Princess Charming

by Nicole Jordan

  “Ironic indeed,” Ash said dryly. Having no desire to dwell further on her young stepsisters’ amorous affairs, however, he took Maura’s elbow and guided her behind a decorative bank of potted palms.

  “What are you about, Ash?” she asked with more curiosity than wariness.

  “I am hiding you away from prying eyes so I can steal a kiss from you. To be truthful, I should like to leave the ball altogether and take you home at once.”

  Her resultant smile was as warm as a midsummer breeze. “I desperately crave a kiss, but it would be rude to leave the festivities so early when Skye and Quinn have gone to such trouble for us.”

  “It is nearly midnight,” Ash pointed out. “And my cousins will understand that I want you all to myself tonight. As for the ball guests, I don’t give a farthing for their opinions.”

  “You will have me all to yourself tonight, since Kate means to remain here to afford us privacy on our wedding night. We ought not leave for a while longer.”

  “You are asking a great deal,” he grumbled.

  “I know, but sadly, you must curb your lust a few hours more.”

  In response, Ash slid a hand down the back of Maura’s elegant gown and drew her hips against his. Her eyes widened in a pretense of shock. “Ash, behave yourself! We cannot embrace in public, for pity’s sake.”

  “Behave myself?” He raised a dubious eyebrow. “I can see you are already set on turning me into a henpecked husband, giving me orders about proper comportment.”

  He saw the laughter building in her eyes. “You are hardly in danger of being henpecked,” Maura retorted. “It is all I can do to hold my own with you.”

  “Actually, you do quite well at holding your own, my darling.” When her quelling look didn’t slacken, though, Ash gave a theatrical sigh. “Very well, but the least you could do is give me a kiss to sustain me until we can finally take our leave.”

  When he lowered his head, Maura complied eagerly as expected, her luscious lips softening and opening under his. Merely kissing her created sparks of passion between them, and Ash felt the heat start to smolder in his lower body.…

  They were still kissing passionately when Skye found them behind the row of palms. “Why am I not surprised that you are already living up to the family legend, Ash?”

  He might have ignored the cheerful question if Maura hadn’t broken off guiltily. Disappointed, Ash turned a baleful eye on his youngest cousin. “Can you not see we are occupied?”

  Skye smiled sweetly. “I only wished to tell Maura how delighted we all are to have her join our family. I would have done so sooner, but I haven’t had a single moment alone with her since the ceremony.” Stepping closer, she took Maura’s hands. “I am overjoyed to have you as a sister in addition to a dear friend, Maura. And ecstatic for you as well. No one deserves happiness more than you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured with a heartfelt smile.

  “I foresee a long and glorious union between you and Ash,” Skye predicted, “since we Wildes fall in love for life. Granted, we had begun to despair that Ash would never marry and fulfill our parents’ legacy, but now there is real hope for the rest of our generation.”

  Katharine appeared just in time to overhear Skye’s last remark. “Yes, Ash,” Kate agreed in a provocative tone. “It seems my legendary lovers theory is not so preposterous after all. I expect a suitable acknowledgment from you. I was right about Maura being your destiny, you must admit.”

  His mouth curved. “Very well, I admit it.”

  His sister’s response was a self-satisfied smile. “Allow me to say I told you so.”

  “Smugness does not become you, sweet shrew.”

  Kate laughed. “I think I should be permitted to crow a little. You fought me tooth and nail at first, but you have now proved the possibility that a legendary lover could exist for each of us cousins.”

  Ash slid a friendly arm around Katharine’s shoulders. “I trust your time comes quickly, sister dear.”

  “I sincerely hope so also.”

  “You mistake my meaning, Kate,” he replied with an affectionate squeeze of her shoulders. “I want you to find your match soon, because now that Maura and I are married, I prefer to have the house to ourselves.”

  Katharine feigned a wounded look. “Are you actually saying my presence is unwanted?”

  “No, only that you need to increase the pace of your hunt.”

  “I am trying, I assure. I promised I would search for my own true love next. But unfortunately, my romantic prospects seem dim at the moment, despite my best efforts.”

  Ash wasn’t surprised, since he knew of few men who could handle a lively spitfire like Kate.

  “Kate,” Skye interrupted. “I gather you have discovered no prospective match for me yet?”

  “I am sorry, Skye, but not yet. To be frank, I think it will be easier to find mates for the men in our family.”

  When Kate glanced behind her at the ballroom floor, Ash knew she was eyeing Jack and Quinn. Not only had they attended the ball and remained the entire time, they were dutifully conversing with dowagers and dancing with wallflowers in a show of family loyalty.

  “She has a Greek myth in mind for Quinn,” Skye said mischievously.

  “Oh, which one?” Maura asked Kate.

  “I imagine his tale will be Pygmalion. But Jack should come next, since his time is growing short.”

  When Maura looked intrigued, Kate explained. “I have found a possible Juliet to Jack’s Romeo, but there are serious impediments to the union—namely, the long-standing feud between our two families and even worse, the young lady’s imminent engagement to a duke. No doubt her parents will vociferously object to Jack’s courtship, although in his case, having royal blood could be his saving grace.”

  “Royal blood?” Maura repeated. “Oh, yes, I remember Ash telling me that Jack’s father was a European prince.”

  “Yes. Jack is a love child, but he could claim the throne if he really wished to—which he says he does not. Either way, he must act soon or he will miss his chance entirely. Skye, you are closest to Jack. You will have to persuade him to at least meet his Juliet.”

  “Certainly I will do my utmost,” Skye replied earnestly. “However, you may have an even more difficult challenge than his, since Aunt Bella asked you to find someone for her good friend, Lord Hawkhurst. You remember, Maura, he is the earl who breeds horses on the Isle of Cyrene? Hawkhurst is a widower,” she explained, “who lost his wife and young child here in England years ago. Aunt Bella believes he needs a new wife in order to be happy.”

  Kate’s green eyes grew serious. “Hawkhurst is most assuredly on my list. I might even turn my hand to Uncle Cornelius.”

  Maura appeared skeptical. “I thought Lord Cornelius was a scholarly bachelor who rarely leaves his library.”

  “True. He is not a typical Wilde with a bent for passion and scandal, but he does have a romantic past of his own. Like Jack’s mother, Uncle Cornelius never married because he was thwarted in love. But he is a dear soul, and I want a happy ending for him.”

  Kate’s expression remained thoughtful as she eyed Maura. “Now that you have benefited from my theory, Maura, I think you should assist me in my future matchmaking endeavors.”

  Hesitating to reply, Maura cast an entreating glance at Ash, who came to her rescue by gently prodding his sister and cousin. “Kate, I expect you to suspend your scheming for this one evening at least. Why don’t you and Skye return to our ball guests so I can be alone with my new wife?”

  His blunt hint jolted Katharine out of her ruminations. “Oh, of course.” With a rueful smile, she kissed Maura’s cheek and stepped back while Skye did the same. Then linking arms, the two cousins disappeared behind the row of palms.

  When they were gone, Maura shook her head in amusement. “I cannot believe she wants me to aid her. The role of matchmaker is as alien to me as that of Cinderella … although at the moment, I do feel like a fairy-tale princess. This go
wn is worthy of royalty.” She glanced down at her short-sleeved gown of creamy, gold-embroidered lace. “But even though my metamorphosis into princess is progressing, I may never become accustomed to being addressed as Lady Beaufort.”

  Maura surprised Ash then by reaching down to grasp both his hands in her own. “I never expected to become your marchioness, Ash, but there is nothing I want more.” Her gaze growing tender, she brought their entwined hands inward to frame her face while gazing up at him.

  Love. Her eyes were full of it. Ash stilled, transfixed by that magical look. Her next words enchanted him even further.

  “I cannot imagine living without you, Ash,” Maura declared solemnly. “I would never want to. You make me feel treasured, cherished, loved.”

  “That is exactly how you should feel,” he said simply, “since I treasure, cherish, and love you.”

  At his heartfelt affirmation, a hint of a smile returned to her lips. “How soon can we leave the ball and go home, dear husband?”

  “You want to go home now? I thought you were concerned about appearing rude.”

  “I changed my mind. I don’t want to waste another moment before fulfilling the Wilde family legacy. We should probably wait until the stroke of midnight to honor the spirit of our lovers’ tale, but after that …”

  Having similar thoughts, Ash smiled in approval and captured Maura’s lovely mouth again.

  Read on for a look at Book Two in

  Nicole Jordan’s exciting

  Legendary Lovers series,

  Lover Be Mine

  London, June 1816

  “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 recal
l 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.”