As You Desire by Connie Brockway Page A

been wrapped so tightly, so fiercely about her, she had thought he was taking her to his room. But he hadn’t, and she knew now that the tightness of his clasp had been from panic. He’d practically run to the door of his house and set her down on the front steps. He hadn’t even called a carriage for her. He’d told her to go back to England to find her Galahad and slammed the door shut.
    He’d avoided her for a week, then two. And after she’d cried all her tears and forfeited all her illusions regarding Harry and love and happily-ever-afters, then, anxious and uncomfortable,
then
he’d arrived.It had been the one and only time she’d ever seen imperturbable, affable Harry truly nonplussed, when he’d gravely suggested they discuss what had occurred.
    She’d stopped him cold. She simply could not have borne his pity or compassion or weak, watered affection. She’d fixed him with a bright smile—a brilliant smile—and told him not to be so damned full of himself. She’d said she didn’t want to discuss the matter. Ever. It had been a stupid little fancy she’d taken into her head. It wouldn’t be repeated. She was quite over it.
    And she was. Dammit, she was.
    “So you see, I tried,” she finished, somehow finding a light tone.
    Magi was frowning. “When did this happen? You sneaked out of this house dressed like a
bin-tilkha’ta?”
she asked, using the Arab word for prostitute. “I did not see you. How did you accomplish this?”
    Desdemona shook her head. Leave it to Magi to focus on that aspect of the mortifying debacle. Magi prided herself on knowing every single movement of those under her care.
    “It was three years ago. A lifetime.”
    “Aha,” Magi returned, mollified. Her eyes grew large. “Then perhaps Harry has changed—”
    “No.” Desdemona shook her head. “Harry has not changed. Leave it alone, Magi. We’re comfortable as we are. Harry teases me about my one-time infatuation and that’s fine. I … I would never admitthis to anyone, especially not him, but I value his friendship, Magi. It is important.”
    “Still, something does not fit. And now there is this man, this cousin of Harry’s.”
    “Lord Ravenscroft.”
    “I do not like how you say his name. You sound like an awe-filled child whispering the name of a favored bedtime story.”
    Desdemona scowled. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Magi. First you pester me about Harry, now you don’t like his cousin. You haven’t even met Lord Ravenscroft. He’s a fine man. A handsome man. A viscount.”
    “I do not need to meet him,” Magi said, crossing her arms over her chest.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “He will be a wide man with too much hair and a cross expression on his face.”
    “Cross?”
    “Unhappy, crabby. You will say he broods,” Magi said.
    “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Desdemona sniffed.
    “Yes, you do. Now Harry … he is—”
    “Stop it, Magi.”
    “I will not. You must—”
    A light rap on the door interrupted Magi. A young Arab house girl poked her head in. “Master Harry is here,” she said, grinning broadly.
    “Show him in,” Magi said before Desdemona could say a word. With a triumphant smile, she glided to the door.

C HAPTER T EN

    “A ny chance of some coffee appearing?” Harry asked. Magi murmured assurances that coffee, dark and sweet, would be immediately forthcoming and hurried off to see that it was so. As soon as she left, Harry turned to Desdemona. “Where is it, Diz?” he asked.
    “It?”
    “Rabi came to see me last night. He insists that you took something important from the camp. He says now you will not see him and give it back.”
    “Took?” Desdemona exclaimed indignantly. “He
gave
it to me.”
    “He says that this … thing”—he raised his brows invitingly. She ignored him—“is of a personal and highly sentimental nature.”
    “Ha!”
    Harry grinned. “That’s what Rabi says.”
    “So that’s why he’s hanging around.