What You Propose (Anything for Love #2) (20 page)

"Well, he's certainly brought some life to the place," she said deciding not to broach the subject of the intruder again.

Just being in Marcus' company made her anxieties disappear. She tried to imagine what his life would be like without the thrill of an assignment — safer, predictable, rather dull? As much as she'd been keen for him to abandon his dangerous pursuits and farm the land, she felt he would need a purpose, a cause worth fighting for if he was to be truly happy.

An idea popped into her head, as illuminating as a hundred candles in a dark room. Wonderful! She knew just the thing. Indeed, if Marcus showed no interest in the project, she would fund it herself. All she needed—

"Madame Tullier is beckoning us to her table," Marcus said, tapping her on the arm to disturb her reverie.

She followed Marcus' gaze to the middle-aged woman sitting to their right in the near corner of the room. Anna watched her take an empty chair from the table next to her before looking up and waving vigorously enough to fan a spark into a flame.

Pushing past the people standing, they made their way to the woman whose pastries were so delicious they would sell for a shilling a piece in London. Born and raised in Whitechapel before marrying a Frenchman at the tender age of sixteen, Madame Tullier had lived in the village for thirty years.

"Sit 'ere," she said with some excitement. The woman liked talking about England, but usually, it took a few sentences before she reverted to her natural dialect.

"I shall go and get a drink," Marcus said pulling out a chair for Anna to sit.

Anna looked up at his handsome face. "I think that would be wise considering the number of people in here tonight."

"I'm so pleased for Lenard," Madame Tullier said when Marcus left them alone. "Fate has a way of bringin' an answer to all our prayers."

Anna nodded as she offered the woman a warm smile, suddenly realising that the same was true of her situation. "I couldn't agree with you more,
madame
."

Fate had brought her to Marcus Danbury, to the delightful monastery where she had discovered the true nature of the person hidden within — the person she had buried beneath a false facade for far too long.

"Lucy, you must call me Lucy." She nodded to a point beyond Anna's shoulder. "Antoine had the same idea about the drinks though it's been a while since he's looked at me the way Mr. Danbury does you. You can always tell the look of a gentleman in love, I say."

Anna swallowed deeply. All the blood rushed to her cheeks, and she pressed them with the tips of her fingers. The woman had obviously mistaken a friendly countenance for something far more meaningful.

"My, it's hot in here," Lucy said giving her a knowing wink as she removed her shawl. "It's so hot it's made my heart all aflutter."

"Mr. Danbury mentioned the minstrel had brought people out this evening," Anna said in a desperate attempt to change the subject. Removing her cape and draping it over her chair, she asked, "What made the minstrel decide to stay? Mr. Danbury thought it had something to do with Lenard's sister."

Lucy nodded. "Juliet? She was widowed last spring. But for a woman with her warmth an' natural beauty, I'm not surprised she's found love again. That's why I'm so pleased for Lenard. He's such a good man and deserves some happy news."

Anna pitied the woman's naiveté. If only she knew the man she spoke highly of was planning to ship contraband across the sea.

"Well, I'll be surprised if he doesn't run out of ale tonight," Anna said in a neutral tone.

Lucy Tullier shrugged. "I'm sure he won't mind. No ale means a pocket full of coin and he needs it more than anyone. Bless his soul."

Intrigued by the comment, Anna glanced over her shoulder before turning back to her companion. "I would imagine he makes a decent enough living here. I didn't realise he was struggling financially."

Lucy Tullier leant across the table, the wooden surface supporting her large bosom. "Don't say it was me as told you, but his daughter has got this problem with her bones. The doctor said he's got to break her leg and reset it else she'll not walk properly again."

"But I didn't even know he had a daughter. I mean, I've never seen her about the village."

"She stays in her room mostly. Lenard confided in Antoine but don't mention—" Lucy Tullier stopped abruptly as Marcus and Antoine returned with mugs of ale.

Lost in thoughtful contemplation, Anna jumped when Marcus tapped her on the arm.

"They've no wine, so I bought you ale," he said sitting in the chair beside her. "I can take it back."

"It doesn't matter. I'm sure it will be fine." She shook her head, offering a smile to reassure him. Besides, her mind was too preoccupied with a moral dilemma to worry about her own needs. Lenard's involvement with the smugglers was a means to fund his daughter's care.

"It's good to see everyone enjoying themselves," Marcus said after taking a sip of his ale. "I know almost everyone here, except the man propped up against the wooden pillar." Marcus jerked his head. "The one with the wavy black hair and long side-whiskers."

Both Lucy and Antoine glanced covertly at the stranger. Anna stared too, doubting the scrawny excuse for a man could be Victor's accomplice.

"Do you mean Samuel? The man smoking the clay pipe?"

Marcus nodded.

"Ah, but you must know Samuel," Antoine said with some surprise. "He has been working in Lyon these past few years, something to do with Italy and the silk trade. I have seen him about a few times this week and assumed he'd come home to stay."

Marcus shook his head. "I have a reasonably good memory, but I can't recall ever meeting him before."

Antoine threw his hands up in the air. "Ah, you must have. Samuel Lessard. His sister Selene is your cook."

Chapter 17

"Is everything alright?" Anna said as they entered the chapter house. She removed her cape and draped it over the chair. "You hardly said a word on the ride home. Indeed, you've been quiet ever since Antoine mentioned Selene's brother."

Marcus could think of nothing other than Samuel Lessard. The man had left the inn shortly after their arrival. His return to the village and the fact his sister worked at the monastery could not be a coincidence. Marcus suspected one of his staff had caused the disturbance which caused Anna to leave his room to investigate. Despite his suspicion, he could not imagine Selene would have either the courage or the cunning required to achieve the task.

"I'm curious to know more about any newcomers to the village. But I was thinking about what happened here last night. I've been replaying the event over in my mind." He lit the candelabra and gestured for her to sit. "Tell me again what you heard, what you saw. Do not leave anything out. Tell me everything, even the insignificant details."

He sat back in the chair behind his desk. The distance would allow him to focus on the task. Being alone with Anna always caused desire to flare, and he was forced to banish all thoughts of seduction.

She sat in the chair opposite. "I heard footsteps pacing the corridor outside your room."

She had only just begun and a question popped into his head. "When you say footsteps, be more precise. Were they heavy like the dull thud of boots, or light like the patter of bare feet?"

She pursed her lips, the lines on her brow more prominent as she glanced up at the ceiling. "They were light, so light I almost missed them."

Marcus nodded. The revelation did not bode well for Selene. "And you didn't think to wake me?"

"You were tired." She shrugged, and a tempting smile played at the corners of her mouth. "You were sleeping so soundly, and I am used to leaving my room in the middle of the night to check on the girls, to console and offer words of comfort."

Marcus swallowed down the hard lump in his throat as he imagined her dealing with all sorts of distressing scenarios. "You said you heard whimpering. Was it the sound of someone in pain, or more a mournful cry?"

She glanced at the floor in silent contemplation. "I'm not sure. I remember thinking it sounded sorrowful, but when I saw the apparition, then it became more a grieving wail."

Marcus straightened. "Apparition? But you said you didn't see the man who spoke to you." He could have kicked himself for not pursuing the matter earlier. But he had been so angry with her, so damn scared of some mysterious accomplice seeking revenge.

"It was more a white shrouded figure," she said calmly, yet he wanted to shake her, demand to know why she'd not mentioned it before. "I only saw it briefly. For a second, I thought it was a ghost. Indeed, when I followed it through the main door out into the night, it disappeared."

Marcus stroked his chin as he contemplated her words. "When you say a white figure, I assume the person wore light-coloured clothing?"

"Again, I can't be sure. It was similar to a cape, something long, floaty and white. And it had a hood."

Marcus sat forward. "What did your instincts tell you? Did you believe you had seen a ghost?"

Anna shook her head. "My first thought was that it could have been Andre or Selene. I have known of people walking in their sleep for miles without waking and well …"

It was as he suspected. One of his staff had lured her outside. Marcus would question them all again come first light.

"You're certain the man you spoke to was French, that he used your name?"

"Definitely. He sounded so like … like Victor." Her face turned ashen, and her bottom lip quivered. "I … I once told Miss Beaufort that Victor would find me no matter where I went. That there wasn't a place in the world where I would be safe. I … I thought he'd found me, Marcus. I thought he'd come to drag me back to the nightmare, which sounds ridiculous when you consider the fact he's dead. But what if it's true? What if he has come back to haunt me?"

She sucked in a breath. His heart lurched as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. Before he knew what he was doing, he moved around the desk and pulled her to her feet to hold her tightly in his arms.

"I promise you'll never have to fear him again. I'm here for you." He almost choked on the sudden wave of emotion surging up to his throat. "I shall be your protector, the person who wipes away your tears. The person who makes you smile. The person who makes you forget all about the horrors of the past."

When she looked up at him, her eyes were brimming with hope, yet still tinged with sorrow. "I have prayed for you for so long. I have prayed to the Lord, for him to show me the way. Now when I am with you, I feel whole again."

Her words touched him. He felt a better person in her company. Until now, it had not occurred to him that he had used his assignments as a way to fill the emptiness, as a way to banish the loneliness.

"I have been waiting for you, too," he managed to say as the need to bury himself deep inside her luscious body took hold.

She shook her head and gave a weak chuckle. "Never in my wildest dreams did I ever believe I would find someone I could trust, someone I could depend upon."

Guilt drove a spear right through his deceitful heart.

At some point, he would have to tell her what he'd done. He would tell her that he had betrayed her trust, divulged information she had unwittingly shared. But now only one thing could force the Devil from his door.

"I need you." They were words he had never spoken to another. Words that he never imagined would fall so easily from his lips.

She replied with her body, pressing into him until he could feel the shape of her soft breasts squashed against his chest. She replied with her mouth, standing on the tips of her toes to claim his.

There was nothing sweet, nothing tame about the way they revealed their need for each other. With loud pants and guttural groans, he devoured her, plunged deep inside her mouth, their shared breath like a potent elixir. He tasted her over and over until every memory before her dissolved into nothing.

She was his life now.

He recognised the truth of it.

Without breaking contact, they shuffled to the door. He tore his lips away to turn the key in the lock. Frantic hands stripped him of his waistcoat, of his shirt, ran over his bare chest as though it was something wondrous to behold.

Drunk with desire, he did not think of their comfort, or for the need to preserve their clothing. Buttons hit the floor. He heard the sound of stitching ripped apart from seams. There was no time to prepare her, to sweeten the moment, to make it easier to claim her body.

God, he'd never been so desperate to bury himself inside a woman. He had never been so hard in his entire life.

Naked and locked in a passionate embrace, they writhed on the floor, possessed by an urgency to be joined, to cement the powerful feelings that would bind them forever. When he entered her with one long thrust, they both cried out — with relief, with pleasure, with the agonising truth that this still would not be enough for either of them.

"Please, Marcus," she panted as she wrapped her legs around him, dug her nails into his buttocks. "Make me forget."

A fierce hunger drove him on, pushing him harder. The thought of ensuring her pleasure fluttered through his mind and without a word, he slipped his arm beneath her and flipped them over.