What You Propose (Anything for Love 2)

Marcus shrugged. "I have no idea. But if she's staying here, she can damn well earn her keep."

Tristan's eyes grew wide. "You don't mean to—"

"I mean she can work in the kitchen," he interjected with a grin. "She will learn that there are no airs and graces here. She cannot flash her fleshy wares in the hope of securing a warm bed and a hot meal for the evening. If she wants to eat, she works. Just as we all do."

"Andre could do with some help in the ga

rden."

Marcus grabbed his friend's shoulder. "Well, there you have it. Madame Labelle will be the new gardener. We shall see if the woman's fingers are as nimble as her profession demands."

Marcus spent the next ten minutes pacing the floor. A strange feeling settled in his chest. The woman's presence would create a shift, unsettle the equilibrium; it would involve them all making changes, certain allowances. She may have experience running a bawdy house, but she would play no part in running his house.

Should he greet her at the door, let her feel the sharpness of his tongue, let her know of his indifference to her plight? Should he sit behind his large desk, busy scratching away with quill pen and ink and pay her no heed?

Damn it.

He could hear the carriage wheels rattling over the stone bridge.

Madame Labelle needed to feel the weight of his authority. She needed to know he would not tolerate any interference.

With that in mind, he strode out through the cloisters and crossed the garth to the entrance located in the west wing. With the bar already raised, Marcus pushed the reinforced oak doors just as the carriage rumbled to a halt outside. His gaze darted to the box seat of the conveyance, to see Tristan perched on top sporting a wide grin.

"Look who's here," Tristan cried with genuine excitement.

As the coachman removed his hat, Marcus sucked in a breath. "Haines." He rushed forward. "By God, I'm surprised Dane sent you. How was your journey?"

Marcus expected him to raise a weary brow and offer a grim expression as he jerked his head towards the carriage.

"It was a good crossing," he said without showing the slightest sign of irritation. "Spent the time playing cards and supping too much ale. The lady kept to her cabin mostly. I don't think the motion suited her stomach, if you take my meaning."

More like she'd decided to earn a few guineas and used sickness as an excuse to stay abed.

"How long will you stay with us?"

"Only for a day or two. Just until the lady's all settled."

Marcus could not recall a time when he'd heard a man refer to a whore as a lady. Haines was probably just being polite. The man had a heart as large as his stocky frame. Either that or he had developed a tendre for the woman during the journey.

"Talking of which," Tristan said. "I should get down and help her out."

Tristan wore a smug grin. Or perhaps Marcus was mistaken. Perhaps his friend was simply pleased to be reunited with the man who had once saved both their lives.

Marcus took a few steps back, squared his shoulders and raised his chin. He may dress as a peasant, but he knew how to convey the countenance of a duke.

Tristan opened the carriage door and let down the steps before offering his hand to the occupant.

As Madame Labelle descended the three tiny steps with all the demureness of a duchess, Marcus almost expired from a distinct lack of air. He sucked in a breath in an attempt to inflate his gasping lungs, fought hard to maintain his arrogant facade.

Bloody hell!

For all that was holy. He considered rushing into the chapel, dropping to his knees and giving thanks. Indeed, it took a tremendous amount of effort not to look to the heavens and give a knowing wink.

Madame Labelle was certainly no middle-aged hag. The woman could be no more than five-and-twenty.

There were no hideous moles or warts. Her pure porcelain skin needed no paints or powders. His gaze drifted up to her honey-gold hair. It hung loosely around her shoulders, and he imagined the ends were long enough to brush against the base of her spine. An image of her lying naked in his bed flashed into his mind. He cursed Dane for not warning him he would be giving sanctuary to the goddess Venus.

The woman ran a bawdy house he reminded himself, mentally shaking his head. Although looking at her plain, simple gown, she looked more like a vestal virgin. Oh, he had no doubt she could keep the sacred flame in his hearth alight.