What You Desire (Anything for Love 1)

“Will you do that for me?” he urged. “Will you promise me?”

What had she ever done to deserve such torture? If they were different people, if he was without title and responsibility then she would plead with him, beg him to forget Dampierre. She would beg him to run as far away as possible, with her, to care for her, to love her. But their lives were not destined to be so.

Taking a deep breath, and with a newfound resolve, she lifted her hand to caress his cheek and whispered, “I promise.” Then she turned to stare out into the night, in the hope she could hold back the tears.

If Sophie had thought the house looked bright from the outside, it was positively dazzling on the inside. She counted at least five, three-tiered chandeliers, the illumination in the room increased by the reflection from the huge gilt-framed mirrors. As Sebastian had predicted, Delmont had spared no expense, as jugglers, a conjurer and a knight riding his hobbyhorse proved exciting entertainment for the raucous crowd.

As they pushed their way through the eager throng, Sophie could not fail to notice that the guests were rather more flirtatious, more amorous in their address than was customary. It seemed the punishment for wandering hands was nothing more than a playful slap and a giggle.

“We should find a quiet alcove where we can talk privately,” Dane grumbled, as he placed her hand in the crook of his arm and steered her away. “Delmont always serves supper after the unmasking,” he continued, as they passed a gentleman balancing grapes along the neckline of a lady’s gown as she attempted to flick them into his mouth. “He prefers his guests to be ravenous.”

Sophie smiled. With his black mask firmly in place, he looked rather ominous. His dark eyes were more intense, more compelling, the bow of his lips more prominent, and she found could not take her eyes off him.

“There is something about a masquerade,” she purred, feeling a small shiver run through her body. “Something in the air that lends itself to decadence.” Coming to a stop just a few paces from the twirling dancers, she turned to face him. Emboldened by the atmosphere, she pushed her hand up inside his domino, up along the hard planes of his muscular chest. “I think I would like to dance.”

It was not a request and before he could object, probably for reasons relating to responsibility, for how could they be on their guard and dance at the same time, she led him out onto the floor.

They danced the cotillion, a dance she’d had the pleasure of performing on numerous occasions at Brampton Hall. Unlike Lord Delmont’s party, their guests had not been as suggestive in their movements. Indeed, as the gentlemen circled the ladies, a deliberate effort was made to press against them. Sophie felt one particular gentleman brush so closely against her back she almost stumbled forward and was shocked to find his bare hands caressing her waist as he steadied her. As the dance ended, her gaze shot to Dane. She could sense the tension emanating from him, hear the grinding of his teeth as he clenched his jaw.

“Do you see why I didn’t want you to attend?” he scolded as they came together and he pulled her arm through his. “Now you know that I was not referring to the jugglers when I said Lord Delmont caters for all his guests’ pleasures.”

“Oh, don’t be angry,” Sophie giggled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “There was no harm done. Besides, I had you to protect me.”

Her tone was deliberately seductive, but rather than soothe him her words seemed to irritate him even more and he pulled her over to a large potted fern in the corner.

“This is not blasted Marchampton,” he said. “You cannot simply ride off on your ridiculous horse in the hope I will follow. Or scoot off in your breeches as though they somehow make you immune to danger.”

Sophie was shocked at his response. “You are being irrational.”

Ignoring her comment, he raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I cannot work like this. I cannot work while you’re with me.” He waved a hand in the air at nothing in particular. “One minute I am so aroused I can barely keep my hands off you. My mind feels like it is disengaged from my body, as though it is floating about in some euphoric pool. The next, I am so damn annoyed I want to scream at you and shake you, for you seem to find Dampierre and this whole blasted thing amusing.”

Amusing? Amusing!

She was desperately in love with him — may even be carrying his child — and she was going to have step aside so he could marry another woman. Why would she give a fig about Dampierre, about what he could do to her? Nothing could be worse than having your heart

ripped apart, piece by piece. Dampierre could go to hell and she would take great pleasure in telling him so.

“Excuse me,” she said coldly, stepping away from him. “I shall give you the space you need to work. Besides, I feel I am in need of some air.”

He caught up with her on the terrace. “You cannot go off on your own.”

He was right of course. She was behaving like a spoilt child. They were not at the masquerade to have fun, she reminded herself.

Their attention was caught by a flurry of figures pushing their way onto the terrace, all eager to be the first in line to witness the firework display. Sophie was not prepared for the deluge of rowdy guests pouring out of the ballroom. Swept along in a wave of excitement, she lost sight of Dane and found herself carried along the lawn towards the viewing area.

Amongst the shrieks and squeals, she thought she heard him calling out to her, but as she turned to look over her shoulder, she was pushed, jostled and shunted further into the crowd.

With the first loud bang, everyone looked up to the array of glittering lights illuminating the night sky. Once again she tried to move but was crushed between a Turkish prince and a shepherdess. The next bang seemed even louder and the crowd jerked together in response.

As a hand closed over her elbow, she felt all the tension leave her body and almost sagged to the floor in relief. “Thank goodness you’ve found me,” she gasped. She could not turn around, but took comfort from the fact that Dane was standing directly behind her.

“I was not expecting such a warm welcome.”

It was not Dane.

While this man spoke with a similar air of authority and a sensuous undertone, it lacked the richness, lacked the depth of character, the warmth of feeling that was unmistakable in Dane’s tone.

“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else,” she replied as calmly as she could, believing it was just another one of Lord Delmont’s overzealous guests. “Now, if you would kindly remove your hand.”