What You Desire (Anything for Love 1)

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.