Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel (25 page)

Doubtless it was her warmth and kindness that had made him open up to her. She was
a persistent questioner and attentive listener, and she seemed not only to care about
him, but to understand him even better than Skye did.

He felt oddly comfortable with Sophie, as if he’d known her for years. As if they
were friends as well as lovers. As if their intimacy somehow went beyond the flesh.
He felt
comforted
also—

At that wayward thought, Jack scoffed silently at himself. Only a man-milliner admitted
to needing comfort. For the past two decades he’d fought zealously against needing
comfort from anyone, endeavoring to conquer that paralyzing, despairing helplessness
that still sometimes haunted his dreams. Even so, he couldn’t deny wanting Sophie
by his side when he confronted his father.

He should be more cautious, Jack knew, but he was finding it harder to fear growing
too attached to her. In a remarkable about-face, he now wanted to be able to fall
in love with Sophie, since love was a determining factor in her decision to reject
him as her husband. If she believed he could love her, she might very well forsake
her parents’ dreams for her.

And if he couldn’t love her?

The thought of hurting Sophie in any manner caused a painful twinge to his heart.

Jack found himself watching her as she read. She
wore her lustrous brown hair braided and coiled at her nape, the unruly curls momentarily
tamed. The jade green traveling dress he’d purchased for her fit her lithe figure
and complimented her ivory skin, but regrettably concealed the silky curves of her
breasts and her smooth limbs.

The desire to make love to her was still stinging his body. He couldn’t ignore how
unbelievably right she felt in his arms.

But as Sophie had said, lust was not love.

That last morning in Paris, she had asked him if he could ever love her, and his answer
had been evasive. His cousin Skye had asked him a similar question before his departure
from England.

What do you feel for Sophie, Jack?

Attempting to catalogue what he felt for Sophie was difficult, though. He only knew
for certain that his feelings were becoming more conflicted by the day.

His desire for Sophie remained unfulfilled during their journey. When they stopped
overnight, they slept in separate bedchambers without so much as a good-night kiss
and certainly no carnal relations. Being unable to touch her as he wanted left Jack
raw with hunger. Yet his thoughts of lust and love diminished in importance the closer
they came to their destination.

His coach made good time the first two days. On the third day, when they climbed to
a plateau, the road followed a meandering river through attractive, verdant countryside.
Pretty mill towns and heavily wooded valleys were populated by cottages and farms
and the occasional chateau, interspersed with grassy cattle pastures and sparkling
mountain lakes. The Jura mountains in southeastern France were gentle compared to
the Alps, but the pace of their progress necessarily slowed as the carriage horses
negotiated frequent ascents and descents.

Late that afternoon, they crested a rise and caught a view of a large citadel perched
atop a fir-clad ridge in the distance. Complete with turrets, the palace gleamed rose
and gold in the rays of the sinking sun, but dusk had nearly fallen by the time they
reached the imposing front gates.

They were admitted by the gatekeeper without question. Within the well-tended grounds,
they proceeded along an immaculate graveled drive, passing flowering gardens adorned
with marble statues and spritely fountains. When the carriage finally came to a halt
in the paved courtyard, Jack sat unmoving for a long moment, tension tightening his
gut.

He could feel concern in Sophie’s searching gaze, even before he informed her of his
plan. “I intend to introduce you as my betrothed to explain your presence here.”

Surprisingly she didn’t argue but merely allowed him to help her from the carriage.
As they mounted the wide stone steps, the massive door swung open and they were welcomed
by a liveried majordomo.

When they stepped inside, their footsteps echoed on a polished marble floor. The enormous
entrance hall was richly embellished with tapestries and sculptures, while the domed
ceiling was ornamented with gold leaf. Jack spared a brief glance for his surroundings,
until his gaze riveted on the man who stood across the hall, frozen in place.

His hair was as black as Jack’s own, although cut much shorter and sprinkled with
gray. His features and height were also similar. But his form was thinner, almost
gaunt. In fact, his face was lined with the ravages of illness.

Jack hardened his heart nevertheless. Prince Raoul had enjoyed two dozen more years
of life than his mother had and deserved no sympathy.

“Jacques,” the prince murmured in French as he stepped forward, his expression hopeful,
even eager.

“The name is Jack,” Jack replied coldly in English.

Prince Raoul’s face fell at the pointed rebuff to his greeting, but he effortlessly
switched to heavily accented but impeccable English. “Yes, of course. Welcome to my
home, Lord Jack.”

When he glanced expectantly at Sophie, Jack performed the introductions. The prince’s
eyebrows rose at the mention of their betrothal, but he didn’t press for details.
Instead, he seemed determined to be amiable. “Will you do me the honor of joining
me for dinner?”

Willfully clamping down on his rage, Jack refused to say another word in lieu of unleashing
a tirade. It was left for Sophie to respond politely to the prince’s invitation. “Yes,
thank you, your highness. We will.”

“You must be weary after your long journey. Perhaps you would care to refresh yourselves
first?”

“That would be very welcome.”

In response to a quiet order by the prince, a servant showed them upstairs to adjoining
bedchambers, which were richly appointed, with silk-flocked wallpaper,
velvet upholstery, and Aubusson carpets. Feeling stifled by the heavy decor, Jack
flung open the brocade draperies covering the windows and discovered a narrow stone
balcony beyond.

Still simmering with taut emotion, Jack stepped through a door into the summer twilight.
He could hear the trickling melody of a fountain in the sweet-scented gardens beneath
him. Looking past the terraced grounds, he could make out the glimmer of a lake nestled
in the forested slopes below.

The lake shone like black satin, while in the dark sky overhead, necklaces of stars
were beginning to make an appearance. The serenity of the evening was at great odds
with the turmoil roiling inside him, however.

A moment later, Sophie opened her own door and joined him on the balcony. She stood
beside him, not speaking, merely lending her calming presence.

“I don’t think I can forgive him,” Jack finally said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” she replied soothingly. “But you have come this far. You may as well see
it through. Perhaps you should just truthfully speak your mind to him.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Revealing the truth will severely undermine my goal of gaining
his title. Prince Raoul will surely reconsider the succession if he knows I dream
of running him through with a very sharp rapier.”

Sophie tucked her arm in Jack’s. “The title is not important just now, Jack. You need
to tell your father how you feel. Afterward, if you still want to run him through,
I will supply the rapier myself.”

Her light tone was just the right touch, and so was her next gesture: Turning, she
raised herself on tiptoe and planted a sweet, gentle kiss on his cheek. “Now, pray,
may we go inside and dress for dinner so we can eat? I am famished.”

“For once I am not,” Jack said darkly, but he did as Sophie asked and repaired to
his bedchamber to change his attire.

They washed and dressed separately and went downstairs together, where they were shown
into a formal dining room embellished with the same rich decor as the rest of the
palace. The prince was already seated at the head of the long table, staring down
into a crystal goblet filled with red wine.

Giving a start, he rose and issued a careful greeting, then indicated they were to
sit on either side of him. When he waved a hand, an army of footmen proceeded to serve
the soup course, followed by fish in a delicate cream sauce.

Over dinner, however, the strained relations between father and son became blatantly
obvious. Tasting nothing of what he ate, Jack repressed his feelings until Prince
Raoul made the mistake of remarking on the purpose of the visit.

“I have great hopes that you will make Navartania your home, Lord Jack.”

“You should not count on it,” he replied tersely.

The prince paused, his brows drawing together. “How long will your stay last?”

“Too long for my tastes.”

After another puzzled hesitation, the prince gave a nod and dismissed all his servants
before addressing
Jack once more. “Did you not come here in order to secure your inheritance?”

“To be truthful, I want nothing from you. Just now the only thing I want is for you
to explain your cowardice in deserting my mother to a savage French mob out for her
blood.”

“
Pardon-moi
?” Prince Raoul looked taken aback by the harsh accusation.

“I believe you heard me, your highness.” When the prince cast a questioning glance
at Sophie, Jack said sharply, “Miss Fortin can be privy to anything you have to say.”

“Very well, then.” He took a deep breath. “I left Paris because I was summoned home
by my father.”

“That is no excuse. You should have protected my mother.”

His eyes clouded over. “
Oui
 … yes, I should have. I was devastated to learn of her death.”

“Were you?” Jack asked in icy tones.

“Indeed. I loved your mother deeply, Jack. And I grieved for her even more deeply.”

The reply struck a nerve in Jack, enough that he let loose the rage and bitterness
he’d felt for years. “Your grief was hardly
deep
,” he accused in almost a snarl. “You escaped the Terror yourself but left her behind,
alone and helpless with a young child to care for.”

Wincing at his vehemence, the prince managed to stammer a reply. “I … I regret that
more than you know.”

“What use are your damned regrets?” Jack demanded, not letting up. “You could have
taken her with you when you fled Paris. For that matter, you could have wed her.”

Prince Raoul shook his head sadly. “Marriage was out of the question. I was not permitted
to choose my bride.”

“You could have abdicated your title, but you were too cowardly and weak.”

His expression turned bleak. “Clara did not wish to wed me and spoil my chances of
inheriting the throne.”

“So now you try to lay the blame on her?”

The acrimony inside Jack exploded. With a sweep of his arm across his place setting,
he sent his own wine goblet flying. It landed halfway across the room and shattered
on the floor.

Pushing to his feet abruptly then, he stood staring down at his father, his fists
clenched.

The prince, who had recoiled in fear, sat cringing in his chair.

Still livid, Jack muttered a foul oath directed at himself. What had happened to his
sense of honor if he was willing to terrorize a weak, craven, obviously ill man?

With another curse, Jack turned on his heel and stalked out before he made good on
his threat to run a blade through the coward who had given him life.

Jack’s bedchamber was
dark, since no lamps or fire had been lit. Upon shutting his door forcefully behind
him, he flung off his coat, then ripped at his cravat and strode across the room,
out onto the balcony. A brilliant half-moon had risen in the night sky and cast a
silver glow over the earth, yet the tranquil scene again failed to soothe him as he
stared out at the forested mountain slopes below the palace.

A short while later he heard the click of a door latch behind him, followed by Sophie’s
quiet footfall. Her presence was not unexpected for he knew she would want to console
him. Neither was the sympathy he felt radiating from her in waves when she slipped
her arms around him from behind and pressed her cheek against his back.

Her suggestion, however, was entirely surprising. “I think we should leave first thing
in the morning, Jack. It is your decision, of course. But there is no purpose to be
served in remaining.”

Her calm tone held acceptance, yet his dilemma hadn’t changed. Leaving Navartania
meant abandoning
his quest for the title that could permit him to have a future with Sophie. And remaining
meant swallowing his anger at his father. An onerous choice—and one he’d sworn never
to make.

“You can decide in the morning,” she added in that same considerate tone.

Jack stood still and silent, although he was neither inside.

Releasing his waist, Sophie moved to his side and made the mistake of raising her
lovely face to his, perhaps intending to give him another consoling kiss on his cheek.
Jack responded by turning and lowering his head to seize her mouth.