What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1) (6 page)

“So let me understand your situation,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You, an unmarried woman of gentle breeding, insist on riding alone to London carrying an extremely expensive necklace. Once there, I believe you intend to attempt to trace your brother or meet with a French comte.”

“Yes,” she replied with a firm nod.

“And you expect me to just hand it over and wave goodbye at the door.” He straightened to his full height and said in a stern voice, “Have you ever been to London, Miss Beaufort?”

“That is of no consequence,” she replied, unperturbed. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Sebastian snorted. Her argument had no basis for she had probably never ventured more than ten miles from her own front door. “I will not deny that your courage appears to have no bounds, but you could not possibly be aware of what danger lies ahead.”

The mere mention of the word
danger
should have been enough to create doubt over such a ludicrous plan, but Miss Beaufort was either deaf or oblivious to the meaning of the word.

“I have a theory,” she said, straightening her back and lifting her chin. “Those not courageous enough to take risks, will accomplish nothing in life.” She gave a little shrug, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Sometimes you just have to take a chance.”

It appeared there was only one way to put a stop to her ridiculous notion of heroism. “I believe I am about to put your theory to the test.”

He did not wait for a response. In a few strides, he covered the distance between them, moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her into his chest.

“Where is your courage now, Miss Beaufort?” he whispered as his lips found hers.

Chapter 7

Sebastian knew why he was kissing her.

From the moment she had stood on her toes, pressed her soft body up against him and teased him with her wandering hands, he had struggled to think of anything else.

He expected the kiss to last mere seconds, but this was a woman who defied his expectations. Foolishly, he’d convinced himself the kiss was simply a way of highlighting her naiveté, to demonstrate the dangers an innocent woman might face once alone in the city.

Then a sigh left her lips and the thought left him.

Relaxing his grip, he let his hand roam over her lower back as his lips moved slowly and smoothly over her sweet mouth. She responded to his touch, pressing herself against him, molding herself into him and he could feel the swell of her breasts through the fine fabric, could feel the heat radiating from her body.

He continued slowly, curbing his desire, telling himself she would come to her senses and break contact. Then her hand drifted up over his chest, up to caress the back of his neck, her fingers stroking in a slow, seductive rhythm. Her lips parted on another soft sigh and he could not hold back.

His tongue traced the line of her lips, desperate to taste her, to possess her. She opened for him, her untutored tongue meeting his with a need that matched his own. Their breathing became shallow and rapid and he let his hands move further down her back, cupping her and drawing her closer in an attempt to ease his throbbing manhood.

Desire gripped him like a whirlpool, pulling him down, sucking him under.

Good Lord. What had happened to Beaufort’s sister while he had been away?

The thought caused a jolt of awareness, jerking him to his senses, as though he’d just stepped on a carpet of nails with his bare feet.

What the hell was he doing?

He should be acting like a respectable guardian, not some scoundrel in need of sexual gratification. He tore his lips away and tried to shake the desire raging through him.

What had started out as a plan to enlighten her, had turned into one of the most stimulating experiences of his entire life.

He looked down at the delectable Miss Beaufort. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly swollen. Her dark, silky locks hung wildly over her shoulders and he fought the urge to lift her into his arms and carry her off to his bed.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes, telling himself this could not happen again, not with his friend’s sister. This was supposed to be about reigning in the wayward Miss Beaufort. He needed to put some distance between them. And he knew exactly how to do it.

Sebastian stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “As the exercise proves, the only thing protecting your reputation is my respect for your family. And, as you are now aware, courage is a useless weapon against a man’s voracious appetite.”

Miss Beaufort inhaled sharply, her eyes wild with contempt.

“As a woman you will always be weak in that regard,” he continued calmly, arrogance dripping from every word, yet inside his body still burned with desire. “To place oneself at such risk accomplishes nothing.”

Had it been any other inexperienced woman, he would have expected tears — the uncontrollable sobs of shame and mortification. Unsurprisingly, Miss Beaufort stood frozen to the spot, her tightly clenched fists hanging by her sides. The bright pink glow warming her face reflected anger rather than embarrassment.

She turned away from him, her head moving left and right, searching the room.

Perhaps he was wrong and she was about to cry. Guilt flared as he knew he’d sounded cold and unfeeling.

Straightening her back and raising her chin, she walked gracefully over to the side table. Making a clinking sound, she removed the crystal stopper from a decanter of brandy and poured a measure. In two gulps, she drained the glass and he watched her shake visibly as the liquid fire trickled down her throat. She gave a little cough and a short exhale before slamming the glass down on the table.

When she swung around to face him, her countenance appeared much improved, but her eyes looked as though they could turn a man to stone.

“I fear I am inclined to agree with you,” she said calmly.

He could hardly believe his ears. Finally, the lady was listening. He could not help but feel smug. A sense of masculine pride enveloped him and patted him on the back
.

“You see, I have always believed I had a passionate nature. Indeed, I did not know how passionate until a moment ago when you kindly conducted your little experiment.” She strolled around the room, picking up objects: a paperweight, a book of sonnets, a pipe tamper in the form of a naked woman, examining them and placing them down again. “I must say I found the experience quite overwhelming.”

There was something different about her voice. It had lost all traces of innocence; her tone held a seductive, alluring quality that sung to him. Sebastian straightened as he fought against the memory of their passionate exchange.

“Indeed, I am aware such a passion spills over into all aspects of life,” she continued. “If I am to be so easily coerced and dissuaded from my path, then I am not being true to my nature.” She looked up to meet his gaze, her sapphire-blue eyes piercing his soul. “But you are correct, my lord. As a woman, I fear I shall attract entirely the wrong sort of attention.”

“Precisely, Miss Beaufort,” Sebastian said, swallowing deeply. “Which is why —”

“Which is why,” she interjected, “I shall strive to find some other solution. As the saying goes — to those that will, ways are not wanting.”

He coughed into his fist and then said rather smugly, “I’m afraid you are missing the point, Miss Beaufort. I think you will find the saying goes — to
him
that will, ways are not wanting.”

She smiled; the wry expression made him feel like a silly child who had missed an obvious piece of information.

“Let me speak plainly,” she replied abruptly. “I do not intend to sit around like a simpering miss, eating supper at six and hoping for news from my brother when he could be in need of my help. Believe me when I tell you, I am in just as much danger here as I am in London. Dampierre will call again. So,” she continued a little more calmly, “I am going to find my brother with or without your help, with or without the necklace.”

Had he been thinking with his rational mind, Sebastian would have considered his words carefully. He would have used his talent for manipulation to overpower her in this verbal battle. However, logic and rationale had forsaken him.

“Not before hell freezes over.”

Rather than appear annoyed, Miss Beaufort appeared amused. “I think it is you who is missing the point.” She stood in front of him, raised her left hand and examined both sides. “I see no wedding band and I’m certain you are not my father or my brother. You have no authority over me, my lord.”

Sebastian had a good mind to take her over his knee and teach her a lesson.

“Do not try my patience,” he barked. “I may be forced to call your bluff.” The thought left him feeling slightly aroused and so he quickly changed the subject. “Besides, London is not Marchampton. You cannot simply go knocking on every door in the hope of finding your brother. You wouldn’t know where to start.”

She raised a brow. “You’d be surprised, country mice can be very resourceful,” she replied, sarcasm evident in her tone. “James obviously left directions. I have the address, I have money, and I know I can find the Comte de Dampierre.”

What the hell was she trying to prove?

He stared at her, somewhat dumbfounded as he pondered the dilemma. When had she become so obstinate, so spirited and so damnably appealing? She seemed to have the upper hand in this game of wits, but he would be a fool to let her do something so reckless.

“You have left me with no other choice,” he sighed, acknowledging defeat. “I shall leave this afternoon and bring that wastrel of a brother of yours to heel.” He swallowed deeply as his eyes roamed over her flimsy nightgown, over her swollen lips and mussed hair. “I fear he has an awful lot to answer for.”

“Am I to understand that you refuse to give me the necklace?” When he nodded, she said gracefully, “Then I concede. I am confident you will find a reasonable way of explaining us riding out together.”

Sebastian snorted. “I intend to travel alone.”

“Well, that does present a problem. You see, if you leave without me, I will be obliged to follow.”

Bloody hell!
Why would the woman not yield?

“Without the necklace your journey would be a waste of time,” he retorted.

“Without information regarding the whereabouts of my brother and Dampierre, so would yours, my lord.”

That was not entirely true. Once in London, he could find out that information within the hour. “Let us suppose for a moment I agree to your proposal. I cannot allow an unmarried woman to travel in a closed carriage with a man half the village believe to be a dissolute rake. Mrs. Bernard would have a fit of apoplexy.”

“Well, I would not want to be responsible for the death of your housekeeper. So, let me make my position clear.” She stood before him and looked him straight in the eye. “I do not worry about my reputation for I have no intention of ever marrying. I fear I am far too headstrong to make some quiet country squire a suitable wife.” Her eyes perused him from head to toe as though he was some dowdy old dress in a shop window, then she added, “or any other man for that matter.”

“I am sure Marchampton will be relieved to hear it,” he scoffed. Although a part of him would enjoy the challenge of trying to tame her.

She appeared resolute rather than offended. “You may jest, my lord, but as I am sure you have gathered, I could not play the docile wife and marry for convenience. And I have yet to come across a man interesting enough, a man who excites me enough,” she said as her gaze moved to his lips and lingered there for a moment. With a sigh of resignation she added, “So if you are concerned with your own reputation, I suggest you come up with a plan. Either way, I am leaving at noon.”

“I could always say I am carting you off to an asylum. The whole village would believe that,” he replied, somewhat amused by the thought.

She took a step closer and said with a seductive purr, “Oh, I am not mad, my lord. I have, what you would call, an adventurous spirit and I am afraid there is no cure. Now, if you have finished being stuffy.” She walked around the desk, picked up her candle and used it to light his before walking slowly, yet purposefully, towards the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked, sounding somewhat like a neglected mistress.

She glanced over her shoulder. “To wake my noisy mare of a maid and find my dress. I have things to attend to if I am to return at noon.”

Sebastian watched her walk out into the hallway. He did not go after her. What was the point? He could not reason with a woman who appeared to act only on impulse, even if he did find that rather intriguing. Besides, he needed time to think of a solution to the problem without the constant barrage of witty remarks.

He walked over to the table and picked up her brandy glass, turning it in his hand. Although it was empty, he lifted it to his lips. Something deep within him stirred, some raw and earthy masculine need to conquer, to claim, to have Miss Beaufort completely at his mercy. The more she defied him, the more powerful the urge to control.

An image of her lying beneath him flooded his mind, her hair splayed across his pillow, her hands clutching his shoulders, of her begging him for more. Shaking his head in a bid to erase it, he poured a large measure of brandy and drank it down.