Susan Carroll (11 page)

His gaze lowered to her décolletage. Lily had
selected the design of the dress. Anne had said all along she
feared the gown was too revealing. Under Mandell's bold eyes, she
was sure of it. He added, “The effect would be even more enchanting
in a garden by moonlight.”

Anne's cheeks fired. How could he be so
shameless as to remind her of their last encounter?

“I have nothing to say to you,” she remarked.
“If you have come to apologize, I would prefer you just sent round
a note.”

“I would be happy to send you notes, flowers,
anything else you desire, Sorrow. But what would you have me
apologize for?”

Anne's gaze came uncomfortably to rest upon
the outline of that sensual mouth. “You know full well!”

“Ah, that! You expect me to express my
gentlemanly regrets for kissing you. That would be both rude and
untruthful.” He captured her hand. Holding her eyes with his own,
he raised her fingertips to his lips. “I fear I cannot say that I
am sorry. Do you really want me to?”

“I—I,” Anne faltered. It was so easy for him
to fluster and confuse her. The contact of his mouth against her
hand was fleeting, but enough to send a shiver of heat coursing
through her. “I just want you to go away.”

Mandell released her hand, his eyes
narrowing. “Why do I get the feeling that I am more than usually
unwelcome? Are you worried I will frighten away your other
admirers?”

“I don't have any admirers.”

“That's where you are quite mistaken, my
dear.” He cupped her chin, forcing her to look up. Her breath
snagged in her throat. She thought he would be bold enough to kiss
her again, here in the theatre where anyone below in the pit might
see. For a moment, she had difficulty remembering she had vowed
never to let this man come near her again.

Somewhat unsteadily, she put his hand away
from her. “Please stop teasing me. By now you must be quite aware
that I don't know how to flirt. You must have laughed yourself nigh
ill at the way I bolted from the garden like a frightened rabbit.”
She could not prevent the tiny catch in her voice, the hurt and
humiliation still so fresh in her mind.

“Nay, Sorrow. I had not the least inclination
to laugh. The garden was a cold and lonely place after you had
gone.” Mandell's words were as warm as a caress. Anne had never
known any man so practiced in the art of seduction. He constantly
made her feel as though the ground were about to shift beneath her
feet.

She frowned. “Then I don't understand. If not
for your own amusement, why do you keep seeking me out? What is it
that you want?”

“You.”

The low spoken syllable sent a jolt through
her entire system. All her anxieties over the desperate scheme to
get Norrie back were driven clean out of her head. Anne did not
remember bending her knees to sit, but she sagged down upon her
chair. She barely managed to keep her grip on the purse, burying it
in the folds of her gown.

“Are you cold?” Mandell asked.

Anne watched him retrieve her cashmere shawl
from where it had tumbled to the floor. He draped the soft folds
about her, his hands lingering on her shoulders.

Still in shock, Anne was certain she could
not have heard him right.

At last she echoed doubtfully, “You want me?
For what?”

His eyes widened in genuine surprise. Then a
smoky heat drifted into his gaze. His lashes drifted downward, his
stare tracing a slow scorching path from her lips to the exposed
flesh above her bodice.

“Oh!” Anne shrank back. She wrapped the shawl
tightly across her breasts.

“There is no need for you to bundle up so. It
is not my intention to take you here and now.”

“Not now! Not ever!”

“That is another matter entirely.” He smiled
at her, drawing up another chair. He sat so close that his knees
brushed against hers.

“You must be quite insane,” she said. “You
hardly even know me and yet you are telling me that you would
...

“Indeed I would, and gladly. It does not take
me long to decide whether or not I want a woman in my bed.”

His bed. Disturbing images sprang to her mind
of a place as exotic as a sultan's lair, redolent with seductive
incense, satin and sin, Mandell's lean hard frame tangled amongst
crimson sheets. Anne swallowed. The fire in her cheeks became an
inferno.

“How dare you say such things to me!”

“A lady of your great virtue? Alas, we both
know my opinion of that. Virtue is the last refuge of those lacking
courage or imagination.”

“And in which of those categories do you
place me?”

“I don't think you want for courage,
Sorrow.”

He was accusing her of having no imagination
then. He was very wrong about that. He could not know how her mind
ran riot, focusing on his strong graceful hands, those long lean
fingers, imagining the things they could do to her.

Mandell continued, “I am paying you the
compliment of being bluntly honest. I could as easily seduce you
with soft words, false pledges. But I admit my intentions toward
you are quite dishonorable. The only promise I make is that there
will be a great deal of pleasure for both of us.”

Anne could hardly believe that this fantastic
conversation was even taking place. She stifled an outburst of
hysterical laughter. For nearly twenty-six years her life had been
as placid as a stagnant pond. Now, in the space of one night, she
had to plot to abduct her own daughter and fend off an attempt at
seduction.

“I have never had an improper proposal
before,” Anne said. “I am not sure what I am supposed to say.
Except, definitely no, thank you. My life is already in enough of a
coil at the moment.”

“Perhaps I could help you untangle it,
Sorrow.”

“You cannot help. If anything, you are making
things more difficult, and please, stop calling me by that dreadful
nickname.”

“But it suits you so well. There is a sadness
that is never far from your eyes.” Mandell leaned forward in his
seat. He managed to secure one of her hands. “What is wrong,
Anne?”

“Nothing, except for the fact that you are
tormenting me with these outrageous proposals. What makes you think
anything else could be wrong?”

“For one thing, most women carry nothing more
lethal in their purse than smelling salts.”

Anne's startled gaze flew up to meet his. His
eyes held hers steadily, knowingly. Of course he knew. She had been
foolish to think there was a chance he had not noticed the
pistol.

“I am only carrying the pistol for
protection,” she said. “From footpads like the Hook.”

“There could be a dozen Hooks abroad tonight
and you would never heed them. What is it that really troubles you,
dear heart?”

The softly voiced question inspired her with
a strange desire to burst into tears. She shook her head.

“Only you.”

“I wish I could believe it was me that caused
you to tremble so.” He turned over her hand as though examining it,
the shaking in her fingers clearly visible. He ran his own
fingertips over her palm, lightly stroking, evoking sensations that
did nothing to stop the tremors coursing through her. He added with
a sigh, “But there has always been something, or someone else. I
would have the truth from you, Anne.”

A brief moment of madness came over her. She
felt overwhelmed with a longing to unburden herself of all the fear
and misery she had borne alone these past few months. It was wicked
the things this man could do with his voice, his eyes. He could
make it seem as though there were a chance that he might really
care.

His grip upon her hand tightened, his voice
becoming low and charged with an intensity that frightened her.
“Trust me, Anne. Whatever, whoever it is who brings that look to
your eyes, I will banish it. Whatever your unhappiness, your fears,
in my arms, I can make you forget.”

Forget Norrie? Mandell's vow snapped Anne
back to her senses as nothing else could. She reminded herself of
exactly what he was, a callous, cynical seducer of women. Nothing
more,

She yanked her hand away. “You are the last
person on this earth that I would ever trust. A man like you! A
libertine with no honor, no heart, no proper feelings! If you will
not leave me alone, I shall go myself.”

“That will not be necessary.”

Whatever gentleness she had fancied in his
face was shuttered away again. He presented the sardonic facade she
found far more familiar. Idly, he rose to his feet, straightening
his cuffs. “There is no need for you to run away again. Sorrow. I
will leave if that is what you wish.”

He sauntered toward the door of the box,
pausing only to glance back at her, his eyes as bright and hard as
onyx.

“But my going changes nothing, Anne,” he
said. “I want you. I will have you.”

He swept her a magnificent bow, then was
gone, his soft-spoken threat seeming to linger in the air. Anne
found she was trembling so badly, she had to grip the back of her
chair.

I want you. I will have you

Panic lashed through Anne, accompanied by a
feeling of strange wild excitement. It was but one more reason to
avoid Mandell.

One more reason to gather up her daughter as
soon as possible and flee London forever.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sara Palmer unfurled the leaves of her
ivory-handled fan and waved it before her, trying to enjoy the
luxury of what might be her last night attending the theatre. The
subscription on the box Mandell had hired for her was due to run
out. Such an excellent location it had been, near the stage, rather
private from the rest of the house.

If she came to the theatre again, it would
have to be at the half-pay rate, coming in after the main bill was
over, sitting in the pit. Just another one of the economies she
would be forced to practice until she acquired a wealthy and noble
lover, hopefully one more marriage-minded this time.

Sara sighed. Her prospects at the moment did
not look good. She was a fool to have broken with Mandell before
she had been assured of something better. The marquis had been most
generous, and under his protection, Sara feared, she had learned to
be extravagant. Only three days separated from him and she was
already feeling the pinch. Mandell had finished paying for the
lease on her apartment and the stabling fees for her horses, but
there had been the dressmaker's bill she had forgotten to have him
settle, also one from the jeweler.

Sara did not know what had gotten into her.
She was usually far more efficient and businesslike in her dealings
with men. Her only excuse was that she had been distracted of late,
and she did not have to look far for the source of it.

Frowning, she glanced at the tall figure of
the young soldier who lounged in the chair behind her. With a yawn
and a stretch, her brother rose and moved toward the door of the
box.

“Where are you going, Gideon?” Sara asked
sharply.

“Just thought I would step out a moment to
get a breath of air.”

“There is plenty of air right here. Sit down.
I didn't ask for your company tonight merely to have you abandon me
while you slip backstage to flirt with some actress.”

“Is that what you are afraid of, my dear
sister? Or did you think I was going to nip out to the alley and
carve someone else up with my hook? The intermission is almost over
and it has been so long since my last murder.”

“Lower your voice!” Sara hissed with a
nervous glance around her. “There are some here tonight who might
not appreciate your dark sense of humor.”

“Like that fat magistrate who was sitting in
the box next to us?”

“Yes!” Sara was relieved to see that the
portly official had stepped from his seat during the intermission,
especially since Gideon persisted in talking so recklessly. Her
brother had that look in his eye that boded ill. Sara had known it
since their childhood, that diamond-hard glitter. Sometimes it
almost seemed as though Gideon was begging to have a noose placed
around his neck.

She was not soothed, even when he stepped up
behind her and began to massage the back of her neck with his large
powerful hands.

“Sara, Sara,” he chided. “You have to relax
about this Hook affair. The beaks in the city are too busy rounding
up all the one-handed men to bother with me as a suspect. The only
one ready to send me to the gallows is you. You wound my tender
feelings. Positively, you do.”

“Your feelings couldn't be wounded with a
poleax.” Impatiently, Sara thrust her brother's hands away from
her. “If I still suspect you had something to do with that murder,
I have good reason. You were always lurking about with Bertie
Glossop and that other young idiot Dan Keeler. And I know how vile
your temper can be when you have been drinking. As if that were not
enough, you have been flashing around an inordinate amount of money
lately.”

“It is only my pension, the grand reward our
government bestows upon the noble warriors who shed blood for dear
old England.” His mocking tone was underscored with bitterness as
his hand crept to his face in an almost reflexive gesture. He
stroked the jagged scar that bisected his chin like a flash of
white lightning, the legacy of the French sabre that had nearly
cleft his jaw in twain.

“You've never seen a penny of recompense
since you have been out of the army,” Sara said indignantly.

“I never saw a penny while I was in the army.
All I have to show for my devoted service is this uniform.”

“Stolen off of some officer's back!”

“He no longer had any use for it. He died of
dysentery, poor chap.”

“You should get rid of it. It is dangerous to
go around impersonating a leftenant.”

“But it impresses the devil out of the
ladies.” Gideon grinned. “Sometimes I think I should have stayed
with the regiment, but things got sadly flat after Waterloo. And I
daresay they won't release poor old Boney from Elba merely to suit
me. So alas, my dear, I fear your brother must embark upon a new
career.”