Susan Carroll (23 page)

Then Mandell cupped her breast through the
thin fabric of her gown and Anne found she could not breathe at
all. She no longer felt light, a warm heaviness stealing over her
that seemed to center at her woman's core. As he stroked her
nipple, teasing it to a state of hardness, a sigh escaped her, and
the sheer cotton that separated her from his touch became a
torment.

He shifted her to a sitting position upon his
lap. Breathing kisses against her neck, he reached around her. No
lady's maid could have been more adept at undoing the fastenings of
a gown and chemise. But the brief respite gave Anne time to cool
down a little.

“No, please,” she could not keep from saying
as he began to slip the gown down her arms.

He stopped at once, exposing only her
shoulders. “But you are lovely.” He traced the path of her fragile
collarbone with his fingers. “Mrs. Brindlehurst was right about the
posture. I am excessively grateful to her.”

Starting with her shoulder, Mandell caressed
her with his lips, his mouth warm against her tender flesh. Anne
drew in a tiny gasp, trying to stem the sparks of sensation he
aroused, delicious wild sensations that threatened to overwhelm
her.

His own breath coming a little quicker,
Mandell eased her gown down farther, exposing the soft upper swell
of her breast. As his mouth covered the pulse beating at the base
of her throat, Anne stifled a soft cry. The fabric of her gown fell
away to her waist, revealing the full round globes of her breasts
to Mandell's gaze. She watched the desire flare in his eyes.

No man had ever stared thus at her nakedness,
not even her husband. Anne tried to fold her arms protectively
across herself, but Mandell stopped her.

“Would you drive me to madness, Anne? Don't
seek to hide your beauty from me.”

When he kissed her again, Anne thought it was
she who would go mad. He caught her lower lip gently between his
teeth, sipped at her mouth, his tongue skimming hers, re-kindling
the fire.

The contact of his warm palm against her bare
breast sent spirals of heat through her. He stroked and caressed.
She trembled and burned, biting down upon her lip to keep from
moaning aloud.

He sought the valley between her breasts and
kissed her there. Anne was shocked as much by her own eager
response as by what he was doing to her. He whispered against her
flesh, “Let your feelings go, Anne. There is no passion you need be
ashamed of with me, no desire I would not be pleased to
indulge,”

Anne caught his head, seeking to stop him as
his lips closed over one nipple, his mouth hot and moist as he
gently suckled her. She found herself burying her hands in his dark
hair instead, arching back her neck and closing her eyes with a
long shuddering sigh. The rush of pleasure that coursed through her
was wondrous and new, almost unbearable in its intensity.

She squirmed on his lap, striking up against
the hard evidence of Mandell's own arousal.

“Ohl” she gasped.

“I think it is time I showed you my bed,” he
said.

Anne gave a dazed nod. He rose to his feet,
gathering her up amidst a tangle of gown and chemise, lifting her
high against his chest. She wrapped her arms about his neck,
clinging to him as he moved away from the glow of the fire, bearing
her off to the cool dark mystery that was his bedchamber.

The moon had finally succeeded in piercing
the clouds. It shone through the tall latticed windows, spilling
its silver-white light across the massive four-poster bed.

When Mandell lowered Anne onto the mattress,
she was bathed by a shaft of moonlight, turning her tumbled hair to
gold, her soft white skin as translucent as pearl.

Mandell had never brought any woman to his
own bed before. This chamber was his inner citadel, a prison of
pain-filled memories, tormenting regrets, and empty dreams. But
tonight he felt as though he had captured an angel, brought her
there to drive back the darkness and loneliness that filled too
much of his life.

As he gazed down at Anne through eyes hazed
with passion, Mandell's throat closed with an unexpected surge of
emotion that had little to do with the desire pumping through his
veins. Struggling to remove his dressing gown and shirt, his hands
seemed wooden and clumsy.

When he stripped away his shirt, Anne stared
up at the bare contours of his chest with a kind of wide-eyed
wonder. She half reached out to touch, only to retreat.

As he stretched himself out beside her on the
bed, he caught her hand, drawing it against him. Her fingers felt
slight and fragile threading through the matting of his dark hair,
resting over the thundering region of his heart.

“I've never touched a man's naked chest
before,” she whispered.

His surprise at this pronouncement must have
been evident, for she hastened to explain, “Gerald always wore
nightshirts to bed.”

Mandell smiled. “Well, milady, I wear nothing
at all.”

She stole a downward glance. “But you are
still wearing your—” Anne broke off, looking enchantingly
flustered.

“A condition I intend to remedy.” Mandell
began undoing the buttons on his breeches when Anne sat up
abruptly, her hair spilling forward across her naked shoulders.

“No, wait. Please. Before we go any further,
I have a confession to make.”

“Confessions are best left for the morning
after,” Mandell said, easing her back down, brushing back the
golden tendrils that veiled her small firm breasts from his view.
He sought to stir again the sweet desire he had glimpsed in her
face before.

But she restrained him. “No, it is something
I must tell you now.” She averted her face, her voice sounding
small and guilty. “I did intend to cheat you of this night, milord.
I was going to take Norrie and run way.”

Her confession did not surprise him as much
as she expected. But he said gravely, “And what made you change
your mind?”

“I had promised you and I never break
promises.”

Mandell pulled her close, settling her
softness against his own hard length. Nuzzling his mouth against
her neck, he murmured, “And was the prospect of coming to my bed so
alarming you considered going back on your word?”

“I thought so, but I realized tonight that it
is not you I am really afraid of.”

“I am glad to hear that.” His lips located
the sensitive hollow behind her ear.

A long blissful sigh escaped her. “It is
really myself that I fear. I have been no one but the 'virtuous
Anne' for so long. I am not sure who I will be after my night with
you.”

Mandell stilled for a moment. That was
something he had not given much thought to, how Anne would feel
about their passionate encounter on the morning after, in the cold
light of day. It was not something he wanted to think about
now.

He skimmed his hands over her bare flesh,
down to her waist, seeking to remove her clothes the rest of the
way. He felt Anne's quiver of response.

“I never imagined it would be like this,” she
said. “I never thought you could be so gentle and kind.”

Kind? Now there was a word to cool a man's
ardor. He kissed Anne, long and deep, attempting to put a stop to
any more of these confessions.

But when he drew back, she looked up at him,
her eyes shining. “I owe you so much, my lord, more than I can ever
repay. And I just want you to know that I am ready now to give you
whatever it is you want from me.”

Mandell stared at her, stunned to silence.
Anne took his hand and breathed a kiss along the back of it, then
cupped his palm against her cheek. She began running her own
fingers over his chest in a feather-light exploration. Mandell had
never realized that so gentle a touch could prove such exquisite
torture, the promise of all he longed for and now knew he could not
take. He held himself as rigid as stone, not responding. With more
self-control than he ever dreamed he possessed, he wrenched himself
out of her arms. He stalked over to his dressing table, gripping
the back of the chair until he thought he would splinter the wood
to bits.

“My lord?” He heard Anne's voice behind him,
soft and confused.

She could not be any more confounded than he
was himself at this moment. He ached with his need of her, his
desire to bury himself deep within her welcoming softness. Never
could he remember wanting any woman more. So what stopped him from
taking her? They had made a pact between them. She had just told
him that she was willing and ready to redeem her pledge, to do
anything to please him.

Ah, but there was that other blasted word
that still seemed to hang in the air.
Kind
. Mandell grated
his teeth. From the moment he had met Anne at Lady Sumner's ball,
he had schemed and manipulated to get her into his bed, used
whatever ploy he could think of, including her love for her child.
And she thought him kind.

So kind she had overcome her fear of having
any regrets. Now the fear was all his. When he had satisfied his
selfish desires, taken his fill of Anne, what was he going to do
with his virtuous Lady Sorrow after his passion was spent? She
would be no Sara Palmer, giving him a cool nod the next time he
chanced to pass her out driving in the park. Would Anne hereafter
blush with shame every time she met his eye across some crowded
ballroom? Would she seek to bury herself back in the country rather
than ever encounter him again?

It was the most damnable moment to be asking
himself such questions with the lady sprawled out on his bed half
naked, her own desires finally awakened. Mandell dragged his hand
back through his hair in pure frustration.

“Mandell?” Anne called again. “Is something
amiss?”

“Get dressed,” he snapped without looking
around.

“I don't understand.”

“I said get dressed. You can manage that much
on your own, I suppose?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good,” he growled. “It would be well if I
did not touch you again.”

She fell silent, but he could sense her
puzzlement. Then her voice came again, sounding very quiet this
time. “Did I do something wrong?”

Mandell swore softly. “No, you didn't. I did.
I should know better than to ever permit a woman to talk when I am
making love to her.”

He heard her shifting off the bed and
realized with some alarm she meant to approach him.

“Stay back,” he snarled. Unwisely he risked a
look at her. Her flow of angel's hair tumbled about her flushed
features, her gown dragged up only as high as her smooth white
shoulders. It was pure agony watching the rise and fall of her
breasts as she breathed, the wistful trembling of her lips.

He turned away, feeling beads of cold sweat
break out on his forehead. “Our pact is ended, madam. When you are
dressed, I shall summon Hastings to take you home.”

“You are releasing me? But why?”

“Because!” Mandell gave a harsh self-mocking
laugh. “Who would have ever thought it? After all these years, I
have stumbled over my conscience in the dark of my own
bedchamber.”

He flung over his shoulder before stalking
from the room, “And I am finding it most damnably
inconvenient.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A storm was brewing. Mandell stood at the
open window of his study, staring at the overcast sky. The wind
tore past the draperies, rifling his hair, the raw spring air
seeming to cut through the thin linen of his shirt. The room was as
cold as his empty hearth He had had no one in to light the fire and
none of his servants had dared to appear unbidden. His humor had
not been of the best since he had sent Anne away last night.

He had retired to his empty bed, not to
sleep, but to lie awake calling himself every sort of idiot. He
might have spent the hours until dawn with Anne's slender warm body
clasped in his arms, sampling all those pleasures she had so
willingly offered. Instead he had been left to toss and turn, his
loins afire, tormented with the ache of unfulfilled desire. He had
finally cursed himself to sleep somewhere near daybreak.

He had not awakened until well past noon,
bleary-eyed, and in the devil's own temper. A temper that had not
improved much as day wore on His mood was about as dark as the sky
overhead, the storm clouds stealing away the daylight earlier than
usual.

He ought to close the window. His study was
by now cold and damp. But he welcomed the bite of the wind. Perhaps
its chill breath might return both his icy composure and his common
sense.

What the deuce had come over him last night?
He had gone to such lengths to seduce Anne, greater effort than he
had ever expended upon any woman. He had pursued her at the
theatre, followed her through the streets like some lovesick ass
and had come close to fighting a duel all for her sake. In his
bedchamber, he had done his best to put her at her ease, murmured
such tender words as had ever passed his cynical lips. Then, after
such a hard-fought campaign, he had allowed her to escape him
because of some wretched attack of scruples.

It was as ridiculous as if Wellington had
turned back from Waterloo to avoid distressing Napoleon. Mandell
shook his head in disgust. It was just fortunate that he had seen
nothing of his cousin Nick of late. If Drummond ever guessed how
this affair of the lady Anne had ended, Nick would either roar with
laughter or go all sanctimonious and declare that he had known one
day Mandell's more noble self would emerge. Either response would
be intolerable.

If only he had it all to do over again,
Mandell thought fiercely. But that was the pure hell of it. He
feared he would end by doing the same thing. What else was there to
do when one found oneself drowning in violet eyes, listening to the
woman pledging that she was ready to give him everything he
wanted?

Did not the little fool understand that no
one
gave
to the marquis of Mandell? He took what he wanted.
There was nothing to be done with a female that naive but send her
packing. Nick had warned him all along that Anne was not suited for
the kind of diversion Mandell sought. He should not have had to he
warned. He had always known that virtuous women were the very
devil.