by Clee, Adele
“Which is why,” she interjected, “I shall strive to find some other solution. As the saying goes — to those that will, ways are not wanting.”
He coughed into his fist and then said rather smugly, “I’m afraid you are missing the point, Miss Beaufort. I think you will find the saying goes — to him that will, ways are not wanting.”
She smiled; the wry expression made him feel like a silly child who had missed an obvious piece of information.
“Let me speak plainly,” she replied abruptly. “I do not intend to sit around like a simpering miss, eating supper at six and hoping for news from my brother when he could be in need of my help. Believe me when I tell you, I am in just as much danger here as I am in London. Dampierre will call again. So,” she continued a little more calmly, “I am going to find my brother with or without your help, with or without the necklace.”
Had he been thinking with his rational mind, Sebastian would have considered his words carefully. He would have used his talent for manipulation to overpower her in this verbal battle. However, logic and rationale had forsaken him.
“Not before hell freezes over.”
Rather than appear annoyed, Miss Beaufort appeared amused. “I think it is you who is missing the point.” She stood in front of him, raised her left hand and examined both sides. “I see no wedding band and I’m certain you are not my father or my brother. You have no authority over me, my lord.”
Sebastian had a good mind to take her over his knee and teach her a lesson.
“Do not try my patience,” he barked. “I may be forced to call your bluff.” The thought left him feeling slightly aroused and so he quickly changed the subject. “Besides, London is not Marchampton. You cannot simply go knocking on every door in the hope of finding your brother. You wouldn’t know where to start.”
She raised a brow. “You’d be surprised, country mice can be very resourceful,” she replied, sarcasm evident in her tone. “James obviously left directions. I have the address, I have money, and I know I can find the Comte de Dampierre.”
What the hell was she trying to prove?
He stared at her, somewhat dumbfounded as he pondered the dilemma. When had she become so obstinate, so spirited and so damnably appealing? She seemed to have the upper hand in this game of wits, but he would be a fool to let her do something so reckless.
“You have left me with no other choice,” he sighed, acknowledging defeat. “I shall leave this afternoon and bring that wastrel of a brother of yours to heel.” He swallowed deeply as his eyes roamed over her flimsy nightgown, over her swollen lips and mussed hair. “I fear he has an awful lot to answer for.”
“Am I to understand that you refuse to give me the necklace?” When he nodded, she said gracefully, “Then I concede. I am confident you will find a reasonable way of explaining us riding out together.”
Sebastian snorted. “I intend to travel alone.”
“Well, that does present a problem. You see, if you leave without me, I will be obliged to follow.”
Bloody hell! Why would the woman not yield?
“Without the necklace your journey would be a waste of time,” he retorted.
“Without information regarding the whereabouts of my brother and Dampierre, so would yours, my lord.”
That was not entirely true. Once in London, he could find out that information within the hour. “Let us suppose for a moment I agree to your proposal. I cannot allow an unmarried woman to travel in a closed carriage with a man half the village believe to be a dissolute rake. Mrs. Bernard would have a fit of apoplexy.”
“Well, I would not want to be responsible for the death of your housekeeper. So, let me make my position clear.” She stood before him and looked him straight in the eye. “I do not worry about my reputation for I have no intention of ever marrying. I fear I am far too headstrong to make some quiet country squire a suitable wife.” Her eyes perused him from head to toe as though he was some dowdy old dress in a shop window, then she added, “or any other man for that matter.”
“I am sure Marchampton will be relieved to hear it,” he scoffed. Although a part of him would enjoy the challenge of trying to tame her.
She appeared resolute rather than offended. “You may jest, my lord, but as I am sure you have gathered, I could not play the docile wife and marry for convenience. And I have yet to come across a man interesting enough, a man who excites me enough,” she said as her gaze moved to his lips and lingered there for a moment. With a sigh of resignation she added, “So if you are concerned with your own reputation, I suggest you come up with a plan. Either way, I am leaving at noon.”
“I could always say I am carting you off to an asylum. The whole village would believe that,” he replied, somewhat amused by the thought.
She took a step closer and said with a seductive purr, “Oh, I am not mad, my lord. I have, what you would call, an adventurous spirit and I am afraid there is no cure. Now, if you have finished being stuffy.” She walked around the desk, picked up her candle and used it to light his before walking slowly, yet purposefully, towards the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, sounding somewhat like a neglected mistress.
She glanced over her shoulder. “To wake my noisy mare of a maid and find my dress. I have things to attend to if I am to return at noon.”
Sebastian watched her walk out into the hallway. He did not go after her. What was the point? He could not reason with a woman who appeared to act only on impulse, even if he did find that rather intriguing. Besides, he needed time to think of a solution to the problem without the constant barrage of witty remarks.
He walked over to the table and picked up her brandy glass, turning it in his hand. Although it was empty, he lifted it to his lips. Something deep within him stirred, some raw and earthy masculine need to conquer, to claim, to have Miss Beaufort completely at his mercy. The more she defied him, the more powerful the urge to control.
An image of her lying beneath him flooded his mind, her hair splayed across his pillow, her hands clutching his shoulders, of her begging him for more. Shaking his head in a bid to erase it, he poured a large measure of brandy and drank it down.
Whatever happened, he could not touch Miss Beaufort again. As the closest friend of her family, it was his responsibility to offer his protection. Although trying to protect this woman would be like trying to fend off a lion using nothing but a piece of string.
He could not take the risk of leaving for London without her and he could not risk riding with her in such close proximity. That part of the problem was easily solved. Miss Beaufort would ride in his carriage and he would ride Cronus. She would need a maid of course. Perhaps Amy would oblige.
When they arrived in London, he would take her to the house in Red Lion Square and lock her in the bedroom while he hunted down her poor excuse for a brother.
Then, he would hand over the damn necklace and the tempting Miss Beaufort before returning home to continue his quest for a peaceful existence.
Simple.
Chapter 8
“Don’t worry, Mary. Just cut it,” Sophie said pushing aside all doubts as she sat at her dressing table.
“But surely there must be some other way, miss,” her maid replied holding on to a glossy ringlet as if it were the crown jewels and to let go would mean facing the hangman’s noose.
Sophie feigned a smile. “It’s just hair. It will grow back.”
“I still don’t see why you need to cut it,” Mary said with a sigh.
“It will be far safer to travel about if people think I am a man, and I have never seen a man who has hair down to his waist.”
Dane was right about one thing. As a woman, she would be vulnerable on her own in London. As a man, she would be free to do as she pleased. His silly experiment had given her the idea.
She was still rather proud of the way she’d handled him. Perhaps her encounter with the comte had given her a renewed confidence. Indeed, everything Dane said or
did paled in comparison to Dampierre’s threatening manner.
When Dane had pulled back from their kiss and informed her it had been nothing more than a way to prove his point, she knew he was lying. Shockingly, she had felt the evidence of his arousal; she had felt the way his body responded to her and it spurred her on to be bolder.
Although she had kissed him back, which proved to be a little worrying. But then she told herself she also had a point to prove. She was not the silly country girl anymore. She was a woman and she would do everything in her power to show him he’d been wrong about her. She would have him spinning around in such a tizzy he wouldn’t know a bray from a bark.
The sudden snipping of scissors caught Sophie’s attention.
“Well, there’s no going back now, miss,” Mary said as the first few tendrils of hair fell to the floor.
Sophie glanced at her maid’s reflection in the mirror, observing the deep furrows between her brows. The lines had been a permanent fixture for the last two hours.
“Mary, if you do not stop worrying, those lines will be as deep as trenches. All the mice will come scurrying along thinking it a place to bed down for the night.”
Mary stopped snipping and placed her hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “It’s not the hair, miss. It’s just the thought of you out there, all alone.”
Sophie covered Mary’s hand with her own. “There is no need for concern. I shall be under the protection of Lord Danesfield and you know the marquess is a dear friend of the family,” she said attempting to sound sincere. Perhaps it was best not to mention the fact that she planned to steal her necklace and head off to on her own.
“I know, miss. But you’ll be all alone with him and you know what they’re saying about him in the village.”
“What, that he’s a rake and a debaucher?”
“I know it’s not my place to say, but there’s no trusting a man like that.”
“And what sort of man do you believe Lord Danesfield to be?”
“You know,” Mary said as her face flushed a deep shade of crimson, “a man with a saucy tongue and a devilish grin. A man whose heart is as hard as his muscles.”
Mary certainly had the measure of the man.
“Well, it would not do to tempt such a man, so all the more reason for me to cut my hair. Besides, his lordship doesn’t think of me in that way. He is simply fulfilling the role of protective sibling in Lord Beaufort’s absence.”
“Whatever you say, miss,” Mary said shrugging her shoulders. “I just hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.”
“Trust me, Mary. I am perfectly capable of handling Lord Danesfield,” Sophie said, praying to God she was right.
The ancient cedar tree on Keepers Lane, with its low sweeping branches, offered the perfect cover for a discreet rendezvous. Clad in beige buckskin breeches and a conservatively cut coat, Sophie sat astride Argo, a beast of an animal belonging to her brother.
She had ridden Argo many times over the last few years and while he looked rather menacing, he really was quite easy to handle. She leaned forward and gave the horse a reassuring pat and he responded with a snort.
The thud of horses hooves pounding the dirt track caused her to look up just as Dane came thundering into view.
He did not look pleased.
He reared up in front of her on a large black stallion, which looked even more menacing than Argo. However, the horse paled into insignificance when compared to the magnificence of its rider.
Dane’s greatcoat hung loose at his sides, revealing muscular thighs that his breeches struggled to restrain. Beneath the midnight-blue tailcoat, he wore a yellow waistcoat, which accentuated the hues of his warm brown eyes. His top hat was possibly the tallest she had ever seen and when accompanied by his dark scowl, made him appear rather ominous.
He did not speak, but his hard, assessing gaze darted between her horse and her clothes.
Sophie smiled, as she refused to be intimidated. “Good afternoon, my lord. I see you received my note.”
His breathing appeared a little ragged and when he eventually spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “Over the years, I have been shot at, sliced with a blade, and chased from one country to the next. But I have never been angrier than I am at this moment. You should be thankful I am not your brother, else you would be dragged from that horse and thrown over my knee.” His eyes shot to her breeches as if contemplating doing just that, but then he shook his head as though he found the image disturbing. He took a deep breath. “Now, you will follow me to Westlands where there is a carriage waiting and —”
“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” Sophie interrupted.
As though sensing his master’s agitation, the black stallion became restless and Dane brought him firmly to heel.
“As you can see,” Sophie continued, waving a gloved hand in the direction of her newly cut hair, which was held off her shoulders in a loose queue. “I have gone to an incredible amount of trouble to appease your rather overcautious nature. Indeed, poor Mary has spent hours sewing me into these breeches.”
He looked down at her breeches and muttered a curse. “My overcautious nature? What the hell are you talking about?” His voice sounded more irritated than angry.
Sophie was more than pleased to enlighten him. “Perhaps you do not recall your little experiment. The one where you attempted to prove how vulnerable a lady can be. The one where you kissed me in order —”
“Enough.” He raised a hand to silence her. “I remember, Miss Beaufort. But what has that got to do with this scandalous display?”
By everything holy, Sophie had never heard such hypocritical drivel. Scandalous display, indeed. The man was a rake, a rogue, a degenerate who bought his mistresses baubles while his tenants rotted in squalor. If it were not for the necklace, she would not even be having this conversation.
“At least I do not shirk my responsibilities,” she countered in a tone full of self-righteous indignation.
“At this present moment, Miss Beaufort, you are my responsibility,” he bellowed, ignoring the insult. “And I’ll be damned before I allow you to ruin what is left of an already fragile reputation.” He glanced at Argo. “It also appears stupidity is in the blood because I am confident your horse will be the death of you before the day is out.”
“I am more than capable of handling Argo.”
Oh, how she wanted to prove this gentleman wrong.
She was not some dullard, not some meek country chit too scared to step over her own threshold, nor some elegant lady who would rather die than tarnish her precious reputation.
Family was what mattered to her — and love and loyalty. She was passionate and generous of spirit and if that meant being reckless and impulsive, then so be it.
Sophie edged Argo out from under the cover of the tree and onto the well-trodden lane. “Once again you seem to have left me with little choice.” She saw the brief look of victory on his face: a grin that was all smug and self-congratulatory, a look quickly replaced with one of doubt and mistrust.
Without another word, without another glance, Sophie took a firm hold of the reins, dug her heels in and was soon galloping down Keepers Lane on her way to London.
Dane would follow, of course, she was sure of it. For some unfathomable reason, he felt duty-bound to protect her. He considered her his responsibility and he was most definitely taking his role seriously.
Why the sudden change of heart, she wondered? Why insist upon that which he had spent years avoiding? Duty and responsibility were not words she had ever associated with the Marquess of Danesfield.
Not until now.
Chapter 9
For the first time in his life, Sebastian had seriously underestimated his opponent.
It had taken every ounce of strength and fortitude he possessed not to bolt after her, pull her from the blasted horse and drag her off to a nunnery. To a place where such mischief would be punished with lifelong seclusion, ten hours a day of solid p
rayer and no supper for a week.
Instead, he simply sat in the middle of the lane, his body rigid, his expression stern, his thoughts confused and chaotic. There was nothing simple about dealing with Miss Beaufort, he thought, his eyes transfixed by the movement of her slender thighs as they gripped and rode the spectacular beast out of view.
He recalled telling her how he’d been in control of everything since the moment he’d carried her over his threshold. She must think him a complete idiot. He had not been in control of a damn thing.
When he rode into the courtyard of Westlands, some ten minutes later, he found Haines in his usual position, perched atop the box of his carriage. His hulking frame filled the seat. Yet it was remarkable how a man his size was adept at making himself appear unnoticeable.
Sebastian caught his gaze and gave him the look that indicated there had been a change of plan. Haines jerked his head towards the carriage, a small inconspicuous nod, and Sebastian led his horse to the door and tapped on the window.
Amy lowered the window and popped her head out, her face alight with excitement. “Yes, my lord,” she said, gripping the window like a pauper would a guinea.
“I am afraid there has been a slight change of plan,” Sebastian said, watching her struggle to hide her disappointment. “Miss Beaufort has made her own arrangements … with the family of a friend, I believe. But I would still like you to travel with Haines as we may join her on the journey. Besides, Miss Beaufort may require your services once we reach town.”
Had he been discussing any other lady, he was certain his story would have sounded reasonably plausible, but Amy put her hand over her mouth to suppress a snigger.
“You will be perfectly safe with Haines,” Sebastian continued, feeling like a buffoon for the umpteenth time, “but I would ask you to draw the blinds as you pass through the village. You may change your mind and stay here if you wish.” He would not force his servants to do something that made them feel uncomfortable.