Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel (13 page)

How the two men interacted with her was another enormous difference between them.
Lord Jack treated her much as he did his cousin, with teasing affection. Except that
with
her
, Sophie realized, there was a
sexual element to his ribbing that was not in the least cousinly. He was a deliberate
provocateur, and he good-naturedly accepted raillery in return. She wouldn’t dream
of arguing with the duke so overtly for fear he would take offense.

But the most significant disparity was how they each affected her. Dunmore was kind
and generous but didn’t stir her passion the way a single glance from Lord Jack could
do.

That evening when the tea tray was brought in, Sophie settled in one corner to pour.
When Lord Jack approached her, her body gave a shiver, acknowledging that she was
within touching distance of him. And when he reached for his cup and their fingers
brushed, something primitive and elemental arced between them.

That mere touch of hands was electric, as was the heated look in his eyes. They were
in a room full of people, yet for a moment it was as though only the two of them existed.

Regrettably, though, the duke’s advance broke the spell, and his grace clung to her
side for the rest of the evening, precluding any further contact with Lord Jack. The
next morning, she would have sought him out at the bridge, except that it was pouring
rain when she woke.

Lord Jack was frowning faintly when she saw him briefly at breakfast. “Why haven’t
we spent any time together?” he murmured.

“I cannot get away from Dunmore.”

Rather than show amusement, he muttered a low oath.

Sophie shared his discontent—then and later. All
that day rain kept the company indoors, so they played parlor games, and in the evening,
enjoyed more cards and music.

The tension between her father and Lord Jack was still obvious. Papa was not at all
happy that a young lady as beautiful as Lady Skye was there to distract the duke.

Her mother, too, was a little concerned, for before she said good night that evening,
she drew Sophie aside to murmur a warning in her ear.

“Remember, my love, the purpose of this week is to secure the duke’s proposal.”

“What do you mean, Mama?”

“The duke will not be pleased to have Lord Jack as a rival.”

“You needn’t worry,” Sophie reassured her. “There is nothing serious about Lord Jack’s
attentions to me.”

“No? I saw him watching you rather intently this afternoon. Your father is right,
that man is scandalously forward.”

A vast understatement, Sophie thought wryly. Her mother would be appalled if she knew
about the secret liaison she and Jack were conducting.

“Please, consider your father’s feelings, Sophie. You know it is his greatest wish
to see you well married. Even without the unpleasantness of our history with the Wildes,
he would not want you allied with so outrageous a family.”

Sophie could not refute her mother. The Wildes were pleasure-seekers who lived life
to the fullest, and Jack was the worst transgressor.

“Either of the Wilde cousins could spoil your
chances of marrying the duke,” Rebecca added for emphasis. “Lord Jack could easily
ruin your sterling reputation. You don’t want to put your father in the position of
having to defend your honor, do you?”

“No, of course not.”

“And Lady Skye is so beautiful, she could possibly steal his grace away from you.
You must have an eye to your future, dearest.”

“I know, Mama.”

She didn’t want to think of her future, however, for then she would have to remember
what she yearned for in a life’s mate. She didn’t want nice and dull; she wanted brazen
and brash and exhilarating. She didn’t want staid and boring; she wanted passionate
and adventurous and exciting. Not only was she chafing to escape the stifling confines
of the house party, she wanted to escape specifically with Lord Jack. A taboo sentiment
that made her feel profoundly guilty after hearing her mother’s gentle admonitions.

The reminder of all her parents had at stake, as well as the potential threat to her
father, left Sophie wondering if perhaps she ought to end Lord Jack’s clandestine
courtship right then before it went any further.

Her mind was almost made up when she went below stairs to speak to the staff about
the next day’s menus and plans. Afterward, she retired to her bedchamber, feeling
despondent and restless.

She had just donned her nightdress and sat down before her dressing table to brush
her hair and plait her unruly curls so she wouldn’t wake with a tangled mess, when
she heard an odd clicking sound at her window.

Quickly pulling on a dressing gown, she went to
investigate. The rain had stopped some time ago, but opening the window let in a cool,
damp breeze. Upon peering down into the darkness, she realized the strange little
clicks were deliberate: Lord Jack was throwing pebbles at her windowpane from the
gardens below.

Her heart leapt so foolishly with gladness that she spoke more sternly than she intended.

“What do you think you are doing?” she called down to him in a stage whisper.

“I am playing Romeo,” he replied as he moved to the ivy-covered wall beneath her window
and began climbing up the trellis.

“Are you mad?” Sophie demanded in disbelief when he reached her, even though she should
have expected the unexpected from him. To be a Wilde meant to ignore boundaries.

“Not at all. Do you intend to let me in?”

“No, of course not.”

“The longer I remain out here clinging to the wall, the greater the risk I’ll be seen.”

With a soft huff of exasperation, Sophie stepped back to give him room to climb inside.
Then she shut the window and drew the draperies. Even though she knew he would be
difficult to be rid of, she had to conceal his visit, for the alternative would be
disastrous. There had been one duel between their relatives already, and her father
would surely come out the loser if it came to a contest of arms with Lord Jack—or
most any other sort of contest, for that matter.

When she turned to face Lord Jack, he scanned her nightclothes with his gaze, lingering
on the bosom of
her nightdress. Realizing her dressing gown was hanging open, she hurriedly tied the
front ribbons.

“There is no need for you to be so prim and proper with me, Fair Juliet,” the rogue
said with a wicked grin.

“I beg to differ. You shouldn’t be in my bedchamber at all, certainly not this late
at night when we are both half dressed.”

He was still wearing satin evening breeches, stockings, and pumps, she noted, but
no coat or waistcoat or cravat, and his shirt had no collar. It was one thing to meet
him privately when they were both fully clothed, but this highly intimate setting
screamed impropriety and was ripe for scandal. She couldn’t lock the door to prevent
interruptions, however, for fear he would draw the wrong conclusion about her willingness
to entertain him.

Lord Jack cocked his head at her. “Why are you so peevish?”

“I am not peevish. I am worried about my father. If he discovers you here, blood could
be shed—and it likely won’t be
your
blood, since by all reports you are a crack shot and skilled swordsman.”

“Then it is fortunate that I don’t intend to be caught.”

“Will you please keep your voice down? Someone could hear you.”

“Very well, I will whisper if it pleases you.”

“It would please me better if you would leave.”

“It will be safer to wait until the household is asleep.”

He did have a point, Sophie acknowledged, her annoyance growing at his nonchalance.
“You could
have waited until morning instead of sneaking into my room.”

“I haven’t been alone with you in nearly two days, and I was feeling the loss. Come
now, admit it, you are glad to see me.”

She was profoundly glad but knew better than to confess her weakness for him, for
he would take advantage of her admission in a heartbeat. “Why are you even here?”

“We need to talk.”

“What about?”

He fished in the cloth pouch tied to the waistband of his breeches and pulled out
a small book. “This is my great-uncle Philip Wilde’s journal. You know, the villain
who shot your great-grandfather, Gideon Fortin, Baron Harbage, and then decamped to
America with the lady. It proves Philip was not to blame for the feud, as your father
believes. You should read it.”

At her hesitation, Lord Jack pressed his case. “I’ll be gone before morning.”

“You will be gone within the hour.”

“An hour is sufficient for you to peruse the pertinent pages and discuss how to proceed.”

“Very well then, you may stay for that short while.”

He glanced around the room, noting the lamp sitting on her dressing table and the
hairbrush lying beside it.

“Do you need assistance preparing for bed? I make a superior lady’s maid. I am entirely
at your service.” His eyes held laughter and were full of deviltry.

“You are impossible,” Sophie muttered. “And highly reckless.”

He looked unabashed and unashamed. “That is a large part of my charm.”

At the humor edging his tone, Sophie responded with an exasperated oath, and yet when
she met his irreverent laughing eyes, she couldn’t remain wholly angry with him. His
audacious, blatant male charm was as addictive as it was exhilarating.

No doubt his allure was heightened by their clandestine dance. Plotting secret meetings,
trying to steal moments together, the threat of being discovered, all added a delicious
excitement to their illicit romance.

Lord Jack took advantage of her capitulation to fetch the lamp from her dressing table
and carry it to the night table beside her bed.

To her amazement, he rearranged the pillows, then sat on the bed with his back to
the headboard, his long legs stretched out before him. Then he patted the mattress
beside him. “Come join me, Sophie.”

“You want me to climb into bed with you?”

“You need to sit next to me in order to read the journal.”

When she hesitated again, he shook his head. “You have misplaced your spine again,
love. You remind me of a dormouse I once had as a pet, fearful of your own shadow.
Fortunately I happen to like dormouses, or is it dormice?”

He was riling her to get a response, just the way he did his cousin. “Lord Jack …”
she warned.

“We needn’t stand on formality. Plain Jack will do.”

“Plain Jack, I am not a dormouse or a jellyfish.”

“Then prove it and come sit beside me. I give you my word I won’t ravish you.”

“Hah! I don’t believe you. You have been bent on my seduction since the moment we
met.”

He just smiled that charming, wicked smile of his. The kind of smile a woman would
die for, drat him.

He was waiting for her surrender, Sophie knew, shaking her head inwardly. He brought
out the worst in her, encouraging her to defy her upbringing and her principles. Yet
she did badly want to know what the journal said. And she truly didn’t want him to
leave just yet.

“You are determined to cause trouble for me, aren’t you?” she groused as she crossed
to the bed.

“Most definitely. You need to let your hair down a little. Which is extremely attractive,
by the way,” he added as he surveyed her coiling tresses hanging loose down her back.

Without comment, she settled beside him so she could read the pages he pointed out
to her.

“Start here,” he ordered upon opening the journal.

When she began to read, he reached in his pouch again and drew out an apple. “Would
you care to share?”

“Thank you, no,” she said absently, her attention focused on the elegant script that
had faded with age. “I had tea only an hour ago.”

“So did I, but my appetite wasn’t completely sated.”

She read in silence for a time and formed a historical picture far different than
the story she’d been told, the one that had been passed down over three generations.
When she was done, Jack summarized the details for her.

“When our ancestors fought over the same lady, yours had the misfortune to die while
mine fled to
America with the prize. But Philip Wilde never wanted to duel in the first place;
he was forced into it. And he only took the lady with him because he feared for her
life, after the Fortins tried to kill her in retaliation for Lord Harbage’s death.”

Sophie shut the journal, her mind racing ahead to what should be done with this new
information. “I ought to show this to my father,” she murmured.

“He will wonder how you came by it,” Jack responded. “I should be the one to show
it to him, for your own protection. You don’t want him knowing we are in league together.”

“I doubt he will even speak to you.”

“Then I will have to make him listen.”

She was wary of that idea, however. The thought of Lord Jack forcing her father to
do anything made her shiver. “If you confront him, you could come to blows.”

“I promise we won’t.”

Sophie sent him an arch glance. “Your promise is hardly reassuring. I am not worried
about you as much as him.” She bit her lower lip. “Perhaps I could talk to my mother
first to sound her out. She could ask my father to read the journal.”

“Is she likely to convince him?”

“Well … no.”

“Then I will show it to him. I just need to get him alone. I suggest you help me create
the opportunity when you arrange tomorrow’s outings for your house guests.”

Sophie was still dubious, however. She could usually persuade her father to her way
of thinking, but in this instance she suspected she would fail on a grand
scale, and so would anyone else, especially Lord Jack. Yet at least the journal’s
revelations gave her a fresh glimmer of hope.

“I’ll see what I can arrange for tomorrow,” she finally said. “But I wouldn’t put
too much faith in these new facts changing my father’s mind about your courtship of
me.”

“I intend to try all the same. He needs to realize that a decades-old quarrel is no
reason to refuse my suit.”