Capturing one of her hands, Mandell inched back her glove enough to expose the delicate blue-veined area of her wrist. He pressed his lips to her thundering pulse.
“Mrs. Brindlehurst!” Anne gasped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That was the name of my governess. She always insisted upon proper carriage. She—” Anne eyed him nervously as he began to undo the buttons of her glove. “She always said it was important to remain erect. Otherwise my bos—my frame would start to sag.”
“I have never noticed any part of you sagging.” Mandell tugged off her glove, delighting in the slender grace of her hands until he saw her fingernails. Anne blushed scarlet and tried to curl up her hand, but he refused to allow it, holding up her fingertips, examining them closer.
“My dear Sorrow, what have you been doing to your poor hands?”
“It is a bad habit of mine,” she said. “I bite my nails in times of great stress.”
Mandell frowned, for the first time understanding the agonies of apprehension Anne must have gone through the past week.
“And I have been the cause of that stress?” he said, kissing her fingertips one by one. He felt a shiver course through her.
“You are not exactly the most restful influence in my life, Lord Mandell.”
“Is that what you desire, Anne? To remain calm, no excitement ever to touch your staid and proper world?”
“Staid and proper. That is what I am. I don't know how to be anything else.”
“Then it behooves me to teach you.”
Mandell had never felt flooded with so much tenderness toward any woman. His need to take her into his arms and soothe away her fears burned as strong as his desire for her.
“Come here,” he commanded. Urging her to draw her feet up on the settee, he guided her until she lay back across his lap, cradling her head in the crook of his arm.
Anne's eyes widened as she braced her arms stiffly alongside her.
“Relax, Anne. I am not going to hurt you. Have I been such an ogre thus far?'
“No. But I feel too helpless with you holding me this way and I don't know what you expect me to do.”
“I don't expect anything for now. Just talk to me.”
“What about?'
“Tell me about Eleanor Rose.” He tucked a stray tendril of hair behind Anne's ear. “Has it made you happy at last, having your little daughter back again?”
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. He could feel her begin to melt a little. As he gazed down upon her flushed features, Mandell thought if he were any less a villain, he would put a stop to this now and send her home.
The radiant look shining from her eyes as she talked about her child should have been payment enough for any man. But it also lent her an irresistible beauty, the soft curve of her lips far too tempting.
“It has been all I could do to keep Norrie from making a nuisance of herself,” Anne was saying. “My sister Lily does not have a great deal of patience with small children, but Norrie is fascinated with watching Lily attire herself for attending balls. I can remember being the same way when I was still in the schoolroom and Lily was making her come-out. She is so dazzling. You must have been there. You must have seen her that night she first took Almack's by storm.”
“I am afraid not. I have ever eschewed Almack's. Too many simpering virgins and predatory mamas. No doubt that is how I also failed to notice you.”
“You were not alone in that,” Anne said with a grimace. Mandell doubted she realized it, but she had settled more snugly back against his arm. He suppressed a smile.
“I fear I was something of a disappointment after the debut of both my sisters,” she continued. “Lily and Camilla, the famous Wendham debutantes.”
“Lily and Camilla, their names always made me think of a stroll through a botanical garden. Tell me, my dear Anne, how did you ever escape being christened an Amaryllis or a Columbine?”
“I suppose when Mama peeked into my cradle, I did not make her think of flowers.”
“You make me think of one,” Mandell said, exploring the delicate outline of her lips with his finger. “A blossom whose petals are just about to unfurl.”
He bent forward to brush her mouth with a kiss. Anne tensed at the first touch of his lips, but his kiss was so gentle and lingering. It was as though he but tasted her, sampling the texture of her lips, spreading a pleasant warmth through her. Anne's mind reeled. She felt giddy, lightheaded, almost floating in his arms.
She clung to him, her fingers slipping across the open neckline of his shirt, making contact with that exposed patch of warm bare skin. She heard Mandell's intake of breath and drew back immediately, cringing with embarrassment
“I am sorry,” she stammered. “It is only that you made me feel so dizzy.”
“It is all right, Sorrow. Feel free to touch me. I promise I won't object.”
His smile was like slow heat, curling in the pit of her stomach.
“I can't,” she said, blushing hotly. “You must think me so awkward.”
“Actually what I was thinking is that it is time to be rid of those braids. May I?”
“Well, I ...”
He did not wait for her assent, his fingers moving through her hair, removing pins, untwisting the heavy braids she had fashioned with such care. Her hair tumbled down to her shoulders, spilling over his arm, feeling gloriously free. He combed his fingers back through the tangled golden strands.
“Lovely,” he murmured. “You should always wear your hair thus.”
“I would look like a half-mad hoyden.”
“You can be a hoyden tonight. You can be anything you want with me, Anne.”
“What a terrifying offer,” she said, closing her eyes as he bent to kiss her again, his mouth demanding a little more this time. His tongue teased her lips, coaxing, and she parted for him, allowing him access to the innermost recesses of her mouth, allowing him to fill her with heat, to tease, to mate with her as he would.
His hand moved between them, slowly undoing the laces of her vest. When the fabric parted, Anne found it a great relief, realizing she had done the laces far too tight. She was able to breathe again.
Then Mandell cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her gown and Anne found she could not breathe at all. She no longer felt light, a warm heaviness stealing over her that seemed to center at her woman's core. As he stroked her nipple, teasing it to a state of hardness, a sigh escaped her, and the sheer cotton that separated her from his touch became a torment.
He shifted her to a sitting position upon his lap. Breathing kisses against her neck, he reached around her. No lady's maid could have been more adept at undoing the fastenings of a gown and chemise. But the brief respite gave Anne time to cool down a little.
“No, please,” she could not keep from saying as he began to slip the gown down her arms.
He stopped at once, exposing only her shoulders. “But you are lovely.” He traced the path of her fragile collarbone with his fingers. “Mrs. Brindlehurst was right about the posture. I am excessively grateful to her.”
Starting with her shoulder, Mandell caressed her with his lips, his mouth warm against her tender flesh. Anne drew in a tiny gasp, trying to stem the sparks of sensation he aroused, delicious wild sensations that threatened to overwhelm her.
His own breath coming a little quicker, Mandell eased her gown down farther, exposing the soft upper swell of her breast. As his mouth covered the pulse beating at the base of her throat, Anne stifled a soft cry. The fabric of her gown fell away to her waist, revealing the full round globes of her breasts to Mandell's gaze. She watched the desire flare in his eyes.
No man had ever stared thus at her nakedness, not even her husband. Anne tried to fold her arms protectively across herself, but Mandell stopped her.
“Would you drive me to madness, Anne? Don't seek to hide your beauty from me.”
When he kissed her again, Anne thought it was she who would go mad. He caught her l
ower lip gently between his teeth, sipped at her mouth, his tongue skimming hers, re-kindling the fire.
The contact of his warm palm against her bare breast sent spirals of heat through her. He stroked and caressed. She trembled and burned, biting down upon her lip to keep from moaning aloud.
He sought the valley between her breasts and kissed her there. Anne was shocked as much by her own eager response as by what he was doing to her. He whispered against her flesh, “Let your feelings go, Anne. There is no passion you need be ashamed of with me, no desire I would not be pleased to indulge,”
Anne caught his head, seeking to stop him as his lips closed over one nipple, his mouth hot and moist as he gently suckled her. She found herself burying her hands in his dark hair instead, arching back her neck and closing her eyes with a long shuddering sigh. The rush of pleasure that coursed through her was wondrous and new, almost unbearable in its intensity.
She squirmed on his lap, striking up against the hard evidence of Mandell's own arousal.
“Ohl” she gasped.
“I think it is time I showed you my bed,” he said.
Anne gave a dazed nod. He rose to his feet, gathering her up amidst a tangle of gown and chemise, lifting her high against his chest. She wrapped her arms about his neck, clinging to him as he moved away from the glow of the fire, bearing her off to the cool dark mystery that was his bedchamber.
The moon had finally succeeded in piercing the clouds. It shone through the tall latticed windows, spilling its silver-white light across the massive four-poster bed.
When Mandell lowered Anne onto the mattress, she was bathed by a shaft of moonlight, turning her tumbled hair to gold, her soft white skin as translucent as pearl.
Mandell had never brought any woman to his own bed before. This chamber was his inner citadel, a prison of pain-filled memories, tormenting regrets, and empty dreams. But tonight he felt as though he had captured an angel, brought her there to drive back the darkness and loneliness that filled too much of his life.
As he gazed down at Anne through eyes hazed with passion, Mandell's throat closed with an unexpected surge of emotion that had little to do with the desire pumping through his veins. Struggling to remove his dressing gown and shirt, his hands seemed wooden and clumsy.
When he stripped away his shirt, Anne stared up at the bare contours of his chest with a kind of wide-eyed wonder. She half reached out to touch, only to retreat.
As he stretched himself out beside her on the bed, he caught her hand, drawing it against him. Her fingers felt slight and fragile threading through the matting of his dark hair, resting over the thundering region of his heart.
“I've never touched a man's naked chest before,” she whispered.
His surprise at this pronouncement must have been evident, for she hastened to explain, “Gerald always wore nightshirts to bed.”
Mandell smiled. “Well, milady, I wear nothing at all.”
She stole a downward glance. “But you are still wearing your—” Anne broke off, looking enchantingly flustered.
“A condition I intend to remedy.” Mandell began undoing the buttons on his breeches when Anne sat up abruptly, her hair spilling forward across her naked shoulders.
“No, wait. Please. Before we go any further, I have a confession to make.”
“Confessions are best left for the morning after,” Mandell said, easing her back down, brushing back the golden tendrils that veiled her small firm breasts from his view. He sought to stir again the sweet desire he had glimpsed in her face before.
But she restrained him. “No, it is something I must tell you now.” She averted her face, her voice sounding small and guilty. “I did intend to cheat you of this night, milord. I was going to take Norrie and run way.”
Her confession did not surprise him as much as she expected. But he said gravely, “And what made you change your mind?”
“I had promised you and I never break promises.”
Mandell pulled her close, settling her softness against his own hard length. Nuzzling his mouth against her neck, he murmured, “And was the prospect of coming to my bed so alarming you considered going back on your word?”
“I thought so, but I realized tonight that it is not you I am really afraid of.”
“I am glad to hear that.” His lips located the sensitive hollow behind her ear.
A long blissful sigh escaped her. “It is really myself that I fear. I have been no one but the 'virtuous Anne' for so long. I am not sure who I will be after my night with you.”
Mandell stilled for a moment. That was something he had not given much thought to, how Anne would feel about their passionate encounter on the morning after, in the cold light of day. It was not something he wanted to think about now.
He skimmed his hands over her bare flesh, down to her waist, seeking to remove her clothes the rest of the way. He felt Anne's quiver of response.
“I never imagined it would be like this,” she said. “I never thought you could be so gentle and kind.”
Kind? Now there was a word to cool a man's ardor. He kissed Anne, long and deep, attempting to put a stop to any more of these confessions.
But when he drew back, she looked up at him, her eyes shining. “I owe you so much, my lord, more than I can ever repay. And I just want you to know that I am ready now to give you whatever it is you want from me.”
Mandell stared at her, stunned to silence. Anne took his hand and breathed a kiss along the back of it, then cupped his palm against her cheek. She began running her own fingers over his chest in a feather-light exploration. Mandell had never realized that so gentle a touch could prove such exquisite torture, the promise of all he longed for and now knew he could not take. He held himself as rigid as stone, not responding. With more self-control than he ever dreamed he possessed, he wrenched himself out of her arms. He stalked over to his dressing table, gripping the back of the chair until he thought he would splinter the wood to bits.
“My lord?” He heard Anne's voice behind him, soft and confused.
She could not be any more confounded than he was himself at this moment. He ached with his need of her, his desire to bury himself deep within her welcoming softness. Never could he remember wanting any woman more. So what stopped him from taking her? They had made a pact between them. She had just told him that she was willing and ready to redeem her pledge, to do anything to please him.
Ah, but there was that other blasted word that still seemed to hang in the air. Kind. Mandell grated his teeth. From the moment he had met Anne at Lady Sumner's ball, he had schemed and manipulated to get her into his bed, used whatever ploy he could think of, including her love for her child. And she thought him kind.
So kind she had overcome her fear of having any regrets. Now the fear was all his. When he had satisfied his selfish desires, taken his fill of Anne, what was he going to do with his virtuous Lady Sorrow after his passion was spent? She would be no Sara Palmer, giving him a cool nod the next time he chanced to pass her out driving in the park. Would Anne hereafter blush with shame every time she met his eye across some crowded ballroom? Would she seek to bury herself back in the country rather than ever encounter him again?
It was the most damnable moment to be asking himself such questions with the lady sprawled out on his bed half naked, her own desires finally awakened. Mandell dragged his hand back through his hair in pure frustration.
“Mandell?” Anne called again. “Is something amiss?”
“Get dressed,” he snapped without looking around.
“I don't understand.”
“I said get dressed. You can manage that much on your own, I suppose?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good,” he growled. “It would be well if I did not touch you again.”
She fell silent, but he could sense her puzzlement. Then her voice came again, sounding very quiet this time. “Did I do something wrong?”
Mandell swore softly. “No, you didn't. I did. I s
hould know better than to ever permit a woman to talk when I am making love to her.”
He heard her shifting off the bed and realized with some alarm she meant to approach him.
“Stay back,” he snarled. Unwisely he risked a look at her. Her flow of angel's hair tumbled about her flushed features, her gown dragged up only as high as her smooth white shoulders. It was pure agony watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, the wistful trembling of her lips.
He turned away, feeling beads of cold sweat break out on his forehead. “Our pact is ended, madam. When you are dressed, I shall summon Hastings to take you home.”
“You are releasing me? But why?”
“Because!” Mandell gave a harsh self-mocking laugh. “Who would have ever thought it? After all these years, I have stumbled over my conscience in the dark of my own bedchamber.”
He flung over his shoulder before stalking from the room, “And I am finding it most damnably inconvenient.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A storm was brewing. Mandell stood at the open window of his study, staring at the overcast sky. The wind tore past the draperies, rifling his hair, the raw spring air seeming to cut through the thin linen of his shirt. The room was as cold as his empty hearth He had had no one in to light the fire and none of his servants had dared to appear unbidden. His humor had not been of the best since he had sent Anne away last night.
He had retired to his empty bed, not to sleep, but to lie awake calling himself every sort of idiot. He might have spent the hours until dawn with Anne's slender warm body clasped in his arms, sampling all those pleasures she had so willingly offered. Instead he had been left to toss and turn, his loins afire, tormented with the ache of unfulfilled desire. He had finally cursed himself to sleep somewhere near daybreak.
He had not awakened until well past noon, bleary-eyed, and in the devil's own temper. A temper that had not improved much as day wore on His mood was about as dark as the sky overhead, the storm clouds stealing away the daylight earlier than usual.
He ought to close the window. His study was by now cold and damp. But he welcomed the bite of the wind. Perhaps its chill breath might return both his icy composure and his common sense.
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