"Shall I leave you to read in private?" he asked.
"No." The word sounded like a soft sigh. "I'm done." She refolded the paper and placed it in her lap.
Desperation gripped him, an urge to know what the hell Dane wanted with her. Why had he written to her twice in the space of a few days?
"If you leave your reply on my desk in the chapter house, I shall send it along with my own correspondence in the morning."
"There is no need. I shall not be sending a reply."
Putting pressure on the quill was sure to sting her cracked knuckles. "If your hands pain you, Tristan can be trusted to write while you dictate."
Her penetrating gaze searched his face. Why did he get the impression she had the power to see beyond his words? The thought was somewhat unnerving.
"Are you telling me you cannot be trusted, Mr. Danbury?"
Marcus shrugged. "I know how fond you are of Tristan. I assumed you would prefer to spend time in his company rather than mine."
He had no desire to sit with her conversing of poets, the hidden meanings behind paintings, and her interest in gothic novels. He would use his time more wisely. Were her lips as soft and as sweet as he imagined? Would her skill and experience coupled with her beguiling beauty make for a more stimulating encounter in the bedchamber?
"I do not wish to reply because I have nothing to say," she said, although she offered no objection to his assessment of her friendship with Tristan.
A faint sliver of jealousy crept through him.
Bloody hell.
He cared for Tristan like a brother. He was the closest thing he had to family, yet the thought of punching him on the nose and marring his fine features suddenly had some appeal.
"Here, you may read it if you wish." She offered him the letter, but he waved his hand to decline.
"I have no interest in the details contained in your private correspondence, Miss Sinclair." The lie fell easily from his lips.
"It is from Lord Danesfield. He makes certain demands, and I refuse to comply."
Damn the woman. She knew exactly how to pique his interest. If he did ever pursue a liaison with her, he was certain she would have him pining after her like a lost puppy.
Unable to resist, and telling himself he had every right to know of any demands made upon his guests, he peeled back the folds and scanned the letter with feigned indifference.
Dane's extreme anger and frustration were evident within the first few lines. As he continued reading, Marcus felt a strange sense of relief when he realised Dane had no interest in having Miss Sinclair as his mistress.
How odd that the thought should please him.
Marcus glanced up into turquoise-blue eyes tinged with guilt. "Dane wants you to tell him what you know of Miss Beaufort's disappearance. Am I right to assume his previous letter was of a similar vein?"
Miss Sinclair nodded. "Lord Danesfield is a good man. To some extent I owe him my life. But I cannot tell him what he wants to know."
"You can't tell him, or you won't tell him?"
She shrugged. "Perhaps both are true. It doesn't matter now. It is not my secret to tell."
Marcus glanced down at Dane's scrawling script. Besides anger, the words held a hint of desperation. "But you do know Miss Beaufort is safe and well?"
"Of course she is safe and well. But Miss Beaufort knows her own mind. She is in love with him but fears she would not be a suitable wife for a marquess. She needs to know he loves her for who she is. When he talks of marriage, she needs to know it is not simply because Society dictates they should wed."
Dane was a man of strong principle. A man who would stop at nothing to protect those he cared for. If he had discussed marriage with Miss Beaufort, Marcus was damn sure he meant it. What Society deemed appropriate would play no part in his decision.
"Did Lord Danesfield send you here as a form of punishment? Are you to stay until you confess? Is that why you spend an hour each day in the chapel?"
The questions were impertinent, far too intrusive.