Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel (16 page)

“Oh, my God.” Sophie turned fully in her seat to stare at Skye. “He was only six years
old?” she breathed in horror. “I cannot even imagine.…” And yet sadly she could. The
image brought an ache to her throat … a young child, grieving for his dead mother,
alone and terrified, being held prisoner for ransom or worse.

“Indeed,” Skye agreed quietly. “You won’t hear about his ordeal from Jack, for he
never, ever speaks of it. Our family only pieced together his story small fragments
at a time.”

“How did he survive?”

Skye answered in a low voice. “It was many weeks before news of my Aunt Clara’s death
got back to our family in England. One of her English friends wrote to notify us of
her passing and of her young son’s disappearance. Of course my father and my Uncle
Stephen—Lord Beaufort—immediately went to Paris to find Jack. They searched everywhere
frantically, but by then he had been missing for nearly two months. The Parisians
were very little help. At that time, British citizens could still move freely about
France, but they were intensely disliked, especially noblemen like my father and uncle.
Another fortnight passed before finally—miraculously—they found Jack and rescued him
from the tavern-keeper. A sympathetic serving girl had risked her position to tip
them off.”

“Thank God. They brought him home to England?”

“Yes. I wasn’t even born at the time, but when I was old enough to understand, Quinn
and Ash told me about meeting Jack for the first time. Sophie, it was heartbreaking.
When Jack arrived at Beauvoir, he was pitifully thin and practically mute, shying
away from even a gentle touch, clinging to the little dormouse he had befriended.
That mouse was his only consolation during those horrible months of captivity, my
father said. Jack kept it safe in his pocket and would never let it out of his sight.
Then his pet died when I was a baby, and I became his substitute. Jack made it his
mission to watch over me—as if he was determined to protect me from anything bad happening.
But even I couldn’t make him let down his guard when we were children, not even with
those of us who loved him dearly. I think he was afraid to care for anyone after he
lost his mother so brutally. And his defensiveness was only compounded when he also
lost his adopted parents some years later.”

Sophie felt her eyes burn with tears. “That is understandable.”

“Yes.”

“How did he come to be adopted?”

“His natural father eventually came to England to fetch him, but Jack refused to have
anything to do with him. After that, my Uncle Stephen legally recognized Jack, but
it took many years for him to feel as if he belonged. Ours is a tight-knit family,
very loving and devoted to one another, and our bonds helped to heal him for the most
part. But there are still little signs that he never fully recovered.”

“Such as?”

“His stomach is a bottomless pit, for instance. He endured near starvation, so now
he eats frequently, and he always keeps food handy—nuts or fruit or cheese.”

Was that why he had brought her breakfast early that morning when they met by the
bridge? Sophie wondered. And why he had eaten an apple so shortly after tea when he’d
come to her bedchamber last night?

Her speculations were cut short when Skye went on with her disclosures. “Jack also
learned how to excel at fighting in order to defend himself. He is extremely skilled
at fisticuffs and a master with swords, pistols, knives … even better than Ash and
Quinn. Jack once admitted to me that he was determined never to be helpless again.”

Skye paused as if recalling a painful memory. “It hurts to remember how driven by
fear he was as a boy.” Then she forced her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “But
the effects of his suffering are not all
adverse. It has made him more compassionate, certainly. Jack has long supported a
London orphanage, and he regularly visits the stews of London to deliver food and
clothing to the street children there, especially in the dead of winter.”

And he helps to finance a home for unwed mothers
, Sophie thought to herself, something Skye probably didn’t even know about.

“But the most crucial thing is, Jack is leery of trusting anyone but family. He has
buried all his feelings so deeply, he won’t let anyone in. He may act the lovable
rogue and indulge in reckless, even outrageous exploits, and he rarely appears serious,
but his devil-may-care image is deceptive, Sophie. Under all that irreverent charm
lie hidden depths that he conceals from the world.”

Sophie found herself nodding in agreement. She had sensed his reticence to share his
own past, but now she knew why he hid his emotions behind a roguish mask.

“Jack is a wonderful man,” Skye added earnestly, “and I believe he can learn to love
and trust again. However, it will require a special kind of woman to make him open
his heart. The kind of woman I think
you
are, Sophie. He will be very well worth the effort, I promise you.”

She held Sophie’s gaze for a moment longer. Then suddenly some of Skye’s somberness
disappeared. “Please, don’t tell Jack I told you any of this. He would murder me if
he knew I was revealing his secrets. And he would never tolerate coddling or sympathy,
much less pity.”

Before Sophie could respond, Skye rose to her feet.
“I had best go and allow you to dress for the assembly. I just thought you should
know the difficulties you are dealing with.”

“Thank you for telling me,” she said sincerely, swallowing the ache in her throat.

After Skye had left, Sophie slowly, mechanically, resumed brushing her hair, but her
chest was tight with emotion. She couldn’t stop thinking about her dark-eyed troublemaker … or
the grieving child who’d lost his mother to a murderous Parisian mob and then been
locked away as a prisoner in a miserable garret, huddling with a tiny mouse for comfort.
Part of Jack was still a wounded little boy inside, she realized.

Their grief was something else they had in common, Sophie reflected sorrowfully. They
both had lost loved ones—she her young brother, Jack his mother and his adopted parents—although
his loss had been far more traumatic than hers. His ordeal explained not only why
he secretly supported the Arundel Home, but also his puzzling protectiveness of her … why
he was so determined to rescue her from an unwanted fate.

The sympathy she felt for him was heart-deep. As was her sadness and regret for herself.
Over the last few days, she’d begun yearning for a future with Jack … a future full
of love and passion and laughter … a true meeting of soul mates. She’d wanted more
than anything to be free to welcome his suit.

But now she knew her instincts were right all along. Jack didn’t truly want to wed
her himself; he just sincerely wanted to save her from being forced to marry elsewhere.

Moreover, after learning of his wrenching past and
his refusal to share anything of himself with even his closest loved ones, Sophie
found it that much harder to believe he could ever open his heart to her.

When Jack entered the crowded drawing room at the start of the assembly, he quickly
realized that Oliver Fortin was no longer avoiding him, since the older man approached
at once.

Bowing curtly, Fortin spoke over the din of the chattering company. “I have come to
a decision, my lord. I have no interest in reading your ancestor’s journal and mean
to return it to you.” He paused, looking as if he was eating a bitter lemon. “Mrs.
Fortin believes I should reconsider permitting our daughter to associate with your
cousin, Lady Skye, but I cannot bring myself to allow it.”

With effort, Jack schooled his features to impassivity. “And you will not grant me
the privilege either?”

Fortin eyed him in disapproval. “I hardly think that advisable. You understand it
is my duty as a father to protect my daughter from … in such circumstances as these.”

From rakes such as yourself
, Jack finished the unspoken thought.

Actually, he did understand. And a small part of him agreed and even appreciated Sophie’s
father for wanting to protect her, although it didn’t lessen his frustration one iota
since Fortin was clearly warning him off.

“As for your offer of patronage from your family,” Fortin continued, “it should not
be necessary. You see—and I say this in strictest confidence—the Duke
of Dunmore has requested an interview with me first thing in the morning.”

“Has he?” Jack responded rather too sharply.

“Indeed. I fully expect his grace to ask me for Sophie’s hand in marriage. And I will
give my permission, most assuredly.” Fortin’s mouth stretched in a sudden smile that
seemed as much relief as triumph at his daughter’s good fortune. “I confess I have
been waiting for this day for aeons.”

Jack could only stare grimly. It was odd how the news hit him like a fist to his gut.
For a moment he even heard the same low roaring in his ears that he’d experienced
at learning a shipwreck had claimed the lives of his adopted parents.

Fortin took his leave with an almost gleeful bow, then moved away to rejoin his wife.
Jack stood there frozen, trying to comprehend the decided feeling of panic washing
over him.

Abruptly he clamped down on the sensation, refusing to tolerate any such weakness
in himself. Yet he couldn’t help turning to search for Sophie in the crowd.

When he found her surrounded by a group of admirers, laughing at something Dunmore
had said, her serene beauty struck Jack anew, as did a sharp sense of dread.

For despite his newly formed resolve to claim her, he realized he was almost out of
time.

Jack was hard-pressed
to explain the desperation he felt. He couldn’t stand the thought of Sophie becoming
another man’s wife, sharing her smiles, her bed, her body. He wanted Sophie for himself.
And whatever the cause of his possessiveness, he had to convince her to refuse the
duke’s proposal.

The assembly was fully underway when Jack managed a private word with Sophie, asking
her to meet him in the conservatory after supper ended. He also charged Skye with
distracting the duke for the evening, but he had to quell his impatience for two more
hours until the appointed time arrived.

Although the conservatory at the rear of the gardens was dark and deserted, he didn’t
need a lantern to see, since moonlight seeping through the glass panels and high roof
provided illumination. Dense with roses and flowering trees, the interior was warm
and moist and sweet smelling.

When at last Sophie slipped through the open door, she looked ethereal in a gown of
ivory silk lustring. A
band tightened around his chest at her luminous beauty.

She paused, as if letting her vision adjust to the dimmer light, and called his name
softly. Stepping toward her, Jack drew her against him and captured her mouth in a
possessive kiss. To his gratification, Sophie sighed with gladness and returned his
embrace with unmistakable fervor.

They both were breathing heavily when they finally drew apart.

Sophie remained standing in the circle of his arms, gazing up at him, studying his
face. There was a new tenderness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before—a softness
that faded at his urgent question.

“Are you aware that Dunmore requested an interview with your father tomorrow?” Jack
demanded.

“Yes.” She sounded distressed. “His proposal may come much earlier than expected.
I thought you and I would have more time together.”

“I don’t want you to wed him.”

From her expression, she seemed torn. “If he asks, I don’t believe I can refuse.”

“You won’t be happy with him,” Jack insisted.

“I know, but sometimes duty must come before happiness.”

He locked his jaw as one thought reigned supreme in his mind: He couldn’t let Sophie
go.

Bending his head, he kissed her more passionately. Plunging his tongue into her mouth,
he guided her backward, until her back was pressed against the trunk of an orange
tree. Jack knew she could taste his frustration, just as she could feel the rising
tide of desire between them. He wanted to lay her down right
there. He wanted to hold her and caress her until she melted against him and begged
him to take her.…

His hands sank into her hair, pulling out pins haphazardly. With deliberation, he
used his knee to part hers, pressing his thigh against her sensitive woman’s mound
beneath her gown. In answer, Sophie twined her arms tightly around his neck, as if
feeling his same desperation.

His kiss was hard and devouring. It was only when he reached down to lift the hem
of her skirts that Sophie dragged her mouth away so that she could look up at him.
“Jack … we cannot make love here.”

“We can. I mean to show you the passion you will be missing if you wed Dunmore.”

“You have already shown me.”

Set on preventing any further protests, he made to kiss her again, but she averted
her lips and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.