What You Desire (Anything for Love 1)

Sebastian sighed. “I’m joking. I merely found her on the steps.”

Mrs. Bernard placed her hands on her hips. “Well, what to you intend to do with her?” Her displeasure at such improper conduct was evident in her tone.

“If I knew that, I would not be standing at the door in a pool of water.”

Sebastian tapped his toe in the puddle to reinforce his point. Mrs. Bernard’s head moved swiftly between the puddle and the woman in his arms and he could not decide which one she found more distressing.

“Are you bringing her in, my lord?”

“If I do not put her down quickly, I’m certain we’ll both end up in bed.”

Mrs. Bernard made the sign of the cross and muttered something about needing help from the Lord.

“With a fever!” he said. “We will both be in bed with a fever. I am cold and wet and my back feels as though it is no longer attached to my body.”

Sebastian glanced down at the limp woman in his arms and as he readjusted his grip, he managed to pull her dress more tightly across her body.

He had always preferred a curvaceous figure. Not that this woman was plump, on the contrary, he had felt her narrow waist when helping her down from her horse. She had the sort of figure artists dreamed of painting: soft and round in all the right places, and he had a sudden desire to brush away the tangles of hair from her face.

With an open mouth, Mrs. Bernard continued to stare at him.

“What would you have me do?” he continued. “Leave her to die on the steps.” He knew he was being overly dramatic, but it had the desired effect.

Finally, Mrs. Bernard turned to Amy, a housemaid who’d been hovering in the background waiting for instruction. “I’ll need blankets … in the drawing room. No … in the library, and some tea and ask Tom to light the fire.”

He carried his mystery maiden through to the library and waited while Tom moved the chaise nearer to the fire. Amy covered it with a blanket and he lowered her gently down.

Mrs. Bernard’s gaze drifted over him, her white-flecked eyebrows meeting in the middle. “You need to get out of those clothes, my lord, or you’ll catch your death.”

“Yes, in a moment.” He stared at the woman as water dripped onto the Persian rug, wishing one of them would move her damn hair off her face.

As though the Lord had heard his prayers, Mrs. Bernard knelt down and began lifting the wet tendrils from the woman’s face, smoothing every piece of hair away until left with nothing but pale, porcelain skin. Then she placed the back of her hand on the woman’s forehead and peered beneath her closed eyelids.

“Well?” he asked with a shrug, not bothering to hide his impatience.

“Oh, there’s no damage done. Nothing that a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

“I didn’t mean that. Who is she?”

Mrs. Bernard stood up and called Amy and Tom over to the chaise and they all gathered around to study the woman’s face.

Amy spoke first. “Well, I can’t be sure. Her dress is all ruined and with her eyes closed it’s hard to tell, but it looks like Miss Beaufort to me.”

Mrs. Bernard squinted. “You know, Amy, I think you might be right.”

Sebastian considered the lady lying on his sofa. Her cheekbones were delicate, her dress clung to long shapely legs, and the beautiful curve of her — he shook his head. “You’re obviously mistaken. Miss Beaufort is just a girl.”

They all turned and looked at him as if he’d gone completely mad.

“No, she must be what … one and twenty now, my lord,” Mrs. Bernard said looking up at the ceiling as though she expected to find the answer there.

Good God, had he been away that long? He glanced down at the lady in question. What the hell was she doing riding about the countryside half dressed?

Mrs. Bernard, Amy, and Tom were all staring at him, eyes agog while waiting for his response.

“You must remember, Miss Beaufort, my lord,” Mrs. Bernard said in a tone that suggested he had been involved in a terrible accident and had lost all cognitive abilities.

“Of course I remember her. She’s just grown somewhat since we last met.”