by Adele Clee
Anna looked up at him and put her hand on his cheek. "I know. A few hours in a tomb full of corpses has taught me to appreciate what truly matters."
"Then I am forgiven?"
She nodded. "You're forgiven."
"If it helps, I shall write a letter of apology to Miss Beaufort. I would not want her to think ill of you when you do not deserve her disdain."
"It is of no consequence. She loves Lord Danesfield, and if he's still looking for her after all this time, then he obviously loves her, too. I am confident all will be well."
They were silent for a moment, and he brushed the straggling tendrils from her face.
"And what of us, Anna?" He sounded nothing like himself: the vulnerability in his voice was foreign to him.
She shrugged and offered a coy smile. "I don't know what you mean."
"Are you deliberately trying to make this difficult for me? Is this to be my punishment? To live with the torturous agony that comes with the anticipation of rejection."
Perhaps sensing his fear, knowing he had never been so unguarded with his feelings, she took the first courageous step. "Know this. You are the only man I have ever loved, the only man I would lay down my life for. I will take you any way I can have you, regardless of what you propose."
Marcus swallowed down the hard lump in his throat as he realised his life was worthless without her. "If that is how you feel, I propose we marry. I propose we live together in the monastery and farm the land."
A smile touched her lips, and he was not sure if it was a tear trickling down her cheek or a drop of rain. "So, now that I have soft hands again, you want me to start digging in the dirt?"
"I want you any way I can get you — rough, dirty, hot and bothered."
Offering a sultry smirk, she raised a brow and said, "Is that another proposal, Mr. Danbury?"
"No, Miss Sinclair, it's a promise." He pulled her close, devoured her mouth in a kiss that expressed everything he felt in his heart. "I love you, Anna," he said as he broke away.
And then her tears did fall.
Epilogue
Three months later
Anna found Marcus behind the desk in the chapter house. "You rose early this morning."
After waking to find the bed empty, she knew her husband would be eager to finish balancing the ledgers. His current assignment had nothing to do with trailing after smugglers or hiding the mistress of a bawdy house away in an old monastery.
Marcus raised a sinful brow. "Trust me. I had to drag myself away from your warm body. I'm surprised you didn't hear me groan. But I'm eager to ensure the stone walls are reinforced to prevent us losing any more livestock."
Since making the decision to farm the land, Marcus had thrown himself into the project with the same level of passion and determination he did all things. A smile touched her lips when she recalled experiencing the depth of his passion just a few hours earlier.
"I thought you'd be busy scrawling away with pen and ink," she said noting the letter in his hand, "pushing wooden beads back and forth on that counting device of yours."
"I was, but then I became a little distracted when I realised the letter was from Tristan."
"Tristan!" She could not hide her excitement. "How is he? Was he shocked to hear of our marriage?"
Marcus shook his head. "Not at all. Tristan believes it was a case of love at first sight. Or love at first slap to be more precise. He said he will never forget the look on my face when your palm connected with my cheek."
"Neither will I," she began a little sheepishly. "I never mentioned it before, but I could still see the outline of my fingers on your face an hour later."
"I think you have a fondness for slapping." His mouth curled up into a devilish grin, and when his eyes flashed with desire, the warm feeling in her chest journeyed southward. "From what I remember of last night, my buttocks—"
"Yes, yes," she interjected as her cheeks grew warm, too. "I was there. I do not need you to remind me."
"On second thoughts, perhaps the stone walls can wait." He rubbed his chin as his gaze drifted over her. "Perhaps I did get out of bed too early this morning."
With her heart all aflutter, Anna nodded to the leather wingback chair. "Then I shall leave you so you may catch an hour's sleep."
"I think we both know I did not have sleep in mind."
How could she resist the tempting offer when he spoke with such a rich, languorous drawl? But she chose to use the moment to her advantage, to give her the courage to broach the subject she had been mulling over for days.
"Before we retire to our chamber," she said in as seductive a tone as she could muster, "I would like to discuss another proposal."
Marcus placed the letter on the desk, sat back in the chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "A proposal? Now I am intrigued. Does it involve slapping?"
Anna thrust her hands on her hips. "Be serious for a moment." She sighed. "When I gave you my great-aunt's brooch—"
"Your great-aunt? You never mentioned it was a genuine family heirloom. I assumed—"
"What? That one of the randy lords bribed me with a gift?"
"Well ... I didn't realise it meant so much to you." He put his hand to his chest. "I find it rather flattering that you chose to give it to me."
"It is of no consequence now as you have given it back to me. But at the time, I thought you needed the money to find another vocation. And you didn't have to agree to take me in, despite the debt you owed to Lord Danesfield."
"You mean you took one look at my relaxed attire and decided I must be debt-ridden."
"Yes. But now I know I was mistaken, and you've smartened up considerably since we've been married." She swallowed deeply. It was best to get it over with. "Now, returning to the matter of my proposal, I would like to take a trip to England."
Marcus shot out of the chair. "England? Why the hell would you want to go back there?"
Anna knew he would not be pleased. "Because I would like to use the money I saved from Labelles and invest it. I would like to open a refuge for women who find themselves alone and with no prospects. I could provide an education. Give them a room until they find employment."
Marcus stared at her, his expression blank, his eyes vacant.
She hoped he would understand. During the few months they had spent together, he had spoken fondly of his mother. But the guilt he had for leaving her to fend for herself still ate away at him.
"If there had been such a place when I came to London, perhaps I would not have met Victor."
"The irony is, had you not met Victor you would never have met me."
He was right, of course. That one horrendous situation had led her straight to Marcus' door.
"I thought you loved it here?" he added. A look of doubt and fear marred his countenance.
"I do, and I would never want to leave permanently. I thought of employing someone to manage the refuge for me. I could interview for the position."
Marcus strode around the desk, pulled her into an embrace and kissed her softly on the mouth. "How can I refuse your request? Had there been such a place for women like my mother then perhaps things would have been different."
Thank heavens.
Anna placed her hand on his chest. Despite his calm tone, his heart was beating hard against her palm. "I know you have so much you want to do here, but Andre and Selene will manage things while you're away."
"You do want me to come with you then?"
He sounded like a little boy lost, and she stood on the tips of her toes to return his tender kiss. "I never want to be without you. Besides, Andre has been looking for an opportunity to prove himself worthy. He is so grateful to us for giving Selene a second chance, and now they plan to marry he could use the extra income."
"It seems you have thought of everything. You do realise my return will be met with a mixed response. Once people discover we are wed, I expect the gossips will claim it to be a great scandal."
Anna smirked. "The
illegitimate son of an earl marrying the madam of a bawdy house, why should there be any scandal?"
"You may find it amusing, but people can be cruel."
She had experienced the worst kind of cruelty. Nothing else would ever compare. "Marcus, I don't care what people say about us. We know the truth."
He exhaled deeply. "Very well. Thankfully, you have made my task much easier."
Anna stepped back and frowned. "What task?"
"I, too, was about to propose a short trip to England. Tristan has asked us to visit him in Bedfordshire and I feared you would say no."
"Why didn't you say so before?"
Marcus nodded to the desk. "I've only just opened it. Apparently, he's had a hell of a time of it these last two months and begs for us to come."
"Well," she said with a satisfied sigh. "That's all settled then."
"Not quite. I believe there is the matter of my original proposal to address."
By the lascivious look on his face, Anna did not need to ask what he meant. "You'll have to remind me. With all this talk of England, my mind is a little hazy."
Marcus pulled her into an embrace. He kissed her until her body tingled, delved deep into her mouth until her head felt fuzzy and she was forced to clutch at his shoulders for fear of falling. "Do you remember now? Is your mind any clearer?"
Anna tried to catch her breath. She felt the loss of his hard body as he left her to lock the door. "What … what are you doing?"
Pushing the papers off his desk onto the floor, he settled his hands on her waist and lifted her up to sit on the uncluttered surface. "I am following your advice. When we met, you said one must make the most of any opportunity presented."
"Yes, and I remember you received a slap for your rather salacious reply."
Marcus placed his hands on her ankles, ran them up under her dress and over her bare thighs. "Then I shall make another proposal."
"Yes." The word was accompanied by a soft sigh as his fingers brushed against the spot that ached for his touch.
"I propose you slap me now, as I can promise you my salacious intentions will leave you exhausted and incapable of moving a muscle."
Thank you!
Thank you for reading What You Propose.
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Adele x
What You Deserve
Anything for Love
Book 3
Chapter 1
Tristan Wells, seventh Viscount Morford, stood alone in the drawing room of Lord Mottlesborough's townhouse, watching the musicians unpack their instruments in preparation for the concert.
Lady Mottlesborough came scuttling into the room, her hand flying to her chest when she discovered him loitering behind the door. "Good heavens, my lord. You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing hiding back there?"
Tristan blinked rapidly. Judging by the sight of the excessively large turban enveloping the matron's head, he should be the one clutching his chest. Beneath the voluminous folds of exotic silk, he imagined she was as bald as the day she was born.
"I'm just taking a moment to gather my thoughts." Under present circumstances, she could hardly question his motives. While mourning the loss of one's brother rarely affected a gentleman's social calendar, a more subdued countenance was only to be expected.
The lady gave a rueful smile. "I assume your mother has pestered you to leave the house again this evening." She nodded to the musicians and whispered, "I doubt their skill has dragged you here as they are hardly the talk of the Season."
He snorted. "As you are aware, my mother makes no secret of the fact she is keen for me to find a bride."
With Tristan being the only other male member of the family, his mother's eagerness for him to produce an heir bordered on desperation.
"I have heard she has a particular lady in mind."
"She has many ladies in mind," Tristan said with a derisive chuckle, "as long as they're from good breeding stock." In truth, he was beginning to feel like a Hereford bull being herded into a pasture full of heifers.
"I understand your mother's urgency to see you wed," Lady Mottlesborough said. "Despite her mourning period, no one would cast aspersions on the decision to protect one's heritage. Indeed, we are all aware that one's duty and responsibility must come before everything else."
Tristan knew better than anyone the sacrifices one must make for the sake of patrimony. But with his mother still in full mourning, it prevented her from attending functions, and as such, he found it more preferable to wander the corridors of other people's houses than remain in his own. He also came in hope of finding more stimulating conversation, something that did not involve talk of flounces and other such fripperies.
"For the moment, I have been granted a reprieve," he said with a weary sigh.
Lady Mottlesborough nodded. "And so you linger in the shadows in the hope the ladies won't find you." She raised a curious brow. "Or perhaps it is one particular lady you wish to avoid. Where is the lovely Miss Smythe this evening?"
Miss Priscilla Smythe was lovely. She possessed a sweet, kind disposition, a generous heart, and a pretty countenance. Whenever he thought of kissing her, he thought of summer meadows, birds chirping merrily, and chocolate macaroons. On the whole, he imagined the experience would be pleasant, if not particularly memorable.
"I believe you will find her surrounded by a host of other ladies just as eager to discuss the merits of ribbon over lace."
Lady Mottlesborough nodded despite the hint of contempt in his tone. "I am afraid we ladies tend to take the topic of haberdashery extremely seriously." She chuckled. "Sewing and embroidery are subjects dear to my heart."
Tristan wondered if that's why she wore the turban. Perhaps she carried her frame and threads around with her in case she found the evening's entertainment too dull. "I'm certain that when you stumble upon Miss Smythe, she will be only too happy to hear all about it."
The matron's gaze drifted over his face. "Perhaps your interest lies elsewhere. Perhaps you have another lady in mind."
Tristan knew to have a care. Friendly overtures were often used to drag snippets of gossip from unsuspecting fools. Many unwilling parties had been forced into an arrangement simply to stop loose tongues from wagging.
"This evening, I'm only interested in listening to a soothing melody whilst enjoying my freedom for a little while longer."
He wanted to say that he had no interest in titles or land. He had no interest in the begetting of an heir, or to be the husband of a woman who failed to ignite even the smallest spark of passion in his chest.
Lady Mottlesborough winced at the sound of the harsh chords being struck as the musicians warmed up their bows. "I hate to be the one to ruin an evening, but the Baxendale Quartet are quite mediocre when it comes to Haydn."
"Then I thank you for the warning," he said with a smirk, "and shall take care to sit near the back."
"A splendid idea. Had I not been the hostess, I most certainly would have joined you." Lady Mottlesborough's attention drifted to the door. "And now it seems your plan to go unnoticed has been foiled, my lord."
Tristan followed her gaze to see Miss Priscilla Smythe and her companion, Miss Hamilton, enter the drawing room.
Lady Mottlesborough tapped his arm with her closed fan. "I'm afraid there is no escaping now," she said before turning to greet the other guests pouring in through the door.
He suppressed a groan as both ladies smiled sweetly and came over to join him.
"I simply knew we would find you in here, eager to secure the best seat." Miss Smythe chuckled sweetly, her golden ringlets bobbing up and down in response. She turned to Miss Hamilton. "Lady Morford said he simply adores Haydn."
"You all know me on
ly too well," he said, his affable tone bringing on a bout of nausea. In reality, none of them knew him at all.
Tristan sighed inwardly. It had not taken him long to fall back into the feigned modes of conduct he despised. Showing enthusiasm when he had none came easier to him than he thought.
"I wanted to introduce you to Mr. Fellows," Miss Smythe said fluttering her lashes, which appeared to be a nervous habit as opposed to a means of flirtation.
"Mr. Fellows?" He made an attempt to look interested.
"My friend Jayne's brother. Don't you remember me telling you that he has recently returned from a spell in India?"
She could well have mentioned it amongst all the talk of bonnets and bombazine. "Of course," he lied.
Miss Smythe gestured to the gentleman with wavy black hair and ridiculous side-whiskers who, upon catching their eye, nodded to the row of chairs at the front.
"Oh, there he is. He did say we should all sit together."
Tristan cleared his throat. "I prefer to sit at the back. I find one can appreciate the melody much more when it is carried through the room."
Miss Smythe's bright smile faded. "Oh. But Mr. Fellows is here alone, and it would be rude not to accompany him now he has gone to the trouble of securing the best seats."
Tristan suppressed a smile. "You and Miss Hamilton may sit with Mr. Fellows. I shall sit elsewhere. Besides, I find Haydn can best be appreciated when there are no pretty distractions."
The lady blushed. "Well, if you're sure you don't mind."
"Not at all." He inclined his head. "And poor Mr. Fellows looks as though he could do with some company. Now, hurry before someone else attempts to steal them from under his nose."
Miss Smythe jumped at the suggestion. "Shall we all meet for refreshments in the interval?"
"Certainly," he said with an affected smile.