“That is not your concern,” Jack bit out.
“No?” Philip scoffed. “She was my friend before you ever set eyes on her. How do you have more claim on her than I do?”
“Not one more word about her.” His temper was hanging by a thread. He turned on his heel and reached for the door.
“She deserves better, Ware.”
He stopped. His brother’s voice rang with warning. Philip stood like a fighter ready to box, feet wide, hands loose at his sides. “You’re hardly the one to decide what she deserves.”
“Neither are you!”
Jack recoiled.
Philip glared. “You’ve already done enough to her, don’t you think?”
“What the hell does that mean?” he growled.
“Dragging her off to Alwyn House like a Roman with a Sabine woman?” Jack gave a small but perceptible start. “I’m not the only one who doubts the story she spread, although I may be the only one who knows you like to slip away to Alwyn for a few days now and then. Very conveniently near, for a secluded seduction.”
Jack took a step toward his brother. It had been years since they fought physically, but his hands were in fists and his muscles were taut. “Close your bloody mouth.”
“I have a bit of advice for you,” his brother continued, “since you’ve been so generous with yours today. Sophie Campbell isn’t going to be your mistress, so you can give up hope there.”
“Shut it,” he growled.
“No, I will not,” his brother snapped back. “Give her up. And do it before you announce your engagement, for God’s sake.”
Jack froze. “What?”
His brother shook his head, scorn written on his face. “Mother told me about it. Sophie won’t have anything to do with you once she knows. She turns away every married man who approaches her.”
“I am not engaged,” said Jack, his heart beginning to thud.
Philip raised his eyebrows in patent skepticism. “Almost engaged is nearly the same as married, among the ton. You know that.”
Damn it. Damn it to hell. Jack concentrated on breathing deeply as his thoughts caromed from his mother to Lucinda to Sophie—Sophie, who would feel cruelly betrayed if she heard that rumor. He had to put a stop to this nonsense before it got out of control and ruined whatever chance he had to persuade her that he hadn’t deceived her and wanted her, not Lucinda or any other woman. “You should avoid idle gossip,” he said coldly.
His brother spread his hands. “Idle? Mother says it will happen, and we both know you always let her have her way in the end. She’ll spread the news all over London within days, if she hasn’t already, and I know you—you’re too honorable to throw Lucinda over then.” Philip leaned forward, his dark eyes deadly serious. “I’m offering you some well-intentioned advice—forget Sophie. Leave her alone. You ruined my chances with her—fine—but she deserves better than you, too.”
Chapter 23
Eliza’s words played over and over inside Sophie’s head.
She had formulated her Grand Plan at the age of eighteen or nineteen, while darning Lady Fox’s best lace mitts for twenty pounds a year as a hired companion. Sitting quietly behind Lady Fox, watching her flirt and have affairs with men half her age, Sophie had distilled her own goals into a short, simple list: security, companionship, and a family. She hated worrying about how she might keep a roof over her head if her elderly employer died. She hated watching other young ladies her age smile and dance with gentlemen before becoming wives and mothers, while knowing such a fate was unlikely for her. She hated being alone. Her friends were wonderful and loyal, but Sophie knew very well it would not be long before Eliza and Georgiana both had husbands and children of their own. Having lost her only family at the age of twelve, Sophie could think of nothing she wanted more than a comfortable home with a husband who was fond of her and a child or two to brighten her life.
To have a family, she needed a husband. To get a husband, she needed a fortune. To gain a fortune, she turned to the card tables. And so far, everything had been proceeding according to that plan . . . until Jack.
Eliza suggested he could be the solution to her Grand Plan. Even as Sophie denied it, the idea didn’t need much encouragement to take root and flourish in her mind. Why couldn’t he be? The odds might not be high, but they weren’t zero. Sometimes one had to chance long odds, when the reward was tantalizing enough.
When the clock struck one, she rose from the whist table at Vega’s and collected her winnings, fending off protests at her early departure with a smile. Without fanfare she went and collected her cloak, asked Mr. Forbes to fetch her a hackney and left, exactly as she did every other night. At her house she let herself in and waited, pacing circles around her parlor.
She would start with the worst—her gambling—and progress from there. Eliza was right, and she either needed to trust him enough with the truth, or break things off with him because she couldn’t trust him.
Within minutes there was a soft knock upon the door. Her heart jumped into her throat as she hurried to open it. He stepped over the threshold and caught her in his arms.
“I’ve been watching the clock for hours,” he whispered, his hands in her hair. “I thought it would never reach one o’clock.”
Her pulse beat wildly. She cupped her hands around his jaw and kissed him, her lips lingering on his. To hell with the odds. She loved him—she trusted him. Eliza was right. If she wanted more from him, she had to be honest. Flushed, nervous and hopeful at the same time, she put her hands on his chest. “Nor did I. I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you.”
He stiffened with a perceptible jerk. “Oh?”
The wariness in that word gave her pause, but Sophie banished it and forged on. “There is something I must tell you, before things grow even more complicated between us.”
Instead of answering, he closed his eyes and pulled her close again, holding her as if they were about to be parted. “Must you?” he whispered, his lips against her forehead.
Her mind raced and her heart sank. What did that mean? He was clearly dreading it. “Do you not want to know?”
His chest heaved with a silent sigh, then he released her. “Anything you want to tell me, I want to know.”
Sophie didn’t move. “Jack, what is wrong?”
He took her hand and studied it, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s been a trying day.” He flashed her a wry smile, looking for a moment as he had at Alwyn House. “Thanks to my mother and Philip, not you.”
“Oh.” She exhaled and gave a small laugh in relief. “I’m very sorry to hear they made life difficult.”
“Now that I am here with you, I don’t give a damn about them.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple, and they walked into the parlor and sat on the sofa, never letting go of each other.
“I think you have suspected me of having secrets for some time now, and you’re right—although perhaps not for the right reason,” she began. “I have not been completely honest with you.”
Jack cleared his throat. “Secrets.”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “The first one is that my name isn’t Campbell. Mr. Campbell is a myth, as well.” She watched his face closely but saw no sign of horror or disgust there. “I invented him because I wanted a fresh start when I came to London, and a widow is allowed so much more freedom.”
“A fresh start,” he repeated. “From what, if I may ask?”
Her face grew warm. “I was companion to an older lady in Bath. She left me three hundred pounds in her will, and I took my chances and came to London with it.”
“Ah.” A thin frown creased his brow.
“I wanted to be independent,” she explained. “My family . . . You know my father was disowned when he married my mother. His father was a—a viscount. Papa was not the oldest son, but he would ha
ve had a generous inheritance. But he fell in love with my mother, and my grandfather vehemently disapproved because she was an opera singer. My father gave up everything to marry her.” A smile crossed her face, thinking about her parents again. “My mother sang in every court in Europe. It was just the three of us, traveling from city to city, as she got engagements. It became harder as the war spread, and then Mama got sick.
“We had to come home to England,” she said, her words growing softer. “Mama lost her voice and Papa had to support us. He . . .” She hesitated. “He did so at the gaming tables. I helped him practice.”
“And that’s where you learned to play,” he murmured.
Sophie nodded. “I have a knack for cards—of all the silly talents to have. That’s why Vega’s was a crucial part of my plan. I never would have been accepted as a member there if I’d been a spinster, which was another good reason to become a widow.”
He said nothing for a moment. “You’ve won a good sum at Vega’s, haven’t you?”
Sophie nodded. “Approaching four thousand pounds, after expenses, in three years. I want to be independent.”
Jack’s eyebrows went up. So far her story aligned reasonably well with what he’d already assumed. Nothing she said had changed his mind about her—if anything, he had to admire her pluck. This was a real plan, and she’d executed it well. The contrast between his brother’s careless carousing and Sophie’s methodical pursuit was impossible to ignore.
She blushed under his regard. “I play to win because I have no other means of support. You accused me of being a hardened gamester. I suppose I am, although I truly don’t try to ruin anyone. It’s true I won from Philip, but never very much. I don’t want to beggar my friends, and I did think very highly of Philip until—”
Until Philip became possessive and troublesome. Jack resolved to revisit that point with his brother until Philip understood how loathsome his behavior had been. Incredibly, he found it all a massive relief. When she’d begun so somberly, he had feared there was something far worse. But this . . . It was nothing like what Portia had hidden from him. Sophie was as he had thought: independent, determined, and fundamentally true. His heart lifted at the realization that he’d been right about her, which meant he was free of any doubt about what to do next . . .
“How very sensible,” he said to change the subject.
She started. “Sensible! You think it’s sensible?”
He shrugged. “How many gentlemen with empty pockets have the same plan? Excepting the fictitious spouse, of course. And, no doubt, any actual employment.”
“Yes, well, gentlemen seem to have different rules,” she said wryly. “I wouldn’t dare do some of the things men at Vega’s have done.”
He acknowledged the point. “Have you any other support? Surely your grandfather would step in if he knew.” He found himself hoping she named the old tartar. Jack wanted to give the man a stern word about abandoning orphaned grandchildren.
Her eyes sparked with disdain. “No, my grandfather won’t lift a finger to help me. He disowned me as thoroughly as he disowned my father. I’d sooner starve than ask his help—not that he would give it even if I were starving.”
“Perhaps a cousin, or an aunt—your mother’s family—”
She gave a tight shake of her head. “No. My father had a brother, but said he was just as surly as my grandfather. I don’t want to know him, either. And I haven’t had contact with my mother’s family since we came home to England. I wouldn’t even know where to look for them. I have preferred to be on my own.”
Jack let it go. “It doesn’t matter. You’re of age, after all.”
“There is more.” She took a deep breath. “I confess I—I had hoped to find a husband,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Someone respectable, who could offer me a good home and a chance to have a family.” Her voice grew wistful, and his stomach tightened. He burned to banish that lonely tone from her voice forever. “I haven’t had anyone since I was twelve. My grandfather—the Ogre—is worse than having no one. A penniless woman with no connections is hardly likely to attract a respectable man, but I thought, if I had some small fortune saved up . . .”
It took all his restraint not to growl at that. Sophie had no idea how appealing she was. Once more he thought of Giles Carter, who’d been with her at Vega’s, the man who made her laugh and took her arm. That man, he knew, was attracted to her, and Jack doubted her four thousand pounds had anything to do with it.
“I wanted you to know, so that you may walk away,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Do you think I wish to walk away?”
Color rose in her face. “I hope not,” she whispered.
He raised her hand to his lips and pressed an openmouthed kiss to her palm. “Are those all your deepest secrets?”
“No,” she whispered, watching with dilated eyes as he made love to her hand. “There is one more . . .”
“Tell me, darling.” He didn’t think there was anything she could say that changed his mind now.
Her lips parted, and she raised her gaze to meet his. “I love you.”
His heart jumped in his chest, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. “Sophie . . .”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “I didn’t say it in expectation you would feel the same.”
“No? Then you hope I don’t?” He removed her hand from his face and bent her backward on her tiny sofa.
“What? Well—No . . .” Her breathing grew uneven as he hooked one finger into the neckline of her dress and tugged the fabric down to bare her shoulder.
“Good.” He shifted his weight until she was beneath him. His luck, so poor all day, had undergone a sea change. She loved him. He felt bold and invincible, and his next move seemed so right, he wondered why he hadn’t already made it. “I’ve been falling in love with you since you stormed into the library and called me a lunatic. You were entirely correct, and I wanted to say that it was because of you—blowing kisses to the dice at hazard, declaring you would walk to Alwyn through the mud and the rain, taunting me with your bare feet while you wore my banyan.” He pressed his lips to the soft skin atop her shoulder. “You drive me mad, Sophie, and I never want it to end.”
Her fingers plowed into his hair as he kissed his way along her collarbone. “Madness is not something to crave . . .”
Jack lifted his head. “For me it is—your kind of madness. My father, like his father and his grandfather and undoubtedly several other generations before them, married for sane, calculated reasons. Some of their unions were civil and harmonious, some were not, but I can’t imagine one of them felt as I do when I’m with you. Marry me, Sophie.”
Her eyes flew wide open.
“I want you, darling,” he breathed, skimming his palm up her waist. Exeter had shown him how to cleave the knot: marrying someone else would put paid to any rubbish rumors about an engagement. Tomorrow he would call on Lucinda and make it clear there was no understanding, no promise, no betrothal. He was prepared to do almost anything else in his power to see to her comfort and safety, for the sake of the promise he’d made to his father, but he would not marry her. Worth any scandal, echoed Exeter’s words in his mind.
Then he was going directly to Doctors’ Commons in pursuit of a special license. Sophie wasn’t the woman anyone would expect him to marry, and it would astonish, if not scandalize, most of London. But she was the only woman he could imagine spending his life with, and by God he meant to have her—in his life, in his bed, in his heart.
She put her hands on his face and searched his eyes. “Jack—No, you can’t mean that. I have nothing to offer you that’s worthy of a duchess—”
Jack made a scornful noise low in his throat. “Only a duke can determine that, and I have determined that you offer everything I want in my duchess. Will you have me?”
&nb
sp; She surged up and kissed him, her mouth soft and hot. Jack kissed her deeply, shuddering when she sucked on his tongue. “I will,” she whispered. “With all my heart and soul.”
“And body, I hope.” He began drawing up her skirt. “I intend to have you here and now.”
Her eyes shone dark with desire. “Yes.”
“Do you know, I’ve thought about making love to you on a sofa again ever since we returned to London.”
“Have you?” Her eyes drifted closed and she arched her back, pressing up into him.
“Every night.” His hand reached the garter tied above her knee. He tugged it loose and hooked his fingers under her knee, urging her to put her legs around his hips.
“Then . . . I hope you do . . . every night.”
He grinned at her breathless reply. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.” Jack’s heart beat so hard he was sure she would feel it. He wanted her to feel it. It never beat that way before her, and he thought it might stop beating altogether if he ever lost her.
He made love to her on the sofa, and then he took her upstairs and made love to her again, leisurely this time, in her bed. When Sophie had fallen into an exhausted slumber, draped over him, and his muscles felt as though they wouldn’t support him if he tried to stand, Jack wound a lock of her hair around his finger and dismissed any thought of sneaking home before dawn.
He was home. And he wanted the world to know.
Chapter 24
Lady Stowe had let an elegant house in Berkley Square, facing south across the garden at the heart of the square. Jack fleetingly wondered how much of the rent he was paying before dismissing the thought. After last night, when Sophie whispered that she loved him over and over as he moved above her, joining his body, heart and soul to hers, he’d pay the rent on every house in this street and thank Lady Stowe for it. He tied up his horse and rapped the knocker.
My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1) Page 24