Page 42 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Feeling more irritated with his cousin than he ever had in his life, Mandell turned and stalked away, leaving Nick staring thoughtfully after him.
It was not the fashionable hour for shopping. The shops on Bond Street stood nearly empty at that hour of the day, most of the ladies still abed or lingering over their morning chocolate, But Anne Fairhaven had hardly been able to sleep or eat since she had parted from Mandell by Lily’s gate.
A day and a night had gone by in which she had heard nothing from him. She wished he had given her some hint of how he meant to force Lucien to return Norrie, but Mandell was very much a man who played out his own hand. Anne could do little but steel herself to wait, to try to fill her anxious hours.
That was why she paced down Bond Street at such an early hour, approaching the milliner’s shop where she had first seen the child’s bonnet. It was still there, displayed in the window,a confection of satin and lace the color of old ivory, trimmed with pale pink ribbons, with a large poke front that would frame Norrie’s piquant features most charmingly.
Anne had glimpsed the bonnet days before when she had been dragged out on a shopping expedition by Lily. Then Anne had been scarce able to look at the delicate garment or anything else that reminded her of the little girl she had lost.
But now she did a most foolish thing. She went into the shop and purchased the bonnet. All during the carriage ride back to Lily’s, Anne hugged the bandbox upon her lap, telling herself she was courting heartbreak by daring to dream that she would again have Norrie with her soon.
It was unreasonable to expect Mandell to accomplish anything so swiftly, perhaps to expect that he could accomplish anything at all. But she did expect. She did hope. He was a rake, a cynic, a man who possessed few scruples, but she sensed that he did not give his pledge lightly.
And he had pledged to get Norrie back for her. As to what she had promised in return ... Anne shivered, choosing not to think about that just now.
When the coach pulled up before Lily’s townhouse, Anne handed down her purchase to the footman who flung open the carriage door. She prayed that she had arrived back before Lily rose from her bed. Her sister would be sure to scold Anne for venturing abroad so early and without even the company of a maid. It would also be difficult to explain the purchase of that little bonnet without revealing her hopes and the shocking bargain she had struck with Mandell.
Anne hardly waited for the footman to help her to the pavement. She gathered up her skirts, preparing to slip back into the house as quickly as possible, when she was halted by the sound of someone bellowing her name.
She had little time to turn about before she realized that her brother-in-law was bearing down upon her. Lucien looked quite wild, but Anne took in little of his appearance, her gaze riveted upon the child he dragged by the hand.
Norrie! Anne’s heart constricted painfully. The little girl was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Before Anne could move to intervene, Lucien drew abreast of her.
“Here,” he snarled. “Take her.” He flung the child at Anne. Norrie bounded into Anne’s arms with a tiny sob and Anne lifted her, straining her close as though she would never let her go.
As Norrie buried her small face against Anne, Anne stared at Lucien. She was too stunned to do more than stammer. “I don’t understand.”
Lucien glowered back at her. “Your new friend visited me at my club last night. I don’t know what has passed between you and Mandell, but you have won this round. I am returning the girl, but I promise you, Anne. Neither you nor that interfering bastard has heard the last of this.”
He spoke this vow with such savage hatred, Anne was glad that Norrie had her face hidden against Anne’s cloak. Spinning on his heel, Lucien stormed off down the pavement without another look back.
Still in shock, it took Anne a moment to accept the reality of what had just happened. She had Norrie back again. And neither Lucien’s fury nor his threats mattered. Anne’s joy was so intense it was akin to pain. Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her and she was forced to set Norrie down upon the pavement.
She tangled her fingers in the child’s silken hair, nearly devouring the little girl with her kisses, soothing away Norrie’s tears with hands that trembled.
“I was scared, Mama,” Norrie hiccupped on a sob. “Uncle Lucien was so angry. I thought he liked me. He gave me a pony.”
“Well, I believe that he— Oh, but what does it matter now?” She caught Norrie in another fierce hug. “You are going home with Mama now, love. And no one shall take you away from me, ever again.”
Norrie raised her head to give Anne a radiant smile. “You kept your promise, Mama. You made it spring again. I knew you would.”
“Yes,” Anne whispered. Now was hardly the time to remember that it was not she who had brought this miracle about, but a formidable man with night-dark eyes and full warm lips that could tempt an angel to sin.
No matter how, Anne’s promise to Norrie had been fulfilled. There would be time later when she had her little daughter tucked up safe in her own bed tonight, time enough then in the quiet darkness for Anne to lie awake, thinking of the marquis of Mandell.
And the promise she had yet to keep.
Eight
Coal smoke hung in a perpetual pall over the sagging tenements of Bethnal Green. Peering through the grimy window of the hackney coach, Sara Palmer pressed a scented handkerchief to her nose. As the hackney rattled along the cobblestones, she was assailed by far too familiar sights and sounds, ones that she had long tried to forget and put behind her; the decaying boarded-up buildings crammed with poverty-stricken families, the shrieks of the ragged urchins chinking stones at the carriage wheels, the bawdy songs of drunks staggering away from the gin shops.
What had once been a pleasant country village on the outskirts of London had now become a teeming part of the great city, a maze of narrow streets and courts, with dark corners where the struggling poor were tempted with the lure of quick money and often an even quicker death.
The brothels, the flash-houses, the back alleys where hardened men plotted desperate deeds ... it had been nearly impossible to escape being pulled in and dragged down by such places when growing up in Bethnal Green.
Sara congratulated herself that she was one of the few who had managed it. She prayed that her brother Gideon mightyet prove to be another. She had put him on the stagecoach heading north. Sara hadn’t cared where so long as it took Gideon out of reach of the London authorities, far from questions and witnesses that might connect him with those two deaths.
Of course, Gideon had protested his innocence to the last, but Sara had paid him no heed. Her brother could be caught with a bloodied razor in his hand and he would insist he had just nicked himself shaving all the while a corpse lay stone cold at his feet.
