Page 29 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)

Lily had wondered. Anne had kept her speculations on that subject to herself.

“My dear Anne, it would seem you are indebted to the marquis for your daughter’s return. I have it on excellent authority—Sir Lancelot Briggs’s—that Mandell confronted Sir Lucien in the Great Subscription Room. Mandell had stripped off his glove and was going to fling it into Fairhaven’s face.”

“Mandell challenged Lucien to a duel?” Anne felt a sudden need to sink into the chair by her dressing table.

“No, it never came to that. Lucien Fairhaven has far too great a regard for his own skin. Mandell is deadly with a pistol, my dear, positively deadly. In any case, Sir Lancelot was close enough to overhear the cause of the quarrel. Would you credit it, my dear? It was over our little Eleanor. Mandell demanded that Lucien give up the child.”

Anne pressed her hands to her face. A duel? She remembered being disquieted by the look in Mandell’s eye that night he had left her, but she had never dreamed he would have been willing to take things that far,

No matter how good a shot Mandell was, the possibility still existed that he could have been wounded or killed.

Barring that, dueling was illegal. Despite his powerful connections, he could have been arrested or forced to flee the country.

Did the man consider such a risk worth it merely to have Anne in his bed?

“Mandell has ever been such a discreet devil, so cold-blooded,” Lily said. “Whatever could have inspired him to such an extraordinary gesture?”

“I don’t know.” Anne was unable to meet her sister’s eye.

“One does not think of Mandell as ever waxing tenderhearted over a mother and child. Though I suppose this all could have something to do with losing his own mother at so early an age. Poor Lady Celine. Mama knew her well. She always said Celine was a great beauty in her day and as proud as Lucifer, like all the Windermeres. Everyone was stunned when she eloped with some impoverished French nobleman. Such a ghastly mistake that turned out to be. She was trapped in Paris during the revolution and suffered a hideous death. Celine was actually torn apart by an angry mob.”

“Dear God!” Anne said.

“Did you not know about that part of Mandell’s family history?”

“No, I didn’t.” Anne was fast realizing that she knew truly little about the marquis of Mandell. She said softly, “The man has ever been an enigma to me.”

“And to the rest of the ton. That is why this chivalrous gesture has so many tongues wagging. Many are saying my lord means to fix his interest with you. His grandfather has been after him for a long time to choose a respectable wife.”

“Oh, no!”

“I found that utterly ridiculous, myself. The wicked Mandell and you, my saintly little lamb. Such speculations are almost as bad as the more scurrilous rumors that Mandell is only laying siege to your virtue.”

Anne felt ready to sink through the carpet. It was unsettling enough to think she would be obliged to share Mandell’s bed, but to hear that half of London was discussing the possibility!

“Then perhaps I ought to go away for awhile,” Anne said. “Take Norrie and go home or journey to Scotland and visit Camilla.”

“Run away? That would be the worst thing you could do,” Lily said sternly.

She relented enough to give Anne’s shoulder a comforting pat.

“My poor pet. I know that you are not at all accustomed to arousing this sort of furor. That is why you must take the advice of your older sister who has walked the fine line of scandal herself a time or two. You must get out more, be seen at parties. When you encounter Mandell, greet him with complete indifference. That will quickly scotch all these rumors.”

Greet Mandell with indifference? Anne thought with dismay. It would take a greater actress than the famous Mrs. Siddons to pull off such a thing.

Lily thrust the stack of invitations into Anne’s hands. “Here. You can start with these. There must be one amongst them it would please you to accept.”

Anne regarded the pile listlessly. All she wanted was for her sister to leave her alone to sort out the bewildering and disturbing array of information Lily had thrust upon her. But Lily would give her no peace until she opened her mail.

Reaching for a letter opener, Anne broke the seal on the first invitation while Lily flitted about, examining some of Anne’s gowns. “You know this lilac silk might still do for a casual evening at home if the frock were furbished with some new trimmings.”

“Hmmm?” Scarce heeding her sister’s sartorial advice, Anne shifted through the stack of invitations.

Mrs. Cardiff begged the Lady Fairhaven’s appearance at a small supper party.

The Duchess of Devonshire was holding a rout.

The Renfrew’s eldest daughter was about to be presented to society.

If the weather improved, my lord and lady Benton proposed an al fresco breakfast.

None of these invitations produced any reaction from Anne other than a weary sigh. She experienced not the flickering of an interest until she reached a note that had been buried amidst the stack of gilt-edged cards.

A small, plain sheet of vellum folded over and sealed; it had not been franked so it obviously had been delivered by hand. The script bearing her name was elegant, but most definitely the product of a masculine hand.

Somehow before she broke the seal, she knew. Her heart set up an unsteady beat as she unfolded the single sheet.

My lady Sorrow,

Tonight. At ten o’clock Make your excuses to your sister. I shall have a coach waiting by the front gate.

Mandell.

The signature leapt out at her, dark and bold. Anne tried not to panic. She still had enough time to pack her trunks and Norrie’s, to order up the carriage, to convince Lily that she had to leave today, this very afternoon.

Except that she knew she would do none of those things. Mandell had brought Norrie back to her, and at great personal risk to himself. No matter how selfish his reason, how wicked his motives, Anne was vastly in his debt, a debt she had to find the courage to pay.

She sat staring at the note until she was interrupted by the sound of Lily’s voice. “Well, Anne? Do none of those invitations appeal to you?”

Anne concealed Mandell’s note beneath the rest of the stack.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “There is one here that I am obliged to accept.”

Hours later as the mantel clock ticked onward to the hour of ten, Anne took one last look at her uninspiring reflection in the mirror.

She had woven her hair in the familiar tight crown of braids and selected one of the most demure gowns she owned, a plain muslin whose pale pink shade seemed to wash out what color remained in her fair skin.

Over it she donned a cottage vest of green sarcenet, lacing it so tightly across her bosom that she flattened her breasts, making it difficult to breathe.

The ensemble was not likely to please Mandell, but then he knew that he was getting no sultry beauty in Anne Fairhaven.

He could hardly expect any miraculous transformation tonight.

Perhaps Mandell would take one look at her and decide to send her right back home again.

She touched one hand to her bare neck. Her little gold locket would have gone perfectly with the outfit, but it was still gracing the pawnbroker’s dusty shelf.

Anne pored over the few pieces of her jewelry that remained, but in the end opted to wear none.

It would only be one more thing that she would have to remove when—

She swallowed hard, suppressing the thought. She was already nervous enough. Her gaze flicked to the mantel clock, the hands moving inexorably toward ten.

She had never known a day to go by so swiftly and she wondered if this was how condemned prisoners felt during their last hours. She had bitten her nails down to the nubs and her hands looked hideous. Was it considered acceptable to engage in intimate relations with a man while wearing gloves?

The thought almost caused her to break into hysterical giggles. She took a deep breath to steady herself. Tugging on her kid gloves, she reached for her brown velvet mantle, the one with the hood.

She had never looked more proper in her life.

She appeared as though she was going to do exactly what she had told Lily earlier that day—have a quiet supper with her elderly godmother, Lady Bennington.

She had even had the forethought to announce that her ladyship would send her own coach to fetch her.

How adept she was becoming at telling these lies Anne thought sadly.

Lily had been annoyed with her, of course. Out of all the invitations Anne had had to choose from, she did not see why Anne had to elect to spend her evening with an elderly recluse. But Lily had remarked sourly, she supposed it was better than Anne wasting another night at home.

Lily had already gone out herself to attend a lively musical soiree to be given at the home of some countess Anne could not remember.

Her sister’s absence made things easier.

As easy as this night was going to get, Anne thought as she prepared to descend to the front parlor.

She could pace better there until her hour of doom.

The room was much more spacious than the confines of her bedchamber.

But as Anne opened her door, she was startled by the small figure that appeared on the other side—a golden-haired sprite, with bare toes peeking out from beneath a white nightgown, a doll clutched beneath her arm.

“Norrie, Anne gasped.

Her daughter skittered across the threshold. Norrie held up the china doll, whose tangled tresses had seen better days. She announced solemnly, “Lady Persifee couldn’t sleep again, Mama.”

Anne cast an anxious glance at the clock. Any other time, she would have welcomed the prospect of cuddling Norrie and rocking her back to sleep. But for once Anne did not feel equal to dealing with her small daughter.

She attempted to summon up her sternest expression, but Norrie skipped about Anne, eyeing her gown. “You look beautiful, Mama. Just like a fairy princess.”

“More like the wicked stepmama.” Anne scooped her daughter up in her arms. “Eleanor Rose Fairhaven, you and Lady Persephone belong back in bed.”

Norrie laid her head upon Anne’s shoulder, regarding her with wide pleading eyes, giving her most enchanting, dimpled smile. But her smile faded as her small frame shook with the cough she tried to repress.

“Oh, child,” Anne murmured. “Come, we must get you tucked back up all warm again. This is no good for you, being up so late.”

As Anne carried her daughter out into the hall, Norrie protested, “But, Mama, I’m accustomed to being waked up at night. It was awful noisy at Uncle Lucien’s.”

“That is because your bedroom must have been too near the street. But you have no such excuse here at Aunt Lily’s, young lady.” Anne took the firmness from her words by giving Norrie’s smooth pink cheek a kiss.

“But I like the sound of horses and wheels and people laughing. And it wasn’t the street noises that waked me, it was Uncle Lucien. He got angry at night and broke things.”

“Oh, Norrie, darling. I am sure Uncle Lucien was seldom at home after you went to bed. You must have been dreaming.”

Norrie stubbornly shook her head. “I peeked out my door and saw him. But I was careful. Uncle Lucien didn’t like anybody but him to be awake at night. And one time he hurt himself, Mama. He had blood on his sleeve and he kept falling. And he smelled bad.”

Anne strained her daughter close lest Norrie see her horrified expression.

Anne had always known Lucien to be something of a rake, a heavy drinker, but alas, so were many gentlemen of the ton.

Only recently had Anne begun to suspect how far gone in debauchery Lucien might be, how close to the edge of sanity.

She could only thank the heavens she had Norrie safely away from him.

No, not the heavens, she reminded herself.

Mandell.

It took her some little while to bundle Norrie back to the nursery and coax the child to sleep again. By the time she saw her daughter resting peacefully, Anne was horrified to hear the clock strike half past the hour of ten.

Snatching up her cloak, Anne tore down the stairs to the first floor. But Lily’s stern butler attempted to bar her way. If a coach had been sent for Lady Anne, then it behooved one of Lady Bennington’s footmen to come to the door and announce the fact.

With great difficulty Anne persuaded Firken to step aside, the dignified old man scowling with disapproval as Anne dashed out into the night. She half hoped, half feared that Mandell would have given up on her by now.

But the outline of a coach and horses appeared drawn up next to the curb. Giving herself no more time to think, Anne flung up her hood, concealing her features. She raced toward the carriage, her heart pounding in tempo with her footsteps.

A servant melted out of the darkness, a stocky young man attired in Mandell’s distinctive livery of black and silver.

The footman bowed. “Lady Fairhaven?”

Anne nodded. She wondered if this solemn man knew why he had been sent to fetch her. Of course, he did. Servants always knew everything. Anne blushed, shrinking deeper into the shelter of her hood.

“I am John Hastings, my lady,” the footman said, opening the coach door for her. “My lord Mandell sent me to insure your safe arrival.”

As he handed her into the darkened interior of the carriage, Anne asked, “Where are we going?”

But Mandell had obviously trained his servants to be as enigmatic as himself, for Hastings closed the door without another word. He scrambled to take his place up on the box beside the coachman.

Anne was jolted back against the squabs as the coach lurched into movement. She clenched her hands together in her lap, trying to still her desire to leap back out of the carriage.

She supposed it didn’t matter what their destination might be. She had placed herself in Mandell’s power that night she had given him her vow, perhaps longer ago still when she had first permitted him to lead her into a moonlit garden and steal a kiss.

There was no escaping him now.