Princess Charming (37 page)

Lover Be Mine

“
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.”

Recalling his cousin’s ardent prediction, Lord Jack Wilde studied the young lady in question from across the dimly lit garden.

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 courtship, Jack reflected with dark humor. Yet here he stood, garbed as a swashbuckling pirate, observing Miss Fortin with a healthy dose of skepticism.

The gardens of her aunt’s London residence had
been converted to an open-air ballroom, gently illuminated by colored lanterns. Undeniably, Miss 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. A demi-mask concealed her eyes but not the delicacy of her face or the sensuality of her mouth. 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 thoughtful frown drew down the corners of Jack’s mouth. As much as he loathed admitting it, he was intrigued. Judged on outward appearances, Sophie Fortin was a beauty, just 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 expected the liveliness, 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 twice her age for the price of a dukedom?

Watching her, Jack felt a primal tug of desire, despite himself. Granted, his bias against her had softened over the past half hour. However, the notion that she might make him an ideal mate was still impossible to swallow.

He had no intention of courting her, of course. Most definitely he was not in the market for a wife. But he’d had no choice other than to arrange a meeting with her.

For that he could only blame the tenacious matchmaking of his sister Katharine and his cousin Skye. Kate’s 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.

When Kate was younger, the family had generally indulged her romantic machinations with 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 tragedies,
Romeo and Juliet
, with him cast in the leading role of Romeo and Miss Fortin as his Juliet.

“Have you utterly lost your wits, Kate?” was his first reaction. I’m not about to play the pathetic hero who dies.”

He put little credence in his sister’s outlandish 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 engaged, she cannot honorably fall in love with
you
.”

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

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

He’d held out until two days ago when Skye cornered him as he left his house. He was late for a curricle race, his head aching from an overindulgence of brandy the previous night. He’d practically tripped over his youngest cousin, who was camped on his front doorstep.

Completely ignoring his professed desire to be rid of her, Skye had climbed into his waiting curricle and refused to get down until she had 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 concede.”

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

The masquerade had seemed the ideal opportunity to conduct his surveillance, since disguised as a pirate, he could attend without an invitation and reconnoiter freely in enemy territory. And he could rely on
anonymity to contrive an encounter with Miss Fortin and judge her for himself. The unmasking was not until midnight, and by then he would be long gone.

He’d come tonight intending to prove Kate’s ludicrous theory wrong. Regrettably, however, he’d been thrown off course by the beauty herself—or rather, by her lovely smile. Jack was drawn to that captivating smile against his wishes. At least he understood why a widowed duke could be smitten enough to consider offering matrimony to a much younger commoner with no fortune.

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.

Instead of turning away out of shyness or embarrassment, however, she surprised him once again 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, 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 concealed his black hair.

“No, we have not met before, Miss Fortin,” he answered, amused by her directness. Confronting a stranger was something 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?”

Responding 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, 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 noted, had even, rather 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.”

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 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 a piece of cloth around your wound until you can fashion a proper bandage.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

At her genuine expression of appreciation, Jack made the mistake of looking up. Her face was so very close that he froze.

She had stunning eyes, he realized. Luminous and thickly lashed. That dark shade of blue 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 as well, 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. “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, for she settled back on the sofa and regarded him thoughtfully.

“I gather you know me?” he asked.

“Everyone knows of the scandalous Lord Jack Wilde.”

“But we have never met? I think I would remember you, Miss Fortin.”