Page 17 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
But Anne brushed past him, all but stumbling in her haste to clear the stone steps, the short span of walkway leading to the pavement. She halted, gazing frantically about her. The cobblestones yet rang with the clatter of cabriolets and carriages pulled by smart-looking teams of horses. This accursed city never seemed to sleep.
Anne feared that Lucien was already on his way to his next round of entertainment. But no! There was his elegant brougham pulled up to the curb at the corner. One of Lily’s own footmen had darted out to hold open the door.
“Lucien!” Anne cried, striving to be heard above the rumble of a passing vehicle. Lifting her skirts, she propelled herself forward with a desperate burst of speed.
Lucien affected not to hear her, but the footman touched his sleeve, respectfully indicating Anne’s approach.
Lucien paused with one foot mounted upon the step of his carriage. With obvious reluctance, he turned to face her. The streetlamp shone full on his blond hair and the harsh planes of his once handsome countenance. The sullen set of his mouth offered Anne no encouragement.
“What is amiss, Anne?” he snapped as Anne drew up beside him. “Did I forget my gloves or something?”
Anne placed one hand over the region of her heart, attempting to recover her breath. “No. You forgot—that is, you know I wished to speak to you.”
“Another time, perhaps. The night is still young. I have other engagements.”
“No, now!” Her voice sounded almost shrill. Anne forced herself to speak in milder, more placating tones. “I have been waiting so long.”
“To no purpose. You and I have little to say to each other.”
“We have a great deal to talk about. That is the sole reason Lily invited you tonight, so that we would have a chance to heal our differences.”
Lucien’s face washed a dull red. “The countess might have spared herself the invitation. She certainly did me no favor. An evening of cards with whelps and old men. And you, hanging upon my sleeve, like some Covent Garden doxy seeking a night’s work.”
Anne flinched at his insulting words, aware that Lucien’s coachman leaned forward to listen with undisguised interest. The young footman, holding the door, shuffled his feet with embarrassment, pretending not to hear.
“Please, Lucien,” Anne said, striving to keep calm and reasonable. “Come back into the house. We cannot discuss this in the street.”
“We cannot discuss this at all, Anne. Now, if you will excuse me, I have more important matters to attend.”
“Nothing is more important than this.”
Lucien turned as though he would mount into the carriage, but Anne clutched at his arm, clinging with a strength she never knew she possessed.
“For the love of God, Lucien. You have my daughter. You brought her here to London. One of Lily’s servants saw a little girl exactly like Norrie being carried into one of the houses nearby. You cannot deny it.”
“Why should I?” Lucien’s mouth curved into a hard ugly line. “I will tell you exactly where she is. I leased number twenty-six, a most elegant house. You need not worry about Eleanor. I have been giving her the best of everything.”
“You must let me see her!”
“Haven’t you got enough else to amuse you in London at the height of the season? You always have been a most strange creature, my dear sister Anne.”
“You have kept Norrie away from me for three months. Most of that time I did not even know where she was. You have no right.”
“I have every right. She is my ward. Gerald left guardianship of the girl to me.”
“He never meant for you to separate us in this cruel fashion.”
“Gerald’s intentions hardly matter now. Poor Anne. That is the price you pay for choosing the wrong brother.” His gloating smile only emphasized the coarse heaviness of his features, the dark rings beneath his eyes. It was difficult for Anne to remember that this man was younger than she and that she had once harbored more gentle feelings toward him.
“Is that what this is all about then?” she asked. “A revenge against me because I wed Gerald instead of you?”
“I always told you that you would be sorry one day.”
He had, but Anne had taken it for nothing more than the ranting of a wild, passionate boy. She had already beenbetrothed to Gerald when she had first met his younger brother. So at odds with the rest of the stolid Fairhavens, Lucien was either reviled or ignored by his family. Anne had felt sorry for him, had only thought to be kind. Never had she dreamed the youth would fancy himself in love with her and propose a mad scheme for their elopement. He had taken Anne’s rejection most bitterly. She had done her best to reason with the boy.
And now, although she knew it was hopeless, she attempted to reason with the man. “Lucien, that all happened over eight years ago. You were not really in love with me. If you are honest, you will admit you only wanted me because I was Gerald’s bride.”
“And now I have everything that belonged to my esteemed older brother—his title, his lands, his daughter. I could even have you now.” Lucien’s gloved hand stroked her cheek in a gesture that sent a chill down Anne’s spine. “Except that I don’t want you anymore.”
