For most society misses—young ladies other than herself—Lord Jack was eminently eligible. He tantalized marriage-minded mamas and left their daughters breathlessly eager for his attention. And she’d heard that more experienced females vied for the pleasure of his bed. He was the sort of hot-blooded lover women dreamed of in dark, erotic fantasies.
“So did you like it?” her aunt demanded, interrupting her musings.
“Like what?”
“Kissing Lord Jack?”
The impertinent personal question took Sophie aback, but she had only one answer. “Well ?
?? I … Yes.”
He had simply overwhelmed her senses, setting her body on fire while holding her spellbound in a thick, dreamy pleasure. It was said that the Wildes wielded their legendary charms like weapons, and she now had personal, incontrovertible proof.
“Thank heavens you enjoyed it,” Mrs. Pennant murmured. “I suppose you would have to be dead not to. But I worry that your father’s strictures have deprived you of the simple pleasures every young lady should experience at least once in her life.”
Sophie quelled her surprise at her aunt’s unexpected proclamation. “I do not feel deprived, Aunt.”
“Well, if you want to indulge in an indiscretion, you could not choose a better candidate. Lord Jack inherited his wickedness and joie de vivre directly from his mother, did you know? Lady Clara Wilde fell head over heels for some European nobleman, but they never married. Young Jack was an audacious scamp in his salad days, although I don’t believe there was ever any real bad in him. In truth, I’ve always found his scandalous deeds amusing—and for a woman my age, finding entertainment is rare.”
Sophie had purposely familiarized herself with Lord Jack’s outlandish deeds and history by now. He was the illegitimate son of Lady Clara Wilde, the Marquis of Beaufort’s shockingly notorious only sister. Thirty years ago Lady Clara had borne a child out of wedlock and forsaken her family to live in Paris with her lover. When she perished during the savagery of the French Revolution, her young son had been brought back to England by his uncle, Stephen Wilde, Marquis of Beaufort, and later officially adopted.
Sophie, along with most of society, found the entire Wilde brood fascinating. Lord Jack was actually a first cousin to Stephen’s children—Lady Katharine and the present Lord Beaufort, Ashton Wilde—and a much more distant cousin to Lady Skye Wilde and her older brother, Quinn, the Earl of Traherne. Although the Wilde clan boasted a number of noble titles, Jack’s title of “Lord” was merely honorary.
It seemed Mrs. Pennant was not finished with her inquisition, however. “Setting aside the impropriety of kissing a strange man, my dear, you realize that you crossed the line of family loyalty tonight.”
Feeling guilty at the unnecessary reminder, Sophie shifted in her seat. “Yes, I know.”
Her father, Oliver Fortin, had grown up a poor commoner, understandably bitter and resentful of the Wilde villain who’d deprived his branch of the Fortins of the title and fortune. The barony might even have returned to their line had Sophie’s brother not tragically perished from a fever at a young age.
But Mrs. Pennant was not in the least concerned with Oliver’s proper inheritance, since she was Sophie’s mother’s aunt, related to the Fortins only by marriage. In fact she thought the feud silly, as Lord Jack did.
At nearly seventy, the wealthy widow was irascible and hard to please, and she thoroughly disliked Sophie’s father. Believing Oliver to be too controlling and domineering over his wife, Rebecca, Mrs. Pennant went out of her way to tweak his nose at every opportunity.
Tonight’s ball was a prime example. A masquerade was a bit risqué for the more genteel denizens of the ton, and the fact that it had been held in the gardens rather than the ballroom was highly unconventional. Mrs. Pennant had known Oliver wouldn’t approve.
She had also wanted to show up the Duke of Dunmore, who was rather staid and proper. Thus, she’d invited a number of other eligible bachelors to the masquerade because, she’d explained, she wanted to give Sophie more choices in whom to wed.
Mrs. Pennant eyed her thoughtfully now. “Your father would be apoplectic if you were to pursue an association with Lord Jack, but you should know I would not object. Indeed, I could not be more delighted.”
Sophie’s eyebrows lifted. Far from scolding her, was her aunt encouraging her to revolt against parental wishes?
“Lord Jack is a handsome devil, you cannot deny,” her elderly relative continued. “If only I were fifty years younger, he would set more than my heart aflutter.” Her gaze sharpened on Sophie. “If you allowed him to kiss you, you must be attracted to him.”
Oh yes indeed, Sophie thought, remembering his stunning, stolen kisses. He fascinated her in a forbidden, thrilling sort of way. He wore his raven hair longer than the current fashion, so that he resembled a pirate in looks as well as deeds—starkly masculine and sinfully male. When he smiled at her in that rakish, wicked manner, he set her heart leaping. And when he kissed her, he’d tasted like everything she’d secretly dreamed of.
But it was the height of foolishness to let herself be captivated by him, Sophie reminded herself, since nothing could come of it. She could never betray her parents that way. They had suffered so much from her brother’s death, facing life’s cruelest disappointment, losing a child. After all their heartbreak and sorrow, she couldn’t hurt them further.
For years she had known it was up to her to restore the family fortunes by making a good match. Her parents had sacrificed significantly to secure her a promising future, scrimping and devoting every spare penny to groom her for a future role as a nobleman’s wife, and she hoped in some small way to make up for their grief and privation by giving them what they craved most: financial security.
“It won’t happen again,” she assured her aunt. “I daresay I will never even see Lord Jack again.”
Mrs. Pennant harrumphed. “A pity.” Then she waved her thin-boned hand in dismissal. “Well, take yourself off to bed, child. I need my sleep.”
Obediently, Sophie kissed her relative’s wrinkled cheek and let herself out. But as she made her way to her own bedchamber in the guest wing of the house, she couldn’t help reflecting on Lord Jack Wilde.
He made her feel acutely alive and set her blood racing. She also appreciated his sharp wit, even if it was difficult to hold her own with him. She even enjoyed his shocking, provocative manner, despite his dubious claim of wanting to test if they were a match.
Regardless of her feelings for him, though, it was pointless to speculate about a future with him. She doubted he was the least bit serious about her. More likely he was out to make mischief and was only entertaining himself by toying with her. Or perhaps his female relatives truly had twisted his arm to meet her.