Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (36 page)

Trapped in her thoughts, Sophie barely noticed. Love, as she understood it, was a gentle emotion, built on kindness, consideration and affection. Soft glances and sweet smiles was her vision of love, and all she had seen, between her uncle and aunt and her mother and father, had bolstered that image. Love was calm, serene, bringing a sense of peace in its wake.

What she had seen in Jack Lester's eyes had certainly not been peaceful.

As the moment lived again in her mind, Sophie shivered. What was it she had stirred in him? And how did he really view her?

 

H
ER FIRST QUESTION
, had she but known it, was also exercising Jack's mind, and had been ever since he had returned from Webb Park the afternoon before. As soon as his uncharacteristically violent emotions had eased their grip on his sanity, he had been aghast. Where had such intense impulses sprung from?

Now, with the afternoon bright beyond the windows, he restlessly paced the parlour of Rawling's Cottage, inwardly still wrestling with the revelations of the previous day. He was deeply shocked, not least by the all but ungovernable strength of the emotion that had risen up when he had seen Sophie's slender figure, fragile against the grey's heaving back, disappear in the direction of the woods and possible death.

And he was shaken by what the rational part of his brain informed him such feelings foretold.

He had innocently supposed that courting the woman he had chosen as his wife would be a mild process in which his emotions remained firmly under his control while he endeavoured, through the skill of his address, to engage hers. A stranger, as he now realized, to love, he had imagined that, in the structured society to which they belonged, such matters would follow some neatly prescribed course, after which they could both relax, secure in the knowledge of each other's affections.

Obviously, he had misjudged the matter.

A vague memory that his brother-in-law had not surrendered to love without a fight glimmered at the back of his mind. Given Jason's undoubted conversion, and his equally undoubted acumen, Jack had always wondered what had made him hesitate—on the brink, as it were.

Now he knew.

Emotions such as he had felt yesterday were dangerous.

They boded fair to being strong enough to overset his reason and control his life.

Love, he was fast coming to understand, was a force to be reckoned with.

A knock on the front door interrupted his reverie. Glancing out of the window, he saw his undergroom leading a handsome bay around to the stables. The sight piqued Jack's interest.

A scrape on the parlour door heralded his housekeeper. “Mr. Horatio Webb to see you, sir.”

Intrigued, Jack lifted a brow. “Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell. I'll receive him here.”

A moment later, Horatio Webb was shown into the room. As his calm gaze swept the comfortable parlour, warm and inviting with its wealth of oak panelling and the numerous sporting prints gracing the walls, a smile of ineffable good humour creased Horatio's face. Rawling's Cottage was much as he remembered it—a sprawling conglomeration of buildings that, despite its name, constituted a good-sized hunting lodge with considerable stabling and more than enough accommodation for guests. Approaching his host, waiting by the fireplace, he was pleased to note that Jack Lester was much as he had imagined him to be.

“Mr. Webb?” Jack held out a hand as the older man drew near.

“Mr. Lester.” Horatio took the proffered hand in a strong clasp. “I'm here, sir, to extend my thanks, and that of Mrs. Webb, for the sterling service you rendered in averting misadventure yesterday afternoon.”

“It was nothing, I assure you, sir. I was there and merely did what any other gentleman, similarly circumstanced, would have done.”

Horatio's eyes twinkled. “Oh, I make no doubt any other gentleman would have
tried,
Mr. Lester. But, as we both know, few would have succeeded.”

Jack felt himself falling under the spell of the peculiarly engaging light in his visitor's eye. His lips twitched appreciatively. “A glass of Madeira, sir?” When Horatio inclined his head, Jack crossed to pour two glasses, then returned, handing one to his guest. “Phoenix is, perhaps, one of the few horses that could have caught your Sheik. I'm just dev'lish glad I was on him.”

With a wave, he invited Sophie's uncle to a chair, waiting until the older man sat before taking a seat facing him.

With the contemplative air of a connoisseur, Horatio sipped the Madeira, savouring the fine wine. Then he brought his grey gaze to bear on Jack. “Seriously, Mr. Lester, I do, as you must understand, value your intervention of yesterday. If it weren't for the fact we'll be shortly removing to town, I'd insist you honour us for dinner one night.” His words came easily, his eyes, calmly perceptive, never leaving Jack's face. “However, as such is the case, and we will depart on Friday, Mrs. Webb has charged me to convey to you her earnest entreaty that you'll call on us once we're established in Mount Street. Number eighteen. Naturally, I add my entreaty to hers. I take it you'll be removing to the capital shortly?”

Jack nodded, discarding the notion of urging Sophie's uncle to forbid her his more dangerous steeds. The shock she had so recently received should, with luck, suffice to keep her from the backs of murderous stallions, at least until the end of the week. “I intend quitting Melton any day, as it happens. However, as I must break my journey in Berkshire, I don't expect to reach the metropolis much in advance of your party.”

Horatio nodded approvingly. “Please convey my greetings to your father. We were once, if not close friends, then certainly good acquaintances.”

Jack's eyes widened. “You're
that
Webb!” Blinking, he hastily explained, “Forgive me—I hadn't realized. With so many Webbs in these parts, I wasn't sure which one had been my father's crony. I understand you and he shared many interests. He has told me of your devotion to the field.”

“Ah, yes.” Horatio smiled serenely. “My one vice, as it were. But I think you share it, too?”

Jack returned the smile. “I certainly enjoy the sport, but I feel my interest does not reach the obsessive heights of my father's.”

“Naturally,” Horatio acceded. “You younger men have other obsessions to compete with the Quorn, the Cottesmore and the Belvoir. But the Lester stud is still one of the best in the land, is it not?”

“Under my brother Harry's management,” Jack replied. “Our kennels still produce some of the strongest runners, too.”

While their conversation drifted into a discussion of the latest trends in breeding both hunters and hounds, Jack sized up Sophie's uncle. Horatio Webb, while younger than his own father, had been a long-time acquaintance of the Honorable Archibald Lester. More specifically, it had been he who had dropped that quiet word in his father's ear which had ultimately led to the resurrection of the family fortunes.

Taking advantage of a natural lull in the conversation, Jack said, “Incidentally, I must make you all our thanks for your timely advice in the matter of the Indies Corporation.”

Horatio waved a dismissive hand. “Think nothing of it. What friends are for, after all.” Before Jack could respond with a further expression of gratitude, Horatio murmured, “Besides, you've cleaned the slate. I assure you I would not have liked to have had to face my brother-in-law, eccentric though he is, with the news that his Sophie had broken her neck on one of my stallions. As far as I can see, the scales between the Webbs and the Lesters are entirely level.”

Just for an instant, Jack glimpsed the reality behind Horatio Webb's mask. Understanding, then, that this visit had many purposes, perhaps even more than he had yet divined, Jack could do no more than graciously accept the older man's edict. “I'm pleased to have been able to be of service, sir.”

Horatio smiled his deceptive smile and rose. “And now I must be off.” He waited while Jack rang and gave orders for his horse to be brought round, then shook hands with his host. His eyes roving the room once more, he added, “It's nice to see this place kept up. It's been in your family for some time, has it not?”

Escorting Sophie's amazing uncle to the door, Jack nodded. “Five generations. All the Lester men have been bred to hunting.”

“As it should be,” Horatio said, and meant far more than the obvious. “Don't forget,” he added, as he swung up to the back of his bay. “We'll look to see you in London.”

Horatio nodded a last farewell and turned his horse's head for home. As he urged the bay to a canter, a subtle smile curved his lips. He was well pleased with what he had found at Rawling's Cottage. Aside from all else, the Lesters were obviously planning on remaining a part of the landscape, here as much as in Berkshire.

Lucilla would be pleased.

 

B
Y THE TIME
she returned from their ride, Sophie had a headache. As she was not normally prey to even such minor ailments, she felt the constraint deeply. As she preceded Clarissa into the back parlour, she massaged her temples in an effort to ease the throbbing ache behind them.

It was, of course, all Jack Lester's fault. If she hadn't spent half her time worrying about how she would respond if he joined them, and the other half scanning the horizon for his broad-shouldered frame, metaphorically looking over her shoulder all the way, she would doubtless have taken her customary enjoyment in the ride. Instead, she felt dreadful.

Throwing her riding cap onto a chair, she sank gratefully into the overstuffed armchair in the shadows by the hearth.

“A pity Mr. Lester and Lord Percy didn't join us.” Clarissa dropped onto the chaise, obviously ready to chat. “I was sure that, after yesterday, they would be waiting at Ashes' Hill.”

“Perhaps they've already returned to London,” Sophie suggested. “The ground's certainly soft enough to send the tail-chasers back to town.”

“Tail-chasers” was the family term for those gentlemen whose only purpose in coming to Melton Mowbray was to chase a fox's tail. At the first sign of the thaw, such gentlemen invariably deserted the packs for the more refined ambience of the
ton
's gaming rooms.

“Oh, but I don't think Mr. Lester and Lord Percy are tail-chasers, exactly. Not when they both ride such superb horses.”

Sophie blinked and wondered if her headache was affecting her reason. “What have their horses to do with it?” she felt compelled to ask. “All tail-chasers,
ipso facto,
must have horses.”

But Clarissa's mind was on quite a different track. “They're both terribly
elegant,
aren't they? Not just in the ballroom—well, everyone
tries
to be elegant there. But they both have that indefinable London polish, don't they?”

Sophie openly studied her cousin's lovely face. At the sight of the glowing expression inhabiting Clarissa's clear eyes, she stifled a groan. “Clarissa—please believe me—not all London gentlemen are like Lord Percy and Mr. Lester. Some of them are no better than…than any of the young gentlemen you've met at the local balls. And many are a great deal worse.”

“Maybe so,” Clarissa allowed. “But it's an indisputable fact that both Mr. Lester and Lord Percy put
all
the gentlemen hereabouts to shame.”

Sophie closed her eyes and wished she could argue.

Clarissa rose, eyes shining, and twirled about the room. “Oh, Sophie! I'm so looking forward to being surrounded by all the swells—the dandies, the town beaux, even the fops. It will be so
thrilling
to be sought after by such gentlemen, to be twitted and teased—in a perfectly acceptable way, of course.” Clarissa dipped and swirled closer. “And I know,” she continued, lowering her voice, “that one is not supposed to say so, but I can't wait to at least try my hand at flirting, and I positively can't
wait
to be ogled.”

As she squinted against the glare of the late afternoon sun, her narrowed vision filled with Clarissa's svelte form, Sophie didn't think her cousin would have all that long to wait. She should, she supposed, make a push to bring Clarissa back to earth, and defend the local young gentlemen, Ned in particular. If she hadn't been feeling so ill, she would have. But with her head throbbing so, and her mind still tangled in her own confusion, she doubted she could find sufficient words to succeed.

“But what of you, Sophie?” Abruptly, Clarissa turned from rapt contemplation of her rosy future and plumped down on the chaise close by. “After his dramatically chivalrous rescue yesterday, aren't you just a
little
bit taken with Mr. Lester?”

Sophie let her lids fall; Clarissa, when she put her mind to it, could be quite as perspicacious as her mother. “Indeed,” she forced herself to say. “Mr. Lester was everything that is gallant. However, that's hardly the only criterion I have for choosing a husband.”

“So, what are your other criteria?”

Squinting through her lashes, Sophie studied Clarissa's grin. Her cousin, she reluctantly concluded, was unlikely to be diverted by any prevarication. “A liking for children,” she stated. An obvious test; one, she suspected, Jack Lester would pass. He had handled Amy very well, and the boys, too. “And a sense of humour.” He had that, too, reprehensible though it might sometimes be.

“And I would want a man who was steady and reliable, not given to fits of temper.” Now
that
was a prerequisite her knight in shining armour might have trouble complying with. Rakes, she had always understood, were totally
un
reliable. Becoming absorbed with her catalogue, Sophie frowned. “Sufficiently handsome, although he needn't be an Adonis. Not mean or stingy. And he'd have to be able to waltz. There,” she concluded, opening her eyes fully and fixing Clarissa with a mock glare. “Are you satisfied?”