Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel (36 page)
Read Lover Be Mine: A Legendary Lovers Novel Online
Authors: Nicole Jordan
Oddly enough, the cantankerous elderly widow seemed to get along well with the reclusive
scholar, Lord Cornelius, despite their nearly twenty-year difference in age.
In deference to the sleeping invalid, the Wildes remained in the corridor outside
his hospital room and conversed in hushed whispers, trying to remain quiet. But it
was impossible to completely stifle their laughter as Kate and Skye told Mrs. Pennant
of the cousins’ upbringing under the bewildered supervision of their flustered bachelor
uncle.
When the prince eventually woke to find Jack and Sophie sitting by his bedside, tears
welled in his eyes. But when he saw the entire Wilde clan file into the room, his
look turned to wary confusion.
“You may regret reconciling with me, your highness,”
Jack warned with a wry smile. “Claiming me for your son means being saddled with my
kin also.”
The prince managed a faint smile in return. “I will gladly bear such an affliction,
mon cher fils
.”
Mrs. Pennant was then granted her introduction to his highness. When even on his sickbed,
Prince Raoul insisted on kissing the elderly lady’s hand, his polite gallantry brought
a blush to her wrinkled cheeks.
“I see where Lord Jack gets his charm,” Mrs. Pennant observed tartly. “You may be
royalty, your highness, but the both of you are seductive rogues.”
A short time later, a hospital orderly came in to administer another dose of laudanum
to the invalid. When Prince Raoul’s eyelids started drooping, Sophie ushered the others
from the room to give Jack a final moment alone with his father.
After a few more quiet words of encouragement, Jack gently squeezed his father’s hand
and took his leave. He found his family gathered on the front steps of the hospital,
awaiting their carriages and discussing the Arundel Home for Unwed Mothers, of all
things. Apparently his secret had been exposed by Mrs. Pennant.
“You may be pleased to know that I am following your worthy example, Lord Jack, and
making a significant contribution to the Home at Sophie’s behest,” she declared, her
eyes alive with calculating amusement. “Naturally Oliver is indignant, but how I choose
to spend my fortune is none of his concern. And Rebecca heartily approves. She is
regaining her health by the day and finally putting her foot down with Oliver, much
to my relief.”
When Sophie and Jack shared an intimate smile at
the image of her parents’ evolving relationship, Kate noticed and turned the subject
to legendary lovers, explaining to Mrs. Pennant about her romantic theory.
Both Kate and Skye preened at having found a match for Jack as Romeo, but complained
that Quinn was still clinging to his cynicism and resisting their efforts mightily.
“You must admit that Maura has been very good for Ash,” Kate prodded Quinn, “and that
Jack and Sophie are perfect for each other.”
“I’ll admit nothing of the kind,” he said, smiling sardonically. “It is far too soon
to tell whether their present zeal will last.”
“Oh, it will last,” Jack declared, sending a ribbing grin at Quinn. “You had best
watch yourself, cousin. Kate and Skye have been plotting your downfall for months,
and they are likely to win.”
“I am well able to handle my own amorous affairs.”
“Famous last words,” Jack said, not hiding his amusement. “I made exactly the same
protest—but I am very glad to have been proven wrong.”
Mrs. Pennant eyed Kate curiously and asked what other legends were forthcoming.
“I have a Greek myth in mind for Quinn,” Kate replied. “Possibly Ovid’s tale of Pygmalion
and Galatea. And since I have enough similarities to Katharine in Shakespeare’s
Taming of the Shrew
, I predict I will end up with that. But regrettably, I have not yet come up with
a good match for Skye.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” Skye murmured. “I am working on my own plan.”
Her quiet, almost secretive smile made Jack wonder what she was concealing. When he
raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her, Skye moved closer and whispered to him.
“My story may be a French fairy tale, about a beast and a beauty. And I may have unearthed
a romance for Uncle Cornelius as well. You know Uncle never married because he suffered
a tragic love affair in his younger days, but he deserves a chance at happiness, don’t
you think?”
For once Jack was willing to agree with Skye’s romantic ideals, so he refrained from
ordering her to mind her own business, as he would have done barely a few weeks ago.
Shortly, the Wildes said their farewells and climbed into their various vehicles to
go their separate ways. Settling in his own carriage with Sophie, Jack removed her
bonnet, then slid his arms around her waist from behind and drew her back against
his chest.
“Thank you,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his lips.
“For what?”
“For coming here with me today. A hospital is not the most felicitous place to spend
the first day of our married life together, but I needed to be here with my father.
I didn’t want him to be alone, particularly if there was no hope for his survival.”
“I know you did,” Sophie said solemnly. “Your protective streak is what made me fall
in love with you.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, indeed. As for our first day together, we have
our entire future ahead of us, and this is a perfect beginning. I suspect that when
we’ve grown old and gray, we will look back on today with great fondness.”
Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, Jack tightened his arms around Sophie. It
was an appealing thought, growing old with the love of his life.
“I only regret,” she added with a hint of exasperation, “that my father took so long
to agree to our marriage.”
“At least he acted out of love for you. In all honesty, I’m glad you have your parents
to cherish and protect you, even one as hardheaded as your father. My mother and my
adoptive parents were just as protective. And I have no doubt we will feel the same
protectiveness toward our children.”
Turning her head, Sophie glanced back at him, searching his face. “Is that a promise?”
“Absolutely.”
Apparently satisfied with his answer, she relaxed against him again and sighed with
profound contentment.
Jack felt a similarly intense contentment as he held Sophie and marveled at his good
fortune. Remarkably, he’d found the same kind of passionate love his mother had known,
an all-encompassing ardor where no sacrifice was too large. But his would be the kind
that only grew richer and deeper with time. A passionate, greedy, breath-stealing
love, the kind his family was famous for.
“I am an incredibly lucky man,” Jack said against Sophie’s hair.
To his surprise, she didn’t concur. “I don’t know
about that. I would say that you made your own luck by pursuing me against all odds.”
“True.”
“I never stood the slightest chance of resisting you, did I?”
He heard the smile in her voice—and in his own voice when he responded. “Not the slightest
inkling of a fraction.”
Sophie’s soft laughter warmed his heart. “My aunt was right. You are a prince of rogues,
Lord Jack Wilde.” She turned fully in his embrace and lifted her face for his kiss.
“But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
My heartfelt thanks to the wonderful vets
and caretakers who helped my mare Riva recover:
Dr. Ross Rich and the Cave Creek Clinic crew,
Jean Franzmeier, Judy Weiss, Heather Bruch, and Dr. Debra Tibbetts.
And especially to Dr. Charmian Wright,
who’s always been there
when my “kids” needed her most.
B
Y
N
ICOLE
J
ORDAN
Legendary Lovers
Princess Charming
Lover Be Mine
The Courtship Wars
To Pleasure a Lady
To Bed a Beauty
To Seduce a Bride
To Romance a Charming Rogue
To Tame a Dangerous Lord
To Desire a Wicked Duke
Paradise Series
Master of Temptation
Lord of Seduction
Wicked Fantasy
Fever Dreams
Notorious Series
The Seduction
The Passion
Desire
Ecstasy
The Prince of Pleasure
Other Novels
The Lover
The Warrior
Touch Me with Fire
Read on for a look at Book Three in
Nicole Jordan’s sizzling
Legendary Lovers series,
Secrets of Seduction
East Sussex, England, September 1816
She had never
before pursued a man, but in matters of the heart, sometimes a lady needed to take
fate into her own hands.
In the gathering dusk, Lady Skye Wilde peered through her carriage window at the hulking
mansion shrouded in fog and drizzling rain. Built two centuries before, Hawkhurst
Castle was an enormous edifice of gold-hued stone, complete with turrets. Once magnificent,
it looked forsaken now, although faint lights shone in a lower-story window, giving
Skye hope that her mission would not be in vain.
The Earl of Hawkhurst needed a bride, and she intended to interview for the position.
In truth, she’d been plotting this moment all summer long, ever since learning of
Lord Hawkhurst’s intention to marry again. Now that the moment was at hand, an army
of butterflies was doing battle in her stomach.
Skye was keenly aware her entire future could depend on this first meeting.
Before she lost her nerve, she pulled her cloak hood over her fair hair and stepped
down from her carriage into the rain. No doubt it was idiotic to purposely get caught
in a storm, yet the brewing tempest played well into her scheme to plant herself on
the earl’s front doorstep. A downpour increased the odds that he would take pity on
her and provide her shelter, perhaps even allow her to stay the night.
An ominous flash of lightning in the near distance warned Skye that she had little
time before the worst hit. Even so, she hesitated to approach the sweeping stone steps
that led up to the massive front door.
Actually, she had encountered the earl only once, yet Hawkhurst—known as Hawk to his
intimates—was the kind of man no woman ever forgot … or any girl either. When she
was nearly fourteen, she’d fallen head over heels for him and had been heartbroken
to learn he was already wed. Then shortly afterward, he’d suffered the most terrible
of tragedies, losing his beloved wife and very young son to a fire here at his family
seat.
From her vantage point, Skye couldn’t see the charred remains of the burnt rooms.
The fire must have started in another wing—
A second bolt of lightning, this one much closer, was followed swiftly by a crash
of thunder that startled the already fractious carriage horses. Glancing behind her,
Skye called out an order to her coachman to drive the team around to the stables and
seek shelter.
“My lady, I dislike leaving you here alone!” he
shouted back over the growing bluster of wind and rain.
She appreciated the concern of her loyal servants—two grooms and a coachman—who were
more like bodyguards than lackeys. Her brother, Quinn, insisted they accompany her
for protection on her travels, even though she was almost four-and-twenty. Skye usually
suffered her strapping attendants with good grace, since they allowed her a measure
of independence that most unattached young ladies lacked. But now they were decidedly
in the way.
“I won’t come to harm!” Skye insisted. “Lord Hawkhurst is a close friend of my aunt.
He will not turn me away in a storm.”
At least I trust not
, she added to herself. Hawkhurst was known as a great lover of horses and a master
horseman. In all likelihood, he would not evict frightened animals from his estate,
even if he might want to refuse their human owners.
“If you are certain, my lady—”
Another crack of thunder cut off his sentence.
“Yes, go quickly please, Josiah!”
Just then the heavens opened up and the drizzle became a torrent of driving rain.
The two grooms hastily climbed onto their rear perch and the carriage drove off, while
Skye sprinted for the stone staircase and wondered if she had underestimated the storm’s
danger. Her cloak hood barely protected her face as big, stinging drops pelted her
tender skin. Quelling a gasp at the chill impact, she ran almost blindly up the steps.
By the time she reached the top landing, she was thoroughly drenched.
Between the gloom and the buffeting rain, she could
barely make out that the knocker had been removed from the door. She rapped with her
knuckles for several long minutes, then pounded with the heel of her hand.
No one answered.
Although half expecting the door to be locked, she tried admitting herself. The knob
turned freely, so she pushed open the door an instant before it abruptly swung wide,
pulling her forward. Skye stumbled over the threshold and would have pitched face-first
onto the floor if not for a pair of strong arms saving her.
Skye did gasp then. Held against a broad chest and a very male body, she looked up,
her heart pounding. In the enormous entrance hall, the flame of a single wall sconce
cast flickering shadows over her savior’s visage.
It was the lord of the manor himself, Morgan Blake, the sixth Earl of Hawkhurst.
Skye caught her breath anew at his stunning masculine beauty: High forehead, chiseled
cheekbones, aristocratic nose, sensual lips. And his most striking features, winged
black brows with dark-fringed, storm-gray eyes.
He looked more rugged than she remembered, perhaps because of his tousled, overlong
raven hair and the stubble roughening his strong jaw. His face held more character
also, and lines of pain that hadn’t been present before. But of course, he was ten
years older now, and at four-and-thirty, he had seen far more of the dark side of
life.
Those penetrating eyes still had the same spellbinding effect on her, however. When
her gaze locked with
his, heat streaked through Skye, stark and raw, like a bolt of lightning.
He might have felt the same electric flash of fire, for he reached up with one hand
and pushed back the hood of her cloak to reveal her pale gold hair. Frowning, he touched
her face, as if wondering if she were real.
It was a moment of enchantment she could never have anticipated.
Her heart still in her throat, Skye parted her lips but remained mute as she returned
his searching stare. Then Lord Hawkhurst seemed to realize he was holding her. Appearing
reluctant to let her go, he slowly helped her to stand upright.
Disappointment swamped Skye. Being held in his arms was as breathtaking as she’d dreamed
it would be, and she had not wanted his embrace to end. This intimate manner of meeting
was unplanned but much better than she could have hoped for … until she suddenly spied
the weapon in his other hand.
He wielded a deadly looking dagger and seemed prepared to use it on her.
Skye swallowed hard before realizing his weapon was the sort of knife used for paring
quill pens.
“My l-lord,” she managed to say with relative calm. “You needn’t defend yourself from
me. I am not a thief or assassin. Had I been, I would not have knocked on your front
door.”
“If not a thief, then who are you?” he asked in a voice that was commanding and pleasantly
deep.
“I am Skye Wilde, the niece of your friend, Lady Isabella Wilde.”
His brows drew together sharply. “Did Bella send you here?”
“Yes … I mean, no.”
“Which is it?” He sounded impatient.
“Actually, she did not send me. I came on my own, all the way from London—” Skye stopped
herself. When she was nervous, she became breathless and spoke too rapidly. “Forgive
me, my lord. I chatter on when dangerous gentlemen glare at me and threaten me with
knives.”
His expression softened a measure as he lowered the blade to his side. “Are you daft,
setting out in a storm?”
She hid a smile at his accusation, since she’d just been wondering the same thing.
“When I left home this afternoon, it was not storming. And I don’t believe I am daft,
merely desperate. May I please come in before you ring a peal over my head? Afterward
you may scold me as much as you like.”
Hawkhurst made a soft sound of disapproval in his throat, something like a growl,
but stepped back to allow her entrance. As she moved past him, he glanced out at the
darkening courtyard below, which was nearly obscured by rain. “Where is your carriage?”
“I took the liberty of sending it around to your stables. My horses and grooms needed
shelter. I felt certain you would want me to keep my horses safe. Perhaps you should
shut the door,” Skye added sweetly. “Rain is gusting in and flooding your marble floor.”
He stared at her again for a moment, as if not crediting her boldness. Then curtly
acting on her suggestion,
he closed the door and blocked out the storm before turning to face her.
The hall was quieter now, although still echoing dully from sheets of rain lashing
the manor.
Skye smiled up at Lord Hawkhurst. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. We got off on the
wrong foot. May we start afresh? I am Lady Skye Wilde, and I am happy to meet you
at last. Have you not heard of me?”
“Yes, I have heard of you.” He did not look pleased by the fact.
“I thought Aunt Bella might have mentioned me. You and I are practically family.”
He gave her another frowning glance, this one rife with skepticism. “How did you arrive
at that conclusion?”
“Well … we are not related by blood, but you and my aunt are such good friends, I
feel as if I know you. And you are acquainted with my elder brother, Quinn Wilde,
the Earl of Traherne. You and I were never officially introduced, but I saw you once
a long time ago, when you and your wife attended a ball at our home, Tallis Court.
I was the girl hanging over the banister, watching the dancers below.”
Even in the dim light, she could see recognition dawn in Hawkhurst’s striking eyes.
“I am flattered that you remember me,” Skye said honestly. “Except for a brief moment,
you paid no attention to me that evening.”
“I feared you might be in need of rescue.”
Skye felt her cheeks warm at the reminder. She’d been watching the glittering company
with her cousin Kate from the gallery above the ballroom. When the devastatingly handsome
Lord Hawkhurst had looked
up at her and smiled, her heart had instantly melted. Stricken with awe, she’d nearly
tumbled over the railing. The earl had leapt closer, prepared to catch her and break
her fall if necessary. Fortunately—or unfortunately, Skye had thought at the time—her
cousin’s quick action in grasping her skirts had saved her from disaster.
Uncomfortable awareness flooded her now. How embarrassing to appear so awkward with
a nobleman she wanted earnestly to impress. This was twice now that she had almost
fallen at his feet.
“I am not usually so clumsy, I promise you.”
He did not seem interested in prolonging their discussion. “What brings you here in
the midst of a storm, Lady Skye?”
His abruptness was rather unmannerly, but given her unexpected arrival, she could
forgive him.
“My aunt wrote me a letter of introduction and explained my purpose to you.…” Fishing
in her reticule, Skye pulled out a folded letter that was a bit worse for wear and
presented it to him. “Please will you read this?”
Hawkhurst broke the wax seal but barely glanced at the contents, perhaps because it
was difficult to read in the scant light. When he made to move closer to the wall
sconce, Skye spoke up. “Is there a fire where I may warm myself?”
He hesitated before finally replying. “There is one in my study. Follow me.”
When he strode off across the entrance hall, she hurried to keep up with him and found
herself eyeing his tall, athletic form with admiration. He was dressed informally—white
linen shirt, buff breeches, and riding
boots—and the way his clothing clung to his broad shoulders, lean hips, well-formed
buttocks, and muscular thighs emphasized his stark masculinity. It was brazen to admit,
Skye knew, but the intense physical attraction she felt for Hawkhurst now was much
less pure than when she was a mere girl.
She was also brazen to call at his nearly deserted country estate when no one suitable
was present to act as chaperone. Yet to attain her heart’s desire, she needed to be
bold and daring. She would not let the risk of scandal deter her. Courting scandal
in their amorous affairs was a Wilde family legacy, and she was a Wilde, through and
through.
When they entered a dark corridor, Skye glanced inside the rooms they passed. The
fact that the elegant manor was damp and musty from disuse was no wonder, considering
that it had been shut up for more than ten years. But the furniture was still shrouded
in holland covers.
“I expected you to have servants to answer your front door,” she commented to the
earl’s back.
“The elderly man who acts as caretaker is hard of hearing and didn’t heed your pounding.”
“But I understood you arrived here a full week ago. I thought by now you would have
tried to set the castle to rights.”
Only after another pause did he answer her probing remark. “I haven’t yet arranged
for a full-time staff. Some women from the village came today to begin cleaning, but
with the storm approaching, I sent them home before it grew too dark.”
“That was kind of you.”
Hawkhurst made another low sound of dismissal in his throat and kept walking.
“I am grateful that you opened your door to me,” Skye pressed, “although you frightened
me out of my wits, brandishing that knife.”
“You did not look particularly frightened.”
She had not been—but then she knew the extraordinary sort of man she was dealing with.
“I suppose you have an excuse for your extreme reaction. You can’t help yourself.
You were trained to be suspicious. You were a spy for the Foreign Office for the past
dozen years and more, were you not?”
Hawkhurst halted in his tracks and glanced back at her. “Who told you that?”
“My aunt, of course. She also warned me that you were a determined recluse. But you
could be a trifle more welcoming, for her sake if nothing else.”
His eyebrow shot up at her impertinence. Hawkhurst regarded her for several more heartbeats,
obviously reassessing her.
