My Fair Lover

by Nicole Jordan

  Those memories had led him back to her after six long years. He’d orchestrated a reason to share her company, and used Bella to hook her into finding him a bride.

  Naturally he couldn’t tell Kate what he was contemplating, not after rejecting her once already. But he couldn’t shake the suspicion that this could be his second chance. That he needed her freshness, her warmth. That he needed her to wash him clean with her inner fire, her strength of mind and spirit.

  Her vitality was contagious, Brandon reflected. A mere quarter hour in her presence this afternoon had made him feel more alive than he had in a long while.

  And yes, he wanted to explore this remarkable heat between them. To find out if her lovemaking was as sensual and wild and uninhibited as he imagined it would be.

  He was under no illusions, however. If he decided to pursue Kate, she wouldn’t be easy to win. Overcoming her hurt and wariness would prove a definite challenge, although in truth he had expected her to be angrier with him.

  And then there was another, greater obstacle. She wanted love, she’d made that very clear. He wasn’t certain he was even capable of love. Perhaps it wasn’t in his character. Or perhaps his experiences had deadened him to any deeper feelings.

  His return to England had opened new possibilities, though. It was tempting to think he could forget the blood and battles, that he could live a normal life, perhaps with a wife, a family. As for marriage, he’d been profoundly unsatisfied with any of the conceivable candidates he’d met over the years, especially after knowing Kate.

  Today had shown him that she was still an enchantress, accustomed to getting her way through charm and sheer persistence. She threw herself into every endeavor—and her search to formally mourn her parents would likely be no different.

  Her bargaining had presented him with a dilemma. Unquestionably, he much preferred to put the violent elements of his past behind him. The prospect of clashing with hostile buccaneers held no appeal whatsoever. Yet he had no choice but to aid Kate in her quest to properly lay the memory of her parents to rest. He couldn’t let her go haring off to the Continent, intent on tackling a horde of French pirates on her own.

  Moreover, despite his reluctance on several fronts, he was glad to be back in England. And for the first time in a very long while, Brandon acknowledged, he felt eager and hopeful about the future.

  —

  When Kate arrived home moments ahead of an impending rainstorm, she discovered her companion in the library as usual, curled up on a window seat, scribbling in a notebook.

  Smiling fondly, Kate went to the hearth to stir the fire. She considered herself quite lucky to have found Nell Cuthbert, a middle-aged widow of good breeding who was respectable but not puritanical. Normally a bit scatterbrained, Nell seemed even more dreamy-eyed and unfocused of late. With her nuptials approaching in a few weeks, there was also a hopeful feeling of romance in the air.

  When Kate fetched Nell’s shawl and wrapped it around her plump shoulders, the widow looked up from her writing. “Thank you, my dear. I was growing chilled.”

  “It is no wonder. You are wearing a summer gown on a blustery spring day. Do come away from the window, Nell. Have you had your tea yet?”

  She looked around her blankly. “I believe they brought a tray in some time ago. The tea must have grown cold, though.”

  “I will ring for a fresh pot, but there are sandwiches and scones here.”

  While Kate went to the bellpull, Nell stood stiffly and stretched, then carried her notebook, pen, and inkwell to the desk. “My, how I let the time get away from me. I wished to jot down one more page of notes.”

  That was regularly the case, since she was trying her hand at writing a novel, a brooding gothic romance set in a haunted castle.

  When a footman entered, Kate gave orders for more tea and settled on the sofa. Realizing the servant had eyed her oddly, she pulled off her powdered wig and combed her fingers through her hair.

  Rather than disapprove of her male attire, however, Nell clapped her hands together in delight. “What fun your unconventionality is. You have given me a capital idea for a new plot.” She frowned. “Where are my spectacles?”

  “Atop your head. Will you join me on the sofa?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Complying, Nell reached for the plate of sandwiches and began to nibble. “How fared your meeting with the pirate, dear?”

  “Well enough, I suppose. Deverill agreed to help me locate the shipwreck in exchange for my finding him a suitable bride.”

  “How comforting to know he will aid you. But will you truly be able to secure a genteel match for him as you did for me? At best he is a sailor and merchant, at worst a pirate.”

  “To be precise, he was a privateer. There is a difference.”

  “What difference?”

  Kate had posed the same question several years ago. “Pirates are typically rebel citizens with allegiance to no country. Privateers are sanctioned by governments by letters of marque. In Deverill’s case, the American government granted him legal authority to conduct hostilities against declared enemies, meaning us British.”

  “The distinction will be lost on the ton,” Nell predicted.

  “I expect so,” Kate agreed. “But he is quite wealthy, not to mention outlandishly handsome. And now that he possesses a distinguished title, I suspect there are any number of ladies who would leap to become his wife.”

  “You said you quarreled with him before he left for America. I imagine it was awkward for you today, meeting him again after all this time,” Nell said sympathetically, reaching out to pat Kate’s hand.

  Kate squeezed her companion’s fingers in return. Sometimes Nell surprised her with her compassion and insight. In the past year, Kate had come to love Nell, for dotty-headed or not, she was a real dear and a jewel of a friend. She would be sorely missed when she married and left her position in the Beaufort household to begin a fresh stage of her life with her new husband.

  “Our meeting was indeed awkward,” Kate said simply, preferring not to expound on the details. “But we came to a satisfactory business arrangement.”

  “Merely business? I thought your past acquaintance with Mr. Deverill was romantic in nature.”

  “Once it was, but no longer.”

  “A pity. I want you to be as happy as you have made me.”

  Managing a smile, Kate attempted to change the subject. “I hope I may find such happiness also, Nell. May I count on your presence when Deverill calls here tomorrow at eleven?”

  “Of course. With a man like that, it is only prudent for me to attend you.”

  Nell apparently was not ready to give up her line of questioning, however. “Wasn’t he supposed to be your ideal mate? Skye told me something of your history with Mr. Deverill and your conjectures about legendary lovers.”

  Avoiding an answer, Kate reached for a biscuit. Last season, she had speculated that the five Wilde cousins would find their mates based on myths and classic tales of legendary lovers throughout history—and had successfully predicted four of them.

  “What was your tale to be?” Nell persisted. “Pygmalion?”

  Kate made a face. “Yes.” She’d originally presumed her cousin Quinn’s courtship would follow the Greek myth of Pygmalion—a sculptor whose artistic creation had been brought to life by the gods. But after Quinn had married pursuing a different tale, she’d thought Pygmalion might do for her instead, only in reverse.

  In this instance she would have to mold a bold American privateer into a proper English nobleman.

  Her heart had sunk when she realized that Deverill might be her legendary lover. And now she was determined to prove otherwise.

  “I am ready to abandon my theories about legendary lovers, Nell.”

  Nell suddenly looked dismayed. “But you are the last unmarried Wilde cousin. You cannot give up now.”

  “I am not giving up entirely. Merely on this particular legend.”

  “Good. Your
premise thus far has been extremely fruitful. Your siblings and cousins would agree.”

  Kate couldn’t repress a droll smile. “Yes, they finally appreciate my prodding.” She chewed thoughtfully as she recalled the battles she’d had with Ash and Quinn and her adopted brother and first cousin, Lord Jack Wilde.

  Her desire to matchmake had begun when she was just a young girl—the craving to make something out of tragedy, to turn grief and loss into happy endings. In truth, after their parents’ deaths, all the Wilde cousins had felt a need to take fate into their own hands, to shape their own destinies.

  “Well,” Nell said, “I certainly appreciate your prodding. You thrust me into society against my will, against my very character, and now I am preparing for an entirely new life with Horatio. I am still pinching myself for my good fortune.”

  Kate nodded. She had dragged bashful Nell out of her shell and found her a genteel widower who properly treasured her.

  “You deserve all the happiness in the world, Nell.”

  “As do you, dearest Kate. I worry about you, you know.”

  Sensing her companion’s desire to press further, Kate again tried to change the subject. “You won’t mind if I focus my efforts on Deverill’s bride search now? I don’t want my project to interfere with your nuptials.”

  “It won’t. We have the wedding arrangements well in hand. But you should not forget about yourself, my dear. I know you have always longed for love.”

  “I want love, yes, but it will not be with Deverill.”

  “Why not?”

  She gave her friend a patient look. “I was mistaken about him, Nell. I no longer believe he is my destiny.”

  “No?” Nell frowned in disappointment.

  “No,” Kate repeated emphatically. “And if I can find a bride for him, it will confirm that he was never meant for me.”

  “But perhaps you can rekindle your romance with him.”

  “There is no chance of that happening.”

  “Why not?”

  Because she refused to risk rejection again, to expose her vulnerability in so painful a fashion.

  “May we please speak of something else?” Kate said, unable to hide her exasperation any longer.

  “Yes, if you wish. But I only want to help.”

  Nell’s hurt tone was a pretense, Kate knew, which made her smile. “We agreed long ago that I am the matchmaker in the family. Truly, I am capable of seeing to my own future.”

  Nell returned a knowing smile of her own. Fortunately, just then the footman returned with a fresh pot of tea and claimed her attention.

  While Nell busied herself pouring two cups, Kate couldn’t help reflecting on how she had come to be so obsessed with romance. Loneliness had played an enormous role, of course. She had been orphaned at a young age and sent off to boarding school with only Skye for company. Perhaps that was why she’d developed such a great affection for Nell; because in those latter years of her childhood she’d been motherless. She had missed that mother-daughter bond, ached for it.

  Her ardent desire for a soul mate also stemmed from the loneliness driving her. One of her biggest fears was that she would never find love with a man who loved her in return. The kind of all-consuming devotion her parents had known in their marriage. She had wonderful memories of her parents—their joy, their loyalty, their adoration for each other.

  She wanted that same soul-deep commitment for herself. She yearned for love with a devoted husband, for friendship, for completion.

  Over time, though, she’d refined her aspirations for the ideal mate. She had wanted someone adventurous and exciting to claim her heart. She was searching for lightning, for fiery passion, for heart-searing intensity.

  With Deverill she’d thought she had gotten her wish. He was infuriating, delightful, provocative, deliciously risqué. He made her think; he made her want to box his ears. In short, he enthralled her. Her fervent attraction had swiftly become far more than adolescent lust. She had fancied herself falling in love.

  And his rejection had not merely wounded her pride. The hurt had felt much deeper than merely a young woman scorned.

  Deverill’s divided loyalties, too, had only complicated her conflicted feelings about him—a man who had fought against her country, who had killed her countrymen. Kate pressed her lips together with renewed resolve. She refused to believe that he was her destiny. And if she could marry him off, then he obviously was not her legendary lover.

  No, she had one main goal now: to travel to France and resolve her family’s tragic ending.

  But to achieve that, she had to take Deverill under her wing, so to speak. She would groom him for his new role as a nobleman and find him a bride befitting his new title.

  Admittedly, her heart would not be in her work. She had no wish to dedicate the next month or more to making a match for Deverill. But for good or ill, she was committed. She would force herself to discharge her pledge with good grace.

  Of course, when he called on the morrow, she needed to be better prepared than she’d been this afternoon. In the flesh, Deverill was far more potent than in any dream or fantasy.

  Images of his big, hard body kept sliding into her mind at the most inappropriate moments. The tanned skin, the broad shoulders, the lean, muscled torso. And his mouth…his marvelous kisses—

  “Here you are, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, gratefully accepting her teacup from Nell.

  With effort she shrugged off her vexing memories. No doubt she would have to fight temptation every step of the way. At least she had laid down rules for their future relationship. Whether Deverill would abide by them, however, was highly questionable.

  But she would manage to control him and her own deluded yearnings somehow. She would find him a bride, and she would prove that he wasn’t the match for her. And then she could move on with her life and set about locating the shipwreck and properly laying her late loved ones to rest.

  Promptly at eleven, Brandon arrived at the elegant Beaufort mansion in Grosvenor Square, his anticipation of seeing Kate heightened by his vivid dreams of the previous night. In his nocturnal fantasies, they had finished what she’d started in his hotel room six years ago. He’d spent the hours until dawn making love to her, glorying in her delectable body, her passion.

  When he was shown into the drawing room by a footman, Kate immediately drew his focus. Politely rising from a sofa, she pasted a faint smile on her lips and came forward to welcome him, clearly bracing herself for the jolt of eye contact.

  Brandon felt the powerful jolt as well. Without volition, he found his gaze raking over her lithe figure. She wore a fashionable gown of pale green kerseymere with a demure neckline and long sleeves.

  Her modest attire did nothing to curb his natural lust. His instinctive desire to claim her, however, was tempered by the presence of a small, plump woman with graying hair who was seated on the sofa.

  “Lord Valmere, may I make known my companion, Mrs. Cuthbert?” Kate said.

  When the introduction was made, he judged Mrs. Cuthbert to be a pleasant, well-bred matron there to guard the virtue of her charge.

  Brandon much preferred having Kate alone without a chaperone, but he repressed his feelings of possessiveness and took a seat in a chair opposite the ladies. Fortunately, Mrs. Cuthbert occupied herself with her needlepoint and made no further comment.

  Even so, the conversation was somewhat stilted at first, not the least because Kate maintained a determined air of formality. Only when they began discussing potential candidates for his future wife did she warm to her subject and thus to him.

  “Before I begin my search, I need to know what kind of bride you are seeking. What sort of character appeals to you—and any other parameters you have in mind…appearance, interests?”

  “I have no one particular in mind. I am not overly fastidious.”

  Her brows drew together. “Seriously, I will have difficulty helping you if you don’t give me some kind of h
int as to your preferences.”

  “Very well, then. Someone meek and mild who will do my bidding.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “A biddable female. How revolting.” The glimmer of laughter that entered her eyes was reminiscent of the old Kate. “I confess disappointment, Lord Valmere. I would have expected you to favor a lady with a little spirit, but if a doormat is what you want, I will do my best to oblige.”

  He leaned back in his chair, enjoying her rejoinders. “There are advantages to having an obedient wife rather than one who seeks to rule me.”

  “In other words, you want someone quite unlike myself.”

  “I suspect there is no one else like you,” Brandon said truthfully.

  Kate gave a light shrug of her shoulders. “You would not be content with a wife like me. We are both too strong-willed ever to suit. We would forever be at loggerheads.”

  “You are right. You and I would be in constant conflict.”

  Her slight frown suggested she was not happy with his reply, but then her brow cleared. “You are saying that to provoke me.”

  He smiled. “Only a little.”

  Chuckling, Kate seemed to relax, appearing once more in control. “Take my advice, my lord, and learn to behave yourself. If you want to win a genteel bride, you cannot treat gently bred young ladies as you do me, or you will frighten them off. You cannot be overbearing, and you certainly cannot act like a heathen.”

  With emphasis on the word “heathen,” she pointedly scrutinized his coat. “I will endeavor to find the perfect bride for you, but our first task should be to repair your appearance. After weeks at sea, you are in desperate need of a haircut. I intend to send you to my brother’s barber—and tailor and bootmaker as well.”

  Kate rummaged through the papers on the tea table in front of her and handed him a list. “Here are their names and directions. I have alerted these particular tradesmen so they will be expecting you. If your measurements are taken before you leave to visit your new dependents in Kent, work can begin on your new wardrobe while you are away.”