Lover Be Mine (Legendary Lovers 2)

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 rel

ish 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?”