Susan Carroll Read Online Free PDF Page B

outstretched hands. A fading beauty, she
made far too free use of the paint pots, but her figure retained a
voluptuous charm.
    “Mandell,” she cried. “You came after all. I
vow you are a most welcome sight”
    “Am I? I had begun to wonder.” He carried her
fingertips to his lips.
    She laughed. “Oh, you mean your reception
from the Prince Regent. Aye, I saw it all. You must not mind His
Grace. The poor man is sadly put out. He was the focus of attention
amongst the ladies until you walked in. You must have a dance with
me later. I have all manner of interesting gossip to share with
you.”
    “Not about Bert Glossop, I trust. I have
heard more than enough on that score.”
    “Oh, no, something far more interesting.” She
leaned forward to whisper behind her painted chicken-skin fan. “The
Prince Regent has left off wearing his stays.”
    “And just how would you be knowing that, my
lady?” Mandell asked.
    “Because one can no longer hear him creak
when he walks. How else should I know it, you naughty man?” She
closed up her fan and rapped his wrist.
    A laugh escaped Mandell, one of genuine
amusement. The rest of London might be in an uproar over murder,
but trust Lily Rosemoor to be more interested in the regent's
stays. Mandell had always been more at ease with the countess than
with other women. He liked his mistresses younger and not quite so
giddy. She preferred her lovers blonde and more poetic. So their
relationship had never been hampered by any sexual tension.
    With the ease of long acquaintance, Lily
linked her aim through his. “Come, Mandell, there is someone you
must make your leg to. You will never guess who has returned to
London. Anne, my darling little sister.”
    She tugged Mandell over to the chair where
the young woman sat, staring pensively down at the floor tiles.
Mandell had never taken much notice of Anne Fairhaven, but she
appeared as he remembered her, pale and prim, her fair hair done up
in a crown of braids. The style was perhaps a little too severe,
but it drew attention to the slender column of her neck. Clad in a
high-waisted lavender gown, she was like a fine pastel lost amidst
the brightness of more garish oil paintings.
    “Anne,” Lily called gaily. “Do but look who
has arrived.”
    Lady Fairhaven glanced up. Mandell
experienced the shock of more recent recognition as the candleshine
played fully over her delicate features. Impossible that it should
be so, but Anne Fairhaven was the woman who had been weeping by his
gate. She had been half lost in shadow then. Her hair tumbling free
had made quite a difference from her usual prim style. But there
was no mistaking those violet-hued eyes. They were clear now, only
the shadows beneath bearing testimony to her former
unhappiness.
    Before Mandell could move or speak, Anne shot
to her feet, a blush staining her cheeks.
    “My lord,” Lily said. “You do remember my
sister, I trust?”
    “Of course,” he said, managing to gain
possession of Anne's hand. “The virtuous Lady Fairhaven.”
    “The wicked Lord Mandell,” Anne countered,
snatching her fingers free of his grasp. “Excuse me, Lily, my lord.
I was on the verge of retiring to the card room. There is someone I
must speak to.”
    For the second time that night, she fled from
Mandell without a backward glance. Her gown, demure as it was,
clung to the willowy curves of her hips. She moved with a grace
that was somehow far more alluring than the exaggerated sway of
bolder women.
    “I declare,” Lily exclaimed. “Whatever got
into her? Mandell, what have you done to frighten my poor
Anne?”
    “Nothing.” Mandell smiled. “Yet.”
    The countess wagged her finger at him. “I
dislike that gleam in your eye, my lord. You must form no designs
upon my little sister. It would do her a world of good to take a
lover. But you are far too wicked for her, I fear”
    “Do you know,” Mandell said pleasantly, “I
have been warned away from the lady enough times, it is