Susan Carroll (5 page)

Although Anne did not look Mandell's way, she
was obviously aware of his approach. She stiffened as he came up to
her.

“How fortunate,” he said in low tones. “It
would seem we meet again, my Lady Sorrow.”

“Don't call me that,” she whispered, trying
to sidle away. “I had hoped you would not recognize me.”

“I would have had to have been drunk not to.
I liked your hair better down. It looked more golden in the
moonlight.”

“Do go away,” she said. “I am trying to
concentrate on the game.”

Mandell glanced idly at the table, when
suddenly he realized what held her attention. Someone at the table
was cheating and doing it badly. The card being dealt by the youth
was scratched, a botched attempt to mark the deck. It must come to
the notice of the entire table in a moment.

The question was who was responsible. Briggs?
No, the fellow lacked the wit to be other than honest. The spotted
youth? He had obviously been losing badly, trickles of sweat
mingling with the blemishes on his brow. As for the jaded Sir
Lucien, he had accumulated an impressive pile of paper and coins in
front of him.

Whoever was guilty, Mandell knew his
grandfather would not take kindly to the discovery he was playing
with a cheat. Disgrace for one of these men was imminent. The
marked card had been shuffled his grandfather's way. The old man's
eyes were far too keen to miss it. But just as the duke reached for
the card, Anne overturned a glass of wine perched on the table. The
gesture was awkward, and Mandell could tell, quite deliberate.

The wine splattered in a splash of dark
purple across the table and over the cards. Three of the men jerked
back, only the duke remaining unperturbed.

Sir Lucien cursed, sopping at the mess with
his handkerchief while one of Lily's efficient footmen hastened
over with a napkin.

“Anne!” Sir Lucien spluttered, giving her a
vicious glare. “You clumsy little—”

Mandell felt something cold and lethal stir
inside him. Sir Lucien had an ugly voice. Mandell did not think he
quite liked the tone of it.

But before he could do or say anything, his
grandfather stepped into the breach.

“It was not Lady Fairhaven's fault,” the duke
said. “I fear I jarred her hand. Certainly there is no need for
such an ill-bred display of temper, Sir Lucien. I think you should
beg the lady's pardon.”

The man had not been born whom the old duke
could not browbeat. Sir Lucien flushed and looked like a sulky
schoolboy, but he muttered, “I am sorry, Anne. But must you keep
hovering there behind me? You are putting me off my game.”

The duke rose to his feet, making a bow to
the flustered Lady Fairhaven. Mandell had to give the old devil his
due. No one could behave in more courtly fashion to a woman.

“It must be very tedious here for you, my
lady,” the duke said. “Allow me to provide you with some amusement.
Here is my grandson. Mandell, take Lady Fairhaven in to dance.”

“Oh, no!” Anne protested, but Mandell stepped
forward swiftly.

“With the greatest of pleasure.”

“Always so obedient,” the duke said with
great irony. For a moment his gaze locked on Mandell's, their eyes
clashing with old antagonisms. Then His Grace stepped back to
permit Mandell to approach Anne.

She shrank away, turning in appeal to Sir
Lucien, her expression akin to despair. “Forgive me, Lucien. But
you know I have been hoping to speak with you. If you could spare
me but a moment—”

“Later,” Sir Lucien snapped. He was already
shuffling a new deck of cards.

Mandell observed this byplay between the two
with interest and he wondered if Anne would yield. She had little
choice. The incident had already focused every eye in the room upon
them. After another hesitation, she permitted Mandell to take her
arm.

As he led her toward the door, he bent down
to speak softly in Anne's ear. “I hope he appreciates it.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Whomever you just saved by that little
accident.”

“Then you noticed—” She stopped, biting down
upon her lip. “Of course. You would.”

“I saw the marked card, not who authored it.
Sir Lucien perhaps?”

“No,” she made haste to disclaim. “It was the
boy. He is far too young. He should not even be permitted to
play.”

Mandell was not certain he believed her, but
all he said was, “I trust your intervention will give the boy pause
to reconsider the wisdom of his actions.”

“I hope so, too.”

When they passed into the drawing room, Anne
tried to wriggle free. “Your grandfather was terribly kind, but of
course, you are not obliged to dance with me.”

“Good. I hate dancing unless it is the
waltz”

“How unfortunate. The orchestra is playing a
reel, my lord.” Her gaze skated back toward the card room. Mandell
wondered about the nature of her interest in Sir Lucien Fairhaven.
He usually had no difficulty in thinking the worst of people. But
the suspicion that Anne Fairhaven might be carrying on an intrigue
with that underbred oaf was strangely unwelcome. “There is little
use lingering about here,” Mandell told her. 'That card game will
likely not break up for hours.”

“I know,” she said. She looked very tired.
Signs of fatigue rendered most women rather hag-ridden. Anne only
appeared younger, more vulnerable.

“Perhaps you had better let me take you in to
supper,” Mandell said in a gentle tone he rarely used. “You appear
as though you need some nourishment”

“I am not at all hungry, my lord.” She
pressed one hand to her brow. “It is only the heat and noise. I
fear it is giving me a headache. I am sure I shall feel better if I
step outside for a moment. Pray excuse me.”

She took a step toward the tall French doors
that opened onto the terrace leading to the countess's garden. She
halted when Mandell moved to accompany her, casting him a look of
dismay.

“There is not the least need for you to
accompany me, my lord.”

“No?” Her wariness amused Mandell. “I begin
to get the feeling, Lady Sorrow, you would as soon dispense with my
company.”

“That I would. You are far too likely to
plague me with a deal of questions I don't wish to answer.”

“Then you may tell me to mind my own
business. You have already done so once tonight.”

“But I don't think it would be proper being
alone with you in the garden. Not proper or—” She hesitated, biting
down on her lip.

“Or?” he prompted.

“Or safe!”

Mandell's lips curved into a slow, wicked
smile. He raised her hand lightly to his lips, feeling her
fingertips quiver at his caress. “Safe? Decidedly not. But do you
truly wish to be?”

Giving her no chance to protest further, he
slipped his arm about her shoulders. Gently, inexorably, he swept
her through the doors and into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

Lily's garden looked different by moonlight.
By day, it was a place of serenity, sunlit walks, a springtime
wilderness of budding flowers. By night, it was a place of
seclusion, seductive fragrances, and threatening shadows that
seemed to echo Mandell's words.

Safe? Decidedly not. But do you truly wish to
be?

Anne Fairhaven shivered. Yes, she wanted to
cry out. That was exactly what she longed for, to be safe back in
Norfolk, her little daughter Norrie cradled in her arms, to return
to the security that had vanished when Gerald had died.

Only dire necessity had forced her back to
London, amidst the glittering society she had always hated,
thrusting herself into scenes and situations where she did not
belong. Never before had she dared steal away from the bright
lights of a ballroom to take a midnight stroll. But she found
herself doing many things she had never done these past few months,
reckless things, frightening things. Desperation did that to
one.

But she was still mistress of herself enough
to know she did not want to be in a moonlit garden with any man,
especially one as dangerous as the marquis of Mandell. She had
hardly exchanged a word with him before tonight, but she knew him
well by his reputation, winning fortunes at the gaming tables,
winning ladies to his bed, appearing to place no value on either
prize. A hard, cruel man, he was reputed to have crippled another
man in a duel when Mandell was but sixteen.

He stood out at any assemblage he attended,
his eyes often dark with contempt as he regarded the company. Yet
Anne had noted he was always welcome, especially by the foolish
women. They clustered in groups, whispering.

“
Mandell. Handsome as ever.”

“
Aye, and never showing a sign of his age.
You know, he must be past thirty-five and not a hint of grey in
that glossy hair. I swear he must be in league with the
devil.”

“
My dear, he is the devil.”

And though she had never taken any part in
this gossip, Anne thought so, too. What was she doing out here
alone with him? She was not the sort of woman to draw upon herself
the attentions of such a libertine and she could only marvel that
she had done so now. Let this be a lesson to her to take greater
care in future whose gate she wept upon.

The ridiculous notion almost caused her to
smile, and God knows she had had little enough to smile about since
Gerald had died. She rarely entertained such frivolous thoughts and
decided Mandell must be to blame.

The man made her so nervous with his silken
voice. His presence seemed to fill the night, dark, overpowering,
and undeniably male. She was relieved that he had at least taken
his hand away from her shoulder. Yet somehow she still felt his
touch, as caressing as the breeze tickling her hair.

Rubbing her arms, she announced in what she
hoped was a firm tone, “There. I am feeling better now. That was
all I needed, just a few breaths of air.”

“Indeed? I had the impression that you have
scarce drawn breath since we came out here.”

Anne was annoyed to realize he was right. She
was holding her breath even now as he stalked closer. She expelled
it in a long sigh.

“Small wonder if I am a little edgy,” she
said. “All this talk of the Hook and murder. One does not feel safe
venturing into one's own garden.”

“So you prefer wandering through the streets
instead?”

“I did not know you were going to be there,”
she retorted without thinking, then stammered, “I am sorry. I did
not mean—”

“Don't apologize. I enjoy a woman who is
honest. Now if I could only persuade you to be equally as truthful
about why I found you wailing by my gate.”

“1 was distressed because I had become lost
in the dark. I ended up at your doorstep by mistake and now I wish
you would simply forget you ever saw me there. I assure you, I was
doing nothing wrong.”

“I never supposed that you were, Lady
Sorrow.”

“Good. That's settled then. We may go back to
the house.”

She started to slip past him, but he caught
her wrist, His grip was light but she still had the panicky
sensation of some woodland creature hopelessly ensnared.

“Why are you in such a hurry, my lady? Do I
frighten you so much?'

“Yes! No. That is ...” She faltered,
struggling for possession of her hand.

“Alas, my black reputation. Tell me. What
sort of dreadful gossip have you heard?'

“Nothing. It is not the gossip so much as my
own impression of you.”

“Which is?'

“That you are a man who has made a career out
of wickedness and enjoys it very much,” Anne blurted out, then
winced. Excessive candor. Her mother had always said it was her
worst fault and the years had done little to cure it.

But Mandell appeared amused rather than
offended. “A career of wickedness,” he mused. “Well, you must admit
that is far more diverting than politics or going into the
army.”

“I admit nothing except that it is shameful
for a man to waste his time in such a sinful fashion.”

“Some sins, my lady, are never a waste of
time.” He raised her hand to his lips, whispering a kiss across her
fingertips. The sensation caused her heart to pound. The intensity
of his eyes held her spellbound even as she struggled to be
free.

To her surprise, he released her. She stepped
back, clutching her hand to her as though it was a treasure he
meant to steal.

“Flee then, if you must, my virtuous Anne.
But are you really sure you want to go back there?” He gestured
toward the bright lights of the ballroom. “Back to paste on a smile
when your heart is aching, to exchange insincere greetings with
people who don't care a whit about you, to allow no hint of your
private pain to escape you lest it be reduced to a source of
gossip?

“Nay, Sorrow, you would do far better to
linger here in the darkness with a rogue like me. I, at least,
would expect nothing of you.”

“Wouldn't you?”

“I would even give you my assurance, for the
moment, that you will be safe. I'll make no further effort to pry
into your secrets.”

Anne hesitated, stealing a glance back toward
the safety of the ballroom, the harsh lights spilling through the
French doors. Mandell's uncanny perception unnerved her. How could
he possibly understand her feelings so well? Her face ached from
smiling and uttering commonplaces, struggling to pretend that
nothing was wrong when nothing was right. And all the while she
waited upon tenterhooks for her chance to confront Lucien.

Her brother-in-law was unlikely to leave the
card table for hours. The strain of continuing to hide her anxiety
was driving her mad. The garden, by contrast, was dark and
soothing, the rustling shadows designed for concealment, a place to
go with all her misery, her fears, her despairing hope that Lucien
might at last be brought to see reason.

The garden would have been perfect if not for
Mandell. And yet at the moment he did not appear so threatening. He
seemed almost kind. The subtle mockery that shaded his features was
missing, the expression in his eyes merely thoughtful.