What You Propose (Anything for Love #2) (16 page)

Marcus cupped her elbow as they navigated the bank. Once they were safely on the path, he let go. "So you took employment with the comte?"

"It was my fault. I should have only accepted work through the Registry Office. But when a French comte approached me dressed in all his finery, I was seduced by the idea of working in a grand house."

Marcus snorted. "You wouldn't be the first woman to fall for such a trick. When did you realise you'd made a mistake?"

"On the first night." She paused, and he wondered if the memory caused her pain. "He locked me in the bedchamber and kept me there for weeks. After he had explained why he'd hired me, I had no option but to accept the position."

It still didn't explain how she'd kept her virginity.

"Did he have some sort of sight impairment?"

She looked at him and frowned. "Why would you think that?"

"There must be something wrong with him if he kept you as mistress of his brothel but never … well."

"Victor believed a mother must be virtuous. He wanted someone to mother the girls, oversee his business without being tempted by debauchery and sin. It seems, to my detriment, I have the deportment of a duchess and the manners of a marchioness. It sounds pathetic, I know, but he despised weak men. He would not taint our relationship with such a personal act, yet he was often prone to violent outbursts, erratic behaviour."

"Then the irony is he was just as weak as those he despised."

"The constant threat of violence causes emotional debilitation. I was forever looking over my shoulder wondering if the breath I had just taken would be my last. To live like that takes its toll."

Marcus gripped her hand, stroked it with his thumb. "Does Dane know all of this?"

"Of course not. I've never told a soul, not even Miss Beaufort."

The mere mention of the woman's name caused a pang of dread. Dudley wanted answers, and he would harangue Marcus until he got the information he needed. Anna had mentioned the village of Marlow. It was some forty or so miles from London, an easy journey for a woman to travel to on her own.

"And so, in killing Victor, you have inadvertently been left with no form of income and no abode."

"Not at all. Victor was shrewd in his business dealings, and I learnt to do the same. It took a few years, but I managed to save enough money to buy the small cottage I told you about. The lords of London can be generous if you accommodate their needs." Her tone revealed a level of pride in her achievements. "I could never have left him whilst he was still alive. But it was always my hope that one day I would go home."

Damn it.

Marcus wanted to punch the air in frustration. He wished he could erase her last comment from his memory, pretend his poor analytical skills made it impossible for him to piece together the relevant bits of information.

"And you killed him because you had no choice." Discussing Victor was a way of focusing his mind on something other than Anna's cottage in Marlow.

They came to the tree where he'd tied the horses. Both animals were still standing patiently waiting for their return.

"Victor tried to shoot me, but his man sacrificed his life to save me." She stroked her horse, gave it a reassuring pat. "He was about to shoot Lord Danesfield when I stabbed him in the back. He would have killed me, too."

The gravity of her words rendered him mute.

He was tired of talking about the past. Imagining her in such a terrifying predicament caused his blood to boil. The need to protect her was fierce. He wondered if it had anything to do with the feeling of helplessness he experienced over his mother's death. Indeed, it was the reason he shied away from emotional entanglements.

When she gripped the reins, he said, "Here, let me help you up." Like the best groom, he talked her through keeping the saddle straight, guided her foot into the stirrup.

"Thank you." She offered a weak smile. "I'm not used to riding."

He mounted his horse, and they rode back towards the monastery at a slow pace, the mood somewhat subdued when compared to the frenzy of activity experienced in the cave. The thought brought the memory flooding back: their urgent hands, the groans and pants. His desire for her still simmered beneath the surface, accompanied by a gut-wrenching feeling of guilt for deflowering a virgin against a cold, damp wall.

"In my frustration, I failed to apologise for the rather unrefined way I went about things." After all she had been through, she deserved so much better.

"It doesn't matter," she said with a sigh. "Let's forget about it, put it behind us. Perhaps some things are not destined to be."

Panic flared. What the hell was she saying? The thought of not having her in his bed caused his heart to beat rapidly.

"I wouldn't say that. One little setback hardly constitutes failure." He was beginning to sound desperate.

"Madame Labelle would have been stronger. She would not have allowed it to happen."

"But she's not here." He turned and met her weary gaze. Besides, during the years spent in the brothel, you were merely playing a role. Anna Sinclair is the woman I have come to know." The woman I have come to admire and respect, he added silently. "And I believe she wanted it to happen just as much as I did."

Her gaze drifted over his face, ventured down the length of his body. "But we acted in the moment." Good. She had not denied she wanted him. "I doubt it would be the same again."

It took a tremendous amount of effort not to chuckle. She really was naive when it came to amorous liaisons. He would wager everything he owned he could rouse her desire within minutes, maybe seconds.

"Well, call me chivalrous, but I feel it only courteous to try and make amends for my lack of attentiveness."

A smile touched her lips. "I would not wish to deny you the opportunity to display your gallantry. But don't you have a letter to write?"

For a moment he imagined she was talking about his letter to Dudley. The letter where he would betray the trust she'd placed in him. But then it occurred to him she meant his letter alerting Coombes of the smugglers impending departure. Never in all his working years or during all of his assignments had he placed his own needs before those relating to his duty.

"The letter can wait," he said. His desire for Anna Sinclair was the only thing that mattered to him.

To atone for his uncouth behaviour, he would give her a night to remember.

Chapter 14

With the passing of each new day, Marie Labelle faded away into the background. Anna found she was not as cynical as her alter ego: the character she had hidden behind as a way of coping with the pain and sorrow. Indeed, she had grown to trust Marcus Danbury. Somehow, he had managed to find his way through the solid ice cavity and into her heart.

Reconnecting with the spirited, innocent girl she had once been caused a wealth of emotions to push forth: excitement, hope, and desire. The deep sense of longing was a new feeling, one neither Marie or Anna had experienced before. Consequently, numerous attempts to define it had left her baffled.

"We'll have to tend to the horses." Marcus' rich voice broke her reverie. He helped her down, holding her close to his body until her feet settled firmly on the ground. Desire sparked anew. "Help me remove the tack and brush them down. After the slow ride back there'll be no need to walk them to cool their muscles."

Her body thrummed with anticipation.

After their chores, would he suggest another shared activity? Such a mundane job as brushing down the horses should have left her feeling cold. But there was something seductive about the way he went about the task. During each long, soothing stroke his eyes flashed with hot sensuality as he failed to look at anything else but her.

"What now?" she said as they settled the animals into the stable.

"Now we must attend to the needs of the riders. And I intend to give a lot more time and attention to the task."

She laughed as they crossed the courtyard heading for the monastery's oak door, the sound a way of expelling the hot air filling her lungs, a way of cooling her heated blood. "What? Are we to brush each other down, relax our muscles, and take something refreshing to drink?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking." He closed the door behind them, pulling down the heavy bar to offer added security. "I suggest you let me take the lead. I am somewhat adept when it comes to doing a thorough job."

"Is that why you were so angry with me in the cave?"

"Had you explained your situation, I would have done things a little differently, yes."

Anna threaded her arm through his as they walked through the nave. The echo of his boots on the tiled floor cut through the silence. "I assume the servants are all in their beds?"

"More than likely. They're used to my unconventional habits. Sometimes, Andre waits until I'm home." She let go of his arm as he opened the door to the chapter house. The room was dark, and he removed his coat, lifted the strap of his leather bag over his head and placed both items on the chair. "Would you like something to drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Definitely brandy. I always keep a flask in the drawer, unless Tristan's downed the lot." He moved to the small round table in the corner, picked up a bottle and shook it. "You're in luck. There's port, too."

"I'll have a drop of port."

When he sauntered over to give her the glass, a sinful smile touched his lips. A sensual aura emanated from every fibre of his being. The seductive energy soothed her aching muscles, brought a level of inner calm despite the fact her heart thumped wildly in her chest.

"We'll drink it here and then head upstairs, so I'll not bother to light the lamp." He stared at her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his port.

It was as though she had forgotten how to perform simple tasks such as breathing and swallowing and almost dribbled the burgundy liquid down her cape and dress when her mouth refused to comply.

As Marcus watched her use her finger to wipe the residue from her chin, he stepped forward. "Allow me."

She expected him to produce a small piece of linen, but to her surprise, he held her finger to his lips and sucked the tip softly. His mouth was warm, wet, utterly wicked. The sensation caused sparks of desire to ignite. Like a blacksmith's furnace, the fire inside raged fast and furious, melting away any doubts and reservations. As the master of the flame, he could bend and mould her easily to his will. Just as she had done in the cave, she would give herself over to him, right now if he wished it so.

Her gazed drifted over the breadth of his chest, ventured to the desk behind him.

His tongue circled the tip of her finger before he pulled it slowly out of his mouth. "Don't get any ideas. We're not staying here." Even his silky smooth tone sent ripples of excitement racing through her, the pulse between her thighs beating a powerful, pleasurable rhythm.

"Do you presume to know my thoughts?" she said, unable to keep her desire for him from infusing her tone.

"You cannot glance at the desk with that sultry smile and not expect me to draw my own conclusions." He nodded to her glass. "Drink up, for the anticipation is killing me."

Now she wished she had asked for a much larger measure. Not because she wished to stall him. But she needed a way to bolster her courage. With a slight tremble in her fingers, she swallowed what remained in her glass. Marcus took it from her and placed it on the desk behind him.

"Come." He took her hand. "Let's find somewhere more comfortable."

"Are we going to my chamber or … or yours?" she said in a bid to sound more confident.

"Mine."

How could one simple, solitary word cause a shiver to race through her body? No doubt his masterful tone played some part in rousing such a reaction.

They climbed the stairs in silence though her internal voice refused to be tempered. Question after question flooded her mind. Would her disdain for the patrons of Labelles, for the debauched scenes she'd so frequently witnessed, prevent her from enjoying the experience? Would she know how to please him or would she fall hopelessly short of his expectations? What would happen when the time came for her to leave the monastery and return to England?

The last thought caused a frisson of fear, and she quickly pushed it aside so as not to ruin the moment.

His quarters were at the end of the long corridor, the furthest room from her own, she noted, and she recalled his reserved, austere facade when he'd first shown her up to her chamber.

"Please, come in," he said as she hugged the door jamb like one would a mast on a sinking ship. With some hesitation, Anna stepped over the threshold and into his private domain. "Give me a moment. I'll just light the candle lamps."

She stood in the middle of the vast space. Where her room was small and cosy, his was three times larger, maybe more. As a soft, warm glow illuminated the shadows, she scanned her surroundings, believing his choice of decor would reveal much of his character.

"What's happened to your bed?" she asked, surprised to find it stood no more than a few inches from the floor. For a man with such a large frame, it could hardly be comfortable.