What You Propose (Anything for Love #2) (9 page)

For once, Tristan's jolly countenance did not alleviate her melancholic mood. Feigning a throbbing ache in her thigh, the bruise being less painful than she had anticipated, Anna went up to her bedchamber to watch from the window until Mr. Danbury returned. If he insisted on going out again tomorrow night, she would demand Tristan went too.

Minutes stretched into hours.

What on earth was he doing out in the darkness?

With her head resting on her arm, she heard the sound of horse's hooves clipping over the bridge before she saw him approach. Whistling a tune as he rode past her window, she scanned his muscular form. He sat straight, not hunched forward or clutching his side. And so, convinced he had not come to any harm, she breathed a sigh and settled into bed.

When she eventually fell asleep, her dreams were plagued by terrifying visions of a brutal sea battle. She fled to the upper deck just as heavy cannon fire hit the wooden boards, splintering them easily upon impact. The floor beneath her tipped, tilting to the right, so she was forced to hold her arms out to steady her balance.

Victor's hideous form appeared through the billowing smoke. The smell of charred wood reminded her of the cheroots he puffed on daily. He strode over to her in his usual pompous way, grasped her chin with his bony fingers and pushed her backwards. She tumbled into the sea, sinking into the icy depths, her long hair fanning out in the water like a peacock's tail feathers, her wide eyes sad and soulless as she clutched at nothing.

Anna woke with a start.

The morning sun streamed in through her window, heralding the start of a new day and an end to the torturous nightmares. Thank goodness she had no mirror in her room as her lids were surely puffy and swollen from lack of sleep.

Throwing on her clothes and washing in the cold water left in the bowl, she made her way downstairs. With the refectory deserted, Anna knew Selene would not be far away.

"Good morning, Selene," Anna said finding the woman making bread in the kitchen. "Did you enjoy the fair?"

Selene's curious gaze drifted over her. "
Oui
,
madame
. How is your leg? Did the poultice help?"

"It did," Anna nodded. "Although the smell was rather unpleasant, something akin to rotting leaves and wet grass. But it took the swelling down and now I hardly know the bruise is there."

Selene raised her chin in acknowledgement. "Did you come to eat?" she said turning back to knead the dough.

"Yes. But don't worry. I'll help myself to bread and some of your strawberry preserve."

"No," Selene cried meeting Anna's gaze. "Mr. Danbury will think I am lazy. He will not like guests serving themselves."

"I am hardly a guest," Anna chuckled. "Mr. Danbury has me digging the flower beds until my hands are blistered and sore. I'm sure he won't mind me cutting a slice of bread."

Selene tutted, sighed and turned back to her dough. "Very well. But you must be quick."

Feeling as though she was intruding, Anna hurried about cutting the bread, eager to leave the kitchen. She wondered if Selene knew of her life back in London. Perhaps the woman disapproved of how she'd made her living and used her inexperience with the language to hide her disdain.

If Anna continued to feel uncomfortable in her presence, she would broach the subject.

After eating her breakfast and finishing her chores, she washed her hands and headed out into the garth. She longed to sit and feel the warm rays of the sun touch her cheeks and treasured the hour she spent there every day.

Anna's cheerful smile faded when she spotted Tristan slumped forward on her favourite bench, his head buried in his hands.

"Tristan." She approached with hesitant feet. "Are you well?"

He glanced up, a mop of golden hair hindering his vision. "No, Anna, I am not well at all," he said in a tone as solemn as his countenance.

"Can I get you anything? A tonic, or something cold to drink?"

"There is no cure for what ails me," he replied cryptically.

Anna had never seen him look so distraught. "May I sit or would you prefer I left you alone?"

Tristan straightened, brushed his hair from his brow and shuffled further along the bench. "Please sit. Perhaps you will be able to offer words of encouragement, know of a way to soothe my wounds."

"I do not wish to pry." She sat at his side. "But you know you may speak freely to me. You know I would never break a confidence."

"You have been a good friend to me these last weeks, and I am grateful for it. Marcus will need a friend too. Promise me you will take supper with him, that you'll keep him company."

Anna snorted. "You make it sound as though you're leaving."

The drawn-out silence gave weight to her flippant comment.

Tristan swallowed visibly. "I must return to London as a matter of urgency." In a sudden outburst, he jumped up from the bench and swiped the air with his clenched fist. "Damn it all. I vowed never to return. It's all a bloody mess." He glanced at her with sad eyes. "Forgive my rants and curses. But you don't know what this means."

Struggling to follow his train of thought, Anna reached up and grasped his elbow. "Sit down, Tristan." She spoke softly. "Sit down and tell me what troubles you. Tell me what's so awful about going home."

With a heavy sigh, he dropped back into the wooden seat. "It's Isabella," he said, shaking his head, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Anna threaded her arm through his and hugged it. "Is she your sister, a friend or something more?"

"Some would say she is all of those things." He gazed up at the cloudless sky and sighed wearily. "As far as my father was concerned, she was a sister. But I have never seen her as such. She became his ward after losing her parents. And I have loved her for as long as I can remember."

Love existed in varying degrees and depths.

"When you say love, do you mean you love her as a man would a woman?" Anna clarified.

Tristan nodded. "She has claimed my heart and soul. She should have been my wife, but my father forbade it. Now, she is married to another, and I swore I would rather die than bear witness to her betrayal."

Anna's heart went out to him. She would rather live in ignorance than be denied true love. What could be life's greatest gift could also be a tragic burden.

Tristan turned to face her. "Have you ever been in love?"

The question shocked her. For some bizarre reason, an image of Mr. Danbury flashed into her mind, and she quickly dismissed it.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have never been in love," she said. "I am far too cynical and have witnessed the true depth of a lover's betrayal." Most of the gentlemen who frequented Labelles were married. Indeed, she recalled one particular patron who entertained two of her girls on the night of his wedding.

"Then you are much wiser than I."

Anna doubted that. She had not been wise enough to avoid Victor's cunning trap.

"How long has it been since you last spoke to her?"

Tristan exhaled. "Five years. We were eloping when my father caught up with us on the road north. He dragged us both home, despite our protests. When I woke the next morning, he had taken Isabella away with him. Sometime later, she wrote to me and told me she had married Lord Fernall."

"I'm so sorry, Tristan." Anna had heard many tales of ladies tricked into marriage; perhaps Isabella had suffered a similar fate. "I don't mean to be insensitive, but have you never found love with another?"

"No. Although my mind and body function in the present, it is as though my heart and soul are stuck in the past."

Anna smiled to hide the sudden wave of sadness his words roused. "I do know how it feels to be detached from reality." When Victor had forced her to work at Labelles, she'd left her heart and soul safely back at her home in the country. "But you have not said why you must return."

Tristan exhaled deeply once more and closed his eyes briefly. "My brother …" He paused and shook his head. "My brother has died without issue. You are looking at the new Viscount Morford. My mother insists I am to return home to take my rightful place as head of the family."

Anna was left utterly speechless. The poor man looked so lost and forlorn. "I am truly sorry to hear of your brother's death. But your mother is right. The
ton
needs strong, selfless gentlemen to take the lead. You are a good and loyal person, Tristan, and will serve your family well."

"It is not the life I wanted or envisaged for myself. And I cannot bear the thought of leaving Marcus here alone. I do not wish to speak ill, but he is more of a brother to me than Andrew ever was."

Anna's heart lurched as she imagined Mr. Danbury stomping along the cloisters with no one to talk to, no one to help him on his nightly crusades.

"What did Mr. Danbury say when you told him?"

"That's part of the problem," Tristan said. "I haven't told him. The letter arrived yesterday, but I recognised the seal and only opened it this morning."

Mr. Danbury would console him, ease his conscience and convey nothing of the inner turmoil hidden inside.

"Come." Anna stood and pulled him to his feet. "Let me wish you well. Then we will go together and break the news to Mr. Danbury."

"I cannot ask you to do that."

"You didn't ask. I offered." She held out her arms, and they hugged — as friends, as though they were kin. "I will stay at the monastery as long as Mr. Danbury needs me or wants me here, although that may only amount to one more day."

Tristan smiled. "He does like you, you know. For the last few years, I've been suggesting he goes down to the fair, yet he's not come within a mile of the place."

"Selene did seem rather shocked he'd agreed to go. I would go as far as to say the woman is terrified of him."

"As I told you when you arrived, his growl is worse than his bite. But wait until he discovers I'm a peer. You'll want to put your fingers in your ears for that."

Marcus hovered at the door of the chapter house and watched them embrace. Tristan and Miss Sinclair cared for one another. That much was obvious. He could see a glimmer of tenderness in his friend's eyes when he spoke to her. During their brief conversation, she had touched his arm numerous times.

Bloody hell.

The whole thing was driving him insane. Part of him would be glad when Miss Sinclair left. Then they could return to how things used to be. To a time when he didn't feel jealousy slithering through him leaving a poisonous trail in its wake.

As they stepped apart, Marcus closed the door gently with both hands and marched round to his desk. Last night, he had followed two men from Lenard's inn to an abandoned cottage set back in a copse just a ten-minute walk from the cliff edge. He'd followed the cliff as it sloped down before breaking to reveal the wide walkway leading to the shore.

His orders were specific. Alert Coombes at the first sign of Lenard's men loading their contraband into the boat. Now he knew where they kept their booty it was only a matter of time before they set sail.

The rapping on the door stole his attention. When Tristan entered, accompanied by Miss Sinclair, Marcus' chest grew tight. They had come together to tell him something important. A quick glance at their sorrowful expressions sent his thoughts into disarray.

"Tristan. Miss Sinclair." He gave a curt nod, kept his tone even and focused on keeping his composure.

"Shouldn't you bow to a lord when he enters the room?" Tristan said with a chuckle. He glanced at Miss Sinclair, who hovered at his shoulder. "Get ready to put your fingers in your ears."

Marcus sneered. "You know I wouldn't even spit on a lord let alone bow to one."

"What did I tell you? He despises peers."

"I am certain his feelings will change," Miss Sinclair nodded.

"I am still here. And no, my feelings on the matter will never change."

"But you're friends with Lord Danesfield?" she replied with a shrug.

"Dane is the exception to the rule."

Miss Sinclair smiled. "Well, then you may add one more exception to your list. Tristan has just discovered he is the new Viscount Morford."

Marcus shot out of the chair so fast the room spun, and he struggled to focus. He could feel the blood drain from his face, pooling thick and heavy in his throat. "Good God. Andrew is … he is dead?"

Tristan nodded. "I don't know anything more than that."

Marcus came around the desk and put his hands on Tristan's shoulders. "I am truly sorry, Tristan. Is there anything I can do? I assume your mother and sister wish you to return home for a time?"

Tristan shook his head. "Marcus, they want me to return home indefinitely."

Marcus' hands slipped from Tristan's shoulders. It felt like a huge hollow cavern had opened up in his chest. They had been as close as brothers these last five years. Despite letting jealousy take root over Tristan's friendship with Miss Sinclair, he loved him — would die to save him.

"I see." They were the only words Marcus could form. A world filled with nothing but loneliness and solitude opened up before him.