by Adele Clee
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"Oh." She'd expected him to say it had something to do with the assignment. "What are we to do now?"
"I know what I want to do," he said as his gaze drifted over her face. "I'm just thinking of a way to pretend it's part of our plan to avoid rousing the men's suspicion."
She tapped him on the arm. "I was talking about the assignment. Are we to follow them?"
"Who?"
"Lenard's men." She couldn't help but laugh. "Are we to follow them to the cottage?"
"No. Not tonight. All I needed was confirmation Lenard is involved." He took her by the arm and led her out onto the street. "We'll go home where we can talk privately without fear of anyone overhearing, and I'll tell you my plan for tomorrow."
Anna nodded, knowing she would struggle sitting so close to him. On the journey to the inn, she'd been forced to hold her breath, to stare out into the darkness in the hope the nervous fluttering in her stomach would subside. On the journey back, whilst squashed between his muscular thighs, the same questions flooded her mind.
Why now? Why him?
Why hadn't she felt an attraction to Tristan? He was far more affable, behaved much more gentlemanly. Until a few days ago, she would have said he was more handsome.
"Tristan told me about his love for Isabella," she said as they rode back to the monastery. He had settled his horse into a walking pace, the prolonged contact forcing her to think of a way to distract her mind. "How do you think he will fare when he sees her again?"
"Did he tell you she married Lord Fernall? Two weeks after she'd been caught eloping with him."
The contempt in his voice was unmistakable.
Anna pulled her cape tightly across her chest as the night air felt much cooler now. "There must have been a reason for it. A woman does not profess her love for one man and then marry another. Not without just cause."
He snorted. "Perhaps money and a title proved too tempting to resist."
"Trust you to be so cynical."
"I'm not cynical. I'm just a little distrustful of people and their motives."
She knew why. The trauma of losing his mother under such circumstances was the cause of all his negative character traits.
"Perhaps Isabella found herself in a difficult situation," she said with a sigh.
"She had a home, Anna, people to care for her. What possible reason could there have been to induce her to marry a man she didn't love?"
She glanced up, noting his stern expression. "Things aren't always so simple." Her own experiences caused a mixture of sadness and regret to infuse her tone.
What possible reason could she have had for choosing to live in a brothel? But there had been no choice. She'd had no one to care for her, and consequently, there had been no one to question her failure to return home from the Servants' Registry Office.
An icy shiver ran all the way down to her toes as she remembered the elation burning in her chest at being offered the position of governess in the home of a French comte.
"You may lean in closer if you're cold," Marcus said teasing the horse into a canter. "We'll be home in a few minutes."
The word home roused a mixture of emotions.
Home had been a small country hamlet — a place where love blossomed, where happiness and contentment were part of everyday life. Since meeting the comte, home had become a distant, painful memory.
The hulking black shadow of the monastery loomed into view. For some unknown reason, the place had begun to feel like home. Being safe and living without fear had brought about a change in her. Never before had she contemplated her own needs and desires.
The time spent out in the garth had given her an appreciation for the simple pleasures of life. In the chapel, she had found a way to soothe the pain of the past. Spending time in Marcus Danbury's company had awakened a deep need in her — a sense of longing she had never thought to experience.
Her heart was akin to a bird recovering from a broken wing. The first flutter felt strange, still painful. She fought against it, frightened to acknowledge the fact it might never fully heal, that she would always be a little less than whole. But the more desire flowed through her, the more her heart soared, the stronger she became.
She glanced up at the gentleman responsible for these new sensations, unable to suppress a shiver as their gazes locked.
"We're home now," he said, and she felt a pang of regret. When the time came she would have no choice but to leave this idyllic place.
She would have no choice but to leave the only man she had ever truly desired.
Chapter 12
"I look ridiculous," Anna grumbled as she smoothed her hands down the front of a pair of Tristan's old breeches. "I'm not wearing them. Heavens, if Victor were alive, he would shoot me where I'm standing."
"But he's not alive, so you may do as you please. They look fine to me."
Marcus lounged back in the chair behind his desk, folded his arms across his chest and considered her attire. The breeches were far too baggy around the knees though he was more preoccupied with the way they hugged the lush curve of her hips. He had noticed her shapely ankles the moment she had walked in and so perhaps was somewhat biased.
"Well, they don't feel fine," she huffed.
"Turn around and let me look at them." Curiosity and the thrum of desire forced him to be bold, yet he tried to maintain a neutral tone. In her naiveté, she turned, threw her hands in the air in frustration and offered him the most delightful view. "Is it that they're too tight?" he asked, although, in his expert opinion, they enhanced the soft round cheeks to perfection.
"Perhaps it's the pale material," she complained. "But I feel as though my legs are bare."
A vision of her creamy limbs flashed into his mind. They were long, extremely flexible, the fleshy part of her inner thighs like plump pillows made to cushion his muscular limbs as he thrust hard inside her.
Damn it all. After tasting her lips, he'd thought of nothing else all night.
"I'll say it again. I think they look perfectly respectable." His voice sounded strained, an octave or two higher. "Perfectly suitable for what we've got planned."
She shook her head defiantly as she swung back round to face him. "No. I'm changing."
He almost groaned, dropped to his knees and begged her to reconsider. "You must do what you feel is best. But know we will be walking half a mile or more through the woods in the dark. We may even venture down to the shore. There's a cave I wish to examine which means we will be climbing a few rocks."
If that wasn't enough to convince her, he didn't know what would.
"I'll be fine," she shrugged. "I'll lose the petticoat and stays, wear sturdy boots."
Heaven help him.
The woman knew exactly what to say to torment and tease. Had there been monks still living in the monastery he had no doubt they'd fall prey to her feigned innocence as a means of seduction.
Marcus swallowed. "Won't you be cold?" he asked knowing she would only have to say the word, and he would soon warm her body.
"Not during such vigorous activity."
Was she deliberately trying to provoke a reaction?
"A good walk through the woods does wonders to get the blood pumping," she added.
His blood seemed to pump only in one direction, pooling in the only part of his anatomy that mattered.
"I shall ready the horses while you change." If he didn't put some distance between them, he would do something foolish, something he might regret.
He opened the desk drawer, removed his leather-bound notebook and pencil. Dudley Spencer's most recent letter caught his attention. He had written again requesting information regarding Miss Beaufort's whereabouts and would not cease until satisfied. The gentleman was nothing if not persistent, and Marcus did not care to be reminded of the debt he owed them.
"Horses? Are we not riding together?"
Marcus could not decide if her tone held a hint of relief or disappointment.
"I need to know you're free to leave if I am intercepted during our investigation."
She raised her chin, made no comment as to the inconsistency of his argument compared to the previous night, and simply said, "Oh."
He stood, the throbbing bulge in his breeches had eased somewhat. His need to uncover the information Dudley required being enough to dampen his ardour.
As she opened the door to leave, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Just so we're clear. Despite what occurs this evening. I would not leave you under any circumstances."
The words hit him like a hard punch to the jaw. Similar words had left his lips once, spoken to the mother who had given her love so freely. He nodded as he could not form a response. Closing his eyes briefly, he exhaled slowly as she left the room and closed the door behind her. Anna Sinclair affected him like no other woman before. Her loyalty knew no bounds. It was a rare quality, something he knew he should treasure.
The cracking and crunching underfoot was loud enough to rouse an army of men from their slumber. "Can you not be a little lighter in your steps?" he whispered as he led the way through the woods. "It doesn't matter now. But as we get closer, I don't want to alert them to our presence."
"You were right," she muttered. "I should have worn those blasted breeches." Her curse revealed the depth of her frustration. "I keep snagging my dress and can barely see where to place my feet."
Marcus smiled, thankful she could not see his amused expression in the dark. "I did warn you. Here, take my hand if it's easier."
"It's so dark. How do you know which way to go?"
"I have walked these woods a hundred times or more."
He stopped and offered his hand. Their gazes locked for a moment and she took it without hesitation. With neither of them wearing gloves, her hot palm kindled the flaming passion simmering inside. Indeed, now that he'd tasted her lips he doubted anything could extinguish it.
"Let's hope there are no horse thieves wandering about." She sighed as she glanced back over her shoulder. "Are you sure it was wise to leave them tied to the tree?"
She really did baffle him. There were times when he believed she had the strength and resolve of the strongest of men. As Madame Labelle, she knew how to convey a certain power and level of independence. He had heard it in her tone numerous times. Yet there was an air of innocence about her whenever she expressed her worries and fears. He liked both aspects of her character.
Both made his cock stir.
"The horses will be safe." He tightened his grip on her hand, the need to comfort and protect pushing to the fore. "We'll need to remain silent for a moment as the cottage is in a clearing just beyond these trees."
"Wait," she whispered tugging on his hand. "Remind me what we're doing here."
Marcus turned to face her. Golden strands of hair framed her face beneath the dark hood of her cape. Turquoise-blue eyes stared back at him, and he resisted the urge to claim her mouth.
"I need to know for certain what they intend to smuggle. I'll make a note of it so I can track when it's being moved."
She nodded.
"You can wait here for me," he added. "I'll be five minutes at most."
"No. You said you needed my help. If we're spotted, we will pretend to be lovers."
Perhaps it was time he accepted the truth of it.
He did not really need her with him and despite her concern over the comte's accomplice, he was sure she'd be safe inside the monastery. But for some strange reason he wanted an excuse to be close to her. Yes, if the men suspected they were lovers it did provide a plausible reason to be out alone at night. Indeed, he had grown tired of pretending. He could make it happen. It would not take much to rouse her desire.
"Very well. Stay close. And don't be surprised if I need to kiss you again."
The stone cottage had been abandoned for years. Had it been on Marcus' land, he would have repaired the roof, fixed the windows, and used it as a cosy hunting cabin. The absence of any light spilling out from the windows did not mean the place lay empty.
They watched and waited for a few minutes. He tried to focus on the assignment but the lady at his side still gripped his hand, and he could feel the warmth of her body radiate through his palm.
If he had timed things correctly, the men should be at the inn collecting all the contraband they could carry. But it paid to be cautious. Tapping his finger to his lips to secure her silence, they crept towards the north wall. With one of the frames missing from the window, it afforded an opportunity to peer inside.
It took a moment for his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness, to realise the tall black shadows were nothing more than items of furniture. The deafening silence convinced him no one was home.
"We'll take a look inside," he mouthed, his voice quieter than a whisper.
With some hesitation he opened the door, the damp, swollen wood catching on the floor to restrict their access.
"If we force it, they'll know someone's been here."
They squeezed through the gap, coming to stand next to the table. A thick layer of dust, dead flies and leaves littered the surface. A lantern, an empty bottle and various food-encrusted utensils sat amongst the debris.
"Are you sure they came here?" she asked, standing so close her arm brushed against his, forcing him to swallow down his desire for her again.
He scanned the room. "I followed them here a few nights ago. Damn it all. They can't have moved the goods already." If Coombes failed to catch them, he would refuse to give Marcus another assignment. "Come."
They moved through the dilapidated house, glancing up at the exposed wooden beams where parts of the ceiling had fallen away, stepping carefully to avoid the broken boards.
"There's nothing here," she whispered. "They must have been back and moved it all."
"If they have, they'll have moved the stash closer to the shore. I can guarantee they'll be heading out in a day or two."
"What were you expecting to find here?"
He shrugged. "Tobacco, brandy, maybe tea or bolts of fabric. I'll look around once more and then we'll head to the cave. Perhaps they've moved it down there."
Anna nodded and followed him around the cottage while he tapped the boards with his heel, searched cupboards, looked under the bed.
"I know you have a job to do," she began as he closed the cottage door. "But have you considered the fact that these men have no choice but to behave as they do?"
Marcus scoffed as he took her hand again and led her back through the woods. "If you're going to regale sorrowful tales of soldiers forced to smuggle to feed their families now the war's over, I've heard it all before."
"Don't you feel a little compassion for them? They fought for their country only to be discarded when it was all over."
"I feel for anyone who struggles to feed their children, but I draw the line at those who threaten the innocent. Those who would kill to make a few guineas."
"Have you always done this sort of work?" she asked, and he noticed she sounded a little breathless in her bid to keep up with his long strides.
"In one form or another." He would have sold his soul to the Devil rather than accept funds from his father.
She tightened her grip as they climbed through the undergrowth, stepping out onto an overgrown path. "What will happen to them, to the smugglers?"
Marcus shrugged. "It's likely the revenue ship will intercept them at sea. If not, there are numerous watchhouses dotted along the coast. My contact will inform the Custom House. They will decide how to proceed."
He could feel her intense gaze on his face. "Do you do this for the money, for your country?"
"I do it to survive. For no other reason than that."
They exited the woods through a clearing. The crescent moon's reflection cast a shimmering path across the inky expanse of water. The cliff edge stood no more than a hundred feet away.
Anna inhaled deeply. "It's beautiful here. I could spend hours gazing out at the view." She turne
d to face him, the wind whipping the tendrils of hair escaping from her hood. "Is it easy to get down to the shore?"
"There's a path to the right," he said pointing out into the darkness. "It leads down to a sandy beach. The tide is high but drops by five feet or so every hour. We'll have to climb over the rocks to access the cave, but there's no danger of it flooding." He glanced down at her dress. "Do you think you'll be able to manage it? You can sit and wait for me here if you wish. I don't think Lenard's men will venture out when the tide is at its peak."
"No. I'll come with you. If you're wrong, we'll have a better chance of explaining why we're out here if we're together."
"You mean we can put our 'lovers desperate to sate their desire' plan to work?"
She cast him a coy smile. "Yes, if faced with no other choice."
God, it was almost worth stumbling upon the smugglers just for an excuse to taste her again.
The three-foot drop from the cliff edge to the rocks below posed no problem for a man wearing boots and breeches. Anna had been forced to sit on the grassy verge and shuffle down into his arms. It took all the strength he had to keep his balance on the slippery stones. The delectable lady in his arms clung to his shoulders, trying desperately not to fall as the spray from the crashing waves covered the surface.
"Next time, perhaps you will listen to me when I tell you to wear the breeches." He took her hand as she jumped from the last rock to the sandy bed at the cave's entrance.
"Next time? Hopefully, we won't need to come here again." She brushed the dirt from her cape. "But I concede. You were right. I should have listened."
It took a strong woman to admit defeat.
"Stay close. Perhaps it would be better if you held on to me as it will be nigh on impossible to see anything in the cave. I'll have to wait until we're some way inside before I can light the candle. There could be a lugger waiting off the coast and someone might mistake it for a signal."
Anna took his right arm, and he used his left hand to guide them around the perimeter. The moisture in the air made every surface feel wet and damp. With numerous rocks and shale underfoot, they had to be careful where they placed their feet.
