What You Propose (Anything for Love #2)

by Adele Clee

  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."

  He gave an arrogant smirk in retaliation and tugged on the ends of his plain blue waistcoat. "At this precise moment, being strangled with a length of starched muslin has definite appeal."

  She pursed her lips to suppress a smile as he craned his neck. "You do not need to wear it on my account. I am used to seeing you wander about as though you're ready to set sail and plunder the high seas."

  "I shall take that as a compliment," he said his eyes flashing with amusement. "A pirate has far more finesse than a peasant or beggar."

  "By finesse, I assume you mean your skill and ability to deal with difficult situations." Indeed, there were not many men who would take a stranger into their home, give them food and lodgings despite discovering they had murdered the last gentleman who'd provided similar comforts.

  He raised a confident brow. "By finesse, I speak of my consummate skill in most things, Miss Sinclair." He moistened his lips as his gaze drifted over her.

  "Well, you certainly have a pirate's conceit and sense of superiority."

  "There is nothing conceited about speaking the truth."

  Anna folded her arms across her chest. "Then you must show me these marvellous skills of yours. Once at the fair, I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to demonstrate your extraordinary strength and agility."

  "You mock me, but perhaps I may surprise you. But know I draw the line at wrestling with monkeys and bears."

  She sniggered. Mr. Danbury could be very amusing when he wasn't stomping around growling at everyone. "Surely there will be jugglers and fire-eaters there. Let us see how you fare with them."

  "I do have quite nimble fingers, and my body is already aflame." His velvety tone made her shiver, and she recognised the glaze of desire in his warm brown eyes. "I fear if I even attempt to eat fire I'll surely combust."

  As Madame Labelle, she knew the feigned words of a seducer. As Anna Sinclair, she could not ignore the fluttering sensation in her stomach.

  "What a shame the font is empty. A splash of holy water would surely help to douse the flames." She stepped forward. "Come. We shall be here trading quips until nightfall. If you're ready, I shall go and fetch my cape."

  He inclined his head. "Give me a moment to find my cutlass and eyeglass and I'll meet you in the stable."

  The fair was well under way by the time they rode down into the village. The boisterous laughter, the hawkers hollering their wares, and the singing and merry melody from the instruments of numerous minstrels permeated the air.

  Anna scanned the vast sea of heads. They had no hope of spotting Tristan or Selene and Andre amongst the hordes of people packed into the field.

  Mr. Danbury climbed down from his horse, paid the groom a sou and came round to help Anna down. She lowered the hood of her cape, and as his hands settled on her waist, she felt the strange frisson of awareness she always felt in his company.

  "What would you like to do first?" he asked as he set her down. His large hands lingered there for a moment, and she felt the loss instantly when he stepped away.

  "We could wander around. See what's here. I doubt we'll find Tristan."

  He did not offer his arm, which suited her well enough. She was not used to being in the company of chivalrous men.

  "Listen for the loudest laugh and we're guaranteed to find him," he snorted.

  "I've never met anyone as cheerful as Tristan," she said as Mr. Danbury placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd. Good Lord. The strange feeling came upon her again: a gurgling in her stomach, an erratic thumping in her chest. Hoping conversation would provide a distraction, she added, "Is he ever grumpy?"

  Mr. Danbury pursed his lips as he pondered the question. "Only when he's tired. When I first met him, he rarely smiled. Anger was the only emotion he expressed."

&nbs
p; Anna was shocked. "I can't imagine him wearing a permanent scowl. It would ruin his fine features."

  "We all have our own way of dealing with pain," he replied, his tone a little strained and she noted a hint of irritation. "Take you, for example. You choose solitude and quiet reflection as a way of coping. You are regimental in your routines, and can be found in the same place at the same time each day. Some would say it stems from a feeling of insecurity."

  Anna glanced up at his solemn expression, surprised he had even bothered to notice her daily rituals. Being regimental about things did help her to feel calmer, more secure.

  "Step closer." The hawker's cry disturbed her musing. "Step closer and watch his fingers work the willow."

  The peddler stood in the middle of the path, guiding people to an area where a man sat weaving the pliant stems into baskets. They followed his direction, hanging back from the crowd as they had no real desire to witness the event.

  Indeed, only one thought filled her head: Mr. Danbury had been watching her closely enough to form an accurate opinion of her character.

  "How observant of you to notice something as mundane as my habitual activities," she said curiously.

  "I notice everything, Miss Sinclair." His gaze wandered over her face, fell to the opening of her cape, scanned the outline of her breasts hidden beneath the unflattering muslin.

  "And what of you?" she asked, swallowing deeply to stop her face from flushing. She had seen the bare behind of many a grunting lord, yet one suggestive glance and her cheeks flamed. "What odd mannerisms or traits reveal your preferred way of coping with pain?"

  She knew the answer but wanted to hear it fall from his lips. Just thinking about how he may have suffered conjured an image of the scars marring the otherwise perfect skin on his back.

  "I work."

  The words were cold, blunt, yet clear. Judging by his muscular physique and sun-kissed complexion, he'd met with more than his fair share of distressing ordeals.

  As they drifted away from the stall, she recalled the advice he'd given her over suppressing one's feelings and decided to use it against him.

  "You can talk to me. It is not good or healthy to keep your feelings hidden."

  A smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Who told you that?"

  She laughed. "You did."

  "Then I'm a fool masquerading as a great philosopher."

  They paused on the path, and she pointed to the juggler demonstrating how easy it was to throw five apples into the air without dropping a single one.

  "Or perhaps you are a great philosopher pretending to be a fool." She kept her eyes on the juggler but could feel Mr. Danbury's penetrating stare. "I believe your words reflect a certain wisdom. It is your grumpy countenance that makes you seem like a ninny."

  "Grumpy?" he snorted. "Even a court jester would appear sullen when compared to Tristan."

  "Now that's the fool talking again. It is not wise to compare yourself to others." She glanced at his cravat; the folds were less crisp and symmetrical than they ought to be. Even though he had tied his dark wavy hair back in a queue, he still bore the look of a rogue-come-pirate. "As a man who refuses to conform and dresses as he pleases, I expected you to know that."

  "It was merely an observation," he said. "I have always had an air of discontent. I find, that way, one is never disappointed."

  "And so that is how you deal with pain, besides working, of course. You make everyone believe you don't care."

  "I find it more preferable than praying for salvation."

  "Again, we all have our ways of coping." Anna breathed a sigh. "Now, I don't know about you, but I am tired of talking about feeling miserable and wretched. I suggest we find something to enliven our spirits."

  "I have no objection." Mr. Danbury raised a sinful brow as he moistened his lips. "What did you have in mind?"

  She could tell from his tone that his thoughts were licentious. In a bid to help ease his air of discontent, Anna decided, from now on, she would always be open and honest with him.

  "Nothing amorous," she said, threading her arm through his and directing him along the path. "There are other ways to entertain oneself."

  "Are there? I have yet to find anything as stimulating."

  Oh, he had not lied. He did have a consummate skill for seduction. The smooth tone of his voice caused her breath to come a little quicker. The glint in his eye caused her heart to skip a beat.

  "Then we must attempt to find something to satisfy you," she said as they passed a stall selling carved figures. "What about shaping wood? I'm sure it is an extremely relaxing pursuit."

  "Possibly," he nodded, tucking her hand more securely into the crook of his arm. "I do enjoy running my hands over smooth surfaces."

  Anna pursed her lips to prevent a chuckle from escaping. "What about composing songs or poetry based on myths and legends?" she said as they passed a minstrel singing a ballad.

  "I'm certain I could make you sing a merry tune." His heated gaze penetrated her clothing, seeped into her skin to warm her blood. "I suppose I could compose a song detailing my valiance."

  "And what courageous deed have you performed to boast of such things?"

  "I have suffered a torturous trip to the fair just to please a maiden."

  Anna did chuckle. "Perhaps you could add a verse about how you saved me from a terrible afternoon of chores."

  For the first time since meeting him, his eyes glistened with genuine amusement and she found she rather liked seeing him so relaxed and carefree.

  As though drawn to the sound of their laughter, she heard Tristan call out to them. She spotted him waving as he pushed through the crowd in a bid to reach them before they were lost in a bustling wave of eager revellers.

  "Guess who won the archery contest?" Tristan's smile stretched so wide he flashed a full set of teeth.

  "That's wonderful," she replied. "Isn't that wonderful, Mr. Danbury?"

  "I doubt you had much competition," Mr. Danbury scoffed, although there was no hint of malice in his tone. "They should have blindfolded you to even the odds."

  Tristan smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "Have you seen Selene and Andre?" she asked. Hopefully, if Selene saw Mr. Danbury in a jovial mood, it might ease her fears.

  "They were listening to the musicians when I last saw them." Tristan exhaled. "I'm going to head back as I need to catch a few hours sleep. Are you coming?"

  "In a little while," Mr. Danbury glanced at her. "But I won't need your company tonight. I'll be going out on my own."

  Tristan's eyes widened as his gaze shot to Anna. She felt her heart race at the thought of Mr. Danbury riding alone in the dark. Heaven only knows what was waiting for him in the dead of night.

  "Miss Sinclair is aware of our nightly excursions," Mr. Danbury said. "So far, that is the extent of her knowledge. I'll need you to stay with her tonight. I need to be certain she is safe."

  Anna had the sudden urge to protest, an urge to ride out with him and confront whatever evil lurked in the darkness.

  Tristan shook his head. "But I don't understand. She won't come to any harm in the monastery."

  "I can't explain it all now," he said, no doubt referring to what she had told him about Victor.

  There was a sudden flurry behind her: shouting and jeering. She clutched her chest fearing the man in question had risen from an earthy grave to seek his revenge. Anna breathed a sigh as a group of dancers pushed past them, waving their handkerchiefs and jingling their bells.

  "Perhaps we should all head home," Mr. Danbury suggested, his tone revealing a hint of apprehension.

  Tristan nodded. "There's nothing of any interest here. Lenard has spent the afternoon serving ale. With so many people coming into the village, it's hard to pick out strangers from abroad."

  Strangers from abroad!

  Anna's heart lurched, and she grabbed Mr. Danbury's arm as her frantic gaze met his. "I knew it. You really do think Victor's accomplice has
come looking for me. You think he's here. Watching. Waiting. That's who you're searching for at night."

  Mr. Danbury leaned forward until his soft breath breezed across her cheek. "When I go out each night, I am not looking for Victor's accomplice," he whispered against her ear. "I am looking for criminals. I'm looking for smugglers."

  Chapter 7

  "Smugglers?" Miss Sinclair gasped as Marcus took her by the arm and escorted her towards the stables. It was not wise to discuss their assignment anywhere other than in the privacy of the chapter house. "You mean there really is no one lurking outside the monastery ready to exact their revenge for Victor's death?"

  "Not that I'm aware of," Marcus replied. "And I scour the area nightly searching for anything suspicious."

  "Forgive me for sounding obtuse," Tristan said, striding along with them. "But who in blazes is Victor? And I thought you said it was better for Anna if she knew nothing of our assignment."

  He had said that.

  But the look of fear in her eyes when she thought Victor's man had come looking for her, stabbed at his heart. It also occurred to him that wallowing in blissful ignorance was far more dangerous and posed a greater risk to her safety.

  "If Lenard knows we suspect he's involved in nefarious activities, he may use any means necessary to guarantee our silence," Marcus countered. Indeed, some men would think nothing of taking another's life to save their own scrawny neck. "It is safer for Miss Sinclair if she knows who to trust should such an occasion arise."

  Miss Sinclair gave a weary sigh. "Heavens, Lord Danesfield believes he has sent me to a place of sanctuary." She glanced over her shoulder before whispering, "I assume he knows nothing of your plan to spy on smugglers?"

  "No," Marcus replied. "Had Dane known, I'm sure he would have thought twice about sending you here. But we'll discuss it further when we return to the monastery."

  The groom met them upon their approach and led them to their horses. Tristan stepped forward to assist Miss Sinclair into the saddle, and she gave him one of her sweet smiles, one she rarely expressed in Marcus' company.

  Marcus watched every movement, searching for the subtle touch that conveyed Tristan's innermost feelings. Had his friend's heart finally healed after five torturous years? Did it swell with affection for another — for Anna Sinclair — for the woman who caused Marcus' heart to beat a little faster, too?