Susan Carroll

by The Painted Veil

  “I did not think that you did.”

  She thought she saw a flash of gratitude in his eyes. He tucked the locket back inside the lace collar of her gown allowing it to slip beneath her bodice. As he did so, his fingers brushed against the column of her throat, lingering. She waited breathlessly for what he might do next, but he allowed his hand to drop away, his thick lashes drifting down, hooding his expression.

  “You look exhausted,” he said. “I recall enough to know that you took the time to bandage my hand. I hope you did not feel obliged to hover over me while I raved my way through some drunken delirium?”

  The question sounded casual, but she was aware how intently he studied her from beneath his lowered lids. She understood what he was seeking to discover. Mandell had suffered enough humiliation from this episode. She had best take care with her answer or she knew with certainty she would never see him again. She knew with even more astonishing certainty she did not want that to happen.

  “I did stay long enough to bandage your hand,” she hedged. “But when I left you, you were sleeping like the dead.” She had never been good at lying, and she was not certain Mandell would be put off by this half-truth.

  But he appeared satisfied, if not relieved. “When I first arrived here, was I alone?” he inquired.

  “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

  “No particular reason.” Mandell frowned. “Only that somehow I managed to misplace Sir Lancelot Briggs. No easy feat, I assure you. I daresay he will turn up again. He always does.”

  Reaching for her hand, he bowed over it and made one final attempt to apologize for his conduct. Anne realized he was preparing to take his leave. Why should that dismay her so? Surely everything that needed saying had been said. What more was she waiting, hoping for? She didn't know, but she found herself attempting to delay him.

  “Your bandage looks a little soiled,” she remarked. “Perhaps you should allow me to redo it with clean linen.”

  “No, thank you. My hand feels much better. I can probably dispense with the bandage altogether.” As he undid the wrapping, his knuckles still looked raw, but the swelling had gone down. Mandell flexed the fingers, but his gaze seemed fixed on some distant point. He compressed his lips as though he debated something with himself.

  “There is one more thing that happened last night,” he said reluctantly. “I should tell you about it before you hear about it from someone else. That fool Briggs has difficulty keeping his mouth shut.”

  Mandell held up his hand for her inspection. “You must have wondered how my knuckles came to be in such a disreputable state.”

  “You planted someone a facer?”

  Mandell's eyes widened in such surprise, Anne smiled.

  “I had a young male cousin who was very much into blood sports. Am I correct? Did you mill someone down?”

  “Yes, I did, as you so aptly put it, plant someone a facer. The face in this incidence might be of some concern to you. It belonged to your brother-in-law.”

  “Lucien?” Anne's smile vanished as she felt the beginnings of dread coil inside her. “You were fighting with Lucien? Why?”

  “My dear Anne, two drunken fools at a tavern do not need a reason.”

  But Anne was not about to be put off with this glib explanation. “It was because of me,” she said. “Lucien vowed he would have his vengeance because he had been forced to return Norrie. I hoped he would come to his senses and simply forget all that had passed. I should have known better. I will not tolerate his making any more trouble for you. I will have to speak to him.”

  “You won't go anywhere near that bastard.” Something dangerous flashed in Mandell's eyes, but Anne refused to be intimidated.

  “Lucien's quarrel is with me, not you. I know how foolish men can be when their tempers are roused. The next thing I shall hear is that the two of you are meeting to fight a duel.”

  “You confuse me with my cousin Drummond. I don't fight duels.”

  When Anne shot him an incredulous look, he winced. “So even you have heard about the Constable affair. Is that to haunt me for the rest of my life? I was nothing but a green youth.”

  Anne did not think he would deign to tell her any more. She was surprised when he continued, “Cecily Constable, despite her spinsterhood, was a lady of vast experience, and she took great pleasure in sharing that experience with me, initiating me into the rites of—ah, er—” Mandell broke off with a irritated gesture. “I was silly enough to fancy myself smitten with her, that is until the afternoon I discovered her also playing tutor to the stable boy. I was angry, my pride wounded enough to make some imprudent remarks about the lady's virtue in her brother's hearing. Derek knew what a trollop she was, but for the sake of the family honor, he challenged me to a duel. For the same reason, my grandfather insisted that I accept.

  “So there we were, two young idiots squaring off with pistols at the break of dawn, quaking in our boots. I was certain my hour had come, but when the smoke cleared, by some miracle I was left standing and Constable was on the ground, clutching his leg. I had shattered his kneecap.”

  Mandell looked as though the memory still sickened him and he rushed to finish his tale. “Eventually the leg had to be amputated below the knee, but the strange thing was, Constable did not seem unduly upset. He had defended his sister's nonexistent virtue. He was satisfied. Cecily was satisfied. My grandfather was satisfied. The only one who didn't find the conclusion satisfactory was me.”

  His face was raw with the bitterness and disillusion of youth. But he was quick to take refuge behind his mask of cynicism.

  “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.