Good God.
He was starting to think like a boy from the schoolroom. He sniggered at the thought. While his head might be lost in a hazy cloud of excitement and anticipation, when it came to their coupling, they would meet as skilled experts in the art of giving pleasure.
"We'll head straight to the inn, spend an hour or so there." When he took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, she made no protest. He cast a sidelong glance, noting the look of concentration dominating her countenance. "Remember, you are supposed to be my mistress. You should try to look as though you're enjoying the experience."
She turned to him. "What would you like me to do? Should I stroke your overinflated sense of importance? Drool at the sight of your muscular shoulders?"
Marcus smirked. She could stroke the only part of his anatomy he considered overinflated. "You think my shoulders are muscular. That's a start. Although I would rather you bite down on them while shuddering with the effects of your release."
Miss Sinclair sucked in a breath. "Do you always speak in such terms to a lady
?"
"Only to those I wish to bed."
She yanked her arm free.
"What?" He held up his hands. "Would you prefer I lie? Besides, now we do look like lovers. Who else would quarrel in the middle of a street while people watch from their windows?"
She shook her head and strode off in front. He watched her stomp along the muddy lane. Even in the darkness, he could imagine the gentle sway of her hips hidden beneath the cape. He caught up with at the door of the inn.
"Are you coming inside?" he said. "Or would you prefer to wait out here?"
She nibbled her bottom lip. "Will there be other women in there?"
Marcus shrugged. "A few. No one will pay you the slightest attention. It's a small village. People care more about filling their coffers with coins than what's deemed proper."
"Very well," she nodded. "If I'm to play the role of mistress, I assume you've chosen a name you think fitting, something a little prettier than Ned."
He turned to face her, placed his hands on her upper arms and stared deeply into the blue twinkling gems staring back at him. "I think I'll call you Anna. After all, you are the only woman I want in my bed. Why not indulge my whimsical fantasies."
As soon as the wooden door scraped against the tiled floor, all eyes were averted to the arched entrance. All conversation came to an abrupt halt as the villagers' narrowed gazes drifted over them. Ushering Anna inside, Marcus offered Lenard a curt nod. From behind the counter, Lenard gave his usual lopsided grin in a bid to disguise the fact he had but a few teeth.
"Mr. Danbury, sir," came the immediate response from the scrawny landlord. "Give me a moment and I'll be right with you." He finished cleaning the tankard with a rag that had once been white and now looked a grimy shade of grey.
"Lenard is English?" Anna whispered.
Marcus nodded. "His wife is French."
After the crowd offered numerous nods and grumbled greetings, one by one, they turned their backs, the low muttering soon growing into a loud din.
"We'll sit over here," Marcus said pointing to a spot near the door and in full view of Lenard.
Anna nodded, acknowledged the few people she knew and sat in the chair Marcus held out for her. "For a moment, I thought they were going to chain us to pillory and leave us for the crows to feast."
He sat forward, brushed his fingers across the soft apple of her cheek, aware of her sudden intake of breath. "Shush," he said. "You must get used to a certain level of familiarity if others are to believe our deception."
She gave a derisive snort. "In London, a gentleman does not openly court a lady. Not even his mistress."
Marcus glanced around, noting a butcher, farm labourer, the blacksmith's apprentice. "But we're not in London, Anna, we're in France. This is not high society. The people here are far more accepting. Now, would you like something to drink?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I'll have wine or ale or whatever you think is safe for consumption."
Marcus laughed as he pushed out of the chair. "I'll go up to the counter. It will give me a chance to gauge Lenard's mood without him being distracted by your beauty."
He did not give her a chance to respond and was soon back with two small pewter mugs and a copper jug half-full of wine.
"Wine is easier on the stomach," Marcus said, sitting down at the table and pouring them both a drink.