Marcus cupped her elbow as they navigated the bank. Once they were safely on the path, he let go. "So you took employment with the comte?"
"It was my fault. I should have only accepted work through the Registry Office. But when a French comte approached me dressed in all his finery, I was seduced by the idea of working in a grand house."
Marcus snorted. "You wouldn't be the first woman to fall for such a trick. When did you realise you'd made a mistake?"
"On the first night." She paused, and he wondered if the memory caused her pain. "He locked me in the bedchamber and kept me there for weeks. After he had explained why he'd hired me, I had no option but to accept the position."
It still didn't explain how she'd kept her virginity.
"Did he have some sort of sight impairment?"
She looked at him and frowned. "Why would you think that?"
"There must be something wrong with him if he kept you as mistress of his brothel but never … well."
"Victor believed a mother must be virtuous. He wanted someone to mother the girls, oversee his business without being tempted by debauchery and sin. It seems, to my detriment, I have the deportment of a duchess and the manners of a marchioness. It sounds pathetic, I know, but he despised weak men. He would not taint our relationship with such a personal act, yet he was often prone to violent outbursts, erratic behaviour."
"Then the irony is he was just as weak as those he despised."
"The constant threat of violence causes emotional debilitation. I was forever looking over my shoulder wondering if the breath I had just taken would be my last. To live like that takes its toll."
Marcus gripped her hand, stroked it with his thumb. "Does Dane know all of this?"
"Of course not. I've never told a soul, not even Miss Beaufort."
The mere mention of the woman's name caused a pang of dread. Dudley wanted answers, and he would harangue Marcus until he got the information he needed. Anna had mentioned the village of Marlow. It was some forty or so miles from London, an easy journey for a woman to travel to on her own.
"And so, in killing Victor, you have inadvertently been left with no form of income and no abode."
"Not at all. Victor was shrewd in his business dealings, and I learnt to do the same. It took a few years, but I managed to save enough money to buy the small cottage I told you about. The lords of London can be generous if you accommodate their needs." Her tone revealed a level of pride in her achievements. "I could never have left him whilst he was still alive. But it was always my hope that one day I would go home."
Damn it.
Marcus wanted to punch the air in frustration. He wished he could erase her last comment from his memory, pretend his poor analytical skills made it impossible for him to piece together the relevant bits of information.
"And you killed him because you had no choice." Discussing Victor was a way of focusing his mind on something other than Anna's cottage in Marlow.
They came to the tree where he'd tied the horses. Both animals were still standing patiently waiting for their return.
"Victor tried to shoot me, but his man sacrificed his life to save me." She stroked her horse, gave it a reassuring pat. "He was about to shoot Lord Danesfield when I stabbed him in the back. He would have killed me, too."
The gravity of her words rendered him mute.
He was tired of talking about the past. Imagining her in such a terrifying predicament caused his blood to boil. The need to protect her was fierce. He wondered if it had anything to do with the feeling of helplessness he experienced over his mother's death. Indeed, it was the reason he shied away from emotional entanglements.
When she gripped the reins, he said, "Here, let me help you up." Like the best groom, he talked her through keeping the saddle straight, guided her foot into the stirrup.
"Thank you." She offered a weak smile. "
I'm not used to riding."
He mounted his horse, and they rode back towards the monastery at a slow pace, the mood somewhat subdued when compared to the frenzy of activity experienced in the cave. The thought brought the memory flooding back: their urgent hands, the groans and pants. His desire for her still simmered beneath the surface, accompanied by a gut-wrenching feeling of guilt for deflowering a virgin against a cold, damp wall.
"In my frustration, I failed to apologise for the rather unrefined way I went about things." After all she had been through, she deserved so much better.
"It doesn't matter," she said with a sigh. "Let's forget about it, put it behind us. Perhaps some things are not destined to be."
Panic flared. What the hell was she saying? The thought of not having her in his bed caused his heart to beat rapidly.