What You Propose (Anything for Love #2)

by Adele Clee

  "Could we not have come here during the day?" she complained.

  "I can't take the chance of being seen. Not when my assignment is so close to home. The villagers would never trust me again if they knew of my involvement."

  "That's why I don't understand why you agreed to do it."

  "I don't get to pick and choose which assignments I take, Anna." His tone sounded blunt as a way to mask feeling guilt for his deceit. "Someone alerted Coombes of the plan to smuggle goods from here, and he instructed me to investigate."

  "Isn't there a better way for you to earn a living?"

  "I can't believe you're giving me advice in that regard."

  She ignored his comment. "Who owns the land to the north of the monastery? You could farm— ow!"

  Marcus grabbed her arm as she stumbled. "Are you alright?"

  "Yes, yes." She sounded breathless, and he silently cursed for bringing her into the cave under such perilous conditions. "I'm fine."

  "Perhaps we should leave, come back when — wait, there's something over here."

  The toe of his boot hit a solid object, the thud alerting him to the chest. "Let go of my arm for a moment. I need to reach into my bag."

  She obeyed his request, and he rummaged around in the leather satchel draped over his shoulder until he found what he was searching for. In the damp atmosphere, it took a minute or so to strike a light with the tinderbox.

  "Hold this," he said handing her the candle. "I need to see what's inside the chest."

  He raised the lid, the sound of creaking hinges echoing through the cavern, to find tea and tobacco stored inside custom-made linen bags to be worn underneath clothing. There were reams of silk thread and behind the chest he found four half ankers, each one capable of holding four gallons of spirits.

  After making a note of all the items, he closed the lid.

  "What will you do now?" Anna asked. He could hear the nervous edge in her tone coupled with a hint of excitement. The thrill accompanying their discovery had heightened his awareness and despite the salty air, the sweet smell of almonds flooded his senses.

  "I'll send a message detailing the goods. Explain that they'll be leaving in a day or two." He glanced at Anna. The soft glow from the candle illuminated her face. He'd never met a woman whose inner beauty radiated brighter than any superficial charm. "We should leave."

  He took her hand with the intention of leading her back to the entrance but now he had achieved his goal, his desire for her flamed anew.

  "Why? Do you expect the men to return?"

  "No." He turned to face her, stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. She made no objection. The candle in her hand quivered, the flickering flame revealing a nervous edge. "Although, wait—" He stopped abruptly and scanned the cave. "I … I thought I heard something."

  Her frantic gaze flew to the entrance, and he waited for her to turn to face him before blowing out the candle.

  "What … what shall we do?" she panted.

  "The only thing we can do." In the dark, he hoped she could not see his sinful grin. "Pretend to be lovers," he said as he pulled her closer and claimed her tempting lips.

  Chapter 13

  Anna could tell from his rich, seductive tone what he intended to do. Still, she'd had no time to protest, no time to plan how best to proceed. Not that she wanted to protest. She had thought of nothing other than his soft lips all night.

  Marcus Danbury oozed masculine charm. The earthy scent of his skin, the way his lips curved into a seductive smile, and his strong muscular thighs, all posed an intoxicating combination. She wondered if she felt the potent thrum of passion more strongly because she had never desired a man before. Now, she understood what kept the randy lords of the ton up all night.

  "I want you so badly." He practically growled the words as he sucked in a breath and pressed her back against the stone wall.

  She panted, but excitement and anticipation prevented her from forming a single word.

  As Marcus' mouth ravaged hers again, all rational thought left her. Lenard's men were not about to pounce on them.

  They were alone in an isolated cave.

  They were alone in the dark.

  The warmth of his mouth inflamed her body. There was nothing slow or measured about the way he kissed her. Like a true pirate, he took what he wanted, plundering hard and deep with his tongue until she clutched at his shoulders.

  In the cave, it was cold and damp, but the heat from the hard body pressed against her penetrated the thin layers of clothing. While his mouth moved over hers, his hands were everywhere — frantic, desperate touches that left the hairs at her nape tingling.

  "Holy hell," he groaned as his hands settled on her buttocks to draw her against the evidence of his arousal. "I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you." Desire shot through her as he rained kisses down her neck. "Tell me you want me, too."

  "I do." The words tumbled from her lips. She felt dizzy, her head so light and free. A deep, clawing need settled between her thighs, the beating pulse growing in intensity.

  He must have sensed her desperation as his hand drifted up her bare leg, his fingers rubbing against her most sensitive spot.

  "Forget everything I said about wearing breeches," he panted, stroking her back and forth until she gasped for breath. "I was wrong."

  "Marcus … wait … I …"

  In the dark, all other senses were heightened. His musky scent filled her head. His hot, wet tongue stimulated every fibre of her being as it danced and tangled with hers. She could feel a pleasurable tension building within. A desperate ache. Each motion of his fingers brought her closer to the place where she would cry out his name.

  "Don't stop," she gasped.

  "I don't intend to. But let me hear your thoughts. Tell me how it feels for me to touch you."

  He kept up the rhythmical motion until her body tingled, until the muscles in her core gave way to faint, sporadic contractions.

  "It feels divine," she whispered as he had taken her far beyond the need for modesty.

  "Tell me how close you are. Tell me you want to feel me move inside you."

  "Yes," she said not really understanding his intention. She felt his fingers penetrate her, the muscles hugging them as though they were the answer to her prayers.

  "You're ready for me," he said with a low hum. "Do you want me, Anna?"

  "Yes." She had never wanted anything more in her entire life.

  He fumbled around with his breeches, pushed his hands up under her dress to grasp her bare buttocks as he lifted her. "Wrap your legs around me, your arms about my neck."

  She did as he asked, desire raging through her veins. She felt him then, pushing inside her, thick and solid. Swallowing a gulp, it suddenly occurred to her to tell him the truth.

  "Wait," she panted, her breathless word lost amidst the sound of crashing surf echoing through the cave. "Marcus."

  "God, you're so sweet, Anna."

  When she opened her mouth to caution him, he claimed it again, delved deeper with his tongue as he thrust inside her with a loud groan of appreciation.

  Her throat muscles spasmed, but she managed to let out a painful cry. "No. Please, wait." Every muscle in her body felt stiff, rigid. The pain was short, sharp, quickly subsiding. "Give me a minute," she gasped. "I've not done this before."

  "I know it's a little cold, but we'll soon warm up."

  "I … I've never been with a man," she managed to say as he thrust inside her again.

  Marcus froze.

  "Bloody hell," he muttered as she felt him withdraw. "What the hell do you mean?" He lowered her down until her feet touched the carpet of sand and shale. "Damn it, where's the bloody candle?"

  "I dropped it."

  He fiddled with his breeches, then stepped closer until she could see the amber flecks in his brown eyes, could feel his breath against her cheek. "Tell me I imagined it. Tell me I am so drunk with desire I misheard you."

  "No, no. There's no m
istake." The guilt in her voice was evident.

  "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

  "I should have said something sooner."

  "A damn sight sooner." His anger was replaced with a frustrated sigh. "Please tell me how you can spend years working in a blasted brothel and still be a virgin?"

  His question caused memories of Victor to surface.

  "Victor was a complicated man, obsessed with propriety. I doubt you would have believed me even if I had told you the truth."

  Why did she sound so weak and pathetic? Why did she feel so inadequate?

  "Probably," he said honestly. "I'm struggling to believe it now."

  Desire still thrummed through her veins. Her heart pumped rapidly and tiny beads of perspiration formed on her brow. Where was Marie Labelle when she needed her?

  "Well, I'm sorry if the whole thing has been a huge disappointment." She batted at her dress, pulled up the hood of her cape, and squared her shoulders. "I'm certain virgins lack the skill necessary to please your licentious needs."

  "Why are you so angry?" He brushed the strands of hair from her face.

  Anna shrugged. Perhaps she liked the way he looked at her when he assumed she had the experience to please him? Perhaps embarrassment had forced her to be blunt. Yet she suspected her feelings stemmed from a deep sadness, regret for having not had the opportunity to be close to him.

  "Why are you so angry?" she countered.

  He exhaled loudly and shook his head. "Probably because I have never taken a woman's virginity and never had any intention of doing so. It complicates things."

  Well, she could not berate him for his lack of honesty.

  "I should have told you," she reiterated. "I just … I didn't expect things to progress so quickly."

  "So quickly?" he chuckled. "I've been waiting all day to feel your lips on mine again." He took her chin between his finger and thumb, not as firmly as Victor used to do, but he mistook her shiver for something else. "Look. You're cold, and we need to get back to the monastery. But I need to know, Anna. I need to know if you still want me."

  She could feel her cheeks suddenly burn. "I do," she said swallowing down her nerves.

  He gave a relieved sigh. "Then on the way home you can tell me how you managed to save yourself, how you managed to keep such a treasured prize in a world full of debauched heathens."

  "It wasn't a choice, Marcus. You should know that if Victor had wanted me, I would have been powerless to prevent it."

  He muttered a curse. "Then I am grateful the man was a hypocrite and a fool. Indeed, I am grateful he is dead. It saves me the trouble of running a blade through his black heart."

  She gave a weak smile, touched her fingers to his cheek. "If only you had been there to save me all those years ago."

  He turned his head and kissed the tips of her fingers. "But I am here for you now."

  The shock following his surprising discovery still resonated deep within.

  Damn it all.

  If he'd have known she was a virgin he would have — what? Refused to press his attention upon her? Been cold for fear she might do something as ridiculous as fall in love with him? Isn't that what virgins were known to do — profess undying love to the first man to tickle their fancy?

  Although in truth, he was the one who felt changed by the experience. Perhaps the ache in his chest came from a burning desire to mate with her? Was that why her welcoming body had felt so magnificent? Was that why he had an overwhelming desire to take her to his chamber and never let her leave?

  Marcus mentally shook his head and focused on the conversation. "How old were you when your parents died?" He took her hand again as he guided her back through the woods.

  "Twenty. I suppose I could have stayed in Marlow, married a local man—"

  "You had offers?" He was not surprised. What man wouldn't want a wife so beautiful it made his cock ache just looking at her?

  "I received an offer or two. But I was naive enough to believe in love. I refused to settle for anything less." She sighed. "And so I went to London with the intention of working for a year or so."

  Marcus cupped her elbow as they navigated the bank. Once they were safely on the path, he let go. "So you took employment with the comte?"

  "It was my fault. I should have only accepted work through the Registry Office. But when a French comte approached me dressed in all his finery, I was seduced by the idea of working in a grand house."

  Marcus snorted. "You wouldn't be the first woman to fall for such a trick. When did you realise you'd made a mistake?"

  "On the first night." She paused, and he wondered if the memory caused her pain. "He locked me in the bedchamber and kept me there for weeks. After he had explained why he'd hired me, I had no option but to accept the position."

  It still didn't explain how she'd kept her virginity.

  "Did he have some sort of sight impairment?"

  She looked at him and frowned. "Why would you think that?"

  "There must be something wrong with him if he kept you as mistress of his brothel but never … well."

  "Victor believed a mother must be virtuous. He wanted someone to mother the girls, oversee his business without being tempted by debauchery and sin. It seems, to my detriment, I have the deportment of a duchess and the manners of a marchioness. It sounds pathetic, I know, but he despised weak men. He would not taint our relationship with such a personal act, yet he was often prone to violent outbursts, erratic behaviour."

  "Then the irony is he was just as weak as those he despised."

  "The constant threat of violence causes emotional debilitation. I was forever looking over my shoulder wondering if the breath I had just taken would be my last. To live like that takes its toll."

  Marcus gripped her hand, stroked it with his thumb. "Does Dane know all of this?"

  "Of course not. I've never told a soul, not even Miss Beaufort."

  The mere mention of the woman's name caused a pang of dread. Dudley wanted answers, and he would harangue Marcus until he got the information he needed. Anna had mentioned the village of Marlow. It was some forty or so miles from London, an easy journey for a woman to travel to on her own.

  "And so, in killing Victor, you have inadvertently been left with no form of income and no abode."

  "Not at all. Victor was shrewd in his business dealings, and I learnt to do the same. It took a few years, but I managed to save enough money to buy the small cottage I told you about. The lords of London can be generous if you accommodate their needs." Her tone revealed a level of pride in her achievements. "I could never have left him whilst he was still alive. But it was always my hope that one day I would go home."

  Damn it.

  Marcus wanted to punch the air in frustration. He wished he could erase her last comment from his memory, pretend his poor analytical skills made it impossible for him to piece together the relevant bits of information.

  "And you killed him because you had no choice." Discussing Victor was a way of focusing his mind on something other than Anna's cottage in Marlow.

  They came to the tree where he'd tied the horses. Both animals were still standing patiently waiting for their return.

  "Victor tried to shoot me, but his man sacrificed his life to save me." She stroked her horse, gave it a reassuring pat. "He was about to shoot Lord Danesfield when I stabbed him in the back. He would have killed me, too."

  The gravity of her words rendered him mute.

  He was tired of talking about the past. Imagining her in such a terrifying predicament caused his blood to boil. The need to protect her was fierce. He wondered if it had anything to do with the feeling of helplessness he experienced over his mother's death. Indeed, it was the reason he shied away from emotional entanglements.

  When she gripped the reins, he said, "Here, let me help you up." Like the best groom, he talked her through keeping the saddle straight, guided her foot into the stirrup.

  "Thank you." She offered a weak smile. "
I'm not used to riding."

  He mounted his horse, and they rode back towards the monastery at a slow pace, the mood somewhat subdued when compared to the frenzy of activity experienced in the cave. The thought brought the memory flooding back: their urgent hands, the groans and pants. His desire for her still simmered beneath the surface, accompanied by a gut-wrenching feeling of guilt for deflowering a virgin against a cold, damp wall.

  "In my frustration, I failed to apologise for the rather unrefined way I went about things." After all she had been through, she deserved so much better.

  "It doesn't matter," she said with a sigh. "Let's forget about it, put it behind us. Perhaps some things are not destined to be."

  Panic flared. What the hell was she saying? The thought of not having her in his bed caused his heart to beat rapidly.

  "I wouldn't say that. One little setback hardly constitutes failure." He was beginning to sound desperate.

  "Madame Labelle would have been stronger. She would not have allowed it to happen."

  "But she's not here." He turned and met her weary gaze. Besides, during the years spent in the brothel, you were merely playing a role. Anna Sinclair is the woman I have come to know." The woman I have come to admire and respect, he added silently. "And I believe she wanted it to happen just as much as I did."

  Her gaze drifted over his face, ventured down the length of his body. "But we acted in the moment." Good. She had not denied she wanted him. "I doubt it would be the same again."

  It took a tremendous amount of effort not to chuckle. She really was naive when it came to amorous liaisons. He would wager everything he owned he could rouse her desire within minutes, maybe seconds.

  "Well, call me chivalrous, but I feel it only courteous to try and make amends for my lack of attentiveness."

  A smile touched her lips. "I would not wish to deny you the opportunity to display your gallantry. But don't you have a letter to write?"

  For a moment he imagined she was talking about his letter to Dudley. The letter where he would betray the trust she'd placed in him. But then it occurred to him she meant his letter alerting Coombes of the smugglers impending departure. Never in all his working years or during all of his assignments had he placed his own needs before those relating to his duty.