Marcus glared at Tristan from the chair behind his desk. "I swear if this is from Dane I shall travel to London myself and ask him what the hell is going on."
"The gentleman does seem rather persistent." Tristan sniggered as he lounged back in the chair. "He hasn't even given her a chance to reply. But you know Dane."
Marcus flipped it over and did not know whether to sigh with relief or frustration when he recognised Dudley Spencer's initials pressed into the wax.
"Our friend is so desperate to find his love he has roped Dudley in to do his bidding."
"Would you like me to take the missive and find Anna?" Tristan asked, pushing his golden locks from his brow.
It grated that Tristan and Miss Sinclair were on such friendly terms that they had agreed to use their given names. In his home, there was no need to follow convention and the nature of Miss Sinclair's profession deemed any such fears void. Still, Marcus found it highly irritating.
"There's no need," Marcus said, suppressing his annoyance. "The letter is addressed to me."
Marcus placed the sealed missive back
on his desk. He would deal with it later when his mood had improved. Now, another thought occupied his mind.
"Can I ask you something?"
Tristan raised a brow and nodded. "Of course. I'm surprised you've not come straight out with whatever it is."
Marcus swallowed to clear the uncomfortable lump in his throat. "It's about Miss Sinclair. I wondered if you have developed a fondness for her. A fondness that amounts to more than a shared interest in paintings and books."
Tristan shook his head, a glimmer of disappointment flickering in his blue eyes. "In all the years you've known me, you need to ask?"
Marcus couldn't quite fathom why he felt an overwhelming need to pry and gave an indolent wave to hide his slight embarrassment. "I thought spending time in the company of a beautiful, intelligent woman might make a difference."
Tristan snorted. "While Anna is all that you say, indeed I still find it hard to imagine her working in a brothel, there will only ever be one woman for me."
Marcus could not comprehend his friend's mentality. The woman Tristan loved was married to another. Why could he not move on with his life?
"It's been five years, Tristan."
"I don't care if it's been fifty years. My feelings for Isabella will never change." Tristan exhaled deeply and shook his head. "But you've obviously developed a respect for Anna whilst she's been here. Do you not have an interest in her yourself?"
Marcus gave a contemptuous chuckle. "I will not tread in the footsteps of London's dissolute peers. Despite Miss Sinclair's appeal, I refuse to behave like the hypocritical lords of the ton."
"You refuse to behave like your father, you mean."
Marcus shrugged, but the mere mention of his father caused bile to bubble in his throat.
"I believe you would enjoy her company," Tristan continued, "if only you'd drop your guard. Although the seductive skills you usually employ to glean information from women would be lost on her. She is far too observant, not easily wooed."
"I have no intention of wooing her. I regard Miss Sinclair as just another assignment." Well, that's what he told himself when lying in his bed at night.
"Just another assignment?" Tristan hollered. "God, Marcus, sometimes you sound like a hard-hearted prig."
Marcus grabbed Dudley's letter. "We're to take care of her until Dane says otherwise. That's to be the extent of our involvement." God, he really did sound cold-hearted. "Besides, we have an obligation to focus on our current assignment."
Tristan shuffled forward. "Are we to go out again tonight?"
"We must go out every night until we find what we're looking for."
Tristan glanced at the mantle clock and then stood abruptly. "Then there are a few things I must attend to first."
"Don't tell me you're going to catch a few hours sleep?" Marcus jested.
Tristan's face flushed. "You know I struggle to stay awake late. I'll not function properly if I'm tired."