What You Desire (Anything for Love, Book 1)

by Clee, Adele

  Sebastian stopped breathing. If she touched him, he would not be able to stop himself from reciprocating; he would take what he so desperately wanted, what he so desperately needed.

  “Well, will you take me with you?” she said, her hand falling back to her side.

  “Yes, Miss Beaufort. You may accompany me,” he answered huskily. “As I said earlier, we are working towards the same goal.” Besides, it would be a judicious move on his part, for he could not guarantee she would sit patiently and wait for him.

  “I shall be ready in twenty minutes,” she said patting her hands together as she rushed towards the door.

  “What about dessert?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged. “We’ll save it for later. I have always been partial to a midnight feast.”

  He cast his most sinful smile. “So have I,” he whispered.

  Chapter 13

  Labelles was far from the licentious haunt Sophie expected. On first appearance, the house looked like any other respectable Palladian-inspired townhouse, with its Venetian windows and Doric columns flanking the doorway. Business was most definitely thriving, she thought, as she stepped out of Dane’s unmarked carriage wearing her breeches and tailcoat.

  Dane looked up at Haines, who tried his best to hide his wary expression. “Wait near the corner of George Street and Seymour,” he instructed.

  The coachman gave one of his inconspicuous nods and steered the carriage down the street and out of view.

  “For a man who appears to be made of stone, Haines has a very soft heart,” Sophie said with a hint of affection.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked curiously, gazing over her shoulder into the darkness.

  “Well, besides the fact he is extremely loyal and holds you in such high esteem —”

  “Of course he does,” he interrupted. “He is in my employ.”

  Sophie sighed. “I was about to say, during the short time I have spent in his company, he has done nothing but defend you. One must have a soft heart to see past your transgressions.”

  She must have a soft heart, too, and an addled brain. Regardless of how Dane had behaved in the past, she found it impossible not to like him.

  Dane placed his hand over his heart as though mortally wounded. “So, like the rest of Marchampton, you have cast me in the role of evil villain.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Have you forgotten you scooped me up, dumped me in a carriage and left me without so much as a word?”

  “No, I have not forgotten,” he confessed. His tone held a hint of regret and his eyes a spark of tenderness that touched her heart. “And for that I am truly sorry.”

  Sophie took a step towards him and placed her hand on his arm, drawn by an inexplicable need to offer comfort. “I accept your apology.”

  Something had changed between them.

  She could not fight the feelings that consumed her. She craved his company, his witty banter, the heated looks that made her stomach flip and her heart flutter. It became increasingly more difficult to believe he was the same man who had spent the last six years bedding women instead of tending to his estate.

  Perhaps he had changed.

  The sound of a carriage rattling by jolted her to her senses. It would not be wise for two gentlemen to be seen in such an intimate pose and so she dropped her hand and took a step back, to what would be deemed a respectable distance.

  He continued to stare at her, his hungry gaze searching her face and she became aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

  “The need to protect you outweighed all reasonable thought,” he said softly.

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “So, besides the fact Haines holds me in such high esteem, what else has he done to be worthy of your estimation?”

  “I’m afraid when it comes to women, Haines is hopelessly heroic not to mention gallant.”

  Dane laughed. “Please tell me you are joking.”

  “I am not. Did he not tell you what happened at the coaching inn when we stopped to collect supper?”

  His expression grew dark and he frowned. “No, he did not.”

  Sophie noticed the way the muscles in his jaw stiffened. “Oh, don’t be angry with him,” she said, placing her hand on his sleeve again. “You see, he would not leave me alone for fear I would abscond and so sent Amy into the inn. Minutes ticked by before we heard the commotion, the raucous laughter, and loud jeering. Then we heard a woman scream.”

  Dane turned away, his hands clenched by his sides as he muttered a profanity. “You’re going to tell me it was Amy.” He swung back around to face her, his eyes filled with dread.

  Sophie pursed her lips and nodded. “There’d been a boxing match in a field on the outskirts of town and a group of gentlemen had congregated in the courtyard. They were drinking and ...”

  He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

  “I suppose it was meant to be a little harmless fun,” she continued, in an attempt to make it all sound less dramatic. “Without saying a word, Haines barged past them all, scooped Amy up in his arms and carried her back to the carriage.”

  “And you believe that is gallant and heroic?” His countenance suddenly appeared much improved and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

  “Of course,” she smiled.

  Dane folded his arms across his chest. “Pray tell how it is any different to me scooping you up and placing you in the carriage?”

  “It is entirely different. Amy was in danger of being ravished.”

  “As were you,” he added with a wicked grin. “You were in danger of being thoroughly ravished by a reckless rogue.”

  Sophie swallowed. There was no mistaking the deep husky tone to his voice. How did he manage to make it sound so appealing?

  “But you did not hear me scream,” Sophie countered.

  “No,” he admitted. He took a step closer and whispered, “But I would like to rouse a whimper from those soft lips.”

  He was certainly skilled in the art of seduction, for she was suddenly consumed with the thought of touching him, of kissing him, of running her hands over his bare chest.

  The sound of drunken laughter further down the street caught their attention and he grasped her arm. “It is not wise to converse on the doorstep,” he whispered. “Perhaps we may continue our conversation later,” he arched a brow, “over dessert.”

  Thank goodness he was holding her arm; her legs had almost buckled at his suggestive tone.

  “Whatever happens in here,” he continued, “whatever you see or hear, try your best not to look shocked. I shall introduce you as a young cousin. It will explain your remarkably clear complexion.” A frown marred his brow. “Are you certain you want to do this?”

  She gave his arm a reassuring pat. “I have an independent mind and a passionate spirit. What more do I need?”

  “I have a feeling your independent mind may be put to the test,” he said stepping up to the green door. He ignored the brass knocker and rapped gently three times.

  The door opened and they were greeted by the butler.

  A butler!

  Sophie examined his powdered wig, white stockings and black buckled shoes — a butler in a brothel! She was forced to hide her surprise and they hadn’t even crossed the threshold.

  “The Marquess of Danesfield and Mr. Bertram Shandy,” Dane announced.

  The butler led them into the hall and told them to wait while he took Dane’s calling card and exited through a door on the right.

  “Where on earth did you dredge up a name like Bertram Shandy?” Sophie whispered.

  “I did not dredge it up,” he informed her. “Mr. Shandy is my second cousin. He is a pretentious prig and rather a fop. It will account for your feminine walk and accentuated gestures. Besides, I think you look like a Bertie.”

  Sophie did not have a chance to reply as the butler entered the hall and walked towards them.

  “Madame Labelle will greet you
momentarily,” he nodded. “If you would care to make your way into the gallery room, you may take some refreshment.” The butler escorted them to the last door on the left and then bowed.

  “Are all brothels like this one?” Sophie whispered as they entered the room.

  “Of course not. Madame Labelle caters to the elite, of which you are now a member.”

  They wandered over to a drinks cabinet and Dane poured them both a glass of port. “I suggest you sip it,” he said handing her the glass. “And best we stand here. If you sit down, there’s no telling what may happen.” Sophie gave a small gasp and he added, “I am only teasing.”

  Mindful that her gaze had not dared to leave Dane since entering the room, Sophie took a sip of port and lifted her head.

  Like everything else about the house, the furnishings were elegant. She spotted a large gilt sofa covered in rich red brocade, the finest Persian rug adorned the floor and Greek-inspired statues of naked women occupied the alcoves on the far wall.

  There were various groups of people milling about the room and in one corner a lady played hostess, pouring tea for the three gentlemen seated opposite.

  It was all disappointingly normal.

  One wall had been dedicated to an abundance of paintings and so, feeling a little more confident, she wandered over to take a closer look.

  The first painting was of a woman standing before a window. The sunlight pouring through penetrated the thin fabric of her dress, showing the curvaceous outline of her body. She looked beautiful, powerful, yet demure.

  In the next painting, a man sat back against a rock. He was naked, bar a piece of red cloth draped across his manhood. A woman sat between his legs, her head resting in his lap, looking up at him as he smiled back. His expression suggested the promise of an intimate exchange.

  Further along the wall were twelve miniatures, each one depicting an erotic scene. All the men were highly aroused, alarmingly so. Sophie angled her head to examine some of the poses and then turned to look at Dane, who was lounging against the wall, studying her.

  He straightened, walked over and stood behind her as though showing some interest in the scenes, too. “I must say, you are playing your part extremely well. One would almost believe you’re enjoying looking at these engravings.”

  “I am,” she replied, for she liked the way he reacted when she spoke boldly. She walked back to the first painting, the one with the girl at the window, and he followed and stood behind her. “What do you think of when you look at this one?” she asked, wondering why she didn’t feel shy or embarrassed. She almost chuckled when the next question popped into her head. “When you look at it, do you find it arousing?”

  Sophie smiled when she heard his sharp intake of breath. Standing in such close proximity, she could feel the tension in the air between them, could feel an intense attraction that went beyond anything she had ever felt before.

  He bent his head and whispered in her ear, his tone low and husky. “I feel aroused when I look at you.”

  He straightened, but she could still smell his masculine scent. The smell was so potent it sent her blood racing until it pooled between her legs, leaving a throbbing ache screaming to be appeased.

  “Lord Danesfield, how good of you to come.” The gentle purr of a woman’s voice broke the spell and they both turned to greet the mistress of the house. “Mr. Shandy, let me welcome you to Labelles.”

  Madame Labelle stood before them like any other respectable lady greeting her guests. She appeared younger than Sophie had imagined, yet her face had a world-weary countenance that betrayed her profession. Her golden hair, the shade of honey, was dressed in an elaborate coiffure and she wore an exquisite ethereal-blue silk gown, trimmed around the bosom with pearl rosettes. It was designed to display the shoulders and a lot more besides.

  “It has been a while, Lord Danesfield,” she said running her fingers seductively across her cleavage. She glanced down at the front of his breeches. “I see my paintings have provided a modicum of entertainment while you’ve been waiting.”

  Sophie suppressed a gasp. Dane had been here before!

  The knowledge that this was not their first meeting caused a hard lump to form in her throat. Why had he not told her? Did he think her too naive to notice their familiarity? Even if Madame Labelle hadn’t mentioned it, the connection was obvious to all.

  “Tell me,” Madame Labelle whispered softly. “Do you still prefer Antoinette?”

  Sophie felt the blood charge through her veins.

  “Yes, tell me, cousin,” Sophie said through gritted teeth, affecting a deeper voice than was usual as she slapped Dane rather hard on the back. “Is it the thought of Antoinette that evokes such a premature stirring of one's loins?” Sophie took a step towards their hostess. “Let us hope, for Antoinette’s sake, it is the only premature event of the evening.”

  Madame Labelle laughed while Dane shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, my lord, why have you not brought Mr. Shandy to me before. He is a veritable hoot. Will you not kiss my hand, Mr. Shandy?”

  Sophie took the hand offered and kissed it gently. “Delighted, madame,” she said offering her most gracious bow. As she stepped back, she noticed Madame Labelle’s curious gaze and her heart skipped a beat.

  “Has anyone ever told you, Mr. Shandy, that you have the face of an angel?” Madame Labelle’s fingers traced the low neckline of her gown. “I have always been rather partial to angels,” she continued, letting her finger delve lower down the valley between her breasts.

  Dane coughed into his fist. “Is Antoinette available?”

  Sophie tried to suppress her anger. Why did he want to see Antoinette? Why was he so blatant about it?

  Madame Labelle smiled. “I shall have her sent up to the green room in fifteen minutes. You do remember? It is on the first floor, the second room on the right. And you, Mr. Shandy,” Madame Labelle continued, turning to Sophie. “You may tell me why you find my paintings so enthralling.”

  Sophie watched Dane stroll out of the door on his way to his assignation. It took all the self-control she possessed not to chase after him and kick him in the shin or slap his face. She wanted to believe he’d changed, wanted to believe she was the only woman he desired.

  But this was not about her or Dane. This was about finding James, and by her calculations she had less than a week in which to do it.

  “Now, Mr. Shandy,” Madame Labelle said as she threaded her arm through Sophie’s and led her around the room. “Is there a particular type of lady you prefer?”

  “I am afraid, when it comes to ladies, I have rather limited tastes.”

  Madame Labelle seemed delighted at her response. “It is exactly as I supposed,” she said. “I understand completely, you must say no more.”

  Sophie was well and truly baffled.

  “Perhaps we should discuss the matter in the privacy of my chamber, for I would not wish to make a scene.”

  What does one do when being propositioned by the madam of a brothel?

  Sophie did the only thing she could under the circumstances. She brought Madame Labelle’s fingers to her lips and asked respectfully, “Is there a place where I may see to my toilette?”

  Madame Labelle gave her a knowing smile. “Of course, the blue room on the first floor is free. It is at the top of the stairs. You may see to your needs in there and I shall await you in my private room, which is just across the hall.”

  Sophie raced up the stairs as she needed to speak to Dane and had no desire to see him the arms of another woman, even if he was paying for the pleasure.

  She almost fainted when she barged into the room, only to be met with the bare behind of an elderly gentleman, whose grunts and groans roused an image of an animal in distress. It was only when she felt her face burn, that she knew she had entered the red room by mistake.

  Moving along the landing to the next room, Sophie placed her ear to the door in the hope she was not too late. There were no sounds coming from the room, so s
he took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Dane, who was still fully clothed and perusing a set of leather-bound books on a shelf, swung around to face her. “What the hell are you doing up here?” he whispered.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “You know why I’m here,” he said crossing the room to stand before her. “I need to see Antoinette.”

  Good heavens. The man had no shame.

  “Apparently there are a lot of things you need from Antoinette,” she replied articulating every word.

  He chuckled. “Do not tell me you’re jealous?”

  “Of course not,” she said, prodding him the chest, each jab forcing him to step back. “Just downright foolish for believing … for hoping you were not the libertine everyone professes you to be. To think I even considered giving myself to you.”

  He raised a brow and his mouth curved into a salacious grin. “You did?”

  All the old feelings came flooding back, all the miserable memories.

  Why was she so surprised?

  Despite all her flagrant breaches of etiquette, she was still the country girl at heart and she would never be enough for him.

  Perhaps he believed her protestations against conformity meant she condoned such libidinous conduct. Yes, she wanted to be free from the constraints forced upon ladies of her station. Yes, she wanted a liaison with him; she wanted to feel desire and pleasure at his hands.

  “Are you so licentious that you could not wait?” she asked, her voice revealing disappointment and a hint of sadness.

  He grasped her upper arms and drew her closer. “Sophie, I pay Antoinette for information,” he sighed, “nothing more.”

  It took a moment for her to absorb his words. All her mind could assemble was how sweet her name sounded when spoken so softly from his lips.

  “Information?”

  “It is all a ruse. I do not have time to talk now, but I will explain later.” His gaze fell to her lips. “Perhaps when you have heard what I have to say, you may still have an appetite for dessert.” His eyes locked with hers as his hands moved to cup her face. He bent his head and took her mouth in a gentle kiss that held a wealth of promise.