What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1) (3 page)

“I do not wish to sound ungrateful, but it is difficult for me to believe that my brother could be in some sort of trouble.”

He raised a brow and gave a look which suggested she was rather naive. “Men seldom confide in those they feel duty-bound to protect and I do not wish to cause you any further distress. However, your brother he has … how shall I say … exhausted his funds.”

She felt a sharp pain in her chest. James had promised her he wouldn’t sell the necklace. He promised her he would only obtain a valuation and then return it to the bank.

The comte opened his mouth to speak but paused when Mrs. Hudson entered with the tea tray and remained silent until she’d left the room.

“There is a gentleman who is interested in purchasing a certain family heirloom,” he continued, “which would, of course, greatly ease your brother’s burden. I would be happy to assist in such a task.” The corners of his mouth curled upwards into a contrived smile. Deciding to press his case he sat forward, resting both hands on his cane to support his weight. “You may place your trust in me, madame. You may be certain your necklace will be perfectly safe in my hands.”

In using
madame
as a term of address for an unmarried lady, he conveyed respect for the aristocracy and Sophie wondered how long he had been in England. She had no idea how he knew of her brother or the necklace, but instinct told her he was not a man to be trusted.

“I fear you’re mistaken if you believe I am in possession of such an item. I’m sure my brother explained our … situation.”

Like Lucifer rising up from a fiery grave, the comte shot up. His eyes were piercing, the planes of his face as hard and as rigid as stone. “Do not play games with me,” he cried, raising his cane and thrusting it in Sophie’s direction.

She wanted to scream. But she didn’t.

This was exactly the sort of situation a woman of independence could expect to find herself embroiled in. What use would she be to anyone if at the first sign of trouble she turned into a quivering wreck? She was the mistress of the house and would stand strong, a figure of authority, of superiority. Suppressing her fear, she rose abruptly from the chair to face him.

After all, what could he do? Murder her in her own home?

“I am not the one playing games,” she said lifting her chin. “If you know my brother, as you claim, then you must be aware the necklace is in London. But rest assured, even if I had it in my possession, I would not hand it over to a man who professes his loyalty while trying to terrify me with his stick.”

The comte glared at her for a moment and the room felt decidedly chillier. Then the corners of his mouth began to twitch and he laughed. Taking a step back, he grasped the engraved handle of his cane and with one swift movement drew the sword.

Sophie heard the slicing sound before she saw the glint of the blade.

Placing the sharp tip on her shoulder, he let it fall slowly, tracing a line over the front of her dress, over the curve of her hip and up around the outline of her breasts.

Frozen to the spot, Sophie sucked in her breath as her cheeks burned.

He lowered the sword and with his free hand grabbed her chin, the pad of this thumb following the outline of her lips. “I do believe you may turn out to be much more of a prize than some ancient necklace. You see, there is nothing I enjoy more than a fighting spirit.”

Tiny drops of saliva hit her cheek and she suppressed the urge to flee the room and scrub her skin until it was raw. Never in her worst nightmares had she expected to deal with such a shameless rogue. This gentleman made the Marquess of Danesfield look positively saintly.

The comte paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped away. “But I am a fair man. So I will make it easy for you,” he continued in a less threatening manner. “Your brother no longer has my necklace. Of this, I am certain.”

Sophie swallowed a gasp.
His
necklace? What had her brother done?

“We were to make an exchange, a deal of sorts. The necklace for … well, for something I value greatly. Now, he has my treasure and has simply disappeared. I do not take kindly to betrayal and so seek … recompense.”

“Recompense? But I cannot help you,” Sophie replied, trying to keep her voice even.

“Oh, but you can.” He raised his sword to circle her breasts once more.

Sophie shivered but then straightened her back in protest.

He smiled at her reaction. “I am certain you hold the key to a whole host of hidden treasures, and I am most reluctant to leave without so much as a glimpse. But I am, after all, a gentleman and so will give you time to make the necessary arrangements.” With a sigh of resignation, he replaced the sword back in its sheath.

Sophie swallowed deeply in an attempt to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I have nothing to offer in recompense.”

There was a small flicker of excitement in his black eyes. “Ah, but you do, Miss Beaufort. It is simple. You will find the necklace and bring it to me. I have business on the Continent and my ship sails eight days, hence. You will come to me and hand over the necklace. Or I shall be forced to take you with me on what I am sure will be a most enlightening journey.”

Sophie could hardly believe what she was hearing. Surely this must be some ridiculous dream and any moment she would wake up in a cold sweat, grateful it was all over.

The comte took a few steps closer and the smell of stale tobacco filled her nostrils. He raised his hand and she flinched as he took hold of her chin, tilting her head from side to side as though looking for a sign of imperfection.

“Exquisite!” He released her and stepped back. “I anticipate our next meeting will be far more … pleasurable. I shall leave you, madame, to consider your options. The comte strode over to the desk, straightened one of the crumpled pieces of paper, dipped the nib of the pen in the inkwell and began scratching away. He turned to Sophie and gestured towards the scrawled note. “Here are my directions. We shall meet at midnight.” He took a few steps towards her as his coal-black eyes explored her body. “I am somewhat shy, you understand, and prefer to examine my goods away from prying eyes.”

“You forget yourself,” Sophie said trying to muster an ounce of courage. “My family will have something to say on the matter.”

Rather than appear offended, he looked amused. “Ah, but you forget, Miss Beaufort. You have no family. But never fear. I shall take great pleasure in rectifying your position … personally.”

Without uttering another word, he bowed gracefully, turned on his heels and marched towards the door. He stopped suddenly and swung around to face her, his unforgiving gaze searching her face. “Do not make me come back for you,” he said in a tone as lethal as his sword. “You would not like the outcome.”

Sophie wrapped her arms around her stomach, as though reeling from a succession of brutal punches, and listened to the echo of his boots along the hall. Only when she heard his carriage rattle away down the drive, was she able to breathe a little easier.

A whimper escaped from her lips when she imagined the comte returning. His threats made her more aware of her own vulnerability, but she could not think about that now. Perhaps the comte had no intention of carrying her off on some sordid journey. However, his eyes: cold black pools of nothingness, suggested otherwise.

How on earth had James ended up in such a mess?

She was grateful for one thing. If James had taken something belonging to the comte, at least he’d had the sense to disappear. All she needed to do now was find out where.

Although there was a more pressing problem.

What had happened to her mother’s necklace?

Pacing the room, Sophie tried to imagine what she would do if faced with her brother’s predicament. Which proved to be a fruitless task for he had never in his life done anything she’d suggested; in fact he always did the opposite.

Then inspiration struck.

Sophie pulled on the cord and waited for Rowlands to enter.

“Rowlands, I wonder if you can help me.” The butler simply bowed in response. “I know Mrs. Hudson likes to keep abreast of all the comings and goings in the village and I wondered what news she has regarding the return of the Marquess of Danesfield.”

“By news, I suspect you mean gossip, miss,” Rowlands said respectfully.

“Gossip, news, it is all the same to me,” Sophie replied with an impatient wave of the hand.

“Forgive me. I must disagree, miss. The news is that the marquess returned home to Westlands three days ago. It is a fact. The gossip, which supposedly came from one his lordship’s own staff, is that he has spent the last few weeks in London, enjoying its delights before returning home for spiritual recuperation.”

“He has come home to revive his spirits?”

“I cannot say, miss, as I do not believe gossip.”

“No, of course. Thank you, Rowlands. That will be all.”

Sophie walked over to the window, folded her arms across her chest and looked out over the manicured lawns.

So, if one believed the gossip, Dane had spent time in London before returning home so suddenly. It could not be a coincidence and she knew James would trust the marquess with his life. Perhaps James had given him the necklace, knowing he was leaving London.

The comte’s evil grin flashed before her eyes and she felt nauseous at the thought he may return.

She would have to find a way of searching Dane’s house without arousing his suspicion, without having to partake in a conversation, without looking into those wicked brown eyes that always unnerved her.

Chapter 4

Sebastian had taken shelter in the garden temple: a Grecian-style building at the end of the lawn, watching the rain as it poured in torrents, whipping and splashing off the stone steps.

The weather in England always amazed him. Minutes earlier, he had been basking in the sunshine and now he could barely see the grass in front of him.

Indeed, the impulsiveness of it all made his senses jolt with excitement, a feeling that reminded him of his wild escapades in France.

It took him a moment to hear the pounding of the horse’s hooves as it cantered up the drive, mistaking the sound for the faint grumble of thunder. He struggled to see through the heavy downpour and assumed the rider had misjudged the weather and simply sought refuge from the storm.

When he narrowed his gaze, he could just make out the figure of a woman slumped forward, her arms draped loosely around the horse’s neck as it charged towards the front portico.

Instinctively, he vaulted the steps in one swift movement and ran across the sodden lawn, ignoring the squelching sound underfoot as he tried to maintain his balance.

He almost collided with the chestnut mare in his attempt to reach the woman before she tumbled from her horse. She clung to its neck, her long black hair hanging loose, obscuring her face. She made no protest when he placed a hand on her shoulder, the other on her back, and eased her down into his arms.

Dripping wet tendrils of hair stuck to her face and her lips were a pale shade of blue. He glanced down at the fine muslin dress molded tightly to her body and wondered why the hell she was out riding in such flimsy attire. Bellowing for the servants, he held her more firmly as he carried her up the stone steps, suppressing his frustration at the state of his new boots.

When the butler failed to answer, he kicked the solid wooden door as hard as he could and eventually heard the slow clip of shoes on the tiled floor.

As Dumont opened the door, Sebastian barged past him into the hall, almost knocking down Mrs. Bernard, who’d heard the commotion and come running.

“Good gracious, my lord. What have you done to her?”

Sebastian groaned inwardly. What was the woman thinking? That spending six years abroad had turned him into a heathen. That insisting on eating his breakfast in bed meant he was a cold-hearted debaucher.

“We’ve been frolicking about in the river and I thought it would be rather entertaining to bring her back here,” he replied with some sarcasm.

All the life drained from Mrs. Bernard’s face until it was as white as her hair.

Sebastian sighed. “I’m joking. I merely found her on the steps.”

Mrs. Bernard placed her hands on her hips. “Well, what to you intend to do with her?” Her displeasure at such improper conduct was evident in her tone.

“If I knew that, I would not be standing at the door in a pool of water.”

Sebastian tapped his toe in the puddle to reinforce his point. Mrs. Bernard’s head moved swiftly between the puddle and the woman in his arms and he could not decide which one she found more distressing.

“Are you bringing her in, my lord?”

“If I do not put her down quickly, I’m certain we’ll both end up in bed.”

Mrs. Bernard made the sign of the cross and muttered something about needing help from the Lord.

“With a fever!” he said. “We will both be in bed with a fever. I am cold and wet and my back feels as though it is no longer attached to my body.”

Sebastian glanced down at the limp woman in his arms and as he readjusted his grip, he managed to pull her dress more tightly across her body.