by Adele Clee
"The chapter house?"
"I shall give you a brief tour and then show you to your room, Miss Sinclair." Mr. Danbury's tone sounded a little less arrogant. However, the air around them whirled with tension and hostility. "After such a long journey, I'm sure you'll want to wash and change your clothes."
"I'm afraid I left in rather a hurry and only managed to bring a few items with me." Miss Beaufort had helped her pack a small bag, but Anna had not been of sound enough mind to care. "Is there somewhere locally where I may purchase what I need?"
Mr. Danbury gave a curt nod. "I'm sure Tristan will escort you to the village in the morning. He can act as translator—"
"I speak the language fluently, Mr. Danbury."
The gentleman's curious gaze drifted over her.
"I would be happy to escort you wherever you wish to go," Tristan replied.
Anna listened for the ugly sound of lust hidden beneath his words. Years of deceit and degradation made one doubt even the smallest of thoughtful gestures. But she heard only sincerity, an eagerness to be helpful and friendly.
"Thank you, Mr. …"
"Mr. Wells," he replied offering a bow one would give to a lady. "But I insist you call me Tristan. There's no need for formality, at least not here."
Anna gave a weak smile before scanning Mr. Danbury's bristled jaw and crumpled shirt. Compared to his friend, he looked like the destitute relative. "I can collect anything you may need whilst there Mr. Danbury. A comb, shaving implements, a clean shirt perhaps?"
Tristan sniggered and then pursed his lips.
"That won't be necessary." Mr. Danbury gestured to her bare hands. "But I should see what they have for chapped skin. You'll be expected to earn your keep whilst here."
Panic flared. There was only one way a man expected a whore to earn her keep.
"You will be expected to perform certain household chores," Mr. Danbury added as though party to her thoughts. "I trust that will not be a problem."
Relief coursed through her. "I am perfectly capable of cooking and cleaning," she replied only too eager to keep herself busy. "If you provide me with a list of duties, I will be more than happy to contribute. However, I do ask for an hour each day, where I may do whatever I choose."
Mr. Danbury offered a curt nod and charged off through the open doorway, no doubt expecting her to follow.
Tristan waved his hand towards the arched entrance. "Dare you risk entering the lion's lair?" he mocked, his face brimming with amusement. "Take it from me, his roar is far worse than his bite, his tone sharper than his teeth."
Anna stared thoughtfully at the door. "Mr. Danbury is a playful kitten compared to what I am used to."
"Forgive me." Tristan cleared his throat. "I did not mean to be insensitive to your situation."
"You should also know that nothing you could say or do would offend me, Mr. Wells."
There was a brief moment of silence while he studied her.
"I understand." He turned to face her fully. "I too have placed a wall of ice around my heart. It is easier to convince ourselves we feel nothing than to live in constant pain."
She was not prepared to address the honesty in his words, and so she did what she always did when faced with the truth. She feigned indifference.
"Do not presume to know me, Mr. Wells. I've often wondered if I even have a heart."
A smile touched his lips, and she knew he could see through her disguise. "I insist you call me Tristan," he said ignoring her comment. She found she had gained a modicum of respect for him, purely because he had no desire to force his point. "Now, I shall assist Haines in stabling the horses and will arrange for your luggage to be taken up to your room."
A wave of anxiety caused her to stiffen and her gaze shot to Haines, who gave her a reassuring nod. "I'll see as all your belongings are kept safe," Haines said. "You can trust in that."
The coachman knew what her Bible meant to her. She could hardly walk around the monastery hugging it to her chest. Mr. Danbury really would believe she had pious intentions.
She wondered what he would say if he knew he had agreed to give refuge to a murderer.
As though summoned by pure thought alone, the gentleman in question strode back out through the arched doorway and glared. "I do not have time to wait while you stand conversing. Follow me, Miss Sinclair."
"Forgive me," she said, suppressing her amusement. True anger revealed itself in the eyes. Victor's black beady stare was a look terrifying enough to send wolves scampering. Mr. Danbury's warm brown gaze told her all she needed to know. "I assumed you had gone to make yourself more presentable."
Mr. Danbury brushed his hands through his shoulder-length hair. "This is presentable. Not that it is any concern of yours. You'll find no fancy lords here, all trussed up in their finery, spouting babble."
Anna resisted the urge to clap her hands together. Compared to Victor, Mr. Danbury was easy to read when it came to his emotions. Resentment was the motivation for his comment. Had he failed to meet the high expectations of a certain woman, she wondered? Or did he feel a sense of inadequacy when it came to the aristocracy?
Time would tell.
"And for that I am grateful, Mr. Danbury." She had no desire to argue and feed his frustration. When it came to defusing volatile situations, no one was more skilled. "I've heard more than my fair share of burble from obnoxious nobles to make me want to race for the hills at the mere thought of it. Rest assured, I admire those with the integrity to adhere to their principles."
Mr. Danbury's mouth opened and then he snapped it shut. He did not know what to make of her — that much was obvious.
Who had ever heard of a whore preach of integrity?
Anna took a step forward and stopped. "Thank you, Mr. Wells, for the warm welcome. Haines, I hope to continue our philosophical discussions this evening." Wearing a wide grin, both men inclined their heads. She walked up to Mr. Danbury. "Once you have given your tour, I should like to spend an hour in the chapel, if I may?"
He swallowed visibly, drawing her gaze to the open neck of his shirt. "You may spend the rest of the day as you wish. Tomorrow, you will take up your duties like the rest of us."
"That is most generous." She offered him her brightest smile. His blunt manner had no effect on her countenance, and she wondered if he was still brooding from the sharp slap he had received. "Please, lead the way, Mr. Danbury."
He escorted her through the nave, but the rows of pews were no more, and now the wide walkway acted as a passage to the rest of the building.
"There's a small chapel at the end there, located in the north transept," he said pointing to the left as he marched on ahead. She followed him out through the cloisters and into the garth. "You may use this area for recreation. The well in the centre is functioning and the water safe to drink."
Anna glanced around the neat garden. A narrow pathway in the shape of the cross split the grass into four equal segments. There were numerous benches dotted along the route and depending upon the time of day she supposed one had a choice of sitting in the sun or the shade.
"It's very peaceful here," she said gazing up as the sun warmed her skin. A wave of contentment rippled through her as she inhaled the clean air. "I imagine this is a rather pleasant place to sit in quiet contemplation."
"I've never spent that much time out here," he replied gazing up at the cloudless sky as though only noticing its beauty for the first time.
"I'm surprised. You strike me as a man who enjoys being out of doors."
"Why?" he said with a smirk. "Did you make that assumption based on the scruffy nature of my dress?"
"No," she remarked casually. "Your skin has a bronze glow to it. The faint lines at the corners of your eyes suggest time spent squinting from the sun."
"What, so now I dress like a beggar and have the face of a man in his dotage. You are brimming with compliments, Miss Sinclair."
He had the face of a pirate plundering the high seas: fearsome and determined with a courag
eous charm. "You have the face of a man who is not frightened to work for what he wants."
A smile touched the corners of his mouth, and he inclined his head. "Then I withdraw my objection and pay homage to your insight and skills of observation."
Ah, another little clue he had unwittingly revealed.
He was proud of his work and wanted others to recognise the achievement. Any ordinary man would not think it worth the mention. Mr. Danbury's lineage must surely embrace at least one member of the aristocracy. Perhaps he had an estranged relative who despised how he lived here.
"Having a keen observation has been key to my survival," she replied, dismissing the grotesque vision of Victor filling her head. Whilst at the monastery she should try to stop being so suspicious of people's motives. She should not be so quick to strip back each word or comment; she should not be so quick to judge.
Aware of Mr. Danbury's curious gaze, she wandered over to the well and peered inside. A ray of light reflected off the water far below. "Hello!" The word echoed and she couldn't help but chuckle. It had been a long time since she'd been free enough to express such a simple thing as joy.
"One of the servants will assist you should you need to draw water," Mr. Danbury said as though she lacked the skills necessary to lift a bucket.
Anna swung around to face him. He was standing with his arms folded across his chest. "We had a well in the village at home," she said calmly. "Once, I overheard someone say that a highway robber had hidden his loot at the bottom before racing off across the green. It was just a tale, but I would often raise the bucket in the hope of finding treasure."
"You grew up in the country?" He seemed surprised.
"I did," she replied but had no intention of revealing anything more. "Shall we continue with the tour?"
He nodded and strode off along the path.
"We eat in the refectory," he said leading her into a room long enough to seat a hundred men. "There is no formality when it comes to dining. Sometimes the servants sit with us. Sometimes I eat in the chapter house. You may do whatever you please."
Anna sighed. "Whatever I please or whatever pleases me?"
He gave an impatient wave. "Are they not the same?"
"No. But never mind."
They continued in silence. After a brief glance at the parlour, the reredorter: a room for washing and seeing to one's toilette, they continued to the upper floor.
"There are no fireplaces up here, and it can get cold at night. I've converted the old dormitory into small rooms. It helps minimise the draughts." He stopped outside an oak door, one of a handful situated along the corridor, his hand gripping the handle. "You may use this room for the duration of your stay. It is basic but should be adequate for your needs."
Anna waited for him to open the door but he seemed hesitant.
"Are we to go inside?"
"Of course." He shook his head, opened the door and gestured for her to enter.
Anna felt a sudden flutter in her chest at the wonderful sight before her. The exposed stone of the exterior wall had a golden hue. Accompanied by the pale yellow drapes, the room felt warm and welcoming. The wrought-iron bed called out to her aching limbs, and she couldn't wait to snuggle into it and let the strain of the last few days melt away.
"I'm afraid there's no mirror—"
"I won't need one," she interjected.
"There are more blankets in the chest if you're cold and the brazier at the end of the hall can be brought in if needed. However, I ask you not to fall asleep whilst it's lit."
As a girl, she would have thrown her arms around him to express her gratitude. As a woman with a hardened heart, she merely smiled.
"Thank you, Mr. Danbury. The room is more than adequate." She noticed the candlestick on the side table. In London, it would be dawn before she crawled into bed. Here, she would have to find something to occupy her mind at night. "Would you happen to have any books I may borrow?"
He narrowed his gaze. "You are free to look over my personal library and take anything that interests you. Come down to the chapter house when you've settled in. As you leave the chapel, it is the first room on the left."
"I feel I must thank you again for your hospitality."
He made no comment. It occurred to her that perhaps he'd had little choice in the matter. Either way, she appreciated his generosity and offered a smile as he inclined his head and left the room.
Anna closed the door behind him and pressed her back to it as she surveyed the chamber. It had been years since she'd had a good night's sleep. There would be no constant banging above stairs. No piggish grunts of satisfaction echoing along the hallway. No gut-wrenching pain at the thought Victor might come home.
It suddenly hit her again — Victor was dead.
No matter where she ate or slept, no matter how hard she tried to forge a new life, she would always have his blood on her hands.
The memory of his last gasp for breath would haunt her forever.
Chapter 3
Marcus sat back in the chair, propped his feet up on his desk and perused the sealed letter in his hand. He recognised the elegant script and the circular heraldic mark pressed into the wax. Miss Sinclair had been his guest for a little over a week; this was the second letter to arrive for her from Dane.
Curiosity burned away.
Did the marquess want the woman for his mistress? Haines had made no secret of his master's fondness for a lady named Sophie Beaufort. Perhaps he wanted to wed one and bed the other. So, why would Dane ship Miss Sinclair off to France and then bombard her with letters? It made no sense.
For a man adept at discovering information, Marcus still knew nothing more of Miss Anna Sinclair, other than what she'd told him on her arrival. The woman did her utmost to avoid him, which suited him well. Such a ravishing beauty would tempt any man, and she had a beguiling charm he felt drawn to. Knowing she was vastly experienced in the bedchamber did not help matters. Whenever she moistened her lips or arched her back to relieve her aching muscles, his rampant mind conjured all sorts of lewd images.
His attention drifted up to the clock on the mantle as it struck one.
Miss Sinclair would be sitting out in the garth as she always finished her chores by twelve. Indeed, the woman was so regimental in her routine he knew exactly where to find her no matter what the time of day.
Dragging his feet off his desk, he jumped up and strode out of the door, hovering behind a pillar in the cloisters as he decided not to reveal himself immediately.
As predicted, Miss Sinclair was sitting on the bench, the bright rays of the sun casting a shimmering glow over her honey-gold hair. Damn. He felt the same deep stirring he always felt upon seeing her and he resisted the urge to stamp his foot until the dull thud shook the tiled walkway.
In a fit of frustration, he stomped out into the garth and cleared his throat to draw her gaze from a nondescript point of interest on the grass.
"You have another letter," he said clutching the item in his hand, aware that his chest felt unusually tight, that his heart gave an odd flutter when her vivacious blue eyes met his.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Danbury." Her gaze drifted over his open shirt, up to the hair he had tied back in a queue and she offered him an angelic smile. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"
He glanced up, yet found nothing particularly enchanting, other than the woman sitting on his bench. "I had not noticed," he replied honestly. "I have been indoors for most of the morning."
Miss Sinclair tapped the empty seat next to her. "Then won't you sit for a moment."
Marcus stared at the hand resting on the wooden slats. A week ago, it had been smooth, soft and creamy, the nails clean and shaped. They had been the sort of hands a man longed to feel caress the tired muscles in his shoulders, trace circles in the fine hair on his chest. Now, chapped, red and raw at the knuckles, the nails short and misshapen, they were the hands of a woman from the workhouse.
Guilt flared.
Swallowing his a
pprehension, he slid into the seat next to her as though his weight would trigger the slats to snap and he would fall into a pit of spitting vipers.
She held out her rough hand, and he stared at it.
"The letter, Mr. Danbury. You said I had a letter."
Marcus shook his head and handed her the folded paper. "Do you not have anything to help soothe the sore skin on your hands?"
She examined the seal and sighed before splitting the red wax in two. "No. I must remember to buy a balm or a salve when I next go down to the village."
"If you speak to Selene in the kitchen she may have something here that will help. She is quite knowledgeable when it comes to herbs and potions."
The corners of her mouth curled up into a grateful smile, and then she turned and focused her attention on the missive.
"Shall I leave you to read in private?" he asked.
"No." The word sounded like a soft sigh. "I'm done." She refolded the paper and placed it in her lap.
Desperation gripped him, an urge to know what the hell Dane wanted with her. Why had he written to her twice in the space of a few days?
"If you leave your reply on my desk in the chapter house, I shall send it along with my own correspondence in the morning."
"There is no need. I shall not be sending a reply."
Putting pressure on the quill was sure to sting her cracked knuckles. "If your hands pain you, Tristan can be trusted to write while you dictate."
Her penetrating gaze searched his face. Why did he get the impression she had the power to see beyond his words? The thought was somewhat unnerving.
"Are you telling me you cannot be trusted, Mr. Danbury?"
Marcus shrugged. "I know how fond you are of Tristan. I assumed you would prefer to spend time in his company rather than mine."
He had no desire to sit with her conversing of poets, the hidden meanings behind paintings, and her interest in gothic novels. He would use his time more wisely. Were her lips as soft and as sweet as he imagined? Would her skill and experience coupled with her beguiling beauty make for a more stimulating encounter in the bedchamber?
