Skye was elated as well. She had hoped Cornelius and Daphne could come to know each other as father and daughter, and now they would have the chance.
Cornelius was eager to provide for Daphne financially and had offered to fund her research and travels to investigate new species of roses, but if Edgar kept his word, she would soon have her own significant funds to use as she chose.
Without a doubt, Daphne had Wilde blood running in her veins. Her determined independence, her lively charm and intelligence, her brazen disregard for the limits society placed on females in particular, and her scholarly bent and interest in exploration, were all indicative of how well she would fit into their clan.
Kate said as much when she arrived that afternoon, accompanied by Ash and Maura and Jack and Sophia.
Skye was most grateful when her family heartily welcomed her soon-to-be husband into their ranks. Although Kate had reassured both Ash and Jack about Hawk, Skye had a nervous moment when her male cousins interrogated him at length, yet she couldn’t fault them. The Wildes were overly protective but fiercely loyal and loving, just as families should be. And apparently they were convinced of Hawk’s love for her by the time the other wedding guests arrived at the Court.
Skye truly enjoyed meeting some of Hawk’s closest friends and colleagues. The elderly Sir Gawain Olwen seemed world-weary—understandable given the weight he had carried on his shoulders for so many years as leader of the Guardians—and deserving of retirement, as well as profoundly relieved that Hawk would not be giving up the Guardians for good.
Sir Alex Ryder and his beautiful wife, Eve, were fascinating additions to the guest list, as were Christopher, Viscount Thorne, and his stunning wife, Diana. Daphne and Diana were both skilled artists, so immediately had common interests to discuss.
When the company dined that evening, what began as a formal gathering soon became much lighter with lively conversation and laughter. She and Hawk planned to sail for Cyrene in a week, so Skye was pleased to spend several hours after dinner learning about what she could expect from the island, and hearing tales from Isabella about some of their adventures.
By late that evening, Skye grew concerned Quinn might not arrive in time to give her away at her wedding. And when she woke the following morning, she considered postponing the ceremony but decided against disappointing the others.
After breakfast, Kate and Aunt Bella helped her dress in a rose-colored silk gown, covered by a cream brocade pelisse, since the morning was chilly, despite a watery sun. The wedding parties met at the chapel toward the rear of the estate, where the vicar awaited inside.
They were about to enter the building when the morning quiet was broken by the sound of galloping hooves. Pausing, Skye soon recognized the horseman as her brother. Gladness filled her heart as Quinn leaped down with an athleticism she was certain that even Hawk admired.
Quinn looked as if he had ridden through the night to reach the Court in time, Skye decided as she hurried down the chapel steps to meet him. His fair hair—a darker gold than hers—was tousled beneath his tall beaver hat, and his jaw was stubbled with several days’ growth. Yet even unkempt, he had an unmistakable aristocratic elegance. Quinn was also far taller and much more muscular than she, and his vivid blue eyes were a deeper shade. Even as his sister, she realized his appeal. That masculine allure, combined with his daredevil aura and extreme cynicism, made him an irresistible challenge to the opposite sex. Despite the scandals that seemed to mark his amorous affairs, Quinn was the target of countless marriage-minded females.
Skye embraced him ardently even as she scolded him. “Where the devil have you been, Quinn? I almost despaired of your arriving in time.”
“How was I to know you would go and get yourself engaged?”
Skye noted that he hadn’t specifically answered her question, but just now, where he had been hiding himself wasn’t important, for Hawk had followed her down the steps.
“I believe you know my wayward brother,” she said when Hawk reached them.
The two noblemen clasped hands like old acquaintances, but Quinn’s piercing gaze was highly judgmental as he scrutinized Hawk.
“You needn’t worry,” Skye told her brother. “Jack and Ash have already interrogated Hawk thoroughly and approved my choice of husbands.”
“I am under no allusions that you would have heeded my opinion had I disapproved,” Quinn retorted dryly.
“Certainly I would have heeded your opinion,” she protested. “I would simply have twisted your arm to convince you otherwise.”
Quinn chuckled. “Vintage Skye. In fact, I understand you were the one who pursued him, minx.”
“Who told you that?”
“I have my sources. But I could have guessed your scheme on my own. I know you too well.”
Hawk slipped an arm around her waist. “I never stood a chance once she set her sights on me.” When he locked gazes with her, she could see the smile deep in his gray eyes.
Smiling in return, Skye turned her attention back to her brother. “Why did you disappear?”
“You know very well why. When I last saw you in September, you and Kate were set on finding me a bride. Remaining within reach would have been lethal to my bachelorhood.”
Katharine joined them in time to hear his complaint. She gave Quinn a quick hug, then tucked her arm in his. “This is three cousins down, plus our uncle. Only two more to go—you and I, Quinn.”
His grimace held exasperation and disgust. “You should work on your own tale and leave me be. I am happy as I am.”
As the most romantic Wilde cousin, Kate was not about to abandon her search for true love for either Quinn or herself. Kate was severely disappointed that her own legendary lovers tale wasn’t evident yet, but she planned for Quinn’s romance, Skye knew, to follow the Greek myth of Pygmalion, a sculptor who had fallen so deeply in love with the statue he’d created, the gods took pity on him and brought her to life.
“I have the perfect bride picked out for you, Quinn,” Kate informed him. “You need a young lady of birth and breeding but malleable enough that you can mold her to your exact specifications.”
He gave a mock shudder. “God forbid.”
“I have won Ash and Jack over to my theory. With your scientific bent, you ought to be able to see the proof right under your nose.”
Skye chimed in to tease her brother. “Tallis Court will need a mistress now that I am leaving.”
“I will muddle through without a wife somehow.”
Skye suddenly realized the lateness of the hour. “There will be time to argue about your bride later. You are delaying my wedding.”
“How wicked of me.”
“Perhaps you should go inside and greet Aunt Bella? I will be there in a moment.”
When he and Kate obliged, Skye slid her arms around Hawk’s neck. “Are you sorry that I pursued you?”
“On the contrary. I am immensely thankful for your stubbornness.”
Skye smiled victoriously. “I almost feel sorry for Miss Olwen.”
“And why is that?”
“She won’t have you for her husband. I am claiming you forever. But I am certain Kate could find her an eligible suitor—and Daphne as well, for that matter.”
Hawk shook his head. “I can see why your brother made himself scarce.”
“He still believes he can withstand our combined efforts, but we are plotting a new strategy for Quinn, and Kate is a matchmaker extraordinaire. She helped me find you.”
“But Isabella deserves more credit for bringing us together.”
“Not all the credit,” Skye objected. “Aunt Bella might have advised me about techniques for enticing a man, but it was no small feat, seducing a beast, let me tell you. Although you are changing. You haven’t growled at me in quite some time.”
A lazy, heated smile gleamed in his gray eyes. “You are still a beauty.”
Skye met his gaze and laughed. “Beauty or not, I am confident I am your ideal match.�
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“You are my match in every way. I can’t imagine living without you now.”
Bending his head, Hawk gave her a tender, reassuring kiss that made her heart swell. “You taste like hope, a new beginning.…” he murmured against her lips.
“That is a beautiful thought, my love.”
“Shall we proceed with the wedding ceremony?”
Skye felt filled with life and joy as he took her arm. “Most definitely.”
Of one accord, they turned toward the chapel. Upon entering, they moved together down the narrow aisle to stand at the altar before the vicar, with Rachel and Cornelius on one side, Skye and Hawk on the other.
The elderly vicar looked out benevolently over the company, then cleared his throat and began: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here …”
For Jay, for always.
BY NICOLE JORDAN
Legendary Lovers
Princess Charming
Lover Be Mine
Secrets of Seduction
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 Nicole Jordan’s next book in her sizzling Legendary Lovers series
THE ART OF TAMING A RAKE
London; April 1817
“Take care, Venetia. Traherne has a magical touch with the fair sex. If you tangle with him, even you may find him impossible to resist.”
Her friend’s recent warning echoing in her head, Venetia Stratham watched the tableaux across the crowded gaming room. She had run her quarry to ground at London’s most notorious sin club and found him surrounded by fawning beauties.
Well, perhaps not surrounded, Venetia corrected herself in a fit of honesty. But he certainly wasn’t lacking for adoring female companionship just now.
Quinn Wilde, Earl of Traherne, was reportedly a splendid lover, and Venetia had no doubt the gossip was true. In all likelihood, his expertise in boudoirs and bedchambers was a chief reason women vied for his favor and tripped over themselves to earn his patronage. Whatever his sensual attributes, though, he was indisputably a rake of the first order. She had come here tonight seeking proof of his transgressions to show her sister—and here it was, right before her eyes.
Beware of what you wish for. The cautionary adage came to mind, and oddly, her feeling of triumph was trumped by keen disappointment.
She had hoped she was wrong about Lord Traherne.
An inexplicable, exasperating reaction if she had ever felt one.
Traherne was lounging carelessly in his seat at the Faro table, but she had easily located him among the gamesters upon her arrival some twenty minutes ago. With the striking features and form of a Grecian sculpture—tall, sleek, muscular—he stood out in the company. She could not miss his aristocratic elegance either, or his gleaming fair hair—dark gold streaked with lighter threads of silver.
The two lightskirts hovering at his shoulder, showering him with attention, were also an identifying clue and put to rest any lingering questions Venetia might have had about his predilection for debauchery.
Her lips pressed in a frown of self-reproach. She should be extremely pleased to find the confirmation she’d sought. To think she had once held Lord Traherne in high esteem. In her defense, her admiration had developed before she’d known the kind of heartbreaker he was. Before she had lost her hopeless naïveté to another sinfully seductive nobleman.
For her, “Beware of blue-blooded Lotharios” was a more appropriate admonition than careful wishing. She had learned that particular lesson quite painfully. And most definitely, she didn’t want her younger sister falling prey to Traherne’s spellbinding temptation.
Oh, his other vices such as gambling for high stakes did not overly concern her. With his enormous fortune, he could well afford to risk large sums on the turn of a card, especially since he regularly won. It was the carousing and womanizing that gravely troubled Venetia. Clearly Traherne was no better than her former betrothed, intent on only carnal pleasure, no matter who suffered hurt and heartbreak.
Just then another curvaceous Cyprian brought the earl a glass of port and remained to observe the play at his table. When the painted beauty draped herself over his arm, trailing suggestive fingers along the sleeve of his superbly tailored coat, Venetia stifled a sound of disgust in her throat.
Now Traherne had not two but three clinging demireps eager to serve his every need.
But then, women of all ages tended to tumble at his feet. She herself was not immune to his lethal charm, much to her dismay. His smile was captivating, piercing female hearts with deadly accuracy. And when those clever blue eyes glimmered with amusement … well, her pulse quickened each and every time, as if she had sprinted a great distance.
In fact, Traherne’s entire family possessed the same formidable charm in extraordinary abundance. The five Wilde cousins of the current generation were the darlings of the ton—
Suddenly his lordship’s blue gaze shifted in her direction to scan the company. Quickly Venetia adjusted her face mask and tried to blend into the throng of gamblers and filles de joie. She had attended a sin club once before, in Paris with her widowed friend Cleo, and this one was similarly genteel. The gaming room boasted a large gathering, as did the adjacent drawing room, where dancing and refreshments and a lavish buffet supper were offered for the guests’ enjoyment. She could hear music and laughter and gay conversation drifting through the connecting doorway.
Except for the risqué apparel of the women present, this could have been an elite artist’s salon—the sort of sophisticated assemblies she had frequented during her past two years of exile in France. Yet she ought not have come here tonight. If she was caught in this den of iniquity, it would only cement her scandalous reputation, which could further wound her family. But she had needed proof of Traherne’s sins to show her sister just how dangerous he was to any gullible young lady’s heart.
As if to prove her point, the earl glanced up at his adoring companion and smiled his brilliant smile. A pang of jealousy hit Venetia with astonishing force.
How absurd—how infuriating—to be so foolishly affected, even if her reaction could be blamed on elementary human nature. She well knew that masculine breeding, charm, virility, and stunning good looks were potent weapons against the fair sex. In her case, Traherne’s keen wit and sharp mind had impressed her far more.
It was a grave pity that he was such a rake, squandering his exceptional intelligence and talents on dissipation and libertine ways. Ordinarily she wouldn’t care how many women he seduced or how many mistresses he kept, but her sister was very dear to her, even if they had been estranged these past two interminable years.
And if she could not conquer her attraction to him, what chance did her highly susceptible sister have?
Despite the rumors about his budding courtship of the younger Miss Stratham, Venetia could not credit that a nobleman of his stamp actually wished to wed a green girl barely out of the schoolroom. But whether he had marriage—or worse, seduction—in mind, it could not end well for starry-eyed Ophelia.
As if sensing Venetia’s scrutiny, Traherne refocused his penetrating gaze through the crowd to stare directly at her. The spark that flared in his vivid eyes at her immodest attire made her breath catch. She had borrowed her evening gown of scarlet velvet from Cleo in order to fit in with the other ladies of the evenin
g. The décolletage dipped much lower than her usual wont, leaving her shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts bare.
The shock of Traherne’s admiring masculine perusal caught her off guard. Instinctively, Venetia took a step backward, swearing to herself. A mere glance should not have impacted her so powerfully, no matter how lascivious. He was simply being a man, after all.
She was also concerned that he would see through her disguise. Lord Traherne had witnessed firsthand the most humiliating, painful event of her life. Not only witnessed but actively participated. She was to blame for her own downfall, of course. But his actions had triggered the rash, prideful decision that had changed her fate forever. Moreover, she did not wish to give him the satisfaction of seeing her at such a disadvantage—forced to sneak around clandestinely, an outcast of decent society.
“May-yi have the honor of a dansh, my lovely?”
Venetia gave a start at the interruption. With her thoughts so fixed on the earl’s sinful character, she’d been unaware of another gentleman approaching, this one much shorter and somewhat younger than Traherne, with darker hair and more flamboyant garb. The dandy’s slurred words suggested that he was already half foxed.
Venetia hid a grimace at the unexpected annoyance. She needed no complications to divert her attention from her goal of saving her sister from the Earl of Traherne’s romantic pursuit.
With effort, she pasted an apologetic smile on her lips before answering sweetly. “Thank you, kind sir, but I will not be staying much longer this evening.”
Rather than accept her rebuff, the drunkard slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
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