What You Propose (Anything for Love 2)

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.