Susan Carroll (30 page)

“I am sorry if Norrie disturbed you, my
lord,” Anne said. “I have not yet engaged a governess for her and I
fear she has been permitted to run a little wild. I will have to
have a discussion with Eleanor about the impropriety of—of—” Her
gaze skittered over Mandell's frame stretched beneath the coverlet.
“Of invading a gentleman's bedchamber.”

Despite his splitting head and sense of
embarrassment, Mandell possessed enough of the devil in him to
murmur, “That should be a most enlightening discussion. I would
love to hear it.”

Anne turned a bright pink and took a step
nearer to the door. “I am glad to see you looking more fit. I took
the liberty of sending word to your household. Your valet has
arrived with fresh clothes for you. I will send him in
immediately.”

As she started to retreat, Mandell called
out, “Anne. Wait!”

She hesitated, glancing back at him.

“My head is still not quite clear about
exactly what happened last night,” he said. “I have a fair idea
that I made a nuisance of myself. I understand your maid thinks I
should have been thrown back into the street and no doubt she was
right. Please convey my thanks to your sister for her
forbearance.”

“My sister?”

“Yes, I assume that she must have directed
her servants to put me to bed.”

“Lily was not even here when you
arrived.”

Mandell glanced up sharply at that. Even
though his wits felt far from keen at the moment, he perceived a
difference in Anne, something so subtle he had not noted it before.
He could find none of the primness about her mouth that he had
expected. There was a gentleness in her tone, a light in her eyes
that was softer than the sunbeams streaming through the window,
turning her hair to gold.

“I don't understand,” he said.

“Lily did not arrive home until sunrise and—”
A tiny smile curved Anne's lips. “Her head was not quite clear,
either. She always sings tunes from the Beggar's Opera when she has
had a drop too much champagne. Did you not hear her in the
hall?”

“No, that was one performance that thankfully
I missed. But then who admitted me to the house?”

Anne said nothing. She merely smiled at him
again and then slipped out of the room. As Mandell heard the door
close behind her, he sank back down into the pillows, feeling more
dazed than when he had first regained consciousness.

The drawing room that hosted so many of the
countess's balls and other brilliant gatherings stood still and
silent in the afternoon. Most of the draperies had been drawn to
protect Lily's delicate silk-striped chairs from exposure to the
sun. The gilt mirrors, the towering ceiling, and the magnificent
chandeliers were all cast into shadow, like part of the scenery on
a vast unlit stage.

As Anne wandered aimlessly down the length of
the room, she felt much like an actress waiting for the curtain to
go up, an actress no longer sure of her part. But this was foolish.
Nothing had changed.

Despite all that had happened, Mandell was
still ... Mandell, and she was the virtuous Anne. But as Anne
fingered the gold chain about her neck and felt the cool weight of
the locket hidden beneath the bodice of her gown, she knew that was
not true.

Something had changed, and she could not say
how or when it had begun. Perhaps the moment when he had pressed
the locket into her hand. Or had the change come sometime during
those hours before dawn, watching Mandell struggle with his own
private demons, realizing that the arrogant marquis could ache and
bleed like any other man? Or was it when she had seen him being so
kind to her little girl?

Anne was not sure. She only knew she would
never be able to view the wicked marquis in quite the same way
again. As she waited for him, something compelled her to remove her
lace cap, allowing her hair to tumble freely about her shoulders.
She considered retiring to change her gown for something a little
less matronly when the drawing room's massive double doors were
eased open.

Anne expected it to be one of the servants
come to inform her that the marquis had emerged from his room and
was asking for her. But it was Mandell himself who paused,
silhouetted on the threshold. He turned his head, searching the
room. Anne felt her heart miss a beat the moment his eyes found
hers.

He stepped quietly into the room, drawing the
doors closed behind him. A remarkable transformation had taken
place during the hour since she had left him. In assuming the
clothes his servant had brought—the cravat, the buff-colored
breeches, the frock coat of midnight blue—Mandell appeared to have
reassumed some of the arrogance of his stance as well.
Clean-shaven, his ebony waves of hair swept back, the only sign of
his recent misadventure was a certain paleness, his cheekbones
standing out in gaunt relief.

Yet as he stalked the length of the room,
coming toward her, Anne sensed a hesitancy in his manner that had
not been there before. He stopped within an arm's length of where
she stood before the French doors leading down into the garden.
They stared at each other like two strangers waiting to be
introduced, which was absurd. She had nearly been this man's
lover.

Nearly.
Anne had never before realized
what a world of regret could be found in a single word.

Mandell said, “I was told I might find you in
here, milady. May I speak to you for a few moments?”

“Certainly. I have been hoping—that is, I was
expecting you would wish to do so.”

“And well you might, although I scarce know
how to begin. Anne. It is deuced strange. I can tender the most
handsome apologies when I don't mean a word of it. When I want to
be sincere, which isn't often, I can't seem to think of a thing to
say.”

He turned away from her, his arms locked
behind his back. The sunlight that filtered in through the French
doors played over the bladelike tension of his profile. “I remember
enough of what happened last night to realize that I behaved like a
complete idiot.”

“It was no great matter, my lord.”

“No great matter? I burst into your sister's
house, roaring drunk, assaulted the butler, roused you from your
sleep, and passed out on the floor. I expected a box to the ears
this morning or at least a lecture on the evils of
intemperance.”

“I was exasperated with you at first. You
have a habit of disconcerting me. I suppose I am getting accustomed
to it.”

“I am sorry, Anne,” he said stiffly “When 1
was in such a state, I do not know why I chose to inflict myself
upon you, of all people.”

“Don't you remember? You came to bring me
this.” Anne tugged at her gold chain, drawing forth the locket from
inside the neckline of her gown.

Mandell stepped closer to examine it. The
gold chain seemed more delicate when contrasted to the strength of
his long tapering fingers. He opened the locket, exposing the
miniature of Norrie as a babe, her eyes wide and blue, her halo of
tumbled curls and dimpled cheeks making her look like a mischievous
cherub. His grim expression lightened a little.

“I do have a vague recollection of rousting
some pawnbroker from his bed, forcing him to open his shop.”

“I am astonished that you even remembered my
telling you about the locket, let alone where to find it.”

“My memory is a peculiar thing. It is amazing
what I choose to forget, what I am forced to remember.” Sadness
clouded his eyes.

Anne knew the source of it. She had pieced
together the nightmare of his childhood from his ravings, and the
knowledge weighed heavy upon her heart. She longed to offer him
some comfort, but she had a fair notion of what that would do to
Mandell's pride.

Instead she asked him the question that most
troubled her. “You went to a great deal of bother to retrieve this
locket for me. Why did you do so?”

“A drunken whim, I suppose.” He snapped the
locket closed. “If you are worried that it is another attempt to
get you in my debt, don't be. I don't expect any repayment.”

“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.