Susan Carroll (36 page)

What he needed to do was to forget the whole
sad and frustrating affair and regain his aura of cool detachment,
something that he strove to do as he drew back on the reins,
checking both his own impatience and the gelding's urge to break
into a gallop.

Mandell focused his thoughts upon the
rendezvous he had come to keep, in its own way a folly as great as
his efforts to unmask the Hook. These visits to the park were a far
sweeter pursuit, but equally as mad.

Since the weather had turned fine, Anne
brought her daughter to St. James's before the park became too
crowded with young bucks showing off their flashy phaetons and
ladies unfurling their parasols, determined to be seen abroad at
the fashionable hour. Mandell had taken to joining Anne and Norrie
on their daily walk by the lake.

It was a strange habit for the cynical
marquis of Mandell to have formed, he reflected. Certainly not his
usual mode of courting a woman, strolling with her through the
sedate walkways of St. James, helping her little girl feed bread to
the ducks. No doubt it was the spring air filling his lungs, the
breeze upon his cheek as warm and heady as a kiss that made him so
eager for these afternoon jaunts.

As he drew closer to the pond, he caught
himself leaning forward in the saddle, straining for his first
glimpse of Anne. His mistress.

The word still seemed wrong to him when
applied to Anne, almost unholy. Despite the fact that he had
managed to steal her away to his bed twice more since the first
night they had made love, he preferred to think of her as his
friend. It was a question of semantics, a way perhaps of avoiding
the harsh realities of their relationship. But it was the only way
he seemed able to continue to meet the innocence of her gaze and
that of her daughter.

As he rounded a bend, the lake stretched out
before him, and in the far distance, the stately buildings of the
Horse Guard and Downing Street. The water shimmered in the
sunlight, smooth as a looking glass, the surface broken only by the
wakes of the majestic swans swimming near the embankment. A willow
bowed over the embankment, its slender green branches trailing like
a maiden's hair to the water's edge.

It was a scene of enchantment, a fitting
setting for the little girl with the fairy-gold curls astride the
snow-white pony. The leading reins were grasped firmly in the hands
of a sturdy young groom, but Mandell found the picture
incomplete.

He drew up with a frown of surprise when he
saw no sign of Anne. She was usually never far from Norrie's side.
Mandell had teased Anne about her tendency to hover, assuring her
that for all of Norrie's air of fragility, she was a sturdy imp who
would doubtless give her mama many uneasy moments when she grew a
little older.

But he was given no time to reflect upon the
mystery of Anne's whereabouts, for at that instant, Norrie spied
his approach. She whipped her chip straw hat off her head, hailing
him with its flowing pink ribbons as he approached. Her small face
lit up with a joy and adoring trust that touched a corner of
Mandell's heart he was not even aware existed.

He halted the gelding within yards of her
pony, the young groom acknowledging Mandell's arrival with a
respectful bow.

“Good afternoon, Miss Eleanor,” Mandell said
with mock gravity as he dismounted. “I see you are out exercising
Pegasus this afternoon. But where is your mama?”

“She walked ahead down that path.” Norrie's
bright smile faded as she complained with all the dignity of an
injured princess. “We did not think you were coming today. You are
dreadfully late, Lord Man. Where have you been?”

“A thousand pardons, milady,” Mandell said,
sweeping the little girl his best leg. His hands encircling
Norrie's waist, he lifted her out of the saddle, holding her high
in his arms. “1 was detained by a fool's errand.”

“Who was the fool?”

“No one of any consequence,” Mandell replied
drily.

“Never mind then.” Norrie patted his cheek in
consoling fashion. “I am just very glad you are here now.”

She took Mandell by surprise, flinging her
small arms about his neck in an impulsive hug. He returned the
embrace with an awkward pat on her back. Someone ought to inform
Miss Eleanor about the impropriety of young ladies making such
affectionate displays in public, but Mandell knew that he was not
going to be the one to do so.

As he set her on her feet, she turned toward
the gelding that was cropping at the tender green shoots of
grass.

“You brought your horse today instead of the
carriage,” she said. “May I pet him?”

Mandell could see no reason why not. The
gelding was a town-bred animal, selected for its docility in
dealing with the chaos of London traffic. All the same, Mandell
took a tight grip on the reins as Norrie patted the animal's
velvety soft muzzle.

“What's his name?”

“Er—well ...” Mandell had never troubled
himself to think of sobriquets for his horseflesh. “I don't believe
he has one.”

“Did you forget it?” Norrie asked. “The same
as you forget what your mama used to call you?”

Mandell winced, recollecting their
conversation of a few days ago, a discussion of nicknames. Norrie
had wanted to know what he had been called when he was a small boy.
Like Anne, the child had a habit of asking discomfiting
questions.

To forestall any further mention of the
subject, Mandell hastened to say, “I think I do recall the horse's
name. It is Nightmare.”

He was left to reflect on the irony of the
first choice that had popped into his head, but Norrie appeared
satisfied with it.

“Nightmare,” she crooned, giggling a little
when the gelding nuzzled her hand. “I can hardly wait until my
Pegasus grows into a horse as big as you.”

Mandell laughed. “I am afraid he has a better
chance of sprouting wings.”

“Does he?” Norrie exclaimed.

Behind the child, Mandell saw the young groom
rolling his eyes. Mandell hated to be the one to disillusion her,
but he saw no remedy for it. He cleared his throat.

“What I meant, Miss Eleanor, is that ponies
do not grow to be horses. Pegasus is already as big as he will ever
be.”

“Oh.” She looked so crestfallen Mandell was
goaded into making a rash promise.

“When you are old enough, I will get you a
horse, a pretty little filly every bit as milky white as your
Pegasus.”

Norrie's eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she
said. “Uncle Lucien gave me my pony, but I know he would never buy
me a horse because he does not like me and my mama anymore. When we
went past his house, he made mean looks at me this morning.”

“This morning? But, Norrie, there is no one
living at your uncle's house anymore. He has gone away.”

“That's what Mama says. But I know I saw
Uncle Lucien looking out the window, making faces like a
hobbedygoblin.” Norrie heaved a deep sigh. “Mama says I have too
much imagination.”

“I fear Mama may be right.” Mandell tweaked
one of the child's curls. “And speaking of that wise lady, perhaps
it is time we went and looked for her.”

“She went down the path that way” Norrie
said, pointing one stubby finger. “With your grandpapa.”

“My grandfather?” Mandell echoed. He froze,
certain he could not have heard the child properly. “You don't mean
His Grace of Windermere?”

“Norrie nodded solemnly. “He's a duke, you
know.”

“Yes, I know that, babe, but my grandfather
rarely ever visits the park.”

“He came today, taking the air in his
carriage and lo and behold!” Norrie spread her hands in an
expressive gesture. “There we were. He just chanced upon us.”

“Did he indeed?” Mandell muttered, knowing
full well the duke of Windermere never did anything by chance. What
reason could His Grace have for seeking out Anne? Mandell could not
imagine it was a good one, considering the last conversation he had
had with his grandfather regarding the lady. A strong sense of
foreboding stole over him and he made haste to lift Norrie back
onto the pony's saddle.

Turning the reins of his own mount over to
the groom, Mandell said, “I will act as Miss Eleanor's
chevalier.”

“I wish Mama would let me ride the pony by
myself sometimes,” Norrie said.

But Mandell hardly heard the little girl's
soft grumbling as he led the pony back along the path. When they
turned down the part that forked away from the lake, he could see
his grandfather's shiny landau pulled off to one side, the old
man's liveried servants standing to attention as they awaited his
return.

His Grace stood with Anne beneath a copse of
elm trees. For a moment, Mandell had eyes for nothing but her
willowy form. She looked cool and elegant, as ever his proper
Anne.

But he had no difficulty remembering how
different she could be in the welcoming dark, turning into a woman
of passion and fire in his arms, her slim white body melting
against his, their hearts pounding in unison.

Mandell had always found that gratification
of desire soon lessened his hunger. He was shaken to find that his
yearning for Anne grew greater every time he saw her.

He realized that the moments he spent here in
the park with her and Norrie had become precious to him, something
to be jealously guarded. The stiff old man standing by Anne's side
was an intruder; winter come to blight the first spring Mandell
could remember delighting in for a very long time. He did not know
what His Grace was saying to Anne to drive the color from her face,
but he had a fair idea.

They were both too absorbed in their
conversation to take much notice of Mandell and Norrie's approach.
Mandell heard his grandfather's voice carry to him with disastrous
clarity.

“It distresses me to speak so plainly, madam.
But I trust I have made my feelings clear regarding your
relationship with my grandson.”

Anne nodded.

“Perhaps you had best make them clear to me,”
Mandell called out.

Anne looked up, her face coloring with
dismay. The duke came about more slowly, leaning heavily upon his
walking cane as Mandell closed the distance between them.

“Ah, Mandell. There you are at last.” The
duke's heavy-lidded gaze traveled over Mandell, flicking from where
his hand grasped the leading rein to the little girl mounted upon
the pony. The sight appeared to afford His Grace no pleasure, for
he said, “Something amiss with the child's groom, Mandell?”

“James is taking care of Nightmare,” Norrie
piped up.

The duke gave her a thin smile. Ignoring his
grandfather, Mandell held out his hand to Anne. After a brief
hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his grasp. Mandell fought
a strong urge to pull her to his side, drawing both her and Norrie
into a protective circle that excluded the hard-visaged old man.
But he contented himself with carrying Anne's fingers to his lips,
smiling into her eyes. He noticed the duke's hand tighten upon the
handle of his cane.

“I am sorry that I am late, my lady,” Mandell
said. “I was unavoidably detained.”

“That is quite all right.” Anne withdrew her
hand, looking flustered under the duke's stern frown. “Your
grandfather happened by and—and ...”

“And has endeavored to keep you suitably
entertained?” Mandell's voice had an edge to it. He met the duke's
gaze with challenge in his own. “You perceive me all agog to hear
what His Grace has been saying to you.”

“I don't think ...” Anne trailed off, casting
a significant glance at Norrie. As though sensing the tension
amongst the adults, the little girl had fallen silent, burying her
hands in the lengths of her pony's mane.

“It is time that I was on my way,” the duke
said. “Perhaps you would care to escort me back to my carriage,
Mandell.”

“It would be my greatest pleasure, sir,”
Mandell grated.

He watched as his grandfather took his leave
of Anne, sweeping her a courtly bow. But then the duke was the soul
of chivalry. Mandell had no doubt His Grace had exercised the
greatest of politeness while shredding Anne's heart and pride to
ribbons.

Mandell pressed the pony's reins into Anne's
hand. Her eyes were full of trouble and a deep sorrow that made him
long to curse his grandfather. He wished he could offer her some
reassurance, but he was not enough in command of himself to do
so.

He strode after his grandfather, the two of
them walking in tense silence back to His Grace's carriage. Mandell
barely contained his mounting rage until they were out of earshot.
Then he rounded upon the old man, saying tersely, “How did you know
to come here today? How the devil did you know I would be meeting
here with Anne? Have you set spies upon me now?”

“That would hardly be necessary, Mandell. You
and your lady have not exactly been discreet, choosing to hold your
lovers' trysts in such a public locale.”

“Lovers' tryst!” Mandell choked. “With Anne's
daughter present?”

The duke's lip curled. “That makes your
conduct all the more distasteful.”

Mandell clenched his hand. For a moment he
almost forgot the duke's advancing years and relation to himself.
Taking a cleansing breath to steady himself, he said, “And is this
the sort of muck you have been spouting to Anne?”

“No. I merely took the opportunity to offer
her the sort of advice her own father would have done were he still
alive.”

“And which is?”

“To put an end to whatever sort of liaison
she has formed with you. Lady Fairhaven has always been noted for
her virtue. She is far too good to be your mistress.”

“But not good enough to be my wife!”

“I believe we had already settled that point
in our last conversation, Mandell. Lady Fairhaven understands the
inequities in your situations even if you do not.”

“Anne is a damn sight too understanding,”
Mandell snapped. “What would you say if I told you that I agree we
are unequal? I realize more all the time that the lady is quite far
above me.”