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.