What You Desire (Anything for Love 1)

“Miss Beaufort, I am a peer of the realm. It is my duty to marry and produce an heir. It should not surprise you that I hope it will be a pleasurable experience.”

The mere thought of him married, of him entertain

ing a wife, made her feel lightheaded.

She imagined seeing them at social gatherings, imagined him smiling at a beautiful golden-haired temptress who pushed the rebellious lock of hair from his brow.

“Besides,” he continued, “what will you do when your brother marries? When you are no longer mistress of the house?”

“I shall move to the cottage,” she said. Or perhaps far enough away never to have to set eyes on Dane again. “I would much rather be mistress of my own heart than be mistress of a stranger’s dinner menu.”

He laughed and said in a languorous tone, “But what of the physical aspects of marriage. How do you propose to compensate for that?”

He was teasing her, but she refused to let him have the upper hand. “For an unmarried man who has spent years enjoying such pleasures, you sound very naive,” she said staring at him with a confidence that made her feel all worldly and wanton.

Dane looked appalled. “If you mean you would take a lover, then I believe you are the one being naive,” he snapped. “You would be ruined. Such a stain on your character would affect every female member of your family, including any future daughters born to your brother.”

Why did he relate everything back to duty and obligation?

“I would be discreet,” she replied with a shrug, but her words seemed to anger him all the more.

“And what of children,” he scolded. “Do you have any idea what it is like to be born on the wrong side of the blanket? Or are you going to tell me you intend to deny yourself the pleasure of motherhood.”

“I do not want children.” Even as the lie left her lips, she could not hide the tremor in her voice or stop the single tear from forming. She wanted children more than anything. Such a loss was a heavy price to pay for independence. “I believe children should be a precious gift from a blissful union, not a commodity to barter,” she spat. “Not some possession simply to continue the bloodline.”

“Or something begotten out of duty,” he added.

They fell silent and in an attempt to find a distraction she began rubbing her aching thigh — an action that received close scrutiny from her companion.

“Beyond the copse,” Dane said, pointing out into the distance, “there’s a large pool where we can rest and take a drink. We’ll stop there and —”

“I am perfectly fine,” Sophie interrupted. She did not want to be treated like a child. “There’s no need to stop on my account.”

“You’ve been in the saddle for the best part of three hours,” he sighed. “If you have no consideration for your own wellbeing, at least have some for your horse.”

Since when had he become the voice of reason?

Sophie could think of no witty retort as one could not argue against common sense. Besides she needed to find some diversion from these turbulent emotions.

They rounded the bend and she nudged Argo onto the verge and across the grass towards the pool. As she approached, she could not help but smile, struck by the wondrous vision before her, a vision of perfect beauty.

Like an oasis in the desert, the water was as clear as glass, reflecting the rich, green hues of the surrounding hills. It was a sanctuary, an idyllic refuge, a shrine to new life and new beginnings.

Ignoring her aching muscles, Sophie climbed down and threw her hat to the ground. After shrugging out of her coat, she stood with her hands on her hips and admired the view. “Oh, Dane, it’s spectacular,” she exclaimed with delight, glancing back over her shoulder. “I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

“Neither have I,” he said softly as his gaze locked with hers.

She wandered down to the edge of the pool and knelt beneath the willow tree. Dipping her hands into the cool water, she pressed her damp fingers over her brow and down her neck. The warmth of the sun seemed to relax her muscles and she repeated her ablutions, relishing the feel of the water as it trickled over her skin. She stood, wiped her hands on her breeches and bent down to pick up a stone, sending it skimming across the pool, watching it bounce four times before it sank with a loud plop.

“Did you see that?” she said clapping her hands and she swung around to find him still sitting astride his horse, his gaze dark, intense. Those sinful eyes stared at her breeches, which were no longer concealed by her coat. They followed the curve of her thigh up over the swell of her hip.

She swallowed deeply.

He dismounted in one graceful movement. Throwing his hat and greatcoat to the ground, he covered the distance between them in a few strides, his gaze never leaving her. “Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich as he focused on her mouth. “When it comes to you, I am a reckless rogue.”

This time, there was no gentle coaxing, no soft teasing. His mouth, hot and demanding, devoured hers in a frenzy that left her panting and clutching at his shoulders. This was not simply a kiss; it was possession and he drank hungrily and selfishly from her.

She should have pushed him away, slapped him, called him all the things she knew him to be. But her traitorous body ached for him, for his smell, his taste, his touch. She was a Judas to her own cause and in that moment she didn’t care.