Lover Be Mine A Legendary Lovers Novel - By Nicole Jordan Page 0,15
patience at his silence. “Drat you, Jack, you are being annoyingly stubborn.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he grinned at her. “So what else is new?” At her glare of frustration, however, he ended his teasing and held out his hand. “Give me the damned journal.”
A brilliant smile spread Skye’s mouth as she slid the volume across the table.
“Don’t raise your hopes too high,” he warned. “I’m not promising to court her. And you vastly underestimate the effort it will require to save her from wedding her duke at this late date.”
“But you will at least investigate the possibility that she is your ideal mate?”
He indeed wanted to answer that fundamental question for himself. “Yes.”
Jumping up, Skye came surging around the table and wrapped her arms about his neck from behind.
Half smothered by her fierce hug, Jack chuckled. “If you strangle me, I won’t be alive to rescue her.”
“I am sorry. It is only that I am thrilled beyond words.” Skye planted an effusive kiss on the top of his head before releasing him. “What will you do first? You cannot get near Sophie. Her parents won’t allow it.”
“Leave the details to me. For now you need to take yourself home.”
“Very well,” Skye grumbled. “But I expect regular reports on your progress.”
“If so, you will wait in vain.”
Picking up the journal, Jack stood, then escorted his intrusive though well-meaning cousin out of the kitchens and upstairs to his front door, where she collected her pelisse and reticule. Skye had her own carriage and coachman and two strapping footmen to attend her, so Jack had few qualms about sending her home at this late hour. She would have protested his concern in any case.
When he had seen her safely into her carriage, Jack turned back toward his house. He had a journal to read and a course to plot.
As he mounted his front steps, his mouth curved in an ironic, self-deprecating smile. Doubtless he needed to have his head examined, but he was about to don his slightly-tarnished-knight armor—or more pertinently, his Romeo costume.
As mad as it seemed, he intended to pursue Sophie Fortin and explore the question of whether their legendary tale had a shot at coming true.
Situated in a quiet London neighborhood, the Arundel Home for Unwed Mothers provided refuge for nearly three dozen indigent expectant women and their newborns. The modest accommodations included a dormitory and nursery as well as a large community room, where currently many of the residents were engaged in mending and sewing articles of clothing.
Using the primers she’d brought with her, Sophie had spent the past hour with her family’s former maid, tutoring Martha in reading and elementary sums. Upon finishing, Sophie returned the books to her satchel, then rose and donned her spencer and bonnet in preparation for leaving.
The very pregnant Martha climbed awkwardly to her feet and began weeping as she hugged the gown of forest green muslin Sophie had remade to accommodate her swelling figure.
“I cannot thank you enough for your generosity, Miss Fortin,” Martha exclaimed, smiling through her tears. “ ’Tis a beautiful dress—the loveliest I have ever owned.”
“At least it should be comfortable for the final month before your child is born,” Sophie said, embracing the girl gently. “But please don’t cry. It cannot be good for you or the babe.”
Just then, the pleasant chatter among the women suddenly died and the room went quiet. Sophie glanced behind her to see a tall, well-dressed gentleman leaning against the wall near the door, watching her. With effort, she managed to hide her start of surprise at Lord Jack Wilde’s unexpected presence, although she couldn’t control the delicious quiver in her stomach or the sudden catch in her breath at the mere sight of him.
With his broad shoulders and lean-muscled form superbly displayed in a burgundy jacket, snug buff pantaloons, and shiny Hessian boots, he looked strikingly out of place in the auditorium full of large-bellied, plainly-garbed women. And yet he seemed as much at ease as he had two nights ago in her aunt’s library, when he’d kissed her senseless.
Sophie swallowed at the memory as she gazed back at him. His overlong hair was slightly ruffled and windblown, so that he still resembled something of a pirate. And he still had a devilish gleam simmering in his eyes that awakened all her feminine nerve-endings.
“Martha,” she murmured to the girl, “do remember, I will be away from town so I won’t see you next week, but I shall visit you as