His eyes were mesmerizing, holding her spellbound as he laced his fingers with hers and pressed her yet again to marry him.
“We Wildes believe in taking fate into our own hands, Sophie. Isn’t it time that you did the same?”
Her answer had to be Yes. No matter how she’d tried to believe that she could live without Jack, she knew now that it would be impossible.
Their likelihood for marital bliss was still highly in doubt. They were far, far away from building a life together. But at least they would have passion. And if she had the slightest chance for happiness with Jack, she had to take it. In fact, she yearned to take it. The longing inside her was so strong, she shook with it.
“Yes,” Sophie whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I will marry you, Jack.…”
A spark flared in his eyes, and he buried his fingers deep in her hair in preparation of kissing her.
“… but I still must persuade my parents to agree first.”
The spark dimmed somewhat. “Must you? We could marry in secret now and present them with a done deed.”
“I could never hurt them like that.”
She saw perception and tenderness in his eyes, as if he understood her struggle. “I know. We’ll find a way to end the feud, love. I have faith that we can secure their approval if I offer them the ultimate prize—a prince for their daughter’s husband. After I confer with my father, we’ll return to England and confront your parents with the news. We’ll face them together.”
“Yes.”
She would have to make them listen, Sophie vowed, for she intended to fight for Jack’s love.
“Then it’s settled,” he said solemnly. “Now, let us seal our pledge.…”
Releasing her hair, he anchored her head between his palms and took her mouth in a kiss of complete possession, making Sophie want to melt. Jack filled her with a sense of promise, of hope. The heartfelt hope that he was right.
Two hours later, Jack secured an interview with Prince Raoul and shared his decision. “Miss Fortin accepted my proposal on the condition that her parents agree to our union, so I am willing to accept the throne.”
The relief and gladness on his father’s face were unmistakable. “Mon dieu … I hoped as much.”
There were tears in his eyes, Jack saw. When his father reached out to embrace him, Jack stood stiffly—and yet another brief flash of memory from his childhood assaulted him. Images and emotions … the laughter, the happiness, the devotion.
Pushing aside his conflicting feelings, Jack extricated himself and stepped back while striving for less sentiment. “You may regret turning over your kingdom to a novice. When I return here from England, I will make an effort to learn my duties as your successor, but it may take a good deal of training.”
“Non,” Prince Raoul said fervently, “I will have no regrets. Indeed, continuing my bloodline is of far more importance to me than finding a ruler for my country. It may be difficult for you to understand at your youthful age, Jack, but when you confront your own mortality, your priorities change. The truth is … I yearn for my own flesh and blood to carry on my line. Your children will save the House of de Villars. If I can have that, I can die content.”
The mention of his potential children affected Jack strangely. He wanted children with Sophie, more than he would have thought possible. An irrational desire, given the effort he’d made not to get her with child.
Yet he didn’t care for his father’s defeatist attitude—another strange development, considering that he’d spent his youth wishing for the man’s demise.
“You might not have to die so soon, your highness. I spoke to my cousin Traherne yesterday and described your injuries. He wants to examine your wound himself and obtain a medical history from your doctors here, so that he can confer with our best physicians in England.”
With his keen mind and lust for adventure, Quinn had dabbled in various sciences in the past, including medicine, although he was more recently intrigued by daring inventions such as the steam engine, which he prophesied would change the future of the world.
“As I told you,” Jack added, “Traherne has a colleague who is rather brilliant in his unorthodoxy and who may be able to aid you.”
Prince Raoul gave a wistful smile and wiped away a tear with the back of his hand. “It is enough that you are willing to be my son,” he said gravely, with utter sincerity.
My son.
Strangest of all, Jack didn’t wince at those words.
A procession of carriages left the royal palace the following morning, heading for Paris. Although the return journey was more enjoyable than the original for Jack, he still felt impatient and on edge.