, when I was a little girl,” she began wistfully, “we went on an expedition into the wilderness. It was the most fun I ever had!”
His brows lifted. “Expedition?”
Sophie laughed, embarrassed though she hadn’t a reason to be. It was a very long time ago, and she’d been merely a child. “At our summer home ... my mother used to have these picnics where she would invite her closest friends. Because none of them had little girls my age, I usually played alone. But one day the boys asked me to join them on their expedition, and I was absolutely beside myself with joy at my first discovery! A shark’s tooth!”
She laughed softly at the memory. “Actually, I’m not sure if, in fact, it was a shark’s tooth, but it certainly looked like one. Some part of me couldn’t begin to fathom fierce fish had once swam through my yard. But the boys swore it was a shark’s tooth, and somewhere deep down I wanted to believe it.”
Jack blinked away the image of her as a child running through the parklands of her home. “Sometimes you have to forget everything you know and see the world with new eyes.”
“Yes! I think so, too,” Sophie agreed. “Sometimes everything you know is just plain wrong.” She was talking about Harlan now, her life in general, but he needn’t know it. “Sometimes everyone around you is telling you something is one way, and you try so hard to believe it, and it just doesn’t feel right.” She chewed her bottom lip, contemplating that truth. “Do you know what I mean?”
His eyes twinkled a bit. “I do.”
“Sometimes,” Sophie continued, encouraged by his rapt attention, “nothing feels right until you forget everything you know ... and follow your heart.”
He shook his head. “Your heart will get you in trouble,” Jack proposed. “Follow your gut instead. It never lies.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Her gut said she was doing the right thing.
“So what did you do with your shark’s tooth?” he asked, and smiled. “Did you save it?”
Sophie bit her lip and told him a bit sheepishly, “My mother found it, actually, and was quite horrified by it. She tossed it in the garden, and told me never to get my hands dirty again. But I went back later and found it, took it inside, and hid it in my pillow.” She refrained from adding that she would pull it out each night and sleep with it tucked in the palm of her hand, certain he would think that was silly.
“I used to imagine it was my good luck charm, to scare away the ghoulies.”
He laughed, the sound of it rich and warm.
It made Sophie feel completely at ease.
“I think that’s every budding anthropologist’s first discovery ... the infamous shark’s tooth.”
Sophie grinned at him. “Was it yours?” She lifted her knees up and hugged herself, lying her cheek atop them, feeling perfectly at ease when only minutes before she had felt awkward.
“Actually, no.”
“What was yours?”
“A canine tibia.”
Sophie scrunched her nose. “A dog’s leg?” She laughed. “Yuck!”
He grinned. “Yep. Told my friends it was an ancient breed of horse that belonged to pygmies who migrated from Africa.”
Sophie giggled. “You told them that?”
He nodded, looking quite pleased with himself, and Sophie suddenly imagined him as a child, his golden hair white from the sun and his skin deeply bronzed, his teeth flashing in a mischievous grin that was inherently all boy. “Wherever did you come up with a theory like that?”
“Vivid imagination, mostly,” he admitted. “But my father was an anthropologist,” he told her, “and I picked up bits and pieces from him.”
Sophie’s brows lifted in surprise. “Was he truly?”
“One of the best,” Jack said, and Sophie could see the pride in his face. His eyes filled with admiration and his smile was genuine.
“He must be so proud!” Sophie exclaimed.
He blinked then, and looked away, then back, shuttering emotions from her. “He’s dead now, Sophie.”
She’d known that, actually.
“Oh.” Sophie flinched at her own carelessness. How could she have forgotten? She sat up, her heart twisting a little. “I’m sorry,” she offered, and wanted to hug him suddenly.
“Don’t be,” he said, and smiled too. “He lived a full life.”
She wanted to ask more, but didn’t dare.
Their gazes held.
Her heart began to beat a little faster, and she swallowed a knot that rose in her throat.
“I guess I should go to bed now,” she said after a moment, taking a deep breath and sliding her feet to the floor.
She was feeling strange suddenly, wanting things she shouldn’t dare even think of.
“Well... g’night,” she whispered and rose, leaving him to his work.
“G’night, Sophia,” he whispered back.
Her body shivered at the sound of her name on his lips and she quickly closed the curtain between them. Without another word, she put out the lanterns on her side of the room. She had no idea what had just happened between them, but her head was spinning as she climbed into her hammock.
As she lay there, she tried not to think of him sitting on the other side of the curtain, but was far too aware of every shuffle of his papers ... every sound that came from his half of the room.
Her heart didn’t stop pounding until long after his lantern clicked off and the room lay completely still.
The storm that had been threatening earlier never materialized and the sound of the waves slapping outside the cabin lulled her to sleep.
Chapter 16
It was late afternoon when Sophie finished her self-appointed chores.
She was weary as she made her way back to the cabin for a moment’s respite, but filled with satisfaction over the day’s accomplishments.
In the last few days, she’d managed somehow to stay out of trouble, and had even made strides toward making amends with Jack. He seemed different toward her today—not that he’d spoken to her much at all, but it seemed to Sophie that every time she’d chanced to look up, he was there, watching her.
She couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t trust her, or if he still expected her to find her way into trouble... or if it was something more... but something about the way he looked at her sent her pulse skittering.
Maybe he had felt what she’d felt that first night in his cabin? She tried not to think of that, pushed it aside.
Her life was complicated enough, and she was determined now to uncomplicate it at all costs. Jack MacAuley was a distraction she could do without. She didn’t need a man in her life.
At any rate, there were other things to concern herself with this moment. Thanks to Kell, the stove was no longer a complete enigma, and she’d managed to concoct a few edible meals. She thought perhaps she was improving, though it wasn’t as yet evident in the expressions on the crew’s faces. She’d work on her seasoning now, and maybe before long she would see them smile at the prospect of eating the fruit of her labors.
To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection Page 40