“No, she is not,” Jack agreed grudgingly.
“I told you so,” Skye crowed. “Then you like her, Jack?”
Jack took a quaff of ale to avoid answering. He’d been prepared to dislike Sophie Fortin out of sheer self-defense, but the exact opposite had occurred. And when he’d deliberately set out to discomfit her by challenging her to a kiss, his plan had utterly backfired.
He’d been rocked by the intensity of his body’s reaction. Sophie was all woman, and her sweetly passionate response to his kiss had brought out the primitive, possessive male in him. Jack felt another stark tug of desire now, just thinking of her.
His sister’s lunatic theory was not so laughable after all, Jack conceded, and might even have a modicum of merit—although wild horses couldn’t drag that admission out of him at the moment. Not when Skye was looking so smugly triumphant.
Jack sidestepped her query by restating a previous objection. “Kate’s scheme to have us play Montague and Capulet is completely deranged.”
“I disagree,” Skye declared. “You saw how right she was about Ash. His romance with Maura proved that the theory works—using classic tales to find our own true loves. Ash and Maura are perfect for each other.”
Jack couldn’t refute that claim after seeing his brother with his new wife. The raw devotion in Ash’s eyes when he looked into Maura’s was unmistakable.
“You know they are deliriously happy, Jack. That could be you and Sophie someday.”
He refrained from commenting, reluctant to acknowledge his subversive thoughts. In truth, the possibility that Sophie was his legendary lover held a strange appeal. Certainly she roused his lust. And undeniably, their explosive passion had left him craving much more of her.
She had felt the sharp pull of sexual attraction, he knew. He’d seen it flare in her eyes, felt it in her melting response beneath him. The mating heat between them was undeniable.
Yet there was also something special and unique about her, something beyond her arresting beauty and physical allure that attracted him on a much deeper level.
“So will you consider courting her?” Skye asked when his silence drew out.
“No.”
At his swift reply, a sound of exasperation escaped Skye’s throat. “Why not? Surely you can see she is worthy of becoming a Wilde. She is as far from a greedy, spineless twit as one can get. On the contrary, she is quite lively and speaks her own mind, in addition to being kind and caring and a genuinely good person.”
Witness Miss Fortin’s unusual efforts to aid her pregnant maid in spite of her parents’ moral outrage, Jack reflected. She had that interest in common with him at least. Indeed, she fit the requisites of his legendary lover in several respects.
“How do you know so much about her?” he asked Skye. “She claims she wasn’t allowed to fraternize with our family.”
“Why, Katharine, of course. Given how inbred our social circles are, it was easy for Kate to investigate Miss Fortin thoroughly. This past season, we often attended the same balls and functions, and we’ve watched her closely, ever since she burst onto the scene and took the ton by storm.”
Reading his resolute expression, Skye continued pressing her case. “You even live at Montagu Place, although the spelling is different. That seems prophetic to me.”
Jack let out a snort of laughter. “Simply because I live on a certain street hardly means we are destined for each other.” When Skye started to respond, he held up a hand. “What of all the impediments to a courtship? Have you forgotten the feud? Why in deuces would I want to marry into the family of our worst enemy?”
“I know there is bad blood between our families—Oh, that reminds me …”
Skye suddenly held up the book she had been reading in the drawing room, which she’d carried into the kitchens—a small, worn, leather-bound volume that was faded with age.
“I also came here this evening to give you this journal. Apparently it is the diary of our great-uncle, Philip Wilde—the one who shot Sophie’s great-grandfather in a duel.”
Jack eyed the journal suspiciously. “Where did you get that?”
“Uncle Cornelius remembered seeing it gathering dust among the many tomes in the Beauvoir library. So yesterday he traveled all the way to Kent to fetch it for you. See, even our elderly bachelor uncle wants you to have a chance at true love.”
It surprised Jack that his uncle would go to such trouble for the sake of romance. The Beaufort and Traherne family estates were situated in adjoining neighborhoods in Kent, and after the anguishing loss of their parents, the children had been brought together in one household under the legal guardianship of their remaining uncle, Lord Cornelius Wilde.
Yet the renowned scholar preferred to keep his nose buried in books and had no earthly notion how to raise five high-spirited youngsters “who ran about like a pack of savages,” according to his most frequent lament. And now that they were fully grown, Uncle Cornelius retreated into his books as much as possible.
Skye’s blue eyes were dancing, but Jack resisted the urge to show his own amusement as she continued.
“I read some of the journal tonight while waiting for you to return home. It is rather dry, until you come to the part where Philip Wilde falls in love. The young lady in question had drawn the eye of Gideon Fortin, Baron Harbage, who was Sophie’s great-grandfather—”
“Why the devil does it matter what is in the journal?” Jack asked, finishing his drumstick and wiping his mouth and fingers on a napkin.