An Honorable Rogue by Carol Townend Page A

remained busy. When the angelus bell tolled, it set the pigeons fluttering from their perches. Noon already? Rozenn wriggled her shoulders, clipped her shears back on to her belt and surveyed her stall. There was not much left, which was pleasing, since experience had taught her that most sales were to be made in the morning.
    Rootling through what remained. Rose refolded the cloth and straightened the odd bale. She wondered if she should lower her prices. No, not yet, some of it was too good to reduce further; she would wait until later in the day.
    Countess Muriel and her ladies, having scoured every stall in the market, were making their way back to the keep.
    'Rozenn?'
    She gave a start. Mark Quemeneur stood beside her, his grey eyes regarding her gravely.
    'Good morning, monsieur. I didn't see you.'
    'You are in good health, I trust?" Mark asked in his slow, formal way. Mark Quemeneur was about ten years Rozenn's senior, and he was a trifle stout. His wife, before she had died bearing their fifth child, had liked to keep a generous table.
    'My thanks, I am well. And you?'
    While she exchanged greetings and comments with Mark on the success of the market so far, Rozenn caught sight of Ben threading his way through the stalls, slowly but surely heading towards her. Her heart began to thud.
    'Did you get top prices as you had hoped?" Mark-- always the merchant--asked.
    'Indeed.'
    Mark shifted closer, absently fingering a remnant of velvet that was too small to make even a short cloak. Sweat was beading his upper lip. Clearing his throat, he flushed. 'Enough to...ah...solve the problems Per left you with, perhaps?'
    Mark's grey eyes fixed earnestly on Rozenn's. He was asking her this, she was sure, because if she could not settle Per's debts then he thought to persuade her to let him have her leftovers at a knock-down price.
    'Remember my offer,' Mark Quemeneur continued, patting his bulging money belt, 'If you do find yourself short and unable to settle, it would not be a problem for a girl who had agreed to become my wife.'
    Her gut twisted. 'Y-your wife?'
    Naturally, Ben would have to draw level with her stall at that very moment. His hair gleamed dark as a raven's wing. One of his eyebrows shot sharply upwards, his lips twitched, but he drifted on, tugging at an earlobe while apparently intent on a piglet tethered to a post by the butcher's stall. Rozenn bit her lip. By tugging his earlobe as he had done, Ben was letting her know that he was eavesdropping on her conversation with Mark. It was an old signal from a game they had played as children.
    Rose's mind was reeling at a second unexpected proposal, but she was thankful Ben was close. The tension in her gut eased and she produced a smile for Mark because the man was offering her marriage, even if, in the wording of his offer, he had made it sound as if he was hoping to buy her by way of paying off Per's debts. It would be convenient for Mark if she were to accept him. He would have a mother for his five children; he would have a housekeeper and cook, and a partner to assist him with his business. Mark would make a reliable husband. Unlike Per, Mark Quemeneur always settled his debts. He might overeat on occasion, but he never drank to excess. She need no longer be alone. How convenient. How sensible. How ghastly. Thank God, Sir Richard had offered for her...
    'Monsieur, I... I thank you, but I have sold all I need. This day's work will see me setting the tallies straight, every last one. Your offer is kind, but I must refuse it.'
    For a moment, emotion glimmered at the back of the grey eyes. Disappointment? No. Mark Quemeneur was a merchant to his core--he did not love her.
    He inclined his head, formal as ever. 'I am sorry I cannot be of service to you in that way, madame, for I truly hold you in high regard.'
    And then Mark Quemeneur shocked her--he looked at her lips. Slowly and deliberately, with such blatant sensuality that the hot colour surged in her cheeks.