Nicole Jordan - [Legendary Lovers 02] Read online

  “I cannot kiss you,” Sophie protested.

  “You are not engaged to Dunmore yet, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is the impediment?”

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then lifted again, but she offered no reply.

  “Think of it as an experiment,” Jack urged when she kept silent. “I simply want to test my sister’s hypothesis.”

  A true statement, he rationalized. If Sophie Fortin was easily frightened by kissing him, then she couldn’t possibly be his ideal mate.

  When she remained unmoving, he leaned forward until her lips were close enough to capture. He breathed in her sweet, feminine scent, then let his mouth caress hers with a featherlight pressure.

  She gave a soft gasp at that mere contact, while he turned instantly hard at her delectable taste.

  Jack drew back sharply. He’d known very few females who could arouse him so quickly, which in itself was an ominous sign. The stark attraction was there between them, without question.

  Sophie had felt the same intense spark, too, he could tell, for she raised her fingers to her lips, eyeing him in wonder.

  After a long moment of silence, she cleared her throat. “Did you learn what you wished to know?”

  “Not in the least,” Jack replied, cursing mentally. Kissing her had left him even more conflicted. There might be something to Kate’s bloody theory after all.

  Lover Be Mine is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Ballantine Books eBook Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Anne Bushyhead

  Excerpt from Secrets of Seduction copyright © 2013 by Anne Bushyhead

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming novel Secrets of Seduction by Nicole Jordan. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-52530-7

  www.ballantinebooks.com

  Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi

  Cover illustration: Alan Ayers

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Other Books by This Author

  Excerpt from Secrets of Seduction

  London, June 1816

  Her beauty held an uncommon allure, much to his regret.

  Swearing an amused oath at himself, Lord Jack Wilde surveyed his quarry from across the dimly lit garden. Despite his better judgment and his instincts for self-preservation, he’d walked headlong into the matchmaking trap laid by his female relatives. He’d planned to inspect the young lady in question and then leave without a backward glance, but Sophie Fortin had thoroughly captured his interest.

  Jack let out a slow breath as he watched the captivating Miss Fortin execute the lively movements of a contra dance. There was considerably more lurking under her surface than mere beauty. She had an enchanting smile, an intensely feminine grace, and a delectable body that set all his primal male urges on full alert.

  He wanted her, without question. Even worse, he was seized by a need to know much more about her.

  Schooling his lustful thoughts, Jack pondered his options while recalling his cousin Skye’s ardent prediction:

  “Miss Fortin is not the grasping husband-hunter you seem to think her, Jack. And she certainly is no spineless ninny either—which you will discover for yourself if you ever deign to meet her. You will like her prodigiously, I swear it.”

  He had yet to contrive an introduction to Sophie Fortin tonight, or even approach her. Indeed, because of the long-standing feud between their families, he’d had to employ subterfuge simply to attend the masquerade ball hosted by her great-aunt.

  Sneaking behind enemy lines in disguise seemed a craven way of investigating a prospective mate, Jack reflected with dark humor. Yet here he stood, garbed as a swashbuckling pirate, contemplating a path that could seriously endanger his bachelorhood.

  Clearly he’d been struck by a brain fever. Or bewitched by a spell.

  The current setting argued for bewitchment. The gardens of her aunt’s London residence had been converted to an open-air ballroom, faintly illuminated by colored lanterns. Undeniably, Sophie Fortin stood out among the crowd of costumed dancers like a diamond among lumps of coal.

  Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off her, in no small part because she seemed a profusion of contradictions.

  For her costume, she wore a glittering tiara and the gossamer, flowing gown of a royal princess, yet her grace and loveliness had little to do with her attire. Her hair was an ordinary shade of dark brown, but the lustrous, curling tendrils piled high on her head had a life all their own. A demi-mask concealed her eyes but not the delicacy of her face or the sensuality of her mouth.

  Miss Fortin was just as comely as advertised, but with none of the cold remoteness he’d expected. Instead, she had life, vitality, warmth.

  That, and a generous, kind smile.

  He hadn’t anticipated the vibrancy, much less the kindness or warmth. From what he knew about her, he’d imagined either a submissive young miss or a calculating social climber. Why else would she allow herself to be sold to a widower more than twice her age for the price of a dukedom?

  Observing her, Jack wondered how he had possibly overlooked her among this season’s insipid crop of debutantes. And why the devil did she have such a powerful effect on his senses? He’d known a number of striking beauties in his time, and bedded more than a few of them. It was rare that a woman could attract him so strongly at first glance, certainly not a green girl only a few years out of the schoolroom.

  And he most definitely was not in the market for a wife of any age. But he’d agreed under duress to arrange a meeting with Miss Fortin.

  For that he could only blame the tenacity of his adopted sister, Katharine, and his youngest cousin, Skye. Kate’s romantic schemes would put Napoleon Bonaparte to shame, Jack suspected. Her campaign to marry him off had begun in earnest last week, the morning after their brother Ashton’s wedding, which she had also plotted.

  When Kate was younger, the family had generally indulged her idealistic machinations with raillery and good humor. But her latest flight of fancy was patently absurd. Kate theorized that the five Wilde cousins—Ashton, Quinn, Jack, Skye, and Kate herself—could find true love by emulating legendary lovers throughout history.

  Beyond all expectations, Ash had recently succeeded in falling in love with his “Cinderella,” Miss Maura Collyer of Suffolk. Jack’s supposed legend was not a fairy tale but one of the Bard’s most famous trage
dies, Romeo and Juliet—with him cast in the leading role of Romeo and Miss Fortin as his Juliet.

  “Have your wits gone addled, Kate?” was his first reaction after a bark of laughter. “You can’t honestly expect me to play the pathetic hero who dies.”

  He put little credence in his sister’s unshaken belief in romantic destiny. And even though he was usually ripe for a challenge, he had adamantly refused even to meet Miss Fortin.

  In response, Kate and Skye had endlessly sung her praises in an effort to rouse his interest.

  “Sophie Fortin has beauty in abundance,” Kate professed.

  “She is clever and kind,” Skye added.

  “It is not her fault that her parents are determined to land a high-ranking title for her,” his sister repeated for the umpteenth time.

  Jack’s scoffing amusement remained the same. The Fortin chit had to be a timid dormouse, allowing herself to be married off to an older nobleman who had already buried one wife.

  “There is no official betrothal yet,” Skye countered. “You must act now, Jack, and rescue Miss Fortin from a loveless union before it is too late. Once she is affianced to the duke, she cannot honorably fall in love with you.”

  “Her honor or lack of it is hardly my concern,” Jack replied, unswayed.

  “Just say you will meet her,” Kate begged.

  He’d held out until two days ago, when Skye cornered him as he left his house just after dawn. He was late for a curricle race, his head aching from an overindulgence of brandy the previous evening.

  Completely ignoring his professed desire to be rid of her, Skye had refused to leave until she’d wrung a promise from him to meet Miss Fortin. “You know I won’t give up, Jack,” she said sweetly, “so you might as well surrender.”

  For his own peace and self-preservation, he’d yielded, knowing his female relatives would hound him relentlessly otherwise.

  The masquerade had seemed the ideal opportunity to conduct his surveillance, since he could employ anonymity to contrive an encounter with Miss Fortin and judge her for himself. The unmasking was not scheduled until midnight, and by then he would be long gone.

  He’d come tonight intending to prove Kate’s ludicrous theory wrong. Regrettably, however, his plan had been hurled off course by the beauty herself, particularly her lovely smile. There was a radiance about her that captivated and drew Jack in wholly against his wishes.

  At least he now understood why a wealthy widowed duke could be smitten enough to consider offering matrimony to a much younger commoner with no fortune.

  Her skin was flawless ivory, her lips full and ripe, Jack noted. He would relish kissing those luscious lips; indeed, he would relish doing much more than simply kiss Miss Fortin.

  For a moment he let his imagination run riot. He could well envision the pleasure of bedding her, feeling her go wild beneath him, matching her in the throes of passion.…

  But matrimony? Jack curbed the urge to shudder. God forbid.

  The notion that Sophie Fortin, or any woman, might be his potential soul mate was laughable. He had no intention of being ensnared in a courtship, let alone marriage. And yet she was definitely too tantalizing to resist pursuing.

  The dance ended just then, and Miss Fortin’s partner of the moment bowed and took his leave of her. Alone, she glanced over her shoulder and caught Jack watching her from a corner of the gardens.

  Her gaze stayed on him for a long heartbeat. Then, instead of turning away out of shyness or embarrassment, she surprised him by suddenly moving his way.

  Upon reaching him, she peered up into his mask, trying to see his eyes. “Do I know you, sir? I penned the invitations for my Aunt Eunice, and I don’t recall anyone of your description on the guest list.”

  Although his pirate costume couldn’t disguise his height or athletic build, Jack suspected his identity was safe, since his mask covered the better part of his face and his headscarf mostly concealed his mane of black hair.

  “No, we have not met before, Miss Fortin,” he answered, amused by her directness. Baldly confronting a stranger was something only the females in his family would do.

  “Then would you care to explain why you have been watching me these past twenty minutes or more?”

  Her boldness impressed him, but he parried her question with his habitual facile charm. “Is it unreasonable for a man to enjoy watching a beautiful young lady?”

  In response to his flattery, she gave a light, skeptical laugh and glanced down at the cutlass he wore sashed at his waist. “Am I in any danger? Pirates are known to take hostages for ransom and carry away maidens for their own wicked purposes.”

  “If memory serves, I haven’t ravished any fair maidens since Tuesday last.”

  Her enchanting smile reappeared, much to his pleasure, although whatever reply she would have made was interrupted by her unlikely suitor, the Duke of Dunmore.

  “There you are, my dear,” Dunmore said in a fond tone. “You promised me your hand for the next set of dances, remember?”

  Her purported suitor, Jack observed, had fairly handsome features but thinning hair that was graying at the temples. In his mid-forties, the duke was also taller than average, but his aristocratic bearing was marred by his slight paunch.

  After a brief hesitation, Miss Fortin answered with a gracious smile. “Yes, of course I remember, your grace.”

  Seeing that entrancing smile bestowed on the nobleman, Jack felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy. Absurd, since he had no claim to Miss Fortin’s affections whatsoever.

  The duke might have felt a touch of jealousy as well, for he cast Jack a sharp look before offering the lady his arm.

  “Who was that pirate fellow?” Dunmore asked as he led her away.

  “I am not certain,” Jack heard her say as they took their positions on the grass dance floor.

  When the music began for a waltz, Jack watched their progress with bemusement, wondering what Miss Fortin saw in the Duke of Dunmore other than his illustrious title and fortune.

  They did not appear to be well-matched as dance partners, for Dunmore was remarkably uncoordinated and kept treading upon her toes. Her expression remained serene until the third time he ground down on her foot, and then she couldn’t conceal a grimace.

  Dunmore seemed to realize he had hurt her, for he halted in his tracks and began apologizing profusely. “My dear, pray forgive my clumsiness. I fear I cannot keep up with these younger chaps.”

  Miss Fortin forced a smile. “It is no matter, your grace. There are all manner of people who find the waltz difficult to negotiate since it is so new. But perhaps we should not attempt it any longer?”

  When Dunmore readily agreed, they moved back to the sidelines and stood conversing until the dance ended. A short while later, she excused herself.

  When she turned toward the house, Jack could see her struggling to hide her limp. She was putting on a game face but was clearly in real pain.

  With some thought of helping her, he followed her inside in time to see her hobble down a corridor and slip through a doorway. Curious as to what she was about, he pursued her.

  She had taken refuge in the library, of all places, Jack realized upon pausing at the threshold. A table lamp had been lit, no doubt for the convenience of the ball guests, and Jack watched as Miss Fortin sank gratefully onto the sofa nearest the lamp.

  Bending down, she raised her skirts to her knees, then removed her left dancing slipper and stocking. She muttered something inaudible before taking off her mask, perhaps the better to see as she examined her aching toes.

  When she grimaced again, Jack stepped forward. “May I be of assistance, Miss Fortin?”

  She gave a start of surprise and eyed him warily as he crossed the room to her. Without waiting for her agreement, Jack knelt before her and took her bare foot in his hands.

  “Allow me,” he said, ignoring her sharply indrawn breath at his boldness.

  Her smallest toe was bleeding, he could see. “Does it
hurt to bend it?” he asked, gently prodding.

  “Yes, but not excruciatingly so.”

  “Then it is only bruised, not broken,” he pronounced. “It should heal in a week or so. Trust me, I speak from experience, having been injured by many an iron-shod hoof in my youth.”

  Finding the end of his waist sash, he tore off a strip of fabric and used the makeshift handkerchief to blot the blood on her toe.

  “You can wrap this piece of cloth around your wound until you are able to fashion a proper bandage.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  At her genuine expression of appreciation, Jack made the mistake of looking up.

  She had stunning eyes, he realized. Luminous and thickly lashed. A dark shade of blue that was almost violet.

  Who had violet eyes? Jack thought irritably, struggling to resist her allure. This near, she was even more of an enchantress than he first realized, and his body reacted accordingly. The stab of desire that shot through him was as powerful as any he could remember.

  In self-defense, he summoned a gruff voice. “Why did you allow Dunmore to trample your feet and half cripple you?” he demanded.

  She had frozen at his nearness, but she looked taken aback by his inquiry. “I was being courteous, if you must know. It would have been unkind to point out his shortcomings. Dunmore cannot help it if he is a terrible dancer. Some people are cursed with two left feet.”

  “I suppose his rank and fortune can excuse myriad deficiencies,” Jack said sardonically, intent on exposing her true motivation. “Isn’t that the chief reason for your compassion? And why you wish to marry him?”

  She stared at him. “Not at all. The duke is actually a very kind man. I didn’t wish to hurt his feelings.”

  At Jack’s skeptical silence, her gaze narrowed. “Why is it any of your concern?” When he didn’t answer, she made a demand of her own. “Who are you?”

  Jack reached up to remove his own mask.

  “You,” she exclaimed, obviously recognizing him. Oddly enough, she seemed relieved to learn his identity, rather than apprehensive as he’d expected. She settled back on the sofa and regarded him thoughtfully.