Page 23 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)

Brummell had always declared that clothes could make the man.

But doubtless the Beau had never seen the likes of Fairhaven before.

Sir Lucien’s attire was faultless, yet there was still an air of boorishness about him.

No matter how immaculately he was garbed, Fairhaven always looked like a man recovering from a bad night, heavy bags beneath his eyes, his thick mane of yellow hair slightly unkempt.

Barely disguising his contempt, Mandell said, “Good evening, Sir Lucien.”

Fairhaven looked surprised at being addressed by Mandell, but he nodded in return. “My lord.”

“I was not aware that you were a member here, Sir Lucien.”

“I had the privilege of being elected two months ago.”

”Ah, that would explain it. I must have been absent the night the ballots were cast. What a pity.”

Fairhaven frowned as though considering whether this was meant as an insult. Mandell wondered if he was going to prove as obtuse as Lancelot Briggs.

He beckoned imperiously. “Come join me in a glass of madeira.”

“Another time perhaps. I was just sitting down to play.”

Mandell offered him a thin smile. “Apparently I did not make myself clear. It is my wish you join me. I need to speak to you on a matter of some slight importance.”

Sir Lucien looked suspicious and a little ill at ease. But he conceded with an ungracious shrug. “Oh, very well. But I trust this will not take too long.”

“That is entirely up to you, sir.” Giving the man no further opportunity to think or change his mind, Mandell led the way toward the farthest corner of the crowded salon.

He was aware that a few heads turned, remarking their progress. The marquis of Mandell was not known to bestow his attention upon parvenus like Sir Lucien Fairhaven. Nick stared after them with troubled eyes.

Mandell found two chairs in a secluded corner and sent one of the waiters to fetch some madeira and two glasses. As they waited for the wine, Sir Lucien cracked his knuckles, his gaze traveling toward where the bets were being laid, fast and heavy.

Mandell had the opportunity of studying Fairhaven at his leisure. The man possessed a certain florid handsomeness. But in a few more years, there would likely be no trace of those good looks, the vigor of youth all but vanished.

Mandell had encountered the likes of Sir Lucien before, a hedonist of low tastes and even worse breeding, a man whose decadent soul was rotting him from the inside out.

Mandell had heard it said that Sir Lucien frequented the lowest gaming hells and brothels.

His sexual appetites were supposed to be so strange that none of the more respectable establishments would have him, no matter what coin he offered.

And it was this creature who had charge of Anne’s daughter, that curly haired waif who had been dragged from her bed at midnight, who had to stand shivering in a garden just to be able to feel the touch of her mother’s hand.

Something strange stirred inside Mandell the more he stared at Sir Lucien, something cold and hard. He had pledged to help Anne simply as a means to his own ends. But it occurred to Mandell that dealing with Fairhaven might be a pleasure.

When the wine was served, Sir Lucien took a large gulp, then growled, “So? You had something to say to me?”

“Yes.” Settling back, Mandell tasted his own wine. “I believe you are in possession of something that does not belong to you.”

“You mean something of yours? I think not, my lord.”

”Something of Lady Anne Fairhaven’s. Stolen away by you many months ago. Her daughter.”

“My niece. I am the girl’s legal guardian. I have a perfect right to do whatever I choose with her.” He scowled. “In any event, my lord, I fail to see that these family matters are any concern of yours.”

“I am making them my concern.”

“Why?”

“Consider me a tenderhearted fellow. It gives me great distress to see a child separated from its mother. So much so, I am afraid I must ask you to return young Eleanor to the lady Anne. By noon tomorrow at the latest.”

This cool demand left Sir Lucien dumbfounded at first. Then he flushed, blustering. “And if I don’t choose to do so?”

Mandell twirled the stem of his wineglass idly between his fingers. “Then I fear I would be vexed with you, Sir Lucien, very vexed, indeed. I might even consider your refusal an insult of the gravest kind.”

Fairhaven choked on his wine. He set the glass down with a sharp click.

“Could you possibly be implying that you would challenge me to a duel over the chit? It would do you no good. Do you think I would allow myself to be drawn into such an affair? I know your reputation with a pistol. I have seen Derek Constable still hobbling about on his crutches. And I heard talk about that highwayman on the heath that time. Shot dead through the heart at twenty-five paces.”

Sir Lucien snorted. “Challenge to a duel. It would be more like an invitation to die. No, thank you, my lord.”

“And yet I could make it impossible for you to refuse. Suppose I was to fling the contents of my glass into your face in front of all these interested gentlemen.”

Sir Lucien stole a nervous glance about him, waxing pale at the mere suggestion of such a thing.

“Think you that you could then just walk away,” Mandell purred, “and ever show yourself in this club or anywhere else again?”

“You are utterly mad, Mandell, or else drunk. Did Anne put you up to this? She does not seem the sort of woman to have any influence over you. My dour sister-in-law is hardly worth your notice.”

A muscle twitched in Mandell’s cheek. His fingers tightened so convulsively about the crystal, he nearly shattered it. Keeping the taut smile fixed to his lips, he said, “And you, sir, I find are not worth the waste of this fine madeira after all.

As he drained his glass and rose to his feet, Sir Lucien breathed easier, apparently believing the conversation to have reached its conclusion.

But that was before Mandell began stripping off his glove with a deadly calm.

Fairhaven went ash white. As Mandell stood there, towering over Sir Lucien, the hubbub in the room became quieter. Heads turned, necks craned as the realization spread that something of great interest was transpiring between the marquis of Mandell and Sir Lucien Fairhaven.

Mandell was only vaguely aware of the gathering silence, of Sir Lancelot gaping, of Nick inching closer. Mandell focused on Sir Lucien’s bloodshot eyes. The man tried to sneer, but failed, fear creeping unbidden into the hazed blue depths.

How many times had this bastard inflicted a similar torment upon Anne? Mandell wondered. Sir Lucien mocking her and threatening, making her afraid, not for herself, but for her child.

As beads of perspiration dotted Sir Lucien’s brow, Mandell stroked his glove between his fingers, relishing the moment, prolonging it.

“Don’t!” Fairhaven rasped hoarsely, his eyes darting about as wildly as a cornered rat’s. “I will return the girl.”

Mandell scarce heeded him. All he seemed able to think of was Anne. Anne’s blue eyes drowning in sorrow, Anne describing her agony at finding her child missing, Anne desperate enough to brave the night, clutching that misloaded pistol.

Slowly Mandell began to draw back his arm.

Sir Lucien shrank back, saying louder, “Stop! Damn you, I said that Anne shall have the child back. By noon tomorrow.”

Mandell became aware of Nick’s grip upon his sleeve. “He has yielded, Mandell,” Nick murmured.

Exercising every bit of his self-control, Mandell lowered his hand, releasing his breath. Sir Lucien got shakily to his feet. But before he could bolt away, Mandell said, “Noon tomorrow. I trust you will remember. I should not care to have to remind you.”

Fairhaven gave a jerky nod. His eyes glittered with all the hatred of a whipped cur, then he brushed past Nick and was gone. Apparently, he had lost his taste for gaming, for he made directly for the door.

The room at large seemed to draw a collective breath. The excitement over, interest returned to the cards and dice once more. Only Nick dared to make any sort of remark upon the recent proceedings. “Damn it, Mandell. For a moment there, I thought I was going to end up being your second after all.”

“I told you there was little chance of that at the outset.” Mandell eased his glove back onto his hand. “Sir Lucien was no more than I ever thought him, both a fool and a coward.”

“Forgive me,” Nick said. “But I overheard a lot of what passed between you. Why did you not tell me earlier what was amiss? That villain actually took away Lady Anne’s child.

I vow I was ready to smash his teeth down his throat.

But you were so cool. I never saw anything to equal it.

You cowed him without striking a single blow. ”

“Yes,” Mandell said, conscious of a bitter disappointment that this was so. Anne’s tormentor had escaped too lightly. How very much he would have enjoyed holding the bastard at pistol point and slowly cocking the hammer.

Mandell checked the savage thought, wondering what was wrong with him. He had achieved what he set out to do. Nothing else should matter. Yet he felt annoyed when Nick caught up his hand, wringing it in a hearty congratulation.

“What you did tonight was wonderful,” Nick said. “One of the most noble, unselfish things I have ever seen you do. I do believe there is hope for you yet, coz.”

Mandell wrenched his hand away. His voice held a sharp edge as he replied, “Noble? Unselfish? And just what do you suppose my motives were?”

“To help Anne recover her child. What other reason could there be?”

“It never occurred to you, my idealistic young fool, that there are many ways to seduce a woman. Some want diamonds. Anne wanted her child back. It was that simple.”

Nick’s smile faded. “You mean you only did this to lure Anne Fairhaven into your bed?”