What You Desire (Anything for Love 1)

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?