What You Propose (Anything for Love #2) Read online

  "Miss Sinclair. Is everything alright?" His tone carried a hint of concern. "Are you ill? Has something happened?"

  "No, no, nothing has happened." Why did she feel like a silly girl? If anything, his scars should have made him appear more vulnerable. But they only served to add to the air of mystery, to enhance the masculine appeal that captured her interest. "I have watched you ride out these past few nights, and I wanted to discuss it with you."

  His suspicious gaze drifted over her and he stepped forward. Still clutching his shirt in his hand, he took the corners of her blanket and peeled them back as though expecting to find a wonderful gift hidden inside.

  "You're still dressed," he said, the corners of his mouth curling down in disappointment. "Have you been waiting here for me all night?"

  His seductive purr reminded her that men often have salacious thoughts at the mere turn of an ankle. Due to the nature of her profession, had he made the usual assumption? Did he imagine she had come to seek him out with more licentious thoughts in mind?

  With a sudden surge of anger, she snatched back her blanket. "What did you expect to find? Did you think to see me lounging on your desk wearing nothing more than long stays and white stockings? Should I rouge my lips a blood red? Should I pull grapes from a bunch using only my mouth?"

  Mr. Danbury raised a sinful brow. "I cannot deny the thought has some appeal." When she gave him a furious glare, he added, "I am joking. I merely meant you must have been waiting rather a long time."

  "Oh. I thought you meant …"

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  Now she felt foolish again.

  Her gaze drifted to the bronze skin and defined contours on his chest. Most gentlemen gracing the rooms of Labelles were pasty-white, an obvious paunch indicating their wealth and status. Mr. Danbury's muscled physique supported her comment that he was a man willing to work if need be. Standing in such close proximity she felt a warm heat radiate from his skin, and she wondered if all men possessed a similar quality. Indeed, her personal experience lacked such intimate knowledge, as Victor had been the only man she'd ever been close to.

  "Don't look so downcast," Mr. Danbury said with a hint of arrogance. "Now what was it you wanted to discuss?"

  Anna couldn't think while he was standing there half naked. "Would you mind putting on your shirt? I think I prefer the peasant to the golden-skinned Lothario."

  He chuckled. "I assumed you would be comfortable in the presence of a naked man. You must have seen more than your share."

  Anna felt her face flush. "Must I slap you again, Mr. Danbury, in the hope you will learn to hold your foolish tongue." He really did let himself down when making such childish remarks.

  His heated gaze penetrated her steely composure. When he stepped closer, she wasn't sure if he was about to unleash the wrath of the Devil or pull her into an embrace and plunder her mouth like the savage pirate his unconventional dress implied.

  Both thoughts were unnerving. But, after what felt like a lifetime of cowering in the corner, she refused to relinquish control.

  "You cannot intimidate me," she continued, raising her chin in defiance.

  With a gleam in his eye, Mr. Danbury smiled as his gaze drifted to her lips. "And why would I want to do that, Miss Sinclair?"

  "Because you like to dominate everyone and everything. Because you despise appearing weak and vulnerable."

  He smirked at her honest appraisal. "That's where you're wrong. You err when you compare me to most men of your acquaintance. I am happy to admit I am weak." He inhaled deeply as his gaze travelled over her face and hair. "I am happy to admit that in your company I am vulnerable. You need only say the word, and I would yield to the power of your intelligence and beauty."

  A strong masculine force penetrated the air around them. It was not the threatening or fearful sensation she was used to, and she was shocked to feel a tiny frisson of desire spark in her ice-cold body.

  Believing herself immune to such feelings, it shook her to her core.

  Anna Sinclair really was naive and foolish. Marie Labelle would think her pathetic for responding so easily to any man's fake protestations. Yet she could not shake the thought that there was a grain of truth hidden within his words.

  "Flowery overtures often hide the worst of lies," she said, her tone bitter in a bid to reinforce the iron vault safeguarding her heart. Marie would be proud.

  "You may call me what you will, but don't ever call me a liar."

  His words were blunt but lacked the poisonous venom that usually paralysed her with fear. Victor would have grabbed her chin or squashed her cheeks together with his long bony fingers. It seemed Mr. Danbury possessed at least one quality of a true gentleman.

  "Forgive me," she said. "Perhaps I am too used to the cunning devices employed by a skilled seducer."

  There was no mistaking her veiled insult and Mr. Danbury jerked his head in response. He stepped back and the distance brought with it the familiar coldness that shrouded her wherever she went.

  "The hour is late or early depending how one looks at it," he said with indifference. He shook out his shirt and threw it over his head, thrusting his arms violently into the sleeves as though they had wronged him in some way. "You should retire to your chamber."

  Anna swallowed deeply. "But you have not answered my question."

  "I did not realise you had asked one."

  "You have an assignment," she said finding the courage to broach the subject as she would not rest until she knew the truth. "I heard as much earlier while you were arguing with Tristan."

  "We were not arguing." Mr. Danbury perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "What else did you hear?"

  "Nothing," she shrugged. Everything else had sounded like incoherent mumbles. "But you rode out again this evening."

  "What of it?"

  "Well, it cannot be a coincidence. Lord Danesfield must have uncovered new information relating to the Comte de Dampierre." Just saying his name aloud caused the fine hairs at her nape to stand on end. Her stomach felt hollow; her heart wormed its way up into her throat. "Have you found his accomplice? Is he here, in France? Tell me, Mr. Danbury. You cannot hide it from me. I deserve to know the truth."

  He stared at her and narrowed his gaze. "Dane mentioned your association with a Frenchman. This comte you speak of, is he your lover?"

  "No," she cried. Heavens, the thought caused her to shudder. "He was many things but never that."

  "He is your partner in business, then?"

  "Dampierre shared nothing. He owned me, Mr. Danbury. I did his bidding, took care of his girls."

  "He owned you, or he owned Labelles?"

  Anna shrugged. "Both." She had come to find answers not be barraged with a multitude of questions.

  "And now you have fled London with little more than the clothes on your back," he muttered to himself. "Did Lord Danesfield assist in your escape?"

  Anna nodded. "He escorted me to the coast and saw me safely out of England."

  Mr. Danbury jumped off the desk. "Bloody hell. Does Dane take me for a complete fool?" He paced the floor. "Did he not think to inform me that this Dampierre fellow could come looking for you?"

  Anna grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and forced him to stop. "The comte will not come looking for me," she implored, hoping it would be enough to placate him. "I can promise you that."

  "Revenge feeds the hearts of some men," he said with a hint of contempt as though she lacked his worldly experience in all matters. "Trust me. He will want justice for your betrayal. He will seek you—"

  "Victor will not come looking for me," she repeated.

  "A man who makes a living as he does will not be bested by a woman. You're his property. You probably know too much about his business dealings."

  "He won't come." While she tried to sound confident, days of suppressed emotion pushed to the fore, and she could feel the tears welling. She had agreed never to mention the horrific ev
ents in the warehouse.

  "How do you know? Damn it. I left you alone here tonight. How do you know he's not out there now waiting for you to wander down to the village on your own?"

  A surge of raw emotion broke. "Because he's dead," she sobbed burying her head in her hands. Sucking in a breath, she looked up at him. "He won't come because I stabbed him in the back and watched him gulp his last breath. Because justice has already been served."

  Mr. Danbury's eyes grew wide, and his mouth hung open as he shook his head. After what seemed like an hour, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

  "You killed him?" he whispered staring into her eyes as though he had misheard. "Is that why Dane sent you here? So you wouldn't hang?"

  She wiped away the tears streaming down her face. "Yes and no. Lord Danesfield concocted a story to protect me. But you must understand I had no choice in the matter. Victor would have killed me."

  "You should have told me," Mr. Danbury said as he pulled her into an embrace, rubbed her back as the tears continued to fall. "Dane should have trusted me with the information."

  Anna let the warmth of his body surround her. For the first time in her life, she felt safe — if only for a moment. "I murdered him, Mr. Danbury, and all I can do now is repent."

  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