by Adele Clee
Anna shook her head.
Had her guilt over the welfare of her girls played a part in her imagining the strange noises? She had no idea what had happened to them all. Whilst she had been busy enjoying the fair, chasing smugglers and lying enveloped in strong arms, heaven knows where they were or what fate lay in store for them. Anna hoped Lord Danesfield had kept his word. Indeed, she felt another measure of guilt for not telling him where he could find Miss Beaufort.
But she could never betray a trust.
Deciding she'd not be able to sleep until she had scanned the garth and chapel, Anna held her lamp high and wandered downstairs. Trying to listen for a noise amidst the stillness of the night was more difficult than one would imagine. A low humming resonated in her ears, convincing her she truly was a victim of her own wild imagination. But then she was not used to silence, particularly at night.
Memories.
Would she always be haunted by all the terrible things she'd heard and witnessed? Would she always—
Something caught her attention as she passed through the nave: a shadow hovering near the main door. An apparition shrouded in a long white cloak. Was this the source of the sorrowful sound? Feeling a frisson of fear, it crossed her mind to call out to Andre or Selene, but the words got lost in her throat.
Aware of her presence, the ghostly figure turned before racing out through the open door and into the night. Most women would have yelled or screamed, fled to their chamber to rouse masculine support. But Anna's inquisitive nature drew her to the door, forced her to peer out across the courtyard whilst her mind was busy trying to form an explanation for the bizarre events.
Had she seen a ghost?
Many old buildings claimed to have some form of resident spirit. One only had to read gothic novels to learn of mysterious hauntings, though she doubted one would have the strength or the capability to lift the solid bar from the door.
What if Selene had ventured out? She knew of one girl who had unlocked the front door and walked the length of three streets in her sleep.
Taking a few hesitant steps towards the stables, Anna heard the low neighs accompanied by the shuffling of hooves. Something had scared the horses. Perhaps she was wrong, and they had sensed an unusual force. Animals were known to be far more perceptive than people. However, in retrospect, she believed the mysterious figure must surely be a real person.
Had the smugglers seen them near the cave and followed them home? Was it their intention to frighten them to secure their silence?
No. Anna mentally shook her head. If they suspected someone knew of their criminal activities, surely their first thought would be to move the contraband. Without catching the smugglers in the act of transporting the goods they had no proof. Besides, why would smugglers waste their time lurking in the stables?
In her mind, that left only two options. Either, one of the servants was responsible or Victor's accomplice had discovered her whereabouts and had come looking for her.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest.
She should run. She should race back into the monastery, bar the door and call Marcus. Indeed, she did turn and take a few steps towards the door. But stubbornness made her falter. By the time Marcus dressed and came down, the intruder would have scurried off into the night. She would be forever looking over her shoulder wondering when he would return. And she was tired of running and hiding. If someone lingered in the shadows, they could damn well show themselves.
With renewed determination she stormed into the stables. Lifting the lamp aloft once more, she scanned her surroundings. Nothing appeared unusual or out of place, and the horses seemed settled. Yet with a heightened sense of awareness and by the prickling feeling running down her spine, she knew she was not alone.
"You can come out now." Her tone conveyed an inner strength. It was not wise to show fear. Victor taught her that. "I saw you head in here."
The sound of someone tutting caused her to suppress a gasp. "Ah, Marie, night after night you keep me waiting. Why, when you knew I would come?"
Her heart shot up to her throat.
"Show yourself." Anna moved the lamp to the left and then the right but could see no one. The man must be hiding in one of the stalls, yet the horses were oddly calm.
"You enjoy playing your games with me." His thick French accent reminded her of the comte — a soft, friendly tone masking a stone-cold heart.
"Victor?" Even as the word left her lips, she knew it could not be true. She had seen him draw his last breath, had held the blood-stained knife in her hand. "Who … who are you? What do you want here?" Her frantic gaze scoured the shadows. "What do you want with me?"
"Tout le monde sait que vous êtes une putain. What do you think I want?"
In French, the vile words sounded venomous — everyone knows you're a whore. Fear struck at her heart. She had made a mistake leaving the safety of the monastery.
"Who are you?" she repeated shuffling back towards the door. As soon as he made a reply she would make a dash for it.
"What does it matter who—"
Anna did not wait to hear what he had to say.
As a man accustomed to sleeping lightly — when out in the field one could not take the risk of being set upon by brigands — Marcus heard Anna leave the room. Given the nature of her previous employment, one might make certain assumptions. Perhaps her girls were taught to make a distinction between bedding a man and sleeping with him. Had he been less confident in his ability to please or in the emotional connection they shared, he might have suspected an eagerness to return to her room.
Instinct told him something wasn't quite right.
Throwing on his breeches and shirt, he walked out into the corridor carrying his boots in his hand. Old habits had proved useful on numerous occasions; nothing hindered a man more than racing about barefooted in the dark.
"Miss Sinclair?" he whispered, rapping gently on her door. He did not bother to call out again and upon turning the handle and peering inside, realised the room stood empty.
Quickly expelling the slight hint of doubt that he may have mistaken the depth of her desire for him as a mere curiosity for frolicking, he thrust his feet into his boots and headed downstairs. Perhaps their rather exhaustive coupling had left her famished; he'd need to eat a whole pig to stop his grumbling stomach. The corners of his mouth curled up into a smile as his mind replayed various lascivious images.
God, he'd been desperate to bed her.
But the undeniably satisfying experience had left him craving her all the more. He had seriously underestimated the lure of an innocent. Indeed, he could not shake the feeling that she belonged with him now.
Bloody hell!
Tristan would be roaring with laughter if he were party to Marcus' thoughts.
Peering through the door into the refectory, he was certain Anna had not come in search of food. Then it occurred to him she might be in the chapel. A pang of guilt stabbed at his chest. Good Lord, he had taken her virginity. But how could he have possibly known the nature of her situation? Who had ever heard of a madam of a bawdy house being as pure as driven snow? It beggared belief.
As he passed through the nave, he spotted the open door.
Every muscle in his body went rigid. Why the hell would she venture outside in the middle of the night? Something definitely wasn't right.
Rushing over to investigate, he collided with the figure tearing through the door. Golden locks whipped his face as they both struggled to keep their balance.
"Anna?"
"Marcus?" Her eyes were wide, her gaze wild. One hand patted his chest roughly as though she feared he might be a figment of her imagination. "Quick, Marcus. Close the door. Quick. Hurry."
She placed the candle lamp on the floor and tugged at his arm.
"I'm closing it," he reassured, and as soon as the wooden bar was firmly in place she flew into his arms.
"I have never been more pleased to see you," she panted as she wrapped her arms aroun
d his waist. "Tell me you're real. Tell me I am not imagining it."
He lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. "What were you doing out there? What if Lenard's men had followed us home and were waiting for one of us to leave?" It was highly improbable but just saying the words caused panic to flare. "What if you'd tripped and hurt yourself and were lying on the cobblestones until morning?"
Marcus knew he sounded dramatic but the thought of her being out alone at night terrified him.
"I … I heard someone crying." She tried to calm her ragged breathing. "I heard footsteps outside your chamber. I saw someone in the nave, watched them race into the darkness."
Marcus frowned. "It was probably one of the servants. Why didn't you wake me?"
She shook her head vigorously. "It wasn't. Victor's man has come for me." She turned and stabbed her finger at the closed door. "He was out there, Marcus, waiting for me in the stables. I spoke to him."
Marcus felt the blood drain from his face.
"Why the bloody hell didn't you say so before?" Fear often manifested as anger. He threw the bar up as though it was as light as a twig.
Anna grabbed his arm. "Stay here. Don't go out there."
"If someone has been in this house, Anna, I want to know who it is. Stay here. Do not come out under any circumstances. If I fail to return within a few minutes, I want you to bar the door and fetch Andre."
"Wait."
Ignoring her plea, he tore across the courtyard, bursting into the stable. The horses snorted in response, their heads held high as they shuffled in their stalls. Marcus tried to keep calm. The last thing he needed was a kick from an irate stallion.
Hearing someone creeping behind him, he swung around violently, clenched his fist ready to knock the man to the floor.
"It's me. It's me," Anna cried, holding her hands out in front of her as she shuffled back.
Marcus sighed and lowered his fist. "I told you to remain inside."
"I couldn't. I won't let you get hurt because of me."
Marcus didn't know whether to be flattered or offended. "I'm more than capable of handling myself."
"I know, I just …" She gave a little shrug as her luscious lips formed a pout.
"Come." He took her hand, and they scoured the stables. "We'll check all the outbuildings and then make a thorough search of the monastery."
Once they were certain no one lurked in the shadows ready to pounce, they made their way inside.
"You said you spoke to him." Marcus bolted the door, replaced the heavy bar and turned to face her. "What did he say? Did he say he knew Victor?"
"No. But he called me Marie … he said … he said that everyone knows I am a whore."
Marcus gave a contemptuous snort as he brushed a tendril of hair from her face. "Then the man clearly doesn't know you at all."
She smiled at that, her blue eyes sparkling in the darkness, and he feigned a smile in return so as not to show his alarm. Other than Tristan, no one knew of her objectionable background. No one knew her as Marie. Indeed, she had insisted he introduce her as Anna Sinclair.
"Promise me you'll not leave the monastery without my knowledge," he continued, rubbing her upper arms as a way to soothe his tortured soul.
Promise me you'll never leave.
Shocked by the words penetrating his thoughts, he guided her away from the door.
"I promise," she murmured, stifling a yawn. "Now, where should we start?"
"Start?"
"Our search for the intruder."
He pondered her weary expression, stared at the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Only a fool would attempt to enter the building after being discovered. "Upstairs. We'll start with your room." Once secure, he would insist she lock the door behind her and get some sleep.
Thankfully, she did not question the flaws in his logic. But his conscience forced him to wake Andre and insist he rouse the other servants and make a thorough search of all the rooms downstairs.
As soon as they entered her room she rushed to the side table, picked up the brown leather Bible and gave a satisfied sigh as she hugged it to her chest.
"It holds some sentimental value, I assume?" He studied her as he tried to ignore the sweet smell of almonds that reminded him of the taste of her skin.
"It was a gift from my father." She offered him nothing more than that. Lifting the mattress she ran her hand underneath and removed a white stocking. "And this is to help me start a new life."
Her comment hit him hard. The image of her settled somewhere else, with a husband oblivious to her past, annoyed him.
He walked over to her as she removed the roll of paper which he quickly realised was a large bundle of notes. "You should have told me you had money hidden up here. I have a vault downstairs. I could keep it safe for you."
She fingered the crisp paper. "I'll consider it. It's not that I don't trust you. I've always found it quite reassuring to keep it close."
They were the words of a person seeking any opportunity to escape. They were the words of a person longing for freedom. "Is that wise considering recent events?"
She sighed. "I doubt the intruder would attempt to enter the building again. But if anything should happen to me, Marcus, I would like you to give this to Lord Danesfield, to assist him in helping my girls."
He shook his head. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Anna. I will make sure of it." Marcus nodded to the money in her hand. "I assume you know how much is there?"
"Of course. Six hundred and forty pounds."
"Six hundred pounds!" It must have taken her years to save. The dissipated lords of London were obviously generous with their gifts to their host.
She shrugged. "It must last me a lifetime. If I'm frugal, I should never need work again. If Victor had known of it, he would have killed me."
An icy chill ran down his spine.
She placed the notes on the bed and pulled another item out of her stocking. "I want you to sell this," she said handing him a delicate brooch. "I have no notion of its value, but they're real diamonds not paste. I want you to spend the money on farming the land. I want you to consider finding another way to make your living."
To say he was astounded by her generosity was an understatement. "I will keep it safe for you, Anna. But as I've already stated, nothing is going to happen to you."
"You misunderstand me. I am giving you the brooch, Marcus, regardless of what the future may hold. I ask you to consider what I have said, but ultimately the choice is yours."
Marcus stared at the pretty object in his palm, the solid lump in his throat forcing him to suck in a breath. No one had ever given him anything. Indeed, all he had, he'd earned from trading or bartering information. He had come to learn that everything had a price; nothing was ever given freely.
Until today.
"I can't take it."
She covered his fingers with her own, curling them over the glittering jewel. "Yes. You can. I want you to have it. The purpose of an heirloom is to enhance the life of the recipient, to serve as a memory of the person who left it behind. In giving me sanctuary here, you have enhanced my life, and I always repay my debts." She chuckled sweetly, the sound an obvious attempt to placate him.
He didn't need money. But it would be rude and ungrateful to refuse after such a heartfelt plea, and he sensed it was important to her. He would find a way to compensate her for the thoughtful gesture.
But how could he accept her precious gift knowing what he was about to do?
To keep her safe he needed to know everything about the business dealings of the Comte de Dampierre. Was there an accomplice? When it came to business and delving into people's affairs, Dudley Spencer was more adept at uncovering information.
Dudley's price would be high, of course.
The price would be information regarding Miss Beaufort's secret hideaway. The price would be a little cottage in the village of Marlow, somewhere near a church, he suspected.
Chapter 16
"Take
this to your father come first light," Marcus said, handing the letter to a tired-looking Selene. "Tell him to send it as a matter of urgency." He sat back in the chair behind his desk and surveyed the five solemn faces.
"We have searched every room, Mr. Danbury." Andre shook his head and shrugged. "There is no one here. I am sure of it."
It was as he suspected.
Someone had found a way into his home, and it did not sit well with Marcus. "You searched every room, the warming room, the pot house?"
Andre nodded and then jerked his head to the man on his left. "Justin checked them all twice, made sure the windows were secure, checked for any sign of entry."
Justin plastered his hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. "I did, Mr. Danbury."
"And what of Selene's and Matilda's room?"
"Andre, he even searched behind the armoire," Selene murmured.
"Very well." Marcus sighed. Once they had all returned to their beds, he would check again for any sign of forced entry. Just to be certain. He turned his attention to Selene. "I suggest you take Justin with you when you go down to the village. It would not be wise for a woman to walk alone until we know who we're dealing with."
Selene lowered her gaze. "Forgive me. But perhaps … perhaps Miss Sinclair was mistaken. Dreams can sometimes seem so real … si vives … so vivid."
Had they been talking about any other woman, Marcus might have considered the possibility. But Anna was no simpering miss. She had witnessed the worst kind of depravity, experienced the most terrifying abuse. Her courage knew no bounds. Unlike most women of his acquaintance, she did not have to lie or invent silly stories to get attention.
Marcus straightened. "If Miss Sinclair says she saw someone running out of the monastery, if she says she spoke to a man in the stables, then I believe her."
Selene nodded as she glanced at the floor. "Oui. Of course."
"Now." Marcus stood and brushed his hand through his hair. "It's just a few hours until dawn. You had all better get yourselves back to bed. But stay alert. I want to know the moment you encounter anything suspicious, hear a noise, discover something out of place, anything."
