Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel (10 page)

Of course Ash and his new wife Maura were absent, having retired to the Beaufort family
seat in Kent in search of privacy as a blissfully wedded couple. Quinn was missing
as well—no doubt off somewhere applying his brilliant mind to his latest scientific
inventions. A boon, Jack decided, since cool-headed, cynical Quinn would rag him unmercifully
about
being bear-led by the girls and surrendering to their romanticism.

But the rest of the family was there. Skye looked fresh as a rose, her pale-blond
fairness a contrast to the darker coloring of the others. Kate was an auburn-haired
beauty who at four-and-twenty had attracted countless beaus, but who had never found
the true love she’d sought since coming out of short skirts. Hence, her obsession
with matchmaking for her kin.

Their aunt by marriage, Lady Isabella Wilde, had raven hair like Jack, the result
of her Latin heritage. The daughter of a Spanish nobleman and an Englishwoman, Isabella
had taken Cornelius’s younger brother Henry for her third husband. Now widowed once
more, she was as vivacious as any of the Wildes, although she was in her middle forties—nearly
the same age as the Duke of Dunmore, as it happened.

Aunt Bella divided her time between her homes in London, Cornwall, and the Isle of
Cyrene in the Mediterranean, but had returned to London last month at Ash’s request
to aid him in his courtship of Maura.

Jack bent and kissed Lady Isabella’s smooth cheek just as his Uncle Cornelius complained
about his tardiness.

“You are late, my boy,” said the scholar, who valued punctuality.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he replied. “I had some unavoidable details to attend to.”

Bracing himself to be quizzed about his romance with Sophie by his female relatives,
he crossed to the side table to pour himself a glass of sherry.

“Well?” Kate demanded before he could take his first swallow.

“Well, what, dear sister?”

“We want to know about Miss Fortin.”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” Jack quipped as he returned to settle in a wing
chair.

“Then you have kissed her?”

“That, my sweet, is none of your business.”

“I should think it is very much my business, since I was the one who found your Juliet
for you. The least you could do is report on your progress.”

Skye, looking every bit as curious, chimed in. “That is exactly what I told him, Kate.”

Jack shot his cousin an amused glance. “You soon won’t need my reports, Skye, since
you will be involved directly. I trust you have nothing pressing for the next sennight,
for I require your company at Mrs. Pennant’s house party beginning on Tuesday.” He
told her briefly about the invitations he had secured for both himself and her, adding
that Skye was his excuse to attend.

“I will be more than happy to drop all my engagements for you,” she said, clearly
pleased to be included.

Kate smiled with smug delight. “Then you mean to court Sophie after all?”

“Yes,” Jack answered. “Although I cannot declare my intentions openly. I will have
to win over her parents first. Her father is sure to be more adamantly opposed than
I anticipated.”

“Well, I have faith in you,” Kate declared loyally. “But I still believe that having
royal blood could be an advantage for you. You ought to make use of it, Jack.”

When he frowned and refused to reply, Lady Isabella
spoke up to ask a question about his father. “What is the latest news of Prince Raoul
de Villars? His throne was fully restored to him last year, was it not?”

“It was indeed,” Kate confided. “But his ill health seems to have made his succession
more urgent. Prince Raoul wrote again last month, pleading with Jack to visit Navartania.”

Jack grimaced. “No doubt he is exaggerating his condition. A year ago he claimed to
be on his deathbed, but clearly he hasn’t succumbed yet.”

“He may not be dying,” Kate retorted, “but he sincerely wishes to name you as his
heir.”

Jack felt his jaw harden. He didn’t give a damn about the prince’s wishes. His mother’s
death had happened a long time ago, but Jack still felt a fierce hostility toward
his father for deserting her and allowing her to die.

Skye must have seen his darkening expression, for she hastened to steer the conversation
away from his father. “I expect the feud will be a larger impediment at the moment
than your lack of title, Jack.”

“Perhaps,” Kate agreed. “You ought to convene a family council, so we can help you
develop your battle plan.”

He forced a wry smile. “I prefer to manage my own battle plan, thank you.”

Lord Cornelius broke in. “Have you read Philip Wilde’s journal yet? Will it be of
any help to you, do you think?”

Jack nodded. “It’s possible. The journal entries paint a very different picture than
the tale that was handed down in our family history. From what I can
tell, Gideon Fortin was more to blame for the duel than our great-uncle Philip was.
In fact, Philip tried his best to avoid dueling.” Jack raised his glass to Cornelius.
“I neglected to thank you for traveling all the way to Beauvoir to fetch the journal
for me, Uncle. I appreciate your assistance.”

“Anything to help, my boy. I have come to think that Katharine’s premise is not so
inconceivable after all.”

“There, you see?” Kate said archly. “Even Uncle has become a convert.
Romeo and Juliet
fits your situation perfectly, Jack. And what better way to honor our Wilde family
legacy than to challenge a centuries-old feud and win the heart of our enemy’s daughter?
If nothing else, you must admit the plight of star-crossed lovers is highly romantic.”

Jack had to chuckle at his sister’s determination, but he suspected his desire for
Sophie Fortin had little to do with the plot of a classic Shakespearean tragedy.

He still couldn’t fully explain his captivation, though, or the uncanny connection
he felt with Sophie. Strangely enough, she seemed to understand him, an impressive
feat on so short an acquaintance. Not only had she discovered his secret about the
Arundel Home when no one else had, she’d hit on his true motives for supporting the
vulnerable residents there. His mother’s difficult circumstances—particularly being
abandoned by her lover when she most needed protecting—had influenced Jack profoundly,
as had the gruesome manner of her death when he was a young child.

Sophie was also right about him wanting to rescue
her, Jack mused. He damned well didn’t like to think of her wedding to Dunmore, and
he intended to ensure she wasn’t forced into an arranged marriage. She had triggered
his protective impulses for certain.

He was not looking forward to explaining his change of heart to Quinn, however. As
soon as their family dinner concluded, he would have to track his cousin down and
arrange a substitution in a high-stakes carriage race next week while he was away.
Quinn would no doubt question whether he’d lost his senses, pursuing a young lady
he barely knew.

He wasn’t that far gone, Jack reflected. Not yet at any rate. But he could easily
become so.

It was not simply that she was vivid and vital and enchantingly beautiful, or that
her delectable body fired his blood, or that he felt a fierce jolt of desire every
time he touched her.

It was more the woman herself. Her warmth was a tangible thing, as was her sensual
grace. She had courage and compassion and intelligence and humor. And possibly the
most important, she aroused his possessive instincts.

He felt an unaccountable urgency to stake his claim to her.

Yet whatever the cause of his intense attraction to Sophie, her special allure was
drawing him closer by the minute. And after his third encounter with her today, he’d
come to a resolve: For the next week, he would use any means necessary to woo her.

And at the end of the house party, would he propose marriage?

Jack had no immediate answer for the question that would have been utterly unthinkable
only a few days
ago. But the prospect didn’t alarm or even trouble him as he’d expected. Remarkably,
he could actually picture himself having a future with her.

Even more stunningly, he couldn’t shake the incredible notion that perhaps Sophie
Fortin was his ideal match after all.

Sophie could scarcely
believe Lord Jack had invited himself to Berkshire so that he could court her. It
was improbable enough that he kept showing up in unexpected places, assaulting her
senses and dazing her to distraction. But with his declared intention of pursuing
her, she was torn between feeling outright dismayed and absurdly hopeful.

On the one hand, she knew he would be impossible to control and would almost certainly
wreak havoc with her family and her future. Yet it was a powerful dream, to think
she might be free to follow her heart and wed the husband of her choosing. And she
badly wanted to know if by some miraculous twist of fate, all the obstacles of feuds
and bitter feelings and lack of titles could be overcome, and Lord Jack turned out
to be the husband of her dreams.

Therefore, Sophie approached the house party with a greater sense of promise and anticipation
than dread. Pennant Hall was situated in Berkshire near Reading, some four hours’
drive west of London. Sophie arrived with her parents and great-aunt early
Tuesday afternoon, shortly before the company was to begin trickling in.

Upward of a dozen guests had been invited, including two elderly ladies who were intimates
of Mrs. Pennant, and of course, the
piece de résistance
, the Duke of Dunmore.

Just as Sophie regularly managed the Fortin household in Surrey to spare her mother
any unnecessary distress, she generally oversaw Pennant Hall when visiting, to aid
her elderly aunt. She’d been groomed since birth to make an advantageous marriage
and so was well-versed in her duties—assigning bedchambers for the guests and ensuring
accommodations for their retinues of servants, arranging menus and entertainments,
supervising the Hall staff, and resolving problems with a quiet word.

Her mother, Rebecca, never interfered with running the Hall, in part because she was
a bit intimidated by Mrs. Pennant, but mainly because of her low spirits, having never
overcome her grief at losing her young son.

It broke Sophie’s heart to see her mother’s despair. Much of the time Mama was silent
and listless, with an air of sadness that was palpable, as if she’d given up on life
when Theo died. For many years it had fallen to Sophie to care for her—reading aloud,
brushing her hair, taking slow walks with her in the fresh air, and especially tending
the flowering plants in the garden. Rebecca did keenly love flowers, her only true
enjoyment these days, and Sophie was determined to ease her mother’s despondency as
much as possible.

Amazingly enough, however, Mama had roused
herself for the house party—her exertion evidence of her desire to make the most of
her daughter’s singular chance to marry into the nobility. For the first time in a
long while, Rebecca seemed interested and almost energetic. Once she was settled in
her rooms, she insisted on changing her attire and going downstairs to welcome the
guests instead of resting until dinner.

The two of them had just joined Sophie’s father and great-aunt in the dining room
for a cold luncheon when Mrs. Pennant broke the news that Lord Jack Wilde and his
cousin, Lady Skye Wilde, were to be among her houseguests for the week.

Oliver’s brows snapped together in a scowl. “If that is a jest, Eunice, it is in very
poor taste.”

The elderly dame seemed to relish his protest. “Oh, I am indeed serious, Oliver.”

“I will be damned if I will remain in the same house with members of that odious family.”

“Then you are welcome to leave. This is my home and I shall invite whomever I please.
And I’ll thank you not to curse at my table.”

Oliver, who had long resented Eunice’s wealth and having to jump to her tune, grew
tight-lipped. Clearly simmering with anger he turned to Sophie. “I forbid you to have
anything to do with either of those Wilde rabble.”

“Don’t be nonsensical,” Eunice snapped.

Hoping to cool her father’s wrath, Sophie gave him a placating glance and said calmly,
“Papa, we must at least be polite to the Wildes in front of our other company.”

Eunice instantly took up that drumbeat. “Yes, it would be idiotic for you to show
your hostility, Oliver.
You know the ton will always side with the Wildes over us commoners. Furthermore,
what kind of message will that send to the duke if you are publicly feuding with another
noble family?”

“I do not care. I don’t want that libertine Wilde fellow anywhere near my daughter.”

When Eunice made a scoffing sound, Oliver shifted his attention to Sophie again. “I
am only trying to protect you, my girl.”

She smiled soothingly. “Papa, I don’t believe I will need protecting, truly. This
is a genteel house party after all. What could he possibly do?”
Other than tempt me with his wickedly seductive advances?
she added to herself.