What You Propose (Anything for Love #2) (5 page)

What if his contact had followed her? What if he was here in France and knew she was the one responsible for killing Victor?

Had Lord Danesfield uncovered information and asked Mr. Danbury to investigate? They were situated on the coast, after all.

The years she'd spent running Victor's establishment, were years spent in ignorance. She could never quite gauge his mood, never really knew what bizarre request would fall from his grim lips. She never knew the full extent of the dastardly deeds committed at his behest, and she'd be damned before she'd let another man play her for a naive fool.

Gathering the thick blanket and the candlestick from on top of the dresser, Anna made her way downstairs. The door to the chapter house was unlocked. She let herself in, placed her candle on the side table and settled into the wingback chair tucked away in the far corner of the room.

Despite the simplicity of the small vaulted chamber, it held an inherently masculine feel. The solid mahogany desk sat strong and proud in the middle of the room. The tiled floor and stone walls should have made it feel cold, but the leather-bound books lining the shelves on one wall created a blanket of rich autumnal colour. The moonlight beyond the solitary stained glass window brought the coloured image to life. The red hues of the saint's cloak coupled with the golden halo, creating its own sense of warmth.

If the last few nights were any indication, she would be waiting hours for their return. Pulling the blanket up around her shoulders, she shuffled further back into the seat and made herself more comfortable.

For the first fifteen minutes, she imagined numerous conversations with Mr. Danbury. Like a Covent Garden actress learning her lines, she used various tones and different mannerisms to convey the point that she insisted on knowing the nature of this secret assignment. If they were acting on her behalf, she deserved to know the truth.

As her lids grew heavy, she blinked and tried to fight the overwhelming need to sleep. Anna soon lost the battle of wills, her world descending into darkness as she closed her eyes.

"Good Lord, are you not going to bed?"

Tristan's voice permeated the peaceful realms of her mind.

"In a moment, there's something I need to do first."

Somewhere in the distance, she heard Mr. Danbury's reply, heard the creaking of a door, the dull thud of boots on the tiled floor.

Anna's lids fluttered as she became accustomed to her surroundings and she saw the broad figure of Mr. Danbury standing before his desk. He had his back to her as he rummaged through his private papers. Even if she had not heard the patter of raindrops against the window, she knew from the damp ends of the wavy locks brushing his shoulders that the storm had broken.

Should she offer a discreet cough? Or should she wait for him to turn and notice her? The longer she sat there, the harder the decision became.

Mr. Danbury flicked the lid on the inkwell, dipped his pen and scratched a few notes. Once satisfied with his work, he sprinkled dust from the pounce pot over the wet ink, blowing away the residue.

She was about to speak when he tugged his shirt from his breeches and pulled it up over his head. He screwed it into a ball and wiped across his neck and shoulders. It was not the sight of his muscled torso that caused the odd flutter in her chest. Three raised rivulets ran across his back. The dark pink scars were thin, like the marks left from a beating with a strap or whip.

A faint gasp escaped from her lips.

He froze.

She knew he would turn around. She knew she had to find a way to remain calm and in control, to not be weak or easily overpowered.

"Mr. Danbury," she said, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders as she stood to greet him. "You're home at long last."

He drew in a deep breath before turning to face her. She expected anger, a sign of irritation at the very least. But the look she received from him caused the strange flutter to return.

"Miss Sinclair. Is everything alright?" His tone carried a hint of concern. "Are you ill? Has something happened?"

"No, no, nothing has happened." Why did she feel like a silly girl? If anything, his scars should have made him appear more vulnerable. But they only served to add to the air of mystery, to enhance the masculine appeal that captured her interest. "I have watched you ride out these past few nights, and I wanted to discuss it with you."

His suspicious gaze drifted over her and he stepped forward. Still clutching his shirt in his hand, he took the corners of her blanket and peeled them back as though expecting to find a wonderful gift hidden inside.

"You're still dressed," he said, the corners of his mouth curling down in disappointment. "Have you been waiting here for me all night?"

His seductive purr reminded her that men often have salacious thoughts at the mere turn of an ankle. Due to the nature of her profession, had he made the usual assumption? Did he imagine she had come to seek him out with more licentious thoughts in mind?

With a sudden surge of anger, she snatched back her blanket. "What did you expect to find? Did you think to see me lounging on your desk wearing nothing more than long stays and white stockings? Should I rouge my lips a blood red? Should I pull grapes from a bunch using only my mouth?"

Mr. Danbury raised a sinful brow. "I cannot deny the thought has some appeal." When she gave him a furious glare, he added, "I am joking. I merely meant you must have been waiting rather a long time."

"Oh. I thought you meant …"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Now she felt foolish again.

Her gaze drifted to the bronze skin and defined contours on his chest. Most gentlemen gracing the rooms of Labelles were pasty-white, an obvious paunch indicating their wealth and status. Mr. Danbury's muscled physique supported her comment that he was a man willing to work if need be. Standing in such close proximity she felt a warm heat radiate from his skin, and she wondered if all men possessed a similar quality. Indeed, her personal experience lacked such intimate knowledge, as Victor had been the only man she'd ever been close to.

"Don't look so downcast," Mr. Danbury said with a hint of arrogance. "Now what was it you wanted to discuss?"

Anna couldn't think while he was standing there half naked. "Would you mind putting on your shirt? I think I prefer the peasant to the golden-skinned Lothario."

He chuckled. "I assumed you would be comfortable in the presence of a naked man. You must have seen more than your share."

Anna felt her face flush. "Must I slap you again, Mr. Danbury, in the hope you will learn to hold your foolish tongue." He really did let himself down when making such childish remarks.

His heated gaze penetrated her steely composure. When he stepped closer, she wasn't sure if he was about to unleash the wrath of the Devil or pull her into an embrace and plunder her mouth like the savage pirate his unconventional dress implied.

Both thoughts were unnerving. But, after what felt like a lifetime of cowering in the corner, she refused to relinquish control.

"You cannot intimidate me," she continued, raising her chin in defiance.

With a gleam in his eye, Mr. Danbury smiled as his gaze drifted to her lips. "And why would I want to do that, Miss Sinclair?"

"Because you like to dominate everyone and everything. Because you despise appearing weak and vulnerable."

He smirked at her honest appraisal. "That's where you're wrong. You err when you compare me to most men of your acquaintance. I am happy to admit I am weak." He inhaled deeply as his gaze travelled over her face and hair. "I am happy to admit that in your company I am vulnerable. You need only say the word, and I would yield to the power of your intelligence and beauty."

A strong masculine force penetrated the air around them. It was not the threatening or fearful sensation she was used to, and she was shocked to feel a tiny frisson of desire spark in her ice-cold body.

Believing herself immune to such feelings, it shook her to her core.

Anna Sinclair really was naive and foolish. Marie Labelle would think her pathetic for responding so easily to any man's fake protestations. Yet she could not shake the thought that there was a grain of truth hidden within his words.

"Flowery overtures often hide the worst of lies," she said, her tone bitter in a bid to reinforce the iron vault safeguarding her heart. Marie would be proud.

"You may call me what you will, but don't ever call me a liar."

His words were blunt but lacked the poisonous venom that usually paralysed her with fear. Victor would have grabbed her chin or squashed her cheeks together with his long bony fingers. It seemed Mr. Danbury possessed at least one quality of a true gentleman.

"Forgive me," she said. "Perhaps I am too used to the cunning devices employed by a skilled seducer."

There was no mistaking her veiled insult and Mr. Danbury jerked his head in response. He stepped back and the distance brought with it the familiar coldness that shrouded her wherever she went.

"The hour is late or early depending how one looks at it," he said with indifference. He shook out his shirt and threw it over his head, thrusting his arms violently into the sleeves as though they had wronged him in some way. "You should retire to your chamber."

Anna swallowed deeply. "But you have not answered my question."

"I did not realise you had asked one."

"You have an assignment," she said finding the courage to broach the subject as she would not rest until she knew the truth. "I heard as much earlier while you were arguing with Tristan."

"We were not arguing." Mr. Danbury perched on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "What else did you hear?"

"Nothing," she shrugged. Everything else had sounded like incoherent mumbles. "But you rode out again this evening."

"What of it?"

"Well, it cannot be a coincidence. Lord Danesfield must have uncovered new information relating to the Comte de Dampierre." Just saying his name aloud caused the fine hairs at her nape to stand on end. Her stomach felt hollow; her heart wormed its way up into her throat. "Have you found his accomplice? Is he here, in France? Tell me, Mr. Danbury. You cannot hide it from me. I deserve to know the truth."

He stared at her and narrowed his gaze. "Dane mentioned your association with a Frenchman. This comte you speak of, is he your lover?"

"No," she cried. Heavens, the thought caused her to shudder. "He was many things but never that."

"He is your partner in business, then?"

"Dampierre shared nothing. He owned me, Mr. Danbury. I did his bidding, took care of his girls."

"He owned you, or he owned Labelles?"

Anna shrugged. "Both." She had come to find answers not be barraged with a multitude of questions.

"And now you have fled London with little more than the clothes on your back," he muttered to himself. "Did Lord Danesfield assist in your escape?"

Anna nodded. "He escorted me to the coast and saw me safely out of England."

Mr. Danbury jumped off the desk. "Bloody hell. Does Dane take me for a complete fool?" He paced the floor. "Did he not think to inform me that this Dampierre fellow could come looking for you?"

Anna grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and forced him to stop. "The comte will not come looking for me," she implored, hoping it would be enough to placate him. "I can promise you that."

"Revenge feeds the hearts of some men," he said with a hint of contempt as though she lacked his worldly experience in all matters. "Trust me. He will want justice for your betrayal. He will seek you—"

"Victor will not come looking for me," she repeated.

"A man who makes a living as he does will not be bested by a woman. You're his property. You probably know too much about his business dealings."

"He won't come." While she tried to sound confident, days of suppressed emotion pushed to the fore, and she could feel the tears welling. She had agreed never to mention the horrific events in the warehouse.

"How do you know? Damn it. I left you alone here tonight. How do you know he's not out there now waiting for you to wander down to the village on your own?"

A surge of raw emotion broke. "Because he's dead," she sobbed burying her head in her hands. Sucking in a breath, she looked up at him. "He won't come because I stabbed him in the back and watched him gulp his last breath. Because justice has already been served."

Mr. Danbury's eyes grew wide, and his mouth hung open as he shook his head. After what seemed like an hour, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You killed him?" he whispered staring into her eyes as though he had misheard. "Is that why Dane sent you here? So you wouldn't hang?"

She wiped away the tears streaming down her face. "Yes and no. Lord Danesfield concocted a story to protect me. But you must understand I had no choice in the matter. Victor would have killed me."

"You should have told me," Mr. Danbury said as he pulled her into an embrace, rubbed her back as the tears continued to fall. "Dane should have trusted me with the information."

Anna let the warmth of his body surround her. For the first time in her life, she felt safe — if only for a moment. "I murdered him, Mr. Danbury, and all I can do now is repent."