by Adele Clee
"You're supposed to make me feel better." Tristan tipped his hat. "I'll see you both soon and stay out of trouble."
They stood side-by-side at the gate and watched the dust settle as Tristan rode far from view. Anna felt a deep ache in her chest. Surprisingly, it had nothing to do with her own feelings regarding Tristan's departure. From the sound of Mr. Danbury's strained breathing, she knew he would miss his friend terribly, and it roused a need to offer comfort.
"Come." She touched his sleeve lightly. "I will pour you a drink while you tell me why we're going to the inn tonight."
In her experience, distracting the mind was the best way to cope with feelings of dejection.
He glanced down at her fingers. She had forgotten how unsightly they were and so hid them behind the folds of her skirt.
"If you're to assist me with the assignment you won't have time to do chores." He struggled to make eye contact, his gaze drifting past her shoulder. "I'll tell Andre you'll be taking over Tristan's administration duties in his absence."
"Is it my hands?" she asked sensing guilt played some part in his decision.
"They need time to heal." When he looked at her, his warm brown eyes did reveal a trace of guilt. "Have you been applying the balm?"
She shrugged. "When I remember."
The corners of his mouth twitched. "Only once then."
"Yes, only once."
He inhaled deeply, the air causing his chest and shoulders to expand before her eyes. "You can forget pouring me a drink. Bring the balm to the chapter house and we'll deal with your hands while I tell you of our plans."
Anyone else might think he'd made a quick recovery following Tristan's departure, that his sullen mood had been feigned for his friend's benefit. Anna knew he relied on his domineering countenance to distract from dealing with difficult emotions.
"That sounds very much like a command, Mr. Danbury," she said in jest hoping to lighten his spirits.
"It is a request, Anna. An offer of help, a friendly gesture of assistance."
Her heart raced at the use of her given name. It sounded different falling from his lips as opposed to Tristan's.
"Then I accept your friendly gesture, Marcus."
She turned to walk back to the monastery, and he followed her lead. Deciding to offer a friendly gesture of her own, she threaded her arm through his. He did not protest, only stopping once to glance back over his shoulder.
When she returned to the chapter house with her pot of salve, she found Marcus lounging behind his desk. His hands were clasped behind his head as he stared at nothing.
As she entered the room, he straightened. "Did you bring the balm?"
Anna nodded, sat in the chair opposite and placed the pot on his desk. "Selene said I'm supposed to apply it before bed, but I don't suppose it matters."
A sinful smile touched his lips. "It would not do to fall into bed so early. Not unless one had things in mind other than sleep."
Perhaps he assumed the madam of a brothel enjoyed salacious banter, as a dressmaker desired talking of ribbons and pins.
"Then you have discovered my naughty secret, Marcus." When his eyes widened, she added, "There is nothing I love more than climbing into bed in the afternoon to read a few pages of my favourite book."
His smile softened his features. "I have often thought I should read more."
"Then I suggest you start with something a little less complicated. Something that takes less effort and is guaranteed to please."
"Perhaps pleasure is more satisfying when it comes from something one believes is unattainable, far beyond the realms of one's capabilities."
Despite her initial frustration, she found their verbal sparring highly entertaining. "Is it not better to eat the apple from the lower bough than to risk falling empty-handed from the top?"
"They are words spoken by a woman who has never climbed a tree. Don't you know the apples at the top are far juicier? The sweet taste becomes ingrained in your memory, never to be forgotten."
A faint flicker of desire ignited. It was something she never expected to feel. How could she when all the men she'd ever met had been rotten scoundrels? Although since making their acquaintance, Lord Danesfield and Tristan had proved to be worthy gentlemen. And she couldn't forget Morgan. The man paid to do Victor's bidding had sacrificed his life to save her.
"You're right," she said her morbid memories bringing an end to the entertainment. "I have never climbed a tree and, therefore, do not speak from experience."
He raised an enquiring brow but said nothing. Leaning forward, he took the pot and removed the lid before holding out his hand.
Anna stared at the rough skin where his fingers met his palm. She knew one thing: the man was not a hypocrite. "I think you could do with a pot of balm, too," she said, aware of the nervous edge to her tone.
"Give me your hand."
It sounded like a command, yet her heart fluttered softly in response.
A different sort of fear shrouded her, one vastly more dangerous, one threatening the protective shield she'd built around the tender organ. Her body reacted before her mind could decide what to do. Tentative fingers moved across the desk towards him. She tried to ignore the fire shooting through her veins as he wrapped his hand around hers.
He stared at her for a moment, his rich brown eyes penetrating her flimsy armour. "I'm told you rub it into the skin in circular motions."
Her pulse thumped hard at the base of her throat. "Yes. It helps to soak into the layers of the skin."
He put his fingers into the pot and scooped out a small amount of balm. "It may hurt a little," he said dabbing some over her knuckles and a bit on each finger.
Anna winced as he began to rub in gentle, circular movements. A variety of smells permeated the air, and she focused on trying to identify them in a bid to ignore the sweet fire his touch roused.
"I can smell rosemary," she said swallowing deeply.
He nodded and gave a low hum. "I can smell honey, too, and almonds. The combination is quite soothing to the mind."
Soothing?
Her mind darted about from one chaotic image to another. The sense of desperate longing escalated when he turned her hand over to massage her palm.
"You … you were going to tell me why we're visiting the inn tonight." There, a change of subject would soon dampen her ardour.
"Oh, yes. It occurred to me that your assistance might prove valuable." He did not look up at her until he had finished his ministrations and then he placed her hand gently on the desk. "If we're seen together regularly, it will not look so suspicious if someone should find us roaming the woods at night."
"But won't it look odd. I can't imagine there are many women willing to enter an inn full of drunken men." A strange foreboding settled over her. "Unless you want me to dress in breeches while you call me Ned."
He laughed. "Not tonight. Perhaps Ned can come visit tomorrow." He pointed at her arm. "Give me your other hand."
Incredulously, she obeyed, but her mind was too occupied to worry about his warm touch.
"We can sit outside the inn if you prefer. Go for a stroll in the vicinity. It will give me a chance to survey who enters the premises. No one will think to question the motives of a man entertaining his mistress."
"Mistress!" The heat smouldering inside her body rushed to her face, and she could feel her cheeks burn. "Do not think to presume—"
"I do not presume anything. I speak with the best interests of the assignment in mind. May I remind you, you were the one offering yourself up as the sacrificial lamb."
She snatched her hand away. "Yes. But Tristan looked so worried, so racked with guilt, I thought it the only option."
He sat back in the chair, folded his arms across his chest and gave a smug grin. "That's not entirely true now is it? You're used to taking control and, if I'm not mistaken, you're suffering from boredom. You wanted something to occupy your time other than digging up soil and picking herbs."
&n
bsp; Anna couldn't argue with him. She had been desperate to find something useful to do. Something where she might prove her worth, the self-sacrifice a way of absolving the sins of the past.
"Can't you just say I'm your sister, come for a visit?"
He rubbed his chin, offered a look of thoughtful contemplation. "I suppose I could, but would the bastard son of an earl and his kitchen maid have kin? Of course, then it would look rather strange if I'm caught kissing you?"
Once again, Anna's thoughts were sent scattering like crisp leaves in the wind. She didn't know which revelation to address first. Marcus Danbury was the son of an earl and a kitchen maid? It explained everything. She sensed his contempt ran deeper than the social scars he'd been burdened with. The need to discover all of his darkest secrets burst forth. She wanted to understand him, delve deeper beneath his arrogant facade.
"Why on earth would you think we'd be caught kissing?" she said, deciding to deal with the other shocking revelation.
He moistened his lips. "Because I think we both know it is inevitable."
Anger flared. "Why, you conceited oaf. I should have guessed."
"Guessed what?"
"That the village simpleton would seek sanctuary in a monastery."
He sniggered. "Give me your hand and let me finish applying the balm." He reached across the desk and when she failed to abide by his request, he added, "Look, forget what I said. I spoke out of turn. It was foolish of me."
Anna raised her chin. "You didn't mean it then?"
His heated gaze lingered on her lips and the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. "Just give me your hand and let me help you. I can't possibly entertain a mistress with the hands of a scullery maid."
Chapter 10
"We're only taking one horse?" Anna frowned as she pulled her cape tightly around her. "Where's the logic in that?"
The creature snorted wildly, mimicking her disgruntled tone and Marcus gave him a firm pat of reassurance.
"That's where you're wrong." He expected her to question his decision. In fact, he'd been looking forward to the opportunity of sparring words with her. "It is entirely logical. Firstly, with the intimacy of the act, people will assume there is an attachment between us." He couldn't resist the urge to tease her. "It will save me the trouble of kissing you."
"And save me the trouble of slapping you again." She huffed as she stuck her nose in the air. But his attention was captured by the way her turquoise-blue eyes twinkled in the darkness.
"Don't underestimate the power anger plays in the igniting of one's desire." He suppressed a snigger. "I've known many amorous interludes begin with heated words or a sharp slap."
"Well, you'll find nothing contradictory about me." She shook her head and sighed. "If I'm angry you will know it. If passion burns in my chest, you can be certain it has nothing to do with your overbearing manner."
Marcus could spend every hour of the day bantering with her. She really was entertaining company, although she was wrong in her assessment. Everything about her posed an interesting contradiction. On one hand, she conveyed a strong, forthright approach. Yet there were many secrets buried beneath her open countenance. At times, she appeared as innocent as a girl making her debut. So much so, he found it hard to image her working in a house of ill repute.
One thing was certain. Marcus would enjoy unravelling the conflicting threads of her character.
He cleared his throat as he tried to maintain a serious tone. "I hate to mention it, but you did agree to follow my command. We are to be on a reconnaissance mission and as such whatever we do tonight we do for king and country."
She gave a loud tut, a frustrated sound of surrender. Perhaps he would use the same line again as he wondered how far she would go in her duty to the Crown.
Anna folded her arms across her chest. "You implied there was another logical reason for riding out together? I assume it's a little more practical."
"Of course. If we need to escape quickly, for whatever reason, I cannot take the risk of you falling behind." He winced when he said it as her expression darkened. "This way we'll be together whatever happens."
"I don't know whether to be furious or flattered by your concern."
"Be flattered," he said nonchalantly. "Normally, I wouldn't give the matter much thought."
"That's a lie," she said, her face suddenly brightening as though she'd pricked him with the tip of her sabre because he'd been too slow to parry. "You told Tristan you've never lost a man."
Damn the woman.
He'd never admit it, but he feared she was too quick-witted for him.
Marcus ran his tongue over his bottom lip while he attempted to make a speedy recovery. "Judging by your curvaceous figure, I think it's fair to say you're no man."
She sighed again. "I'm not going to bother answering. At this rate, we will still be standing in the stable yard come morning. Perhaps we should be on our way."
"My thoughts exactly." Without another word he settled his hands on her narrow waist, ignoring her shriek as he hoisted her up onto the saddle. Climbing up behind her, he dug in his heels before she could protest further.
Now that he'd shuffled closer, and she'd been forced to snuggle into him to provide better stability whilst perched sideways on his saddle, he acknowledged that he hadn't been entirely honest with her.
There had been a third reason behind his decision to take only one horse.
It was a test — to see if his body could withstand the temptation of being pressed so closely against her. He had done it to see how she would react to his touch; whether he stood even the remotest chance of indulging his passion for her.
What was so damn frustrating was that she appeared impervious to the heat radiating from him, indifferent to the feel of his throbbing cock pressed against her hip. With her back rigid, her breathing calm and even, it made not a jot of difference to her steely composure.
His body, on the other hand, roared like a blasted inferno.
Sitting nestled between his thighs, she stared out at the passing countryside, which on a sunny day would not have been so surprising. Now the sun had set, the rolling fields and woodland looked like dull grey shadows beneath the inky sky. There was certainly nothing fascinating about the view. And with the chill in the air, he would have expected her to snuggle closer to his chest.
All was not lost, however.
After climbing down and tying the horse to the post in the village, Marcus offered his hand to her. She gave a curt nod: permission for him to touch her again and lower her to the ground. He did so slowly, letting her slide down the full length of his body, so close he could feel her sweet breath against his cheek.
Anna inhaled deeply, and he felt a shiver run through her.
It took a tremendous amount of effort not to jump up and punch the air. The fact she may desire him coupled with the illicit thoughts running through his head were almost his undoing.
Good God.
He was starting to think like a boy from the schoolroom. He sniggered at the thought. While his head might be lost in a hazy cloud of excitement and anticipation, when it came to their coupling, they would meet as skilled experts in the art of giving pleasure.
"We'll head straight to the inn, spend an hour or so there." When he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, she made no protest. He cast a sidelong glance, noting the look of concentration dominating her countenance. "Remember, you are supposed to be my mistress. You should try to look as though you're enjoying the experience."
She turned to him. "What would you like me to do? Should I stroke your overinflated sense of importance? Drool at the sight of your muscular shoulders?"
Marcus smirked. She could stroke the only part of his anatomy he considered overinflated. "You think my shoulders are muscular. That's a start. Although I would rather you bite down on them while shuddering with the effects of your release."
Miss Sinclair sucked in a breath. "Do you always speak in such terms to a lady
?"
"Only to those I wish to bed."
She yanked her arm free.
"What?" He held up his hands. "Would you prefer I lie? Besides, now we do look like lovers. Who else would quarrel in the middle of a street while people watch from their windows?"
She shook her head and strode off in front. He watched her stomp along the muddy lane. Even in the darkness, he could imagine the gentle sway of her hips hidden beneath the cape. He caught up with at the door of the inn.
"Are you coming inside?" he said. "Or would you prefer to wait out here?"
She nibbled her bottom lip. "Will there be other women in there?"
Marcus shrugged. "A few. No one will pay you the slightest attention. It's a small village. People care more about filling their coffers with coins than what's deemed proper."
"Very well," she nodded. "If I'm to play the role of mistress, I assume you've chosen a name you think fitting, something a little prettier than Ned."
He turned to face her, placed his hands on her upper arms and stared deeply into the blue twinkling gems staring back at him. "I think I'll call you Anna. After all, you are the only woman I want in my bed. Why not indulge my whimsical fantasies."
As soon as the wooden door scraped against the tiled floor, all eyes were averted to the arched entrance. All conversation came to an abrupt halt as the villagers' narrowed gazes drifted over them. Ushering Anna inside, Marcus offered Lenard a curt nod. From behind the counter, Lenard gave his usual lopsided grin in a bid to disguise the fact he had but a few teeth.
"Mr. Danbury, sir," came the immediate response from the scrawny landlord. "Give me a moment and I'll be right with you." He finished cleaning the tankard with a rag that had once been white and now looked a grimy shade of grey.
"Lenard is English?" Anna whispered.
Marcus nodded. "His wife is French."
After the crowd offered numerous nods and grumbled greetings, one by one, they turned their backs, the low muttering soon growing into a loud din.
"We'll sit over here," Marcus said pointing to a spot near the door and in full view of Lenard.
