Sophie's Heart: Sweet Historical Romances Read online

No lips had ever trembled so beautifully.

  No embrace had ever been so welcome.

  Jack wanted something he knew he could never have, but he was willing to take what little she would give him. She might not be in love with Penn, but she was still another man’s fiancée. Whatever piece of her she gifted to him would be gone soon enough. He didn’t feel guilty for this. His feelings were true, after all. Jack wasn’t so honorable a man that he could walk away clean from the only woman who had ever made his heart beat so hard that it hurt to breathe... who could make him smile, make him feel like he’d never felt before…but perhaps he should pause here for a bit…respect the situation to the best of his abilities, even if he didn’t respect Penn, and come up with a plan of action rather than scare her away…Then maybe, just maybe, he could change this.

  He pulled away to look into her face, wanting to see her. Her cheeks were flushed with color, her eyes dark golden, dazed with passion.

  “I think we better say goodnight, Sophia.” He gave her a confident smile, hoping she’d follow along. He wasn’t sure what he’d manage if she refused.

  She returned his smile, sheepishly, biting her bottom lip as she nodded in agreement.

  “Goodnight, Sophia.”

  “Goodnight, Jack” she returned as she hopped off of his desk and headed to her side of the cabin.

  Jack let out a huge sigh of relief as he turned to his work.

  Chapter 21

  Jack sat at his desk, trying to make sense of the words jumbled before him.

  He was reading through reports that had been made by colleagues... accounts that had been lambasted and tossed away as inconsequential or erroneous simply because they did not comply with the accepted theory of human evolution.

  He was trying to read them but he could scarcely concentrate over the sounds coming from the other half of the room.

  Sophia was preparing for bed.

  But he didn’t feel the least bit tired.

  In fact, he could barely sit at his desk; he was so tense. He couldn’t stop thinking about what to do next.

  He tried to concentrate on his work once more, forcing his attention on the papers before him.

  It was his contention that the Mayan civilization, to have evolved to its final state of technological advancement, must have had ample time for said evolution. It was difficult to believe that, as the present theory would have it, a Mesoamerican civilization could have developed to such a degree as had the Maya if man had migrated to the continent as late as only ten thousand years ago.

  He couldn’t help but wonder what Sophie would make of all of this. She’d seemed genuinely interested the night before; he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to truly discuss his work with her if she was actually given the chance to learn. No doubt she’d have plenty of thoughts of her own and would fight him tooth and nail until he saw it her way….and no doubt he’d have to quiet her with kisses when she did.

  He blinked away the powerful image of her eyes, full of curiosity and intellect. Curse Penn for ignoring her so.

  The Mayan accomplishments left Jack incredulous. They had developed knowledge never obtained by comparable civilizations. Their system of mathematics could express sums in the millions, and they had understood the concept of the quantity of zero a thousand years before anyone else. Among their many other accomplishments, they’d developed a calendar accurate for four hundred million years, and their measure of the year was only a small fraction off target from the actual. An infant society, so to speak, would not have had the necessary time to advance to that point—at least not without outside influence.

  Those had been the seeds Penn had run away with... literally.

  Having worked closely with Jack, Penn had presented to the board Jack’s precise body of thought, except that he hadn’t truly understood the gist of Jack’s theory. It was Penn’s contention that because the Mayan civilization never seemed to move beyond the Stone Age—never employing the wheel for any sensible purpose, or developing a phonetic alphabet—the Maya must have been handed their knowledge by sources outside their own culture.

  Having had access to Jack’s reports, Penn had shot down Jack’s theory point by point before the board, twisting his own arguments against him in the name of religion, to such a degree that Jack found it an insult to his intelligence and a crippling blow to progress. As it was, it wouldn’t have been easy to convince them of the validity of his own theories, but after Harlan had finished with them, they hadn’t even been inclined to hear him out.

  Even though Jack had proof to offer.

  The reports he had in front of him by trusted colleagues gave evidence that strongly implied anatomically modern man had inhabited the continent from a far earlier date. That led Jack to believe it more likely that the Maya had indeed developed on their own. But with that theory, he had committed a professional sin: He had dared to question the standard institution.

  It seemed incredible to Jack that evidence such as this, given by respected researchers, could be dismissed in favor of that given by someone like Penn. Though Penn’s evidence was minimal, relying almost primarily on religious parallelisms, it was he who had received the grants for continued research, and Jack who had been left to flounder.

  Jack believed it was because Penn’s research not merely supported the accepted theory of evolution, but favored religious doctrine. And it galled him, not that Penn’s theories were given credence—all evidence should be considered—but that Penn’s theories and those like his were the only ones given any credit at all.

  Jack didn’t mind being wrong.

  In fact, he’d proven himself out of countless theories. But he certainly didn’t like being told he was wrong even before he’d set out to do his job—by men who considered themselves the ruling elite.

  The curtain opened abruptly.

  Sophie stood there, dressed in her tattered nightgown, and somehow still managed to look regal.

  Despite his mood, the sight of her brought a smile to his lips.

  Sophie smiled back at him.

  He was leaning wearily on his desk, chin in hand, staring at his papers with that provoked look he usually reserved for her.

  “What is it you’re studying?” she asked him, resisting the urge to go and peek over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to appreciate her interest in his work, but her curiosity was addling her. She just couldn’t help herself.

  “Work,” he said simply. He continued to smile at her, and Sophie’s cheeks heated.

  He’d been far more receptive to her since their encounter that afternoon—a positive change—but Sophie couldn’t quite enjoy it. She didn’t like this sudden shyness that had come over her in his presence. She couldn’t even seem to glance his way without blushing, and the more care he took to put her at ease, the more embarrassed she became.

  Jack MacAuley had seen more of her than any man, and her behavior had been abominable. Her thoughts were muddled. Something so beautiful couldn’t possibly have been wrong... and yet she was technically still engaged to Harlan... at least until she faced him. She hadn’t any right to indulge in such behavior with anyone at all.

  And yet, though her cheeks burned, she couldn’t find true regret for what she’d done.

  The very sight of Jack made her heart catch.

  He set down his papers, giving her his full attention.

  Sophie smiled shyly at him and approached the desk under the pretense of looking at Harlan’s picture. Lifting it up, she smiled contentedly at her own handiwork, then set the picture down, tapping it thoughtfully before she glanced back at Jack.

  He was watching her intently, secretly amused by something. About what, Sophie had no idea.

  His brows lifted. “You can’t wait to see him, I take it?”

  “No, I really can’t,” she admitted, and it was the truth. She couldn’t wait to read him his own treacherous words and then fling her ring into his face. Let him give it to one of his precious native girls!
r />   “It shows,” he said, peering at her. Suddenly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Sophie made an effort to appear serene. She wasn’t prepared for explanations just yet.

  Somehow, all of it made her feel a bit of a failure.

  Her mother had sometimes cautioned her not to show her true nature, because she was certain Sophie would never keep a man. Her temper was too quick, her interests too masculine, and her hair never remained in place. She reached up and pulled the ribbon from her hair, letting the strands fall free. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time trying to make it presentable, but why even try to restrain it?

  It wasn’t her fault that Harlan was a philandering fool!

  “So...” She toyed with the pale ivory ribbon, wrapping it around the thumb of her hand. “What are you working on?” she persisted, hoping her question would turn the attention away from her.

  Jack was looking at her far too knowingly and it made her nervous.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course,” she told him. “I’d not have asked otherwise.”

  “I was reading through reports made by colleagues.”

  “What sort of reports?”

  “Evidence discovered along the North American continent which indicates a much older indigenous peoples than is normally accepted.”

  Sophie unraveled the ribbon from her finger. “In other words ... the natives have been here much longer than we think?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I see.” She was truly interested, but although her fiancé was an expert in the field of anthropology, she hadn’t the first inkling how their studies were performed. Harlan never talked to her about anything. “And how would you know such a thing?”

  He pushed a paper at her. “Take this article, for example...”

  Sophie turned the paper around. It was titled “A Relic of a Bygone Age.”

  “That particular article appeared in Scientific American, on June 5, 1852.”

  Sophie read the scribble at the top of the page, written in what she supposed was Jack’s hand, Metallic vase from Precambrian rock.

  “A bell-shaped vessel was thrown from the rock in the explosion highlighted in this article.”

  Sophie scanned the letter, and asked with surprise, “In Massachusetts?”

  Jack nodded portentously. “Yes, indeed. The body of the vessel resembled zinc in color and on the side was a design inlaid with pure silver. Around the bottom ran a vine, also inlaid with silver. The chasing, carving, and inlaying were done by a skilled artisan. It was blown out of solid pudding stone, fifteen feet below the earth’s surface. That stone dates to the Precambrian Age, which makes it over six hundred million years old.”

  Sophie’s brows drew together. “That’s remarkable!”

  “Yes, it is,” Jack agreed. “The standard view is that Asian hunters and gatherers crossed the Bering Strait about twelve thousand years ago.”

  “That is quite a discrepancy,” Sophie remarked.

  “An incredible discrepancy. But that report hardly stands alone. There are dozens of the like.”

  “Amazing,” Sophie said with awe.

  Hungry for more knowledge, she glanced longingly at the stack of reports Jack had guarded so fiercely.

  “Would you like to read them?”

  Sophie blinked at his question and tried to gauge his expression. Was he serious? Or merely teasing her? “Really?”

  He nodded, and she gasped in surprise.

  “You truly don’t mind?”

  He merely smiled at her question and pushed the stack towards her. “Only if you promise to take them straight to your bed and read them there, and nowhere else.”

  Sophie broke into a wide smile.

  “And no lanterns within five feet,” he demanded further.

  Sophie laughed, although she wanted to take offense. She couldn’t. If she were Jack, she doubted she’d let herself anywhere near them.

  “And no water, and no ink anywhere near it! And when you are through you are to place them back in my drawer in a tidy fashion.”

  “Good grief!” Sophie wanted to laugh out loud. “I am not usually so prone to disasters,” she assured him.

  His brows lifted and his smile widened as well. He sat back in his chair, staring at her, and said very decisively, “I don’t believe you.”

  Sophie took his papers before he could change his mind, lifting the heavy stack to her breast, hugging them. There was really nothing she could say in her own defense, but she could certainly prove it by putting them neatly back into his desk before morning.

  “Thank you, Jack,” she offered with an appreciative smile.

  He nodded, staring at her still, and his smile seemed suddenly wistful, “Good night, flower,” he said.

  Sophie’s heart leaped at his endearment. She felt suddenly dizzy.

  “Good night, Jack,” she said in a rush, and practically ran to her bed, drawing the curtains shut behind her.

  Chapter 22

  Jack sat watching the curtains long after she’d closed them.

  Ridiculous as the notion was, he envied that stack of papers she had embraced so protectively.

  He could see her silhouette against the makeshift curtains, a gift of the lanterns she had lit on the far side of the room. She was curled up in her hammock with his papers braced on her lap, reading.

  He couldn’t help but watch her as he put up his own hammock and readied himself for bed ... and wonder. Did Penn know what a gem he had in Sophie?

  He was pretty sure she wasn’t snooping for Penn, and if she was, he doubted she would find anything in those reports that Penn wouldn’t at once scoff at. The man’s mind was closed. There was nothing to be lost in letting her read them, and his views weren’t any secret, either. But he didn’t want to believe any longer that she was in cahoots with Penn.

  She was stubborn, definitely, and without doubt the most troublesome woman he had ever laid eyes on. In fact, trouble might be her middle name. Besides that, her temper was a bit Vesuvian in nature. Right or wrong, she took a stand the instant she was threatened, and he wondered if she were always that way, or just with him. In any case, he admired that about her. She wasn’t some fainting miss who lost consciousness or pleaded illness the instant a man raised his voice. And she didn’t strike him as a liar, or a cheat, either. Her emotions were much too evident in her beautiful face.

  He tried to forget there was only a measly sheet separating them.

  He turned out his lights and climbed into his hammock, lamenting the fact that he wasn’t gentleman enough to turn the other way so that he couldn’t see her. The fact was, he wasn’t any sort of gentleman at all, had never claimed to be, and so he lay there watching her without the least trace of guilt...

  Well, maybe just a little guilt.

  He was certain it wasn’t the most moral thing to do ... lying there watching her, but then she had asked to share his room, not the other way around. If she didn’t like it, she could just leave ...

  Though he guessed that before she would consider returning to her damaged room, she would have to be aware of the fact that he could see every deuced thing she was doing, every movement behind the curtain... every time she brushed her hair from her face... every time she flipped a page ... every time she took a breath.

  Her chest lifted, and he heard her sigh.

  Of course ... he couldn’t really tell her because he knew it would embarrass her ... so maybe he was being a gentleman after all...

  He decided that what she didn’t know couldn’t really hurt her in this case.

  But it sure left Jack in pain; he ached to be there beside her.

  He blinked, staring as the silhouette curled deeper into the hammock, knees bent to support the papers she was reading. Was she getting sleepy? Just trying to get comfortable? Were her thoughts on the reports she was reading... or dared he hope they were on something else?

  The silhouette’s head fell backward, hair spilling over the hammock.
One hand fell over the side. He heard her sigh again. And then, while he watched, she set the papers aside and lay still in the hammock, staring at the ceiling for the longest time.

  Some part of him urged him to speak out, to tell her that he was awake but the words caught in his throat.

  A gentle ocean rocked Sophia’s hammock, begging her to sleep. Outside the cabin window, waves sang a sweet lullaby. Jack had left the shutters open to the night, and the air was sultry and warm, seductively so. A sweet, languorous breeze blew within, kissing her skin and tangling like invisible fingers in her hair.

  “Good night, flower,” she heard him whisper once more, as she lay within her bed.

  Sophie closed her eyes and tried to forget, but to no avail.

  She couldn’t imagine Harlan ever talking her like that...couldn’t imagine him cherishing her the way Jack seemed to…didn’t even want to think of it. It was Jack she wanted, she realized... Jack she was falling in love with.

  The admission squeezed her heart just a bit.

  She was falling in love with Jack MacAuley.

  She couldn’t seem to help herself, couldn’t seem to keep herself from imagining a life at his side.

  She hadn’t felt this way about Harlan, not even from the first. Harlan had never stolen her breath with only a glance, or made her heart yearn for his presence.

  It was different with Jack.

  Everything was different with Jack.

  Reaching down, she seized her other hand as though it was his. A sleepy smile played on her lips. It was silly, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d never felt so content as she had in his arms; why not fall asleep that way

  “Jack,” she said softly as she drifted off to sleep

  She jerked awake. It suddenly occurred to her that he might be still awake and she bit her lip, worried he might actually have heard her... though the curtain was between them, and she felt nearly certain he was asleep.

  For the longest instant, Jack was uncertain how to respond.

  Should he pretend to be asleep?