Susan Carroll (17 page)

But that was before Mandell began stripping
off his glove with a deadly calm.

Fairhaven went ash white. As Mandell stood
there, towering over Sir Lucien, the hubbub in the room became
quieter. Heads turned, necks craned as the realization spread that
something of great interest was transpiring between the marquis of
Mandell and Sir Lucien Fairhaven.

Mandell was only vaguely aware of the
gathering silence, of Sir Lancelot gaping, of Nick inching closer.
Mandell focused on Sir Lucien's bloodshot eyes. The man tried to
sneer, but failed, fear creeping unbidden into the hazed blue
depths.

How many times had this bastard inflicted a
similiar torment upon Anne? Mandell wondered. Sir Lucien mocking
her and threatening, making her afraid, not for herself, but for
her child.

As beads of perspiration dotted Sir Lucien's
brow, Mandell stroked his glove between his fingers, relishing the
moment, prolonging it.

“Don't!” Fairhaven rasped hoarsely, his eyes
darting about as wildly as a cornered rat's. “I will return the
girl.”

Mandell scarce heeded him. All he seemed able
to think of was Anne. Anne's blue eyes drowning in sorrow, Anne
describing her agony at finding her child missing, Anne desperate
enough to brave the night, clutching that misloaded pistol.

Slowly Mandell began to draw back his
arm.

Sir Lucien shrank back, saying louder, “Stop!
Damn you, I said that Anne shall have the child back. By noon
tomorrow.”

Mandell became aware of Nick's grip upon his
sleeve. “He has yielded, Mandell,” Nick murmured.

Exercising every last bit of his
self-control, Mandell lowered his hand, releasing his breath. Sir
Lucien got shakily to his feet. But before he could bolt away,
Mandell said, “Noon tomorrow. I trust you will remember. I should
not care to have to remind you.”

Fairhaven gave a jerky nod. His eyes
glittered with all the hatred of a whipped cur, then he brushed
past Nick and was gone. Apparently he had lost his taste for
gaming, for he made directly for the door.

The room at large seemed to draw a collective
breath. The excitement over, interest returned to the cards and
dice once more. Only Nick dared to make any sort of remark upon the
recent proceedings. “Damn it, Mandell. For a moment there, I
thought I was going to end up being your second after all.”

“I told you there was little chance of that
at the outset.” Mandell eased his glove back onto his hand. “Sir
Lucien was no more than I ever thought him, both a fool and a
coward.”

“Forgive me,” Nick said. “But I overheard a
lot of what passed between you. Why did you not tell me earlier
what was amiss? That villain actually took away Lady Anne's child.
I vow I was ready to smash his teeth down his throat. But you were
so cool. I never saw anything to equal it. You cowed him without
striking a single blow.”

“Yes,” Mandell said, conscious of a bitter
disappointment that this was so. Anne's tormentor had escaped too
lightly. How very much he would have enjoyed holding the bastard at
pistol point and slowly cocking the hammer.

Mandell checked the savage thought, wondering
what was wrong with him. He had achieved what he set out to do.
Nothing else should matter. Yet he felt annoyed when Nick caught up
his hand, wringing it in a hearty congratulation.

“What you did tonight was wonderful,” Nick
said. “One of the most noble, unselfish things I have ever seen you
do. I do believe there is hope for you yet, coz.”

Mandell wrenched his hand away. His voice
held a sharp edge as he replied, “Noble? Unselfish? And just what
do you suppose my motives were?”

“To help Anne recover her child. What other
reason could there be?”

“It never occurred to you, my idealistic
young fool, that there are many ways to seduce a woman. Some want
diamonds. Anne wanted her child back. It was that simple.”

Nick's smile faded. “You mean you only did
this to lure Anne Fairhaven into your bed?”

“How very astute of you to finally figure it
out.” Mandell waited for Nick's explosion of outrage, feeling that
he would be glad of it. Anything would be better than having Nick
stare at him like he was some sort of blasted hero when they both
knew better.

Nick's expected burst of temper was not
forthcoming. He did look more subdued, the light dying from his
eyes. But he shook his head slowly.

“No, Mandell. I don't think even you fully
comprehend the reasons for what you did tonight.”

“You pretend to know me better than I do
myself?”

“Perhaps this once 1 do.”

Mandell drew himself up coldly. “I suggest
you save your insights of character for your opponents in
Parliament, Drummond. You may have need of such brilliance come
next election.”

Feeling more irritated with his cousin than
he ever had in his life, Mandell turned and stalked away, leaving
Nick staring thoughtfully after him.

It was not the fashionable hour for shopping.
The shops on Bond Street stood nearly empty at that hour of the
day, most of the ladies still abed or lingering over their morning
chocolate, But Anne Fairhaven had hardly been able to sleep or eat
since she had parted from Mandell by Lily's gate.

A day and a night had gone by in which she
had heard nothing from him. She wished he would have given her some
hint of how he meant to force Lucien to return Norrie, but Mandell
was very much a man who played out his own hand. Anne could do
little but steel herself to wait, to try to fill her anxious
hours.

That was why she paced down Bond Street at
such an early hour, approaching the milliner's shop where she had
first seen the child's bonnet. It was still there, displayed in the
window, a confection of satin and lace the color of old ivory,
trimmed with pale pink ribbons, with a large poke front that would
frame Norrie's piquant features most charmingly.

Anne had glimpsed the bonnet days before when
she had been dragged out on a shopping expedition by Lily. Then
Anne had been scarce able to look at the delicate garment or
anything else that reminded her of the little girl she had
lost.

But now she did a most foolish thing. She
went into the shop and purchased the bonnet. All during the
carriage ride back to Lily's, Anne hugged the bandbox upon her lap,
telling herself she was courting heartbreak by daring to dream that
she would again have Norrie with her soon.

It was unreasonable to expect Mandell to
accomplish anything so swiftly, perhaps to expect that he could
accomplish anything at all. But she did expect. She did hope. He
was a rake, a cynic, a man who possessed few scruples, but she
sensed that he did not give his pledge lightly.

And he had pledged to get Norrie back for
her. As to what she had promised in return ... Anne shivered,
choosing not to think about that just now.

When the coach pulled up before Lily's
townhouse, Anne handed down her purchase to the footman who flung
open the carriage door. She prayed that she had arrived back before
Lily rose from her bed. Her sister would be sure to scold Anne for
venturing abroad so early and without even the company of a maid.
It would also be difficult to explain the purchase of that little
bonnet without revealing her hopes and the shocking bargain she had
struck with Mandell.

Anne hardly waited for the footman to help
her to the pavement. She gathered up her skirts, preparing to slip
back into the house as quickly as possible, when she was halted by
the sound of someone bellowing her name.

She had little time to turn about before she
realized that her brother-in-law was bearing down upon her. Lucien
looked quite wild, but Anne took in little of his appearance, her
gaze riveted upon the child he dragged by the hand.

Norrie! Anne's heart constricted painfully.
The little girl was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Before Anne
could move to intervene, Lucien drew abreast of her.

“Here,” he snarled. “Take her.” He flung the
child at Anne. Norrie bounded into Anne's arms with a tiny sob and
Anne lifted her, straining her close as though she would never let
her go.

As Norrie buried her small face against Anne,
Anne stared at Lucien. She was too stunned to do more than stammer.
“I don't understand.”

Lucien glowered back at her. “Your new friend
visited me at my club last night. I don't know what has passed
between you and Mandell, but you have won this round. I am
returning the girl, but I promise you, Anne. Neither you nor that
interfering bastard has heard the last of this.”

He spoke this vow with such savage hatred,
Anne was glad that Norrie had her face hidden against Anne's cloak.
Spinning on his heel, Lucien stormed off down the pavement without
another look back.

Still in shock, it took Anne a moment to
accept the reality of what had just happened. She had Norrie back
again. And neither Lucien's fury nor his threats mattered. Anne’s
joy was so intense it was akin to pain. Her knees threatened to
buckle beneath her and she was forced to set Norrie down upon the
pavement.

She tangled her fingers in the child's silken
hair, nearly devouring the little girl with her kisses, soothing
away Norrie's tears with hands that trembled.

“I was scared, Mama,” Norrie hiccuped on a
sob. “Uncle Lucien was so angry. I thought he liked me. He gave me
a pony.”

“Well, I believe that he— Oh, but what does
it matter now?” She caught Norrie in another fierce hug. “You are
going home with Mama now, love. And no one shall take you away from
me, ever again.”

Norrie raised her head to give Anne a radiant
smile. “You kept your promise, Mama. You made it spring again. I
knew you would.”

“Yes,” Anne whispered. Now was hardly the
time to remember that it was not she who had brought this miracle
about, but a formidable man with night-dark eyes and full warm lips
that could tempt an angel to sin.

No matter how, Anne's promise to Norrie had
been fulfilled. There would be time later when she had her little
daughter tucked up safe in her own bed tonight, time enough then in
the quiet darkness for Anne to lie awake, thinking of the marquis
of Mandell.

And the promise she had yet to keep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Coal smoke hung in a perpetual pall over the
sagging tenements of Bethnal Green. Peering through the grimy
window of the hackney coach, Sara Palmer pressed a scented
handkerchief to her nose. As the hackney rattled along the
cobblestones, she was assailed by far too familiar sights and
sounds, ones that she had long tried to forget and put behind her;
the decaying boarded-up buildings crammed with poverty-stricken
families, the shrieks of the ragged urchins chinking stones at the
carriage wheels, the bawdy songs of drunks staggering away from the
gin shops.

What had once been a pleasant country village
on the outskirts of London had now become a teeming part of the
great city, a maze of narrow streets and courts, with dark corners
where the struggling poor were tempted with the lure of quick money
and often an even quicker death.

The brothels, the flash-houses, the back
alleys where hardened men plotted desperate deeds ... it had been
well nigh impossible to escape being pulled in and dragged down by
such places when growing up in Bethnal Green.

Sara congratulated herself that she was one
of the few who had managed it. She prayed that her brother Gideon
might yet prove to be another. She had put him on the stagecoach
heading north. Sara hadn't cared where so long as it took Gideon
out of reach of the London authorities, far from questions and
witnesses that might connect him with those two deaths.

Of course, Gideon had protested his innocence
to the last, but Sara had paid him no heed. Her brother could be
caught with a bloodied razor in his hand and he would insist he had
just nicked himself shaving all the while a corpse lay stone cold
at his feet.

Whether Gideon was innocent or not didn’t
matter. What was important was that for the moment he was safe,
that she had gotten him away from the dark influences and
temptations of Bethnal Green. If only she could accomplish the same
for her mother.

As the hackney lurched over a rut, Sara
braced herself against the side of the coach, frowning. She had
tried more than once to persuade her mother to retire to some
little cottage in the country. Sara could have easily afforded to
purchase such a thing when she had been Mandell's mistress. My lord
had been most generous with his money, never questioning how Sara
spent it.

But her mother had stubbornly refused.
Chastity Palmer had declared she had endured quite enough of
provincial village life in her youth. Sara had never been certain
of her mother's origins, but Chastity had always claimed she had
been a country curate's daughter.

Sara supposed that was possible. Mum did show
an amazing tendency to quote the Bible when she'd had a drop too
much rum. If such a respectable grandfather did exist, Sara had
never met him. Her mother had run off at the age of sixteen and
never gone home again. She had come to the great city of London
seeking romance.

And, Sara thought wryly, Mum had found it.
Again and again and again. The fact that Chastity Palmer had
frequently been paid for her latest amour had never seemed to dim
her enthusiasm or her fixed belief in finding her one true
love.

Mrs. Palmer still had a strong liking for the
men, and during her bimonthly visits, Sara never knew quite what
she might find going on in her mother's flat. As the hackney drew
to a halt at the curb, Sara hoped for once Chastity might be
alone.

Her mother's most recent address was a small
flat above the pawnshop on the corner. It was one of the more
respectable-looking buildings in the Green, and Mum liked the fact
that from her front windows she could see clear up the street and
know at once what neighbor was involved in a fight or who was being
arrested.