What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1) (27 page)

Sophie felt a lump form in her throat as she had not even considered the possibility. Fear and panic gripped her and she covered his hand with her own in the hope of seeking comfort. But it only served to make the feeling worse, the gesture binding them together in some inexplicable way — his hand, her hand, and some wonderful, imaginary child all together as one.

“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.”

“Is that any way to speak to your host, to the man who has excelled in affording you every pleasure, in giving you what you desire?”

There was another loud bang, followed by a stream of twinkling lights falling from the sky. The crowd surged forward as they clapped and jeered to show their appreciation.

“Then you have failed in your task, Lord Delmont. What I desire, is to be returned to the arm of my chaperone.”

Lord Delmont breathed deeply. “Your tongue is like the lash of a whip. Perhaps that’s what others find so appealing.”

As the crowd moved again, Sophie took the opportunity to turn around only to find herself practically pressed against the chest of her host. He was much taller than she expected and she looked up to see a mop of golden hair spilling over a black mask and a pair of ice-blue eyes lacking any emotion. “Excuse me,” she said, edging to the left. “I fear I am in need of more stimulating company.”

Before she could move any further, he swept his arm around her back and anchored her to his body. “Imagine my shock,” he said with some amusement, his breath tickling her cheek, his eyes fixed on the bodice of her gown, “to find I have only had but a glimpse of those delicate treasures, yet I am still highly aroused.”

She struggled against him but could not slacken his grip. She thought of shouting out for Dane, but she doubted he would hear her. Besides, she did not want to draw attention to his identity. “You do not frighten me, Lord Delmont. Indeed, I find your manner rather crass for my tastes.”

Lord Delmont threw his head back and laughed, but no one paid him the slightest attention. “You find me vulgar, how amusing.” He studied her for a moment. “Now, as much as I’m enjoying our little game, I fear there is a matter of business to attend to. If you would care to follow me, I believe your uncle is waiting.”

Sophie raised a brow. “Would he happen to be my uncle from France?” she asked, trying to dismiss the deep sense of foreboding. Things were not going to plan, but that was not surprising. If she left with Lord Delmont, then Dane would not need to kill Dampierre and she would be forced to give him the necklace. She considered her position. If she went with Lord Delmont, Dane would be safe and she would never be subjected to the torture of seeing another woman wearing her necklace.

“I believe it is. And he seems most eager to be reunited,” Lord Delmont replied. He swallowed deeply, his eyes wandering over her body as though she was a ripe peach and he had not eaten for weeks.

“Then I do not wish to disappoint him,” she remarked with icy composure.

“I doubt you would disappoint any man,” Delmont drawled as he pushed his way through the throng, guiding her towards a cluster of trees running along the bottom of the garden. “I am most bereft that I will not get to experience you, personally. But you see money has always been my first love and I’m afraid my purse has suffered a fatal blow and is in desperate need of resuscitation.”

Delmont led her to a small wooden door leading out into the mews, where an unmarked carriage was waiting. As they approached, the door of the carriage swung open and the Comte de Dampierre climbed out. Gripping his cane firmly in his right hand, he turned to greet them.

With wide eyes, Dampierre placed his left hand over his heart and exclaimed, “Let me congratulate you, Miss Beaufort, for you look … exquisite … just as I expected.” He bowed his head respectfully and then removed his gold pocket watch, flicked open the case and studied it under the carriage lamp. “Soon it will be midnight,” he said, placing the watch back into the pocket of his waistcoat. “I am pleased to see you are true to your word. I do so appreciate honesty in all things.”

Sophie should have felt terrified, but instead she looked upon the comte with a degree of superiority and when she gave a half-hearted curtsy, she hoped her disdain was evident. “As I explained to Lord Delmont, I do not wish to disappoint,” she said with a mocking smile.

Dampierre stroked his beard, twirling the end into a point as his beady black eyes perused her hair, her costume, her necklace. “No,” he mused. “I do not believe you will.”

Lord Delmont raised a clenched fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I do not wish to interrupt this little
tete-a-tete,
but I must return to my guests.”

Dampierre’s expression changed. He appeared affronted, as though the lowliest of servants had dared to insult him. “Then be gone,” he replied coldly with a flick of the wrist.

Lord Delmont straightened. Standing a good head and shoulders above Dampierre, he said through gritted teeth, “I will have my marker.”

“Ah, yes, your marker,” Dampierre repeated slowly. “May I suggest, in future, you do not risk that which you cannot afford to lose? There are those who would seek to … profit from such an oversight.”

Lord Delmont stepped forward, only to find the sharp end of a sword prodding his chest.

“To underestimate one’s opponent is a dangerous game,” Dampierre challenged, “something you recently discovered at the faro table I believe.” With the sword firmly in place, he called out, “Marie, would you be so kind as to give Lord Delmont his marker.”

Sophie’s gaze shot to the carriage door as Madame Labelle climbed down. She glanced briefly at Sophie, but her expression was somewhat vacant, unreadable. Perhaps she did not want Dampierre to know of their friendship.

Madame Labelle raised her hand from beneath her blue cloak. “Your marker, Lord Delmont,” she said, with an inclination of the head.

Lord Delmont practically snatched it out of her hand, even though the movement caused the point of the sword to dig a little deeper into his chest. He scanned the document, perhaps checking its authenticity. Once satisfied, he bowed to Dampierre, turned on his heels and left without so much as a word or a backward glance.

Dampierre replaced the sword in its sheath and once again used it as a cane. “My apologies, Miss Beaufort. I did not intend for you to witness such vulgarity. Now that it is dispensed with, may I suggest we get to the matter of my reward … or recompense if you prefer.”

Sophie placed her palm over the chain of rubies. “And when you have what you want, will it be the end of the matter?” she asked dubiously.

“Yes. It will be the end of the matter,” Dampierre nodded as he repeated her words. “We shall discuss it in the privacy of my carriage.” Noticing Sophie’s wary expression, he added, “Marie, she will accompany us.”

While Dampierre addressed her in both a polite and a cordial manner, Sophie knew it to be a well-crafted façade. He was a man driven by a lust for power. Coupled with his complete lack of compassion, he was a very dangerous man indeed. Even with all her boldness and bravado, Sophie knew she would be a fool to climb into his carriage and as such inadvertently took a few steps back.