What You Propose (Anything for Love 2)

"What would you like to do first?" he asked as he set her down. His large hands lingered there for a moment, and she felt the loss instantly when he stepped away.

"We could wander around. See what's here. I doubt we'll find Tristan."

He did not offer his arm, which suited her well enough. She was not used to being in the company of chivalrous men.

"Listen for the loudest laugh and we're guaranteed to find him," he snorted.

"I've never met anyone as cheerful as Tristan," she said as Mr. Danbury placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd. Good Lord. The strange feeling came upon her again: a gurgling in her stomach, an erratic thumping in her chest. Hoping conversation would provide a distraction, she added, "Is he ever grumpy?"

Mr. Danbury pursed his lips as he pondered the question. "Only when he's tired. When I first met him, he rarely smiled. Anger was the only emotion he expressed."

&nbs

p; Anna was shocked. "I can't imagine him wearing a permanent scowl. It would ruin his fine features."

"We all have our own way of dealing with pain," he replied, his tone a little strained and she noted a hint of irritation. "Take you, for example. You choose solitude and quiet reflection as a way of coping. You are regimental in your routines, and can be found in the same place at the same time each day. Some would say it stems from a feeling of insecurity."

Anna glanced up at his solemn expression, surprised he had even bothered to notice her daily rituals. Being regimental about things did help her to feel calmer, more secure.

"Step closer." The hawker's cry disturbed her musing. "Step closer and watch his fingers work the willow."

The peddler stood in the middle of the path, guiding people to an area where a man sat weaving the pliant stems into baskets. They followed his direction, hanging back from the crowd as they had no real desire to witness the event.

Indeed, only one thought filled her head: Mr. Danbury had been watching her closely enough to form an accurate opinion of her character.

"How observant of you to notice something as mundane as my habitual activities," she said curiously.

"I notice everything, Miss Sinclair." His gaze wandered over her face, fell to the opening of her cape, scanned the outline of her breasts hidden beneath the unflattering muslin.

"And what of you?" she asked, swallowing deeply to stop her face from flushing. She had seen the bare behind of many a grunting lord, yet one suggestive glance and her cheeks flamed. "What odd mannerisms or traits reveal your preferred way of coping with pain?"

She knew the answer but wanted to hear it fall from his lips. Just thinking about how he may have suffered conjured an image of the scars marring the otherwise perfect skin on his back.

"I work."

The words were cold, blunt, yet clear. Judging by his muscular physique and sun-kissed complexion, he'd met with more than his fair share of distressing ordeals.

As they drifted away from the stall, she recalled the advice he'd given her over suppressing one's feelings and decided to use it against him.

"You can talk to me. It is not good or healthy to keep your feelings hidden."

A smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Who told you that?"

She laughed. "You did."

"Then I'm a fool masquerading as a great philosopher."

They paused on the path, and she pointed to the juggler demonstrating how easy it was to throw five apples into the air without dropping a single one.

"Or perhaps you are a great philosopher pretending to be a fool." She kept her eyes on the juggler but could feel Mr. Danbury's penetrating stare. "I believe your words reflect a certain wisdom. It is your grumpy countenance that makes you seem like a ninny."

"Grumpy?" he snorted. "Even a court jester would appear sullen when compared to Tristan."

"Now that's the fool talking again. It is not wise to compare yourself to others." She glanced at his cravat; the folds were less crisp and symmetrical than they ought to be. Even though he had tied his dark wavy hair back in a queue, he still bore the look of a rogue-come-pirate. "As a man who refuses to conform and dresses as he pleases, I expected you to know that."

"It was merely an observation," he said. "I have always had an air of discontent. I find, that way, one is never disappointed."

"And so that is how you deal with pain, besides working, of course. You make everyone believe you don't care."