"I know what I want to do," he said as his gaze drifted over her face. "I'm just thinking of a way to pretend it's part of our plan to avoid rousing the men's suspicion."
She tapped him on the arm. "I was talking about the assignment. Are we to follow them?"
"Who?"
"Lenard's men." She couldn't help but laugh. "Are we to follow them to the cottage?"
"No. Not tonight. All I needed was confirmation Lenard is involved." He took her by the arm and led her out onto the street. "We'll go home where we can talk privately without fear of anyone overhearing, and I'll tell you my plan for tomorrow."
Anna nodded, knowing she would struggle sitting so close to him. On the journey to the inn, she'd been forced to hold her breath, to stare out into the darkness in the hope the nervous fluttering in her stomach would subside. On the journey back, whilst squashed between his muscular thighs, the same questions flooded her mind.
Why now? Why him?
Why hadn't she felt an attraction to Tristan? He was far more affable, behaved much more gentlemanly. Until a few days ago, she would have said he was more handsome.
"Tristan told me about his love for Isabella," she said as they rode back to the monastery. He had settled his horse into a walking pace, the prolonged contact forcing her to think of a way to distract her mind. "How do you think he will fare when he sees her again?"
"Did he tell you she married Lord Fernall? Two weeks after she'd been caught eloping with him."
The contempt in his voice was unmistakable.
Anna pulled her cape tightly across her chest as the night air felt much cooler now. "There must have been a reason for it. A woman does not profess her love for one man and then marry another. Not without just cause."
He snorted. "Perhaps money and a title proved too tempting to resist."
"Trust you to be so cynical."
"I'm not cynical. I'm just a little distrustful of people and their motives."
She knew why. The trauma of losing his mother under such circumstances was the cause of all his negative character traits.
"Perhaps Isabella found herself in a difficult situation," she said with a sigh.
"She had a home, Anna, people to care for her. What possible reason could there have been to induce her to marry a man she didn't love?"
She glanced up, noting his stern expression. "Things aren't always so simple." Her own experiences caused a mixture of sadness and regret to infuse her tone.
What possible reason could she have had for choosing to live in a brothel? But there had been no choice. She'd had no one to care for her, and consequently, there had been no one to question her failure to return home from the Servants' Registry Office.
An icy shiver ran all the way down to her toes as she remembered the elation burning in her chest at being offered the position of governess in the home of a French comte.
"You may lean in closer if you're cold," Marcus said teasing the horse into a canter. "We'll be home in a few minutes."
The word home roused a mixture of emotions.
Home had been a small country hamlet — a place where love blossomed, where happiness and contentment were part of everyday life. Since meeting the comte, home had become a distant, painful memory.
The hulking black shadow of the monastery loomed into view. For some unknown reason, the place had begun to feel like home. Being safe and living without fear had brought about a change in her. Never before had she contemplated her own needs and desires.
The time spent out in the garth had given her an appreciation for the simple pleasures of life. In the chapel, she had found a way to soothe the pain of the past. Spending time in Marcus Danbury's company had awakened a deep need in her — a sense of longing she had never thought to experience.
Her heart was akin to a bird recovering from a broken wing. The first flutter felt strange, still painful. She fought against it, frightened to acknowledge the fact it might never fully heal, that she would always be a little less than whole. But the more desire flowed through her, the more her heart soared, the stronger she became.
She glanced up at the gentleman responsible for these new sensations, unable to suppress a shiver as their gazes locked.
"We're home now," he said, and she felt a pang of regret. When the time came she would have no choice but to leave this idyllic place.
She would have no choice but to leave the only man she had ever truly desired.