"Good God, man. You were fine when we were forced to stay awake for three days to watch the gaol."
"Yes, but it's as though it triggered something inside. I'll just need a couple of hours."
Go then," Marcus waved him away and offered a wide grin. "Go take your nap."
As soon as Tristan left the room, Marcus tore open the letter in his hand.
He was correct in his assumption. Dudley was determined to act on their friend's behalf and had specifically requested Marcus' help in persuading their guest to reveal all she knew of Miss Beaufort's whereabouts.
Bloody hell.
Marcus resisted the urge to kick the desk.
What did he have to do to repay the debt he owed to Dane? Sell his soul to the Devil by the sound of it.
It appeared Miss Sinclair truly was to be one of his assignments.
But how the hell would he get her to confess?
Chapter 4
Anna stood at her bedchamber window and watched the two riders cross the bridge on their way down towards the gate. For the third night in a row, Tristan and Mr. Danbury had left the monastery on some mysterious escapade, and they would not return until the early hours.
Where on earth were they going?
The first night, she imagined they were off to the local inn. Two strong, virile men would no doubt be seeking female companionship. Perhaps they had mistresses down in the village or enjoyed the company of tavern wenches. While she could imagine Tristan drinking ale and sharing friendly banter with the villagers, Mr. Danbury appeared far too serious to partake in rowdy games and bouts of playful teasing.
Indeed, his solemn disposition suggested one of two things. The gentleman's mind was overwhelmed with a matter of grave importance, or his mood was marked by a deep sense of anguish.
Perhaps both were true.
Either way, he appeared to be a man of strong, brooding passions. One did not have to stand close to know a fire burned brightly inside, simmering hot just beneath the surface. It would not take much for him to lose his temper and she wondered when he loved if he did so with the same heated fervour.
Not that it mattered to her.
She would never trust another man again.
How could she when memories of Victor lingered in the dark places of her mind?
Pushing all thoughts of Victor aside, she focused on the mystery of Mr. Danbury's last night departures. After stumbling upon a private meeting earlier in the day, she now knew it had nothing to do with seeking an amorous liaison. The raised voices echoing from inside the chapter house revealed a disagreement over the best way to proceed with their assignment.
Assignment?
The word had been clear, specific, but the nature of their enquiry remained a mystery.
Mr. Danbury acted with a certain apprehension in her presence, although he was far more hospitable since their conversation in the garth. She often found him looking in her direction when he thought she wouldn't notice. Her overly suspicious mind played its cunning tricks and refused to be tempered.
Anna convinced herself it all had something to do with Victor's death. It was too much of a coincidence — her arrival, their sudden, secret assignment.
What if Victor did have a contact abroad?
She knew he shipped girls out of London but had no idea where. He had kept it from her until the River Police had stepped up their patrols and he had been forced to hide a girl at Labelles.
What if his contact had followed her? What if he was here in France and knew she was the one responsible for killing Victor?
Had Lord Danesfield uncovered information and asked Mr. Danbury to investigate? They were situated on the coast, after all.
The years she'd spent running Victor's establishment, were years spent in ignorance. She could never quite gauge his mood, never really knew what bizarre request would fall from his grim lips. She never knew the full extent of the dastardly deeds committed at his behest, and she'd be damned before she'd let another man play her for a naive fool.