Susan Carroll (31 page)

“I suppose it was a valuable lesson. I
learned that it is not honor so much that matters as the appearance
of it. Ever since then I have had the good sense to eschew
dueling.”

“But you nearly challenged Lucien at
Brooks's,” Anne could not help reminding him.

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“Damn it, I don't know. It just was. Perhaps
Nick was right. Perhaps for once in my life I had found something
worth fighting for.”

“To have me, a prize you did not even fully
claim? Tell me, Mandell. Why did you choose to let me leave your
bed that night?”

He could not seem to meet the directness of
her gaze. He turned away, saying impatiently, “I already told you.
My conscience finally caught up with me.”

“Was that really the reason? Or did you
simply realize that you made a mistake—that I was not quite so
attractive after all?”

“No!” He spun around, his eyes blazing. “I
have only ever made one noble gesture and I'll be damned if I'll
have it misinterpreted. I wanted you so much that I ached with the
longing. God help me, I still do.”

Stepping closer, he ran his fingers through
the tangle of her hair, holding up the golden strands to catch the
sunlight. The hunger was in his gaze, stronger than ever, causing
her to tremble, but no longer with fear.

“You are a beautiful, desirable woman,” he
said. “Obviously your esteemed late husband never made you aware of
that fact. Do you want to hear something truly absurd, Sorrow? The
rest of your jewels are still in that pawnshop. I remember the
owner pointing them out to me. But I chose to leave them because I
didn't want you to have anything back that Fairhaven had given
you.”

“Those other jewels meant nothing to me. You
have returned to me everything that I ever held precious.”

“Did you love Sir Gerald?” Mandell demanded.
“Whatever induced you to marry a self-righteous prig like
that?”

With Mandell standing so close, his fingers
rippling through her hair in that slow, seductive fashion, Anne had
difficulty remembering. “Gerald was handsome and he could be
charming when he wished. That first night at Almack's when I looked
up and saw him bending over me, he seemed like some prince out of a
fairy story. I thought I fell madly in love with him, but sometimes
I have wondered if I was merely afraid there would never be anyone
else interested in me.”

“I wish I could turn back time to that
night,” he said. “I wish I had been there.”

Anne smiled sadly. “You would have never
noticed a poor little mouse like me. There were many more dashing
belles present.”

“We would have to turn the clock back for me
as well, to a time before I had too many Cecily Constables in my
life.” His dark eyes were wistful. “Back to when I was a more
tender fellow. Is such a thing possible, Anne? Are you any good at
pretending?”

“It would not be too difficult. I can
remember exactly what I did that first evening.” Pulling away from
Mandell, she sat down in one of Lily's chairs, primly folded her
hands, and stared at the tiles. “I spent the entire time studying a
crack in the floor that resembled the outline of Ireland.”

“Would you have looked up if I had approached
you?” Mandell stepped in front of her.

Anne regarded the tips of his Hessians. “I
would have contented myself to admire your shoes.”

“What if I summoned one of the hostesses,
Lady Jersey perhaps, to introduce me? `Miss Wendham, may I present
to you the marquis of Mandell as a very desirable dancing partner.'
“

Anne laughed. It was all nonsense, but her
pulse fluttered and she felt absurdly shy. “Then I suppose I would
have been obliged to look up.” Anne raised her head slowly.

She had no difficulty imagining how Mandell
would have appeared in a candlelit ballroom, the soft light
bringing out the sheen in his waves of ebony hair, the white folds
of his cravat only serving to accent the lean masculine line of his
jaw.

The look on his face was so solemn, his smile
one of rare sweetness. His eyes glinted like the facets of some
mysterious dark jewel and held no trace of his usual mockery. Her
breath caught in her throat.

“And after I finally induced you to look at
me?” he prompted. “And then?”

“Then there is a chance I might have seen no
one but you.”

He took her hand and drew her to her
feet.

“I believe Lady Jersey has given permission
for us to perform the waltz.”

“Did she? I am hearing a minuet.”

“I hate to correct you, Miss Wendham, but it
is most definitely a waltz.”

He rested one hand at her waist, gathering
her other hand in his own. Maintaining a decorous distance, he led
her into the first steps of the dance.

She followed his lead, marveling that she did
not feel foolish. It was as though she could hear the strain of
violins and the chatter and laughter of other couples but from a
great distance. As Mandell whirled her in a slow circle, the room
became a blur and she felt as though she were losing herself in his
eyes.

“Are we not moving too slow, my lord?” she
asked. “We are out of tempo with the music,”

“Maybe it is the rest of the world that is
out of step.”

He drew her closer until the front of her
bodice brushed against his chest. His movements became slower,
waltzing her about the floor in a sensual sway which caused her
pulse to race.

“You should be warned, young Miss Wendham,”
he murmured close to her ear. She could feel the warmth of his
breath tickling her hair. “I am already acquiring a reputation for
being a little wild.”

“Young Miss Wendham is not so quick to judge
as the prim and proper Lady Fairhaven. She has a notion you are not
as wicked as you would like everyone to believe”

“Does she? And where would she get a notion
like that?”

“Perhaps it was from watching you be so kind
and patient with a certain little girl. A little girl who was quite
enchanted by you today. Even while the doctor examined her, she
could talk of nothing else but Lord Man who liked to read myths and
told her how pretty she was.”

“I suspect that was only because the little
girl fancied me to be like one of the characters in her
stories.”

“Hades. I've noticed the resemblance myself,”
Anne said. “The dark lord who was so lonely he felt forced to steal
a bride.”

“There is something I have never understood
about that myth. What did Hades want with a foolish little chit
like Persephone when there was Demeter, a woman of strength and
determination? If it had been me, I would have carried off the
mother.”

They were barely moving, their bodies slowing
to a sultry rhythm that caused Anne's blood to warm, her voice to
become unsteady.

“If you had taken away Demeter, you would
have plunged the world into eternal winter.”

“I am a selfish man. The rest of the world
could shift for itself and be damned.”

Mandell gathered Anne close in his arms until
she was pressed up against the hard wall of his chest. The waltz
music in her head faded to become the pounding of her own heart.
His eyes darkened as he bent toward her. Anne raised her head to
meet his kiss.

His lips were gentle, his kiss poignant, rife
with an innocence of days gone by. Anne slid her hands up his
chest, wrapping her arms about his neck in unashamed response. Her
lips parted for him, allowing his tongue to invade the recesses of
her mouth in sweet exploration.

Innocence gradually faded to become knowledge
of what they both wanted, desperately needed. Her body's response
to his hard masculinity reminded Anne she was no longer a green
girl of seventeen, but a woman and Mandell was making her heartily
glad of it. As he deepened his kiss, he ran his hands over her. A
low cry caught in her throat when his fingers skimmed over her
breast. She clung to him, returning his embrace with unchecked
passion, offering herself to him, offering him anything that he
desired to take.

It was Mandell who first came to his senses,
thrusting her away. His breathing was unsteady, but he managed a
lopsided smile.

“And thus would I have succeeded in getting
us both denied vouchers to Almack's forevermore.” He attempted to
jest, but his eyes were hazed with a combination of desire and a
melancholy that struck deep to Anne's heart. "So much for our
little game of pretense, Sorrow. I fear it is too late for any new
beginnings. It was ever thus with me."

Anne started to protest but she was stayed by
a knock at the drawing room door. Never had any interruption been
so ill timed, she thought, biting her lip in vexation. She and
Mandell had barely enough time to draw apart before Bettine burst
into the room.

The girl had got herself worked up into
another of her agitated states. Wringing her hands, she cried. "Oh,
my lady Fairhaven, the most dreadful thing has happened. Oh,
mercy!" She finished with a shriek when she spotted Mandell.

"It is all right, Bettine. Lord Mandell is
quite himself this morning," Anne said. However, she was not as
sure about herself. She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks in
an effort to cool them. "Whatever is the matter now?"

Bettine eyed the marquis warily, but since
Mandell had stalked away to the window to regain his composure, she
dared to speak. "It is terrible news, milady. I heard it from the
stable boy who heard it from Lady Eliot's cook—"

"Bettine, will you just tell me what it
is?"

"We've all got to stay inside today and lock
the doors. The Hook has been at it again. This time he attacked Sir
Lancelot Briggs.”

"What!" Mandell whipped about to stare at
Bettine.

His harsh exclamation reduced the girl to a
state of terrified speechlessness. Her own heart sinking with
dread, Anne prompted the maid gently, "Tell us what happened
clearly, Bettine."

"Well, I-I-"

Mandell strode across the room, glowering.
"What nonsense are you talking, girl? Briggs dead? That's
impossible."

Anne sensed that Mandell's voice was
sharpened by fear, but Bettine cowered away from him. He seized
Bettine by the wrists. Anne's protest went unheeded as Mandell gave
Bettine a brisk shake.

“I was just with Briggs myself last night.
You must have made a mistake.”

Bettine's eyes were wide with terror, but she
managed to sniff, “No mistake, sir. They found Sir Lancelot early
this morning. He is mortal bad wounded. They don't expect him to
live out the day—Ow!”

Mandell's grip must have tightened cruelly,
for Bettine let out a howl. His face had turned ashen.

“Mandell, please,” Anne said. “You are
hurting the girl.”

It took a moment before he appeared to hear
her. He blinked, releasing Bettine. The maid fled sobbing from the
room. Mandell stood as though turned to stone, the look in his eyes
unreadable.

“What a dreadful thing,” she faltered. “I was
not that much acquainted with Sir Lancelot, but he always seemed
such a sweet harmless sort of little man. Did you know him well, my
lord?”

“Of course not!” Mandell's mouth set into an
angry, bitter line, “He was a fool, a chattering idiot and a
nuisance. But I believe—” He swallowed hard.

“I believe he was my friend.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The marquis of Mandell never had difficulty
making an entrance. He had swept through the doors of anywhere from
a king's drawing room to the most dangerous of gaming hells without
a blink, treating the stares of both royalty and rogues with a cool
disdain. His arrogant confidence had never failed him until he
prepared to enter the humble parlor of Sir Lancelot Briggs's London
residence.

The place was already thronged with sorrowing
relatives speaking in hushed voices, a few of the women sniffing
into their handkerchiefs. Mandell stood just outside the room,
feeling awkward, wondering why he had come.

After hearing the tidings about Lancelot, he
had bolted from the Countess Sumner's, not even taking the time to
bid Anne farewell. He had not even realized where he was going
until he had found himself upon Briggs's doorstep.

Why had he come? To fill in the blanks left
in his drink-fogged memory about all that had happened last night?
To assure himself that whatever had befallen Lancelot was not his
fault?

Either motive was hardly a noble one and
Mandell had never felt less noble in his life than when he steeled
himself to face Sir Lancelot's mother. Usually a bustling woman, as
plump and cheerful as her son, the Dowager Lady Briggs sat at the
far end of the parlor, staring into the empty hearth with
red-rimmed eyes. Her large brown eyes were filled with a mournful
bewilderment as though she could not quite take in what had
happened to her son.

Mandell recalled meeting the woman only once.
Sir Lancelot had proudly insisted upon presenting his mama to his
good friend the marquis. Mandell had given her such a frozen stare,
the poor woman had been too awed even to speak.

Like so many of his memories, Mandell did not
find it a comfortable one. His discomfort increased when the
servant intoned his name and Lady Briggs leapt up to greet him like
an old and valued friend. She rushed to the threshold with her
hands extended, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Oh, my lord Mandell. I knew the moment you
heard about my poor Lancelot you would come rushing to his
side.”

Mandell flinched, but he managed a stiff bow.
He resisted Lady Briggs's urgings that he join the others in the
parlor, drawing her out into the hall instead. “I do not wish to
intrude upon your family at such a time. But I had to know. Has the
doctor been to attend Briggs yet? How does he fare?”

“As well as can be expected, poor lamb.” Lady
Briggs groped for her handkerchief. “That fiend who did this
wounded him twice. By the time he was found down by the river, my
son had lost a powerful deal of blood. The surgeon says there is no
more to be done than let Lancelot rest and hope for the best