Susan Carroll

by The Painted Veil

  “Then you were not in love with him?”

  Anne started to protest, but he silenced her, saying, “My dear Lady Fairhaven. A grieving widow usually does not wax so cheerfully philosophical, nor does she quote Donne.”

  He did not sound shocked, merely amused. All the same, Anne hung her head. She had the feeling the moonlight revealed her face too cruelly, those less than perfect feelings she sought to keep tucked away.

  She was startled to feel his fingers beneath her chin. Slowly, he tipped up her head, forcing her to look at him. His expression astonished her. She would never have thought Mandell's smile could ever be quite that gentle.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he said. “I would have thought worse of you if you had esteemed Sir Gerald. He was a pompous, narrow-minded prig, full of his own self consequence.”

  As a dutiful wife, Anne knew she ought to defend her husband's memory, but that shocking voice that piped up inside of her from time to time affirmed that Mandell was right.

  It didn’t matter for she could not speak anyway, not with Mandell standing so close, holding her prisoner with his eyes. They were as dark and relentless as a night with no stars.

  He continued, “And I no more approve your choice in poets than I do husbands. I have never been that fond of Donne. My tastes run to something more like 'Say what strange motive, Goddess, could compel a well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle? O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, could make a gentle belle reject a lord?'“

  He caressed a tendril that had strayed loose from her braids. The back of his hand grazed against her cheek.

  “I am afraid I don't recognize that passage,” she said.

  “It is by Alexander Pope. The Rape of the Lock.”

  “Oh!”

  He twined the strand around one of his long slender fingers. “You are fortunate I have no scissors or I would be tempted to do a little theft myself. Your hair is like spun gold in the moonlight.”

  Anne flushed, reaching up to rescue her curl. She was not accustomed to such compliments. Lily would have known some light response to make, Camilla some clever retort. But she was not Lily or Camilla. She was only Anne.

  She summoned up her most prim expression. “Is it possible, my lord, for you to hold a conversation with a woman without attempting to flirt with her?”

  “I don't know. I have never tried.”

  “I wish you would do so, at least with me.”

  “Why? If ever there was a woman in need of a little flirtation, I have a notion it is you.”

  “What I need most,” she said sadly, “I fear you cannot give me.”

  “Faith, milady! For the heaven you promise me with those lips, I would be more than willing to attempt it.”

  “You should not say such things to me.”

  “And you should not purse up your mouth that way. It might give a man the notion you want to be kissed.”

  “If any man ever tried it,” she said fiercely, “he would fast realize his mistake.”

  But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Anne realized the mistake had been hers. A rake like Mandell could regard such a statement as nothing other than a challenge.

  Before she could move, he closed the distance between them, slipping his arms about her waist. Anne's pulse leapt with alarm. She splayed her hands against his chest in an effort to hold him at bay.

  “You promised.You said for the moment I was safe with you.”

  His dark eyes mocked her. “That was then. This is now.”

  “You tricked me!”

  “Lured you down the garden path? I fear that I did.” He whipped her arms behind her back, pinioning her wrists in a steely grip. “But then you already knew what a reprehensible fellow I am, my virtuous Anne.”

  “Don't call me that,” she said. Her struggles were futile as he drew her against him, the softness of her breasts crushed against the unyielding wall of his chest. Beneath his silken garments, she could sense his muscles tensed like iron. The layers of clothing that separated her from his hard masculinity seemed far too flimsy a barrier.

  “Why should I not call you virtuous?” he asked. Resting his cheek alongside her temple, he breathed a kiss against her hair. “Aren't you?'

  “Yes, but—” Unable to escape, she tried to remain rigid, but the heat of his mouth caressed the sensitive skin behind her ear, causing her to tremble. “You make it sound like a mockery.”

  “Forgive me, but I have never been any great respecter of virtue.” He drew back, and she tensed knowing that he meant to have his kiss.

  “Please,” she whispered. His eyes glinted in the darkness. They held no mercy, only a fire that caused her heart to pound with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.

  His mouth came down to cover hers. She had steeled herself for one final, furious resistance, but the softness of his lips took her by surprise. She had been braced for something far more hot, ruthless, not this gentle questing, this coaxing caress.

  She could not prevent a sigh from escaping her. Her mouth parted slightly beneath his. The pressure of his kiss became more demanding and he eased his tongue between her lips.

  Anne stiffened. The shock of a contact more intimate than she had ever known reverberated through her entire body. His mouth teased, tasted, plundered, his tongue mating with hers. Disturbing sensations of heat rushed through her, making her knees grow weak.

  She held herself still against him, but deep within some dark secret place in her heart something stirred, just a brief flickering of that passionate part of herself she had learned to deny.

  She did not respond to Mandell's embrace, but briefly, achingly, shamefully, she wanted to. When he released her at last, she was thoroughly shaken.

  The kiss that left her so shattered showed few visible signs of affecting him except for a peculiar gleam in his eyes, his breath coming light and quick.

  “That is much better,” he murmured. “With a little more such effort, we might erase that primness which spoils your mouth entirely.”

  Anne touched one trembling finger to her lips, bruised and moist from the force of Mandell's embrace. A hot flood of mortification coursed into her cheeks. She had not responded to Mandell's improper advances, but she had not put up a life-and-death struggle either.

  Mandell glanced down at her with a slight frown. “You are not going to weep or swoon on me, are you?”

  Anne shook her head.

  “Good. Would you like to hit me?”

  Anne shook her head again. She felt too stunned, groping her way through the confused haze of her own emotions to do anything. She released a great shuddering breath.

  “You must be quite mad. Why did you want to do that to me?”

  “Why did I want to kiss you?” Mandell's voice was laced with amused incredulity. “My dear Lady Fairhaven, your education has been sadly lacking.”

  “Yes, but I mean, why me? I am not at all the sort that—” Anne stumbled on, miserably aware she was making no sense. “You have been kissing the wrong woman.”

  “Oh, I don't think so. Unlike you, my dear, I never get lost in the dark.”

  He reached for her again, but this time she managed to evade his grasp. Whirling, she stumbled down the path. Her legs so unsteady, she was never sure how she made it back to the terrace.

  It did not occur to her that Mandell was not pursuing until she had actually breached the threshold of the French doors. When the darkness behind her remained still, she drew up short, striving to regain her composure.

  For once she blessed the fact that her presence attracted so little notice in a crowded ballroom. The only one who seemed to observe her precipitate return was Mr. Nicholas Drummond. He regarded her with a frown of concern. But his stare did not bother her so much as another's might have done. She was sure Mr. Drummond was too much a gentleman to indulge in any speculation or gossip.

  Though she scarce felt in control of herself, she forced herself to step away from the windows. It astoni
shed her that more people were not glancing her way. Mandell's kiss must have left some indelible mark upon her.

  Making her way past a flock of chattering dowagers, Anne regarded herself in one of Lily's opulent gilt minors. She was both reassured and disturbed to see she looked much the same as ever. The same pale, dull old Anne. Her cheeks were a little more flushed perhaps, but that could be attributed to the heat of the ballroom. And her mouth? Her lips were composed into that familiar prim line that Mandell teased her about. Only when she moistened them could she seem to taste the heated fury of Mandell's kiss.

  How could she have been such a fool to have trusted him, to have allowed him to lead her so deep into the gardens? She should have known better. A wolf, no matter how benign he might seem, was still by nature a wolf.

  She had felt safe simply by virtue of her own propriety, her lack of beauty. She was hardly the kind of woman to inspire a man to unbridled passion. When Lily and Camilla had been on the verge of coming out, Anne knew that her mother had taken them both aside, warned them of the dangers of rakehells, how to handle the company of such men. She had never felt it necessary to have such a talk with Anne.

  So how should she have best reacted to Mandell? With icy dignity? With furious scorn? Anne had no idea. She only knew what she should not have done, and that was to have stood there meekly letting him kiss her, trembling like a frightened doe. She could not begin to fathom his motives, why he had singled her out for his attentions. Perhaps he had simply been bored, found it amusing to see if he could fluster the “virtuous Anne.” He had made no attempt to come after her. Likely he lingered in the garden, laughing at the way she had run from him.

  That thought cut her deeply, hurting Anne more than she would have believed possible. She felt the stinging of tears in her eyes, and swiped at them with the back of her hand. That would be all she needed to make her humiliation complete. She remembered that Mandell had asked her if she wanted to weep. He had not sounded mocking then, only a little alarmed at that prospect.

  “That is what you could have done,” Anne told herself sarcastically. “You could have blubbered all over him. That would have taught him a lesson.”

  Angered by her own weakness, she gritted her teeth and tensed her hands into fists. She found some solace at the thought of teaching Mandell a lesson of a far different sort the next time he was ever so brash as to offer to let her hit him

  But there was not going to be any next time. She did not intend to let Mandell come within a dozen yards of her again. And she doubted that he would try. He had already had his diversion.

  It had been a distressing incident, nothing more. She would be wise not to make too much of it. She had other worries at the moment, a far greater torment than Mandell to contend with.

  Lucien.

  It was three in the morning before Sir Lucien Fairhaven left the Countess Sumner's ball, He strode down the curving stair into the entry hall, snatching his cloak from one of the footmen before Anne realized her brother-in-law was on the brink of departure.

  Anne rushed to the door of the small parlor where she had hid herself away since her walk in the garden with Mandell. Regardless of the curious stares of Lily's servants, Anne called out, “Lucien! Wait!”

  She was certain he heard her, but he did not once look back, stalking through the massive front doors into the night. Anne felt the familiar despair tighten in her chest, and cursed herself for the inattentiveness that had allowed Lucien to escape.

  She had retreated to the small downstairs parlor for most of the evening, leaving the door ajar so that she could observe all departures without running the risk of encountering Mandell again. But the strain of too many sleepless nights and an exhaustion of spirit had finally taken their toll. She must have nodded off, for how long she did not know. Only the clock chiming three had startled her awake in time to see Lucien making his exit. A minute more and she would have been too late. Perhaps she still was.

  Refusing to accept that, Anne raced across the hall toward the front door. Lily's elderly butler attempted to intercept her flight. “My lady, wait. At least allow me to fetch your shawl.”

  But Anne brushed past him, all but stumbling in her haste to clear the stone steps, the short span of walkway leading to the pavement. She halted, gazing frantically about her. The cobblestones yet rang with the clatter of cabriolets and carriages pulled by smart-looking teams of horses. This accursed city never seemed to sleep.

  Anne feared that Lucien was already on his way to his next round of entertainment. But no! There was his elegant brougham pulled up to the curb at the corner. One of Lily's own footmen had darted out to hold open the door.

  “Lucien!” Anne cried, striving to be heard above the rumble of a passing vehicle. Lifting her skirts, she propelled herself forward with a desperate burst of speed.

  Lucien affected not to hear her, but the footman touched his sleeve, respectfully indicating Anne's approach.

  Lucien paused with one foot mounted upon the step of his carriage. With obvious reluctance, he turned to face her. The street lamp shone full on his blond hair and the harsh planes of his once handsome countenance. The sullen set of his mouth offered Anne no encouragement.

  “What is amiss, Anne?” he snapped as Anne drew up beside him. “Did I forget my gloves or something?'

  Anne placed one hand over the region of her heart, attempting to recover her breath. “No. You forgot—that is, you know I wished to speak to you.”

  “Another time, perhaps. The night is still young. I have other engagements.”

  “No, now!” Her voice sounded almost shrill. Anne forced herself to speak in milder, more placating tones. “I have been waiting so long.”

  “To no purpose. You and I have little to say to each other.”

  “We have a great deal to talk about. That is the sole reason Lily invited you tonight, so that we would have a chance to heal our differences.”

  Lucien's face washed a dull red. “The countess might have spared herself the invitation. She certainly did me no favor. An evening of cards with whelps and old men. And you, hanging upon my sleeve, like some Covent Garden doxy seeking a night's work.”

  Anne flinched at his insulting words, aware that Lucien's coachman leaned forward to listen with undisguised interest. The young footman, holding the door, shuffled his feet with embarrassment, pretending not to hear.

  “Please, Lucien,” Anne said, striving to keep calm and reasonable. “Come back into the house. We cannot discuss this in the street.”

  “We cannot discuss this at all, Anne. Now, if you will excuse me, I have more important matters to attend.”

  “Nothing is more important than this.”

  Lucien turned as though he would mount into the carriage, but Anne clutched at his arm, clinging with a strength she never knew she possessed.

  “For the love of God, Lucien. You have my daughter. You brought her here to London. One of Lily's servants saw a little girl exactly like Norrie being carried into one of the houses nearby. You cannot deny it.”

  “Why should I?” Lucien's mouth curved into a hard ugly line. “I will tell you exactly where she is. I leased number twenty-six, a most elegant house. You need not worry about Eleanor. I have been giving her the best of everything.”

  “You must let me see her!”

  “Haven't you got enough else to amuse you in London at the height of the season? You always have been a most strange creature, my dear sister Anne.”

  “You have kept Norrie away from me for three months. Most of that time I did not even know where she was. You have no right.”

  “I have every right. She is my ward. Gerald left guardianship of the girl to me.”

  “He never meant for you to separate us in this cruel fashion.”

  “Gerald's intentions hardly matter now. Poor Anne. That is the price you pay for choosing the wrong brother.” His gloating smile only emphasized the coarse heaviness of his features, the dark rings beneath his eyes. It was
difficult for Anne to remember that this man was actually younger than she and that she had once harbored more gentle feelings toward him.

  “Is that what this is all about then?” she asked. “A revenge against me because I wed Gerald instead of you?”

  “I always told you that you would be sorry one day.”

  So he had, but Anne had taken it for nothing more than the ranting of a wild, passionate boy. She had already been betrothed to Gerald when she had first met his younger brother. So at odds with the rest of the stolid Fairhavens, Lucien was either reviled or ignored by his family. Anne had felt sorry for him, had only thought to be kind. Never had she dreamed the youth would fancy himself in love with her and propose a mad scheme for their elopement. He had taken Anne's rejection most bitterly. She had done her best to reason with the boy.

  And now, although she knew it was hopeless, she attempted to reason with the man. “Lucien, that all happened over eight years ago. You were not really in love with me. If you are honest, you will admit you only wanted me because I was Gerald's bride.”

  “And now I have everything that belonged to my esteemed older brother—his title, his lands, his daughter. I could even have you now.” Lucien's gloved hand stroked her cheek in a gesture that sent a chill down Anne's spine. “Except that I don't want you anymore.”

  “You cannot possibly want Norrie, either. At least allow me to see her. Surely that is not too much to ask.”

  “Really, Anne! Most women gladly farm their children out to servants or to wet nurses. There is something unwholesome about this sickly attachment of yours to the girl. I think it would be in the best interests of my niece if I sent her off to school, perhaps abroad somewhere.”

  Although Lucien mimicked Gerald's sanctimonious tone almost to perfection, there was no disguising the hint of malice that played about the corners of his mouth. Anne could feel the blood drain from her face.

  “You know Norrie is not strong enough for anything like that. Her health has always been delicate and she is only six years old.”

  “Seven,” he mocked. “Did you forget your beloved daughter had a birthday last month? She had a lovely day. I gave her a pony and six new frocks. Your absence was hardly noted. I vow the child has forgotten you already.”