Susan Carroll

by The Painted Veil

  Sara caught her breath at the thought. Mandell's own cousin? No, she would never dare. She should not consider such a thing, even in passing. Yet she caught herself looking at Nick Drummond, speculating and trying to remember anything Mandell had ever let slip about this cousin—the state of Drummond's fortune, if he stood to inherit a title.

  “Now I am beginning to think I am the one with a smudge on my nose,” Nick complained good-naturedly. At the same time, he looked endearingly self-conscious.

  Sara forced her eyes down, trying to summon a blush. It came naturally for once. She affected a maidenly hesitation before saying, “Thank you so much for your chivalrous offer to take me home, Mr. Drummond. I fear I am obliged to accept.”

  Drummond seemed quite pleased. When he linked his arm through hers, Sara's heart pounded. She must be quite mad.

  Sara knew full well the marquis's opinion of any of his noble family marrying the likes of her. If his lordship ever suspected that she might be courting his cousin ... She shuddered, being quite familiar with Mandell's icy temper. But she was only accepting a carriage ride from Drummond. He might prove an unlikely prospect for her schemes.

  As Nick escorted her down the street, she risked another glance at him. He was definitely not a handsome man. But when he looked at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners that way, he possessed a charming smile.

  And Sara found herself smiling back.

  The devil fly away with Mandell, if he had not done so already.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The black cloak pooled like a shadow in the bottom of Anne's wardrobe. As she bent down, touching the garment, the folds of silk rustled in her fingers, whispering of night breezes, the heat of a kiss, a vow made with passionate desperation.

  I would sell my soul to the devil if I had to.

  Careful, Sorrow The devil just might take you up on that offer.

  The pact she had made with Mandell seemed fantastic in the daytime, sunlight spilling through the latticed windows, past the lacy curtains and over the elegant satinwood furniture of Anne's room at Lily's. The bedchamber was thoroughly feminine. No place could have been further removed from Mandell's aura of powerful masculinity, from midnight wanderings and reckless promises.

  If not for the cloak she clutched in her hands, Anne could have believed that their tryst had been nothing more than a haunting dream.

  Yet the child napping in the little room just above Anne's own was no dream. For the past week since Norrie's return, Anne had feared she would awaken and find it so. She had kept the little girl with her almost constantly. Even when Norrie slept, Anne stole from her own bed, creeping down to the nursery to tuck the blankets more snugly around Norrie, to stroke a curl back from her cheek, just to touch the child, and reassure herself that Norrie would not disappear with the morning light.

  But during that same week, Anne had had the leisure to wonder how she was ever going to keep her promise to Mandell to go to his bed. She tried to reassure herself. She was no shrinking virgin. She had been a married woman, for mercy's sake; had borne children.

  Yet Gerald had always been what he termed “a gentleman” in bed. He had eased up her nightgown, mumbling apologies for violating her chastity, taking her with merciful swiftness. Anne knew that what would take place between Mandell's sheets would be nothing like that mundane wifely ritual. She had already had a taste of the difference in Mandell's arms, his lips so hot upon her own.

  He would want her naked in his bed and without any blushes of maidenly modesty. He would never be satisfied with the tame submission she had shown her late husband. Mandell would take relentlessly, demand with his mouth, with his hands, with his lean hard body. He might stir in her those passions she had learned to keep locked away, desires that often kept her awake nights, a fine sheen of perspiration bathing her flesh.

  When he had done, Mandell would rise from the bed, offer her her clothes with a mocking bow, and go coolly on his way. But Anne was very much afraid that she would never be the same woman again.

  She pushed the cloak away from her, stuffing it to the very back of the wardrobe. She could not go through with it. She was not the sort of female who could offer herself up casually to a man. And such a man! A rake who had known dozens before her, women far more beautiful and sophisticated. What could she be to him but one more conquest, another night's amusement, and a disappointing one at that?

  But she had promised, and Anne had never broken a promise in her life. She bit ruefully down upon her thumbnail. She had pledged Mandell one night in his bed. Yet their bargain had not been a fair one, she argued. He had taken shameless advantage of her desperation, hadn't he?

  Anne's conscience would not allow of that excuse, either. Who was it who had flung out such a reckless offer that could not help but tempt a man like Mandell? She owed him something. He had kept his word. She had her little girl back again. And yet how much had Mandell had to do with that? She did not know for sure. Of a certainty, he must have talked to Lucien, applied some little pressure. But she might have gotten Norrie back some other way even if Mandell had not intervened. Perhaps Lucien had been planning to return Norrie all along.

  Anne groaned softly, resting her head against the wardrobe door. Who was she attempting to fool? She would never forget Lucien's hate-filled look as her brother-in-law had thrust Norrie back into her arms. Lucien had never meant to return Norrie, and whatever Mandell had done to him, it had been far more than talk.

  But his lordship had made no effort to contact her once this entire week. True, she had kept close to the house, but he had never called or even sent round a note. Perhaps, Anne thought hopefully, moving on to nibble the nail of her forefinger, perhaps Mandell had simply forgotten all about redeeming the pledge she had made.

  But this comforting reflection did not last long. She could not block out the memory of his intense gaze, his warning, I do not deal kindly with those who break faith with me.

  Anne did not know what prevented him thus far from demanding that she keep her side of the bargain, but whatever it was, one thing was certain. Mandell would never forget. Her second finger bitten nearly raw, Anne shifted to the next nail. She started when the soft rap came at her door.

  “Anne, it's Lily,” her sister called out. “Are you still abed?”

  “No. Just a minute.” Anne made haste to pile some old shawls on top of Mandell's cloak. Her fingers brushed against something hard; her pistol, which Mandell had shoved into the cloak pocket that night which now seemed so long ago. Anne had all but forgotten her foolish little weapon. She dumped an extra shawl on top of it and shoved the whole pile as far back into the wardrobe as she could. The maid Lily had assigned her, young Bettine, had already noticed the masculine garment. Anne had been able to explain that it belonged to her late husband and the girl had sighed, imagining Anne, the brokenhearted widow, clinging to the cloak in remembrance.

  But Lily would not be so fooled. Gerald, ever the provincial gentleman from his boots to the severe style of his cravat, had never worn anything so dashing as Mandell's cape.

  Closing the wardrobe door, Anne smoothed out her gown and tidied the wisps of her hair. She called out as cheerfully as she could, “Come in.”

  Lily bustled in, carrying a fistful of sealed letters. “Good,” she said. “You are up and stirring. I thought you might be lying down for a nap, poor dear. You have been exhausting yourself, looking after that child.”

  Although she smiled, there was a hint of reproof in Lily's tone. Lily was delighted for Anne's recent happiness and only too pleased to welcome her small niece into her home. Yet she feared that Anne had become far too absorbed in performing the tasks of a nurserymaid.

  But for too many months, Norrie had awakened only to the impersonal ministrations of servants. Anne vowed her child would never do so again.

  For her sister's benefit, Anne shook her head, saying, “I am not in the least tired, Lily. I have just been going through my wardrobe, selecting some gowns that are
out of fashion to pass on to my maid.”

  To Lily, that was at least a reasonable occupation for any lady. Her eyes lit up with immediate understanding. “Of course! You have needed some new things for an age. I shall take you round to my modiste this very afternoon. You will need a special gown for the Bramleys' rout come Saturday next, and just look at all these other invitations you received in this morning's post.”

  Lily laid out the squares of vellum upon Anne's dressing table, gloating over the cards like a miser counting up a treasure.

  “How very nice,” Anne said.

  “Do you not intend to open them?”

  “Perhaps later.”

  “Later?” Lily's elegant brows rose skeptically. “Or will they end up in the fireplace grate again? Anne, this simply will not do. You have been hiding yourself away in this house ever since Eleanor was returned to you.”

  “That's absurd. I have not been hiding.” But Anne's protest sounded halfhearted even to her own ears. That was exactly what she had been doing. Hiding from Mandell, afraid of encountering him again, not knowing how she would react, what she should say, afraid of what he might do.

  “You got what you wanted, Anne. Your child returned,” Lily said with a tinge of impatience. “Now it is time to cease this moping. You are in London at the height of the season. You need to get out more, enjoy yourself.”

  “And so I shall. But you know Norrie has not been well. She has been having trouble sleeping and then there is that worrisome cough she has developed.”

  “You cannot have an apoplexy every time the child sneezes.”

  “Norrie has always been delicate. Every trifling illness seems to strike her so much harder than other children. There was that time I thought she had but a sniffle. By nightfall, she was in such a raging fever she did not recognize me. I almost lost her that time, Lily.”

  “Well, you will not lose her now. I know some of the finest physicians in the city. We shall have Dr. Markham out to check her cough in a trice. Will that make you feel better?”

  Anne nodded reluctantly.

  Lily gave her a swift hug although she continued to scold, “You are still young, Anne. Your life cannot center upon that little girl. And there is another excellent reason you should get out more. I have not liked to mention this, but there have been rumors, Anne. Rumors about you and the marquis of Mandell.”

  Anne opened her mouth to speak, but found she couldn't. She felt herself grow pale as Lily continued, “The gossip all seems to have started since that ugly scene between Mandell and Sir Lucien at Brooks's.”

  “What scene?'

  “I thought you might have heard something of it, but I keep forgetting. You have been buried in the nursery all week. You will recollect, however, that we both wondered why your brother-in-law experienced such a sudden change of heart regarding Eleanor's future.”

  Lily had wondered. Anne had kept her speculations on that subject to herself.

  “My dear Anne, it would seem you are indebted to the marquis for your daughter's return. I have it on excellent authority—Sir Lancelot Briggs's—that Mandell confronted Sir Lucien in the Great Subscription Room. Mandell had stripped off his glove and was going to fling it into Fairhaven's face.”

  “Mandell challenged Lucien to a duel?” Anne felt a sudden need to sink into the chair by her dressing table.

  “No, it never came to that. Lucien Fairhaven has far too great a regard for his own skin. Mandell is deadly with a pistol, my dear, positively deadly. In any case, Sir Lancelot was close enough to overhear the cause of the quarrel. Would you credit it, my dear? It was over our little Eleanor. Mandell demanded that Lucien give up the child.”

  Anne pressed her hands to her face. A duel? She remembered being disquieted by the look in Mandell's eye that night he had left her, but she had never dreamed he would have been willing to take things that far,

  No matter how good a shot Mandell was, the possibility still existed that he could have been wounded or killed. Barring that, dueling was illegal. Despite his powerful connections, he could have been arrested or forced to flee the country. Did the man consider such a risk worth it merely to have Anne in his bed?

  “Mandell has ever been such a discreet devil, so cold-blooded,” Lily said. “Whatever could have inspired him to such an extraordinary gesture?”

  “I don't know.” Anne was unable to meet her sister's eye.

  “One does not think of Mandell as ever waxing tenderhearted over a mother and child. Though I suppose this all could have something to do with losing his own mother at so early an age. Poor Lady Celine. Mama knew her well. She always said Celine was a great beauty in her day and as proud as Lucifer, like all the Windermeres. Everyone was stunned when she eloped with some impoverished French nobleman. Such a ghastly mistake that turned out to be. She was trapped in Paris during the revolution and suffered a hideous death. Celine was actually torn apart by an angry mob.”

  “Dear God!” Anne said.

  “Did you not know about that part of Mandell's family history?”

  “No, I didn't.” Anne was fast realizing that she knew very little about the marquis of Mandell. She said softly, “The man has ever been an enigma to me.”

  “And to the rest of the ton. That is why this chivalrous gesture has so many tongues wagging. Many are saying my lord means to fix his interest with you. His grandfather has been after him for a long time to choose a respectable wife.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “I found that utterly ridiculous, myself. The wicked Mandell and you, my saintly little lamb. Such speculations are almost as bad as the more scurrilous rumors that Mandell is only laying siege to your virtue.”

  Anne felt ready to sink through the carpet. It was unsettling enough to think she would be obliged to share Mandell's bed, but to hear that half of London was discussing the possibility!

  “Then perhaps I ought to go away for awhile,” Anne said. “Take Norrie and go home or journey to Scotland and visit Camilla.”

  “Run away? That would be the worst thing you could do,” Lily said sternly. She relented enough to give Anne's shoulder a comforting pat. “My poor pet. I know that you are not at all accustomed to arousing this sort of furor. That is why you must take the advice of your older sister who has walked the fine line of scandal herself a time or two. You must get out more, be seen at parties. When you encounter Mandell, greet him with complete indifference. That will quickly scotch all these rumors.”

  Greet Mandell with indifference? Anne thought with dismay. It would take a greater actress than the famous Mrs. Siddons to pull off such a thing.

  Lily thrust the stack of invitations into Anne's hands. “Here. You can start with these. There must be one amongst them it would please you to accept.”

  Anne regarded the pile listlessly. All she wanted was for her sister to leave her alone to sort out the bewildering and disturbing array of information Lily had thrust upon her. But Lily would give her no peace until she opened her mail.

  Reaching for a letter opener, Anne broke the seal on the first invitation while Lily flitted about, examining some of Anne's gowns. “You know this lilac silk might still do for a casual evening at home if the frock were furbished with some new trimmings.”

  “Hmmm?” Scarce heeding her sister's sartorial advice, Anne shifted through the stack of invitations. Mrs. Cardiff begged the Lady Fairhaven's appearance at a small supper party. The Duchess of Devonshire was holding a rout. The Renfrew's eldest daughter was about to be presented to society. If the weather improved, my lord and lady Benton proposed an al fresco breakfast.

  None of these invitations produced any reaction from Anne other than a weary sigh. She experienced not the flickering of an interest until she reached a note that had been buried amidst the stack of gilt-edged cards.

  A small, plain sheet of vellum, folded over and sealed; it had not been franked so it obviously had been delivered by hand. The script bearing her name was elegant, but most definitely the product
of a masculine hand.

  Somehow before she broke the seal, she knew. Her heart set up an unsteady beat as she unfolded the single sheet.

  My lady Sorrow,

  Tonight. At ten o'clock Make your excuses to your sister. I shall have a coach waiting by the front gate.

  Mandell.

  The signature leapt out at her, dark and bold. Anne tried not to panic. She still had enough time to pack her trunks and Norrie's, to order up the carriage, to convince Lily that she had to leave today, this very afternoon.

  Except that she knew she would do none of those things. Mandell had brought Norrie back to her, and at great personal risk to himself. No matter how selfish his reason, how wicked his motives, Anne was vastly in his debt, a debt she had to find the courage to pay.

  She sat staring at the note until she was interrupted by the sound of Lily's voice. “Well, Anne? Do none of those invitations appeal to you?”

  Anne concealed Mandell's note beneath the test of the stack.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “There is one here that I am obliged to accept.”

  Hours later as the mantel clock ticked onward to the hour of ten, Anne took one last look at her uninspiring reflection in the mirror. She had woven her hair in the familiar tight crown of braids and selected one of the most demure gowns she owned, a plain muslin whose pale pink shade seemed to wash out what color remained in her fair skin.

  Over it she donned a cottage vest of green sarcenet, lacing it so tightly across her bosom that she flattened her breasts, making it difficult to breathe. The ensemble was not likely to please Mandell, but then he knew that he was getting no sultry beauty in Anne Fairhaven. He could hardly expect any miraculous transformation tonight.