Susan Carroll (34 page)

“I came to you because I thought you might
need a friend tonight,” she said.

He tensed at her touch and caught her hand,
holding it in an iron grip. “My friends pay a high price for the
privilege of my company. If you don't believe me, ask Briggs. He
could tell you—that is if he were still able to speak.”

“I am prepared to take the risk, my lord. I
am not afraid.”

“You should be.” He kissed her hand brusquely
and returned it to her. “Go home, Anne. You need not worry about
me. I am not likely to go off into a decline over Briggs. I am
after all a cold-hearted bastard. I will have forgotten all about
the poor fool by tomorrow.”

Would he? Anne wondered. Or would what had
happened to Briggs become one more painful memory for Mandell,
buried only to resurface, haunting him in his dreams? His mouth,
she suddenly realized, had never been suited for such hard mockery,
but had always been formed for a more sensitive cast. She brushed
her fingers lightly over his lips. He flinched as though she had
burned him.

He retreated, saying, “I will summon Hastings
to escort you home.”

“No.” Anne began to undo the fastenings of
her cloak.

Mandell stared at her, What the deuce had
come over Anne? Even she could not be so innocent that she failed
to realize the temptation she was putting in his path, coming alone
to his house at such an hour, rising up before him like a
golden-haired vision, the better part of his dreams. Ever since he
had glanced up from the pianoforte to find her so close, he had
burned with the longing to pull her into his arms, seek comfort
from her sweet lips, find solace for the emptiness in his soul.

He was doing his best to resist the selfish
urge, but she was not making it easy for him. She brushed back the
folds of her cloak and Mandell's mouth went dry. She had on the
clinging gown she had worn that night to the theatre, the one that
revealed all her womanly curves, the low décolletage exposing the
soft white swell of her breasts.

Desire shot through Mandell, so intense it
was painful. “Anne,” he said hoarsely. “What folly is this? Do you
have any idea what you are about?”

Her eyes met his, those blue depths
startlingly clear. Mandell's breath caught in his throat as he
realized she knew full well what she was doing. The longing in her
gaze reflected his and a deeper emotion that he was too afraid to
explore.

She allowed her cloak to drop to the floor.
“I want to stay with you tonight, my lord,” Her voice was low, but
filled with a quiet determination.

Mandell summoned up all the self-control he
possessed. Clenching his jaw, he retrieved her cloak from the
floor. He managed to drape it around her shoulders, touching her as
little as possible.

“You are confused, Anne,” he said. “I suppose
it was that foolish game we played in your sister's drawing room
that has brought this on, making you see me in a different light.
But I assure you I am still what you once deemed me, a libertine
with no honor and no heart. I cannot change. I thought I made that
clear to you this afternoon.”

“I am not looking to change you, Mandell.”
She cupped his face between her hands. Standing on tiptoe, she
brushed her lips against his in a questing that stirred him more
deeply than the most passionate embrace. Every muscle in his body
tensed with the need to respond. But he held himself rigid, making
no movement to enfold her in his arms.

She glanced up, her lips quivering in a
tremulous smile. “Does my boldness shock you, my lord? You once
told me I could be whoever I wished with you. Do you now deny me
that permission?”

“I never gave you leave to be a fool,” he
rasped. When she slipped her arms about his neck, he swore. He
sought to thrust her way, but his arms seemed curiously lacking in
strength.

“Anne.” He gave a hard laugh that was more of
a plea. “Self-denial is not one of my virtues. It took me years to
locate my conscience the first time. I don't think I can do it
again.”

“Let me be the keeper of your conscience
then,” she whispered. She melted against him and breathed kisses
along the line of his jaw.

Her lips were too warm, too close, her
slender frame fit too perfectly against his body. He crushed her in
his arms, his mouth claiming hers. Her lips parted, her tongue
mating with his in a kiss that stole away his reason and resolve.
The fiery embrace burned away everything but his hunger for
her.

“Anne! Anne,” he groaned, burying his face in
the shining gold strands of her hair, making one last effort to
bring her to her senses. “I can offer you nothing but heartbreak.
Leave me while you still can.”

Looking up at him, she shook her head. “You
have made me realize some truths about myself, Mandell. I feel like
I have lived my whole life in a dream, and someday I am going to
wake up an old woman with nothing to look back on but days spent
stitching samplers by my fireside. I want something better to
remember, Mandell.”

“I can give you memories if that is what you
truly want,” he said sadly. He only prayed that they would not be
remembrances as full of bitter regret as his own.

Mandell's hands shook as he lit the candles,
dispelling the darkness in his room. He could not help reflecting
how different this was from the last time he had brought Anne to
his bedchamber. Now it was Anne who appeared sure and confident
while he felt more awkward than he ever had, even in the raw days
of his youth.

The irony of this was not lost upon him. She
was seducing him tonight, his prim and proper Anne. Yet he had
always flattered himself he was a man of iron control. He could
resist the charms of any woman if it pleased him to do so.

He glanced to where Anne stood waiting by his
bedside. Her face was pale except for the soft rose that stained
her cheeks. Her hair tumbled down her back like a veil of gold.

Yes, he could resist any woman, but this
one.

She glided toward him, her eyes as soft and
luminous as the candle flame. He held out his arms and gathered her
to him, for the moment content to do no more than strain her close
to his heart.

It was she who drew back. Solemnly, she
gathered the fullness of her hair, brushing it over one shoulder to
expose the fastenings of her gown. Turning her back to him, she
waited for him to undress her, her breath coming quickly.

Mandell's throat thickened with some emotion
that had nothing to do with his desire. His fingers moved over the
ribbon ties of her gown with a reverence that made him clumsy.

It seemed to take him an eternity to work
through the layers of her garments, during which he was aware of
nothing but her soft breathing and the thundering of his own heart.
He pushed aside the fabric of her gown and chemise, baring the
smooth ivory skin of her back,

Bending, he trailed kisses along the ridge of
her spine up to her shoulder blade. Anne leaned back against him
with a long rapturous sigh. Then she turned and began easing her
gown down over her arms.

His pulse racing, he watched her garments,
one by one, fall to the floor. The full white globes of her breasts
were outlined in the candlelight, the slender line of her waist,
the swell of her hips.

She stood before him, her only adornment her
golden sheen of hair. Mandell worshiped her nakedness with his
eyes, her supple body a white silhouette, the mysteries of her
female form intensifying his desire. She seemed a woman more born
of mists and dreams. He half feared if he touched her, she would
vanish, leaving him alone in the darkness. He stroked his fingers
tentatively along the curve of her cheek.

“God, Anne, you are beautiful. If it were
only within my power to make you see how beautiful you are.”

“It is enough that you make me feel that
way,” she whispered.

He drew her close to him, capturing her lips
in a kiss that was lingering. Somewhere within him a fire raged, a
fire that demanded he possess her immediately. But the desire was
overruled by a greater need to take things slowly, to make this
night last forever.

He kissed her temple, her eyelids and her
cheeks, his hands running down the length of her back, delighting
in the feel of her skin, as warm and smooth as silk. Her face
flushed, Anne tugged at the belt that held his dressing robe
closed.

She undid the knot and parted the satin folds
of the garment.

Her fingers skimmed his chest as she worked
the robe off his shoulders. Mandell drew in a sharp breath. He had
never liked to have a woman undress him, finding the notion too
strangely intimate, leaving him less in control of the
lovemaking.

Yet he reveled in the gentle way Anne removed
his robe. He closed his eyes as her fingers roved over his chest
and shoulders in tentative exploration. Her caress was almost
enough to bring him to his knees.

He gathered her in his arms, kissing her
again, molding her breasts to his naked flesh, the warmth of her
body flowing into him, sending heat rushing through his veins.
Nothing stood between them and the culmination of desire except the
coarse fabric of his breeches.

Anne managed to undo the buttons, but he had
to help her edge the tight cloth down his hips, his hands covering
hers, gently guiding her. She bent before him, tugging the breeches
to his ankles so that he could step out of them.

Then she looked up, her gaze filled with a
kind of wonder as she studied his legs, the hardened evidence of
his arousal, the breadth of his chest, her glance finally coming to
rest upon his face. The piercing clarity of her blue eyes shook him
to the core of his soul.

To have her kneeling before him in an
attitude of adoration was so unbearable it was painful. Mandell
made haste to draw her to her feet. Swooping her into his arms, he
carried her to his bed and laid her upon the mattress.

As he settled down beside her, her mouth
sought his with a sweet eagerness. Her hands moved over his back
and shoulders, exploring his body with increasing boldness. Anne
had spoken earlier of her own desires, but he sensed she was
striving mostly to bring him pleasure.

He sought to match her generosity. He had
little enough to offer her but the consummate skill as a lover he
had acquired over the years, his intimate knowledge of a woman's
body, her most secret needs.

As he stroked and caressed her, he wanted to
be able to do more for her, to murmur soft words in her ear. But
the practiced endearments he usually employed seemed too hollow for
such a moment, and as for whisperings of tenderness, he had none.
So he had to content himself to make love to her in silence,
communicating his need for her with his hands and his kiss.

His fingers skimmed over her curves. Gently
capturing her breast, Mandell placed his lips over the rosy-tipped
crest, caressing it with the rough heat of his tongue. Anne arched
back with a whimper of pleasure.

She had seen the promise of passion in
Mandell's dark eyes from their first encounter in a moonlit garden.
It was a promise he now fulfilled, his kisses hot and sweet, his
long graceful fingers working magic, making her feel things she had
never imagined possible. No, not for the dull, virtuous Anne.

She was a different woman in his arms,
wanton, free and ... yes, beautiful. She could see the effect she
had on Mandell and she could not suppress a tiny thrill that she
possessed the power to stir him so.

As he pressed her onto her back, holding
himself poised above her, his face was flushed with passion, desire
melting away the hauteur and the lines of mocking distance he
usually maintained between them.

A fine sheen of perspiration bathed his
flesh, sweat glistening on the muscular contours of his shoulders
and chest. His eyes burned into her, the cast of his mouth both
sensual and tender as he kissed her.

She was struck with a sense of awe at the
sheer masculine power he possessed and knew a brief flickering of
fear as he parted her legs. But he eased himself inside her so
gently, tears sprang to her eyes. A sad thought came unbidden to
her mind, that this was as close as she would ever come to Mandell,
this union of their flesh. She would never touch his heart or
soul.

She embraced him with near desperation,
seeking to take all of him into herself, striving to meld her body
with his. He began to move inside her and she forgot all else but
the bittersweetness of this moment when no barriers seemed to exist
between them.

Anne kissed him, arched against him, her body
moving as one with his. The pleasure he brought her spiraled into
something so intense, she cried out, digging her nails into his
back.

He groaned her name, escalating the rhythm,
taking her with him into his own land of fire and shadow, seeking a
mutual fulfillment that left Anne feeling shattered and spent.

For long moments, Anne was conscious of
nothing but clinging to Mandell, feeling the pounding of her heart
slow to a steadier pace. As his own ragged breathing became
quieter, he continued to hold himself inside of her. Anne savored
the warmth, the intimacy of that joining, never wanting it to
end.

But he eased himself from on top of her.
Although he gathered her in his arms, nestling her head against his
shoulder, Anne had a chilling sensation that something was
wrong.

She had heard that once the passion was
spent, a man would be done with the woman. It had certainly been
thus with Gerald, When he had finished with her, he had buttoned
his breeches, gave her a peck on the cheek and left the room.

It was some comfort to Anne that Mandell yet
clasped her tight in his arms, his face resting against her hair,
but she could already feel him slipping away from her.

She shifted enough so that she could see his
face. His features were still, his eyes dark with some emotion she
failed to comprehend. Disappointment in her perhaps? The confidence
that had been born in her this night slowly began to die.