What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1)

by Clee, Adele

  Contents

  Copyright

  Books by Adele Clee

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Lost to the Night

  Lost to the Night - Chapter 1

  Lost to the Night - Chapter 2

  Please note, this book is written in British English, although English/American variations have been kept to a minimum.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be copied or reproduced in any manner without the author’s permission.

  Copyright © 2015 Adele Clee

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9932832-4-6

  Lost to the Night (excerpt)

  Copyright © 2015 Adele Clee

  All rights reserved.

  Cover designed by Jay Aheer

  Also by Adele Clee

  To Save a Sinner

  A Curse of the Heart

  For Paul, Dan and Matty

  With love

  Chapter 1

  Sebastian Ashcroft, the fourth Marquess of Danesfield, thrust his hand under the seat and grabbed the mahogany box.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered as his carriage swerved left and right in a bid to shake his pursuers.

  Ramming the heel of his boot against the seat opposite, to act as a brace, he flicked the catch on the box and removed the pistol before pouring powder into the muzzle and tamping it down with the rod. The scoundrels would make their move before the next turnpike. All he needed was one clean shot to even the odds.

  Keeping a firm grip on the loaded weapon, he peered out of the viewing window.

  The principle rider wore his collar raised to cover the lower part of his face, his wide-brimmed hat pulled down to shield his eyes. He rode with the deportment of a gentleman. Yet his horse’s dull black coat and clumsy gait led Sebastian to conclude that he’d either been hired in the dark or out of sheer desperation.

  Swamped by his driving-coat, the second rider appeared much smaller in frame and also used a hat and some sort of fabric to mask his identity. He was obviously inexperienced as the gentleman kept glancing over his shoulder, urging him to keep the pace and often dropping back to wait.

  The possessive act suggested a kinship. Perhaps he was his brother or son — or even his lover.

  Sebastian yanked down the window and yelled up to his coachman, Haines. “Stop the carriage.”

  “But, my lord,” Haines shouted from his box seat.

  “I said stop the carriage.”

  As the carriage rattled to a halt, Sebastian threw open the door and jumped down in one fluid movement. Holding his pistol firmly in front of him, he marched to the rear of the carriage to greet his assailants.

  “You wanted my attention and now —” Sebastian skidded to a halt, frozen by the sight of the gentleman’s agitated horse. With its teeth bared it snorted loudly, jerking his head up violently and lifting its front legs clean off the ground.

  “Stay back. Do not come a step closer,” the gentleman ordered, pulling the horse's head tightly round to left until its nose almost touched the top of his polished boots. There was an air of authority in the rider’s voice, although his command suggested a level of concern.

  The second rider gave a high-pitched shriek and slapped a gloved hand over the fabric to mask any further sound.

  The elegance and mastery with which the gentleman settled his horse confirmed he was a skilled rider and most definitely of good breeding, which made the whole encounter even more puzzling.

  Sebastian aimed his pistol at the gentleman. “If you’re lucky enough to escape without my bullet in your back, your horse will be the death of you.”

  “Let’s hope I’m fortunate enough to escape both,” the gentleman sneered with a level of arrogance often demonstrated in elite circles.

  “Even if that were possible, the punishment for robbing a member of the nobility is death. You’ll both hang.”

  “I doubt it.”

  There was something familiar about the man’s arrogance and polished repartee. Perhaps it was time to make things a little more interesting, Sebastian thought, and so aimed his pistol at the second rider who’d sat motionless throughout the whole exchange.

  “Get down,” Sebastian said. A quick glance at the shapely thighs encased in a pair of breeches confirmed his suspicion. The rider was a woman.

  Alarmed, her head shot up in the direction of her associate and Sebastian could feel the tension in the unspoken words passing back and forth between them.

  “He … he cannot hear you. He’s deaf.”

  Sebastian chuckled to himself. “That is unfortunate,” he said feigning surprise. “If he’s deaf, you must be blind. As if I’m not mistaken, he is definitely a she and this is the most ridiculous robbery I have ever had cause to witness. You’re not even armed.”

  Sensing his master’s irritation, the horse became restless once again, shuffling backward and pawing the ground as though the earth had started crumbling away beneath him and he was unsure where to place his feet.

  The gentleman muttered an angry curse.

  Suppressing a grin, Sebastian took the opportunity to press him further. “What sort of man allows a woman to act as his right-hand in a robbery? You obviously care little for her welfare.”

  “It was certainly not my idea,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Trying to get her to listen to anything I say is like … like trying to trap lightning in a blasted bottle.”

  Sebastian could not hide his amusement. He could not recall the last time he laughed aloud. In the last six years, he had been involved in many dangerous encounters, but this one had to be the most bizarre encounter of his entire life. To Sebastian’s surprise the gentleman sniggered, too.

  “How dare you laugh at me,” the woman scolded. Straightening her back, she appeared much more robust than Sebastian first thought. She’d yanked down her disguise to reveal a pert little nose and a pair of rosy pink lips. “And if you think I’m going to sit here any longer and be ridiculed for … for caring … for wanting to make sure you didn’t end up dead in a ditch.”

  She swung her horse around, dug her heels in and cantered off across the field towards a small wooded area in the distance.

  “For heaven’s sake, Annabel, wait,” the gentleman cried. “Damn it, woman. Do you want me to shout your name out for all to hear?”

  Sebastian studied the man’s frustrated countenance and almost felt sorry for him. “Now it’s just the two of us, let’s get back to this business of robbery.”

  The gentleman sighed loudly. “This is not a blasted robbery,” he said, his gaze flitting back and forth between Sebastian and the woman in the dist
ance.

  “Then why in hell’s name were you following my carriage?” Sebastian asked, his gaze also following the woman until she’d safely entered the woods.

  The gentleman swung his horse around ready to ride out in pursuit. “You may lower your pistol for I am here on an errand.” With one hand gripping the reins, he reached inside his greatcoat and removed a red velvet pouch. “Here, take this.” He threw it down and Sebastian caught it with his free hand. “I trust you’ll keep it safe and if this damn horse kills me, you’ll know what to do.” The gentleman straightened and raised the brim of his hat. “And I suggest you get some sleep, Dane. Your eyes are as red as the Devil’s.”

  Only his closest friends called him Dane.

  Sebastian stared at the familiar face. “Beaufort?” he said, wondering why his friend felt it necessary to conceal his identity.

  “And keep an eye on Sophie for me. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  Before Sebastian could utter another word, Beaufort galloped off across the field as though his life depended on it and disappeared into the woods.

  Sebastian just stood there, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. Had it not been for the piece of red velvet lying in his palm, he would have believed he’d drifted off to sleep and imagined the whole damn thing.

  As he strolled around to the carriage door, he glanced up at Haines’ hulking figure perched on his box seat like a stuffed bear. “It’s always good to know that when trouble strikes I can count on your assistance.”

  “I thought you were handling things just fine, my lord,” he replied, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead.

  Sebastian arched a brow. “And you knew that without even moving a muscle.”

  Haines turned to face him, his weather-beaten face expressionless. “Like you said when you hired me, my lord. People see what they want to see. Just ‘cause you didn’t see me move doesn’t mean I wasn’t leaning over the top of the carriage pointing a pistol of my own.”

  Sebastian grinned. His man had a fair point.

  “Perhaps it’s time I started listening to my own advice,” he said looking out across the field before turning back to Haines. “Did the whole thing not strike you as rather odd?”

  “Can’t say as I can ever remember being chased by masked riders desperate to give me something,” he said pushing the front of his hat up to scratch the top of his head. “And looking at the piece of cloth in your hand I’d say it’s something right important.”

  Lost in thought, Sebastian stared at the velvet pouch, his attention caught by the initials R.B embroidered in gold thread.

  The sound of a cart rattling down the road disturbed his reverie and Haines gave a polite cough.

  “Beg your pardon, my lord, but I think we need to be on our way. We’ve got a good day’s journey ahead and there’s no telling what state the road’s in.”

  “Very well,” Sebastian sighed, unable to resist one last glance over his shoulder.

  He had missed Beaufort during the six years he’d been away. He had missed his witty banter and arrogant drawl and he felt a stab of guilt for being absent during, what was obviously, a time of great need.

  Returning to his carriage, Sebastian placed the pistol in the box, settled back against the leather seat and untied the string on the velvet pouch. There was another roll of velvet inside and he opened it to reveal an elaborate gold and ruby necklace.

  He had seen many enchanting things on his travels but had never seen anything quite like this. The chain consisted of a row of identical oval rubies encased in gold and joined together by a fine filigree design. It was so intricate and delicate in detail that it could have been spun by a spider. Transfixed by its beauty, Sebastian simply stared at it.

  Why would Beaufort give him such a precious antiquity?

  Perhaps his creditors were chasing his heels and he wanted to hide the heirloom. It would certainly explain the shabby state of his horse. Yet he knew Beaufort still owned the estate that bordered his and he’d not been told of any money worries.

  The thought of going home to Westlands brought a hard lump to his throat, and he swallowed deeply in an attempt to dismiss the years of guilt.

  The past no longer mattered.

  All the years of pain and hard work had been worth it. His estate was thriving. Now, he intended to take his rightful place, to relax and enjoy the peace and tranquility.

  He glanced down at the necklace in his hand, the weight of its burden pressing down on his shoulders. Whatever problem Beaufort had, he could not get involved. Then he felt the familiar stirring in his chest, the thrum of excitement that always lured him towards dangerous and mysterious escapades.

  Damn it.

  The quicker his friend returned to claim the pretty necklace, the better.

  Chapter 2

  “Mr. Potts, I think he’s here, Mr. Potts.”

  Sophie Beaufort watched the old woman scurry out through the door behind the glass counter and then continued to examine the box of ribbons.

  “Your mother seems rather excited today,” she said, pulling out a length of red satin.

  She did not need new ribbons, or threads, or buttons, but her regular walks to the village made the days seem shorter.

  “She has been like it all morning,” Emily said shaking her head. “She thinks the marquess is going to come in and buy her whole stock of gloves. I’ve told her he probably buys all his apparel in London, but you know how she gets.”

  Sophie swallowed a few times hoping it would help to correct the problem with her hearing. “I thought I heard you say the marquess,” she chuckled. She really was spending far too much time on her own.

  “I did.” Emily bent down, removed another draw and placed it on top of the glass counter. “I know how you hate to tie it up, but I think the forest green would look wonderful with your ebony hair.”

  Feeling an odd flutter in her chest, her mind oblivious to whatever it was Emily had just said, Sophie placed her hand on the counter and inhaled deeply through her nose.

  “Why … why would your mother think that?”

  Emily glanced back over her shoulder and then leaned forward. “Mother said it’s the least he can do. She’s spent the last six years moaning and complaining about him and there she was yesterday morning, a smile spread right across her face, waving her handkerchief at him as his carriage rattled by.”

  A hard lump formed in Sophie’s throat, forcing her to swallow deeply. “The marquess has come home?”

  “Yes,” Emily beamed. “Isn’t it wonderful? Lord Danesfield has returned to Westlands.”

  “Wonderful,” Sophie repeated, fear and loathing hiding within that one feigned word.

  Emily gave a teasing wink. “He’ll probably call on you today, what with you being his closest neighbour. Course, he’ll be expecting your brother to be home.”

  Sophie’s stomach twisted into gut-wrenching knots as she recalled her last encounter with Sebastian Ashcroft. The image conjured was so real that she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, expecting to feel the evidence of the dumpy fourteen-year-old girl.

  “Just make sure there’s someone with you,” Emily said as her gaze drifted over Sophie’s hair. “You know what the gossips say about him. Though I don’t believe it myself.”

  Sophie smiled and nodded in acquiesce: a bid to maintain her fragile composure. Her heart thumped violently in protest, desperate to tell the world that he was everything people imagined him to be: a coward, a rake, and a debauched fool.

  “He’s here, he’s here. I knew he’d come,” Mrs. Potts said running up to the front window. She turned to Emily. “Don’t just stand there. Make yourself presentable, girl.”

  Emily skittered over to the window. “Mother’s right,” she said as her eyes grew wide. “The marquess is here and he is heading in the direction of our shop.”

  The world suddenly tipped off its axis and Sophie gripped the counter to steady her balance. Little lights flashed before her eyes
and the room melted into a hazy mist.

  Emily rushed over to her. “The marquess is here,” she said, her mother’s excitement obviously contagious.

  Sophie thought to put her handkerchief to her mouth lest she catch it, but there was no danger of that. Excitement was definitely not what she felt.

  She gripped Emily’s hands, the blood rushing from her face and pooling at her feet as though expecting an army of heathens to suddenly burst through the door. “I don’t want to see him,” Sophie cried. “You must hide me, Emily.” Fearing she sounded like a raving lunatic and in a bid to infuse an element of logic into her plea, she added, “I don’t want him to ask about my brother. I don’t want him to know I am on my own. At least not yet.”

  Emily gave her a knowing look. “Well, there’s no sense in taking chances,” she said. “Quick, you can hide behind here.” She directed Sophie to the concealed dressing room, pulled back the red curtain and ushered her inside. “Wait in here until I come and get you. Mother is too busy flapping to even notice.”

  Emily closed the curtain, leaving her alone in the shrouded space and Sophie could hear the heavy beat of her heart thumping in her ears.

  The sound of scraping wood and the tinkling of a bell preceded the heavy thud of booted footsteps.

  “Good day, my lord,” Mrs. Potts chirped. “May I say, what a pleasure it is to have you home at last.”

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Potts. It is certainly a pleasure to be back.”

  Sophie closed her eyes tight and placed the palm of her hand over her stomach in a bid to stop her traitorous body responding to the warmth of his tone, to the slow, purposeful drawl.

  You hate him, she cried silently, chastising her fickle heart.

  “Indeed, I am in desperate need of new gloves,” he continued, no doubt much to Mrs. Potts’ delight. “And I can see you have an excellent selection.”

  In the small confines of her curtained prison, Sophie did not hear the rest of the conversation. Her mind drifted back to the study, to the young girl hiding behind the drapes desperate to hear more from the handsome buck.