What You Propose (Anything for Love #2) (6 page)

Chapter 5

Marcus pulled Miss Sinclair closer to his chest, the smell of almonds flooding his nostrils as he whispered words of comfort into her hair. She felt soft and warm in his arms, and he fought the urge to claim her mouth, knowing that he would not be able to stop until he had claimed her body. Good Lord, why did she have to be so damn tempting? He could feel desire pulsing inside, feeding this strange craving he had for her.

Miss Sinclair had just confessed to murder. Emotions ran high. He could take advantage of her vulnerability. Once their lips met, she would be more than pleased with what he had to offer.

But even he wasn't that cold and callous.

Now he knew why she spent so much time in the chapel, praying, repenting, hoping the Lord would absolve her of her sins. Marcus understood the feeling. He had killed in self-defence, part of fulfilling his duty to the Crown. That didn't make it any easier, and he suspected the experience would haunt her forever.

So, Dane had sent her to France to protect her. The act of chivalry told him all he needed to know. Had she not thrust the knife into the comte's back, someone else would have lost their life. Of course, Dane would also be protecting his own interests and Marcus knew there must surely be more to the story.

Guilt flared when he thought of Dudley Spencer's request for information.

"If it helps, you
can
talk to me," he said. His intention was not to pry, but merely to offer a means of easing her mental torment. "You should not keep your feelings hidden inside."

"Suppressing all emotion is the only way I know how to cope," she murmured against his chest.

"Guilt is like a disease." To his own mind, he sounded like a hypocrite. "It will fester and eat away at all the good until everything else is tainted, too."

He felt her shoulders rise as she took a deep breath. She stepped back and looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. "I cannot recall the last time I cried, other than the night of Victor's death. But even then it felt different. I was numb to my emotions. There was, and still is, a large part of me that is not sorry."

"I understand." He pursed his lips and nodded. "For Dane to offer his protection, he must have felt the comte deserved his dreadful fate."

"Victor shot and killed a man right in front of us. It should have been me." She stared off into the distance, shook her head and muttered, "Poor Morgan. Victor would have killed us all in his desperation to flee with Miss Beaufort."

With every new snippet of information, Marcus was slowly starting to piece the story together.

"Miss Beaufort? The lady Lord Danesfield seeks?" Perhaps being in such a state of weakness, Miss Sinclair would change her mind and tell him where Dane's lady was hiding. "No wonder Dane is desperate to find her."

Miss Sinclair narrowed her gaze and shrugged. "Miss Beaufort is not in any danger. Lord Danesfield knows Victor is dead."

"Yes, but you mentioned an accomplice. You cannot blame Dane for fearing this person would seek revenge. You believed it to be so yourself. He must be worried for Miss Beaufort's safety."

Miss Sinclair seemed to ponder his words. "If there is an accomplice, he is not in England and he knows nothing of Miss Beaufort. I'm certain she is safe at the cottage."

"The cottage?"

Oh, this was going to be easier than he thought. Hopefully, he would not need to disclose information regarding Dudley's request. And that would sit easier on his conscience.

"Did I say cottage?" She cast him an arrogant grin. "How foolish of me."

The woman was shrewd. He preferred seeing a smile touching the corners of her mouth. Even though her face looked red and blotchy, her eyes appeared less sorrowful.

"So, Lord Danesfield told you nothing of Dampierre or his accomplice?" she continued.

Marcus shook his head. "Dane said nothing." But his friend would feel the sharp edge of his tongue for failing to explain the facts.

"And your nightly excursions have nothing to do with me?"

"No. Nothing." He was deliberately vague. The fewer people who knew of his assignment, the better. The men they were watching would not think twice about silencing a woman in the most brutal fashion.

"And you expect me to believe you?" she scoffed.

Marcus straightened. "I don't expect anything. But after what you've just told me, under no circumstances are you to leave the monastery without my knowledge." It was wise to be cautious until Dane confirmed whether the comte's accomplice posed any real threat. "I want to know where you are at all times. Is that clear?"

He knew his tone sounded severe, but he was angry at Dane for his lapse of judgement. He was angry at Miss Sinclair for not informing him sooner. He was angry at himself for not being able to tell her she could trust him.

"I do not mean to frighten you," he added when he noticed her bottom lip tremble. "But in the years I've worked with Dane, I've discovered one can never be too careful."

"I have lived in a permanent state of fear for years, Mr. Danbury," she replied squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin in a bid to regain her composure. "One more week will not be such a hardship."

One week? Knowing Dane's need for thoroughness and the severity of her situation, he planned to leave her in France for a month or two.

"And you will keep me informed of your movements?"

"I will," she reassured.

"At all times?"

"I will not leave the monastery without your permission."

There was no hint of sarcasm or resentment in her tone. She sounded grateful, appeared to be more relaxed in his company. Perhaps confessing her sins had helped her to lower her defences. Perhaps the intimate way he'd held her had forced him to lower his defences, too.

"Do you have any plans tomorrow?" he asked as he would need to organise his day around hers for the foreseeable future. "Will you be going to the fair? I hear there are to be jugglers and fire-eaters, music and dancing."

"Perhaps it may be best if I stay here."

He nodded. "Then I shall also stay behind. The sight of Tristan twirling around the maypole is enough to rouse nausea in a man with the strongest constitution."

She laughed. "Gentlemen don't twirl around the maypole. Although with his poise and elegance, I am certain he would put all the maidens to shame. But I would not want you to miss the fair on my account."

Pushing through boisterous crowds, being hugged by those too inebriated to stand was not his idea of amusement. But after all she had been through perhaps a few hours of mirth might lift her spirits.

"I would be happy to accompany you, should you change your mind," he said.

Happy was far from the appropriate term, but a show of benevolence would go some way to easing the guilt he felt. Dudley would continue to hound him until he'd discovered the secret of Miss Beaufort's whereabouts.

"You would not mind?" The glimmer of hope in her eyes felt like a punch in his deceitful gut.

"No. We could ride out in the afternoon, leave the fair before dusk." Before the drunken revellers became a nuisance. Besides, it would give him an opportunity to observe the men of the village, particularly the landlord of the inn, Lenard. Marcus suspected one of the locals was guilty of assisting in criminal activity.

"If you're sure. Even if we stay for an hour." Miss Sinclair smiled. He made a mental note to make her smile more often. The wonderful vision should not be hidden away like the best china, only to be brought out on rare occasions. "It's been years since I've had the freedom to enjoy such merry pursuits."

Oh, he could think of a whole host of merry pursuits that would keep her entertained for hours. Indeed, his manhood throbbed at the thought.

"I'm sure." He gave a curt nod. It was imperative he kept a close eye on her. And for his sake, he wanted to see her face alight with pleasure.

They stared at each other for a moment, not knowing quite what to say.

"I … I should escort you back to your chamber."

She shook her head. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Danbury. I will be safe enough inside these stone walls."

She was right. Besides, the thought of standing just a few feet away from her bed, from the place where she slid those soft thighs beneath the sheets, was far too tempting.

"Then I shall bid you good night, Miss Sinclair."

She smiled, and he felt truly blessed. "Good night, Mr. Danbury."

Marcus watched her leave the room, the gentle sway of her hips causing his body to flame. Sweet Jesus. To think she lay just a few doors away from him.

How the hell was he to survive a whole afternoon in her company?

But she was a madam of a brothel, he reminded himself.

And a damn enchanting one at that.

Chapter 6

Anna rushed to complete her chores by eleven. She wanted to use the extra hour to soak the dirt from beneath her fingernails, apply the balm to her knuckles, brush her hair and change into the only other dress she possessed. Gone were the days when she had to preen herself to perfection. Victor had always insisted she wore the clothes of a duchess.

"Behave like a whore and they will treat you like one," Victor had remarked, the contempt in his tone showing how much he despised the aristocracy. "Behave like a queen and all shall bow before you."

Anna glanced down at the plain muslin dress, lifting the hem to stare at the dusty leather half-boots. A snigger escaped as she imagined Victor's look of horror at such simple country attire. Wearing her cape and with her hair tied loosely at her nape, she would easily blend in with the folk from the village.

A knock on the door disturbed her reverie.

"Come in." She smiled when Selene entered her chamber carrying the tiny wooden pot. "Is that the balm you've made?"

Selene nodded. The woman spoke English, although seemed to struggle a little when holding a lengthy conversation. "You must apply it every evening. It will sting but only for a few seconds." She reached into the pocket of her apron and removed two cotton squares. "Wrap these to your hands while you sleep."

Anna smiled. "
Merci
, Selene."

In the two weeks Anna had been at the monastery, she'd found Selene to be aloof, reserved. Perhaps she was shy or needed to concentrate on interpreting the language and so consequently appeared distant. When Anna had suggested they converse in French, she protested and said she needed to improve her English as Mr. Danbury often got frustrated with her when she failed to follow his instructions.

From what Anna had witnessed, Mr. Danbury was often frustrated with everyone.

"It's very kind of you to go to so much trouble," Anna continued, trying not to accentuate each word as if the woman were deaf. "Will you be going to the fair?"

"
Oui
,
madame
," she nodded eagerly. "Yes, I am going with Andre."

Anna had no idea why she kept calling her
madame
. They were of a similar age, after all. Although they were like night and day in terms of their colouring, even more so when it came to worldly experience. "Then I shall see you there. Mr. Danbury has kindly agreed to escort me a little later this afternoon."

Selene's brown eyes widened as her smile faded. "But Mr. Danbury, he never goes. He says he does not like the crowds."

Anna laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood as Selene appeared somewhat disturbed by the thought. "Perhaps that's because he is far too serious. It will do him good to drink ale and eat roasted pig while dancing with performing monkeys."

Selene gave a weak smile. "If you say so,
madame
."

"Don't worry about Mr. Danbury. We will only stay for a short while and ride back before dark."

Anna's words did not placate Selene, and although she nodded repeatedly, her eyes grew dark and distant.

"Thank you again for the balm," Anna said as the woman scurried out of the door without saying another word.

Pushing aside all thoughts of Selene's odd behaviour, Anna went to the chapel and spent an hour in quiet contemplation. The silence soothed her spirit. Still she received no further sign, no indication as to where fate's path would take her next.

The sound of booted steps echoing through the nave caught her attention, a sure sign her companion was ready to depart.

The gentleman in question cleared his throat. She did not have to turn around to know Mr. Danbury stood behind her. He walked with a heavier gait than Tristan and the air about her swirled with a strange tension: a sliver of apprehension mingled with excitement. The hairs on her nape tingled which never happened in the presence of any other man.

"Miss Sinclair." The deep timbre of his voice caused a weird shiver to race through her body, and she inhaled slowly and deeply in an attempt to maintain her composure.

"Mr. Danbury," she said standing and turning to face him. Raising a brow in surprise at the sight of his cravat, she could not help but tease him. "Good heavens. Either someone has tried to strangle you with a piece of neckwear, or you have made an effort to smarten your appearance."