Page 40 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“I had the privilege of being elected two months ago.”
”Ah, that would explain it. I must have been absent the night the ballots were cast. What a pity.”
Fairhaven frowned as though considering whether this was meant as an insult. Mandell wondered if he was going to prove as obtuse as Lancelot Briggs.
He beckoned imperiously. “Come join me in a glass of madeira.”
“Another time perhaps. I was just sitting down to play.”
Mandell offered him a thin smile. “Apparently I did not make myself clear. It is my wish you join me. I need to speak to you on a matter of some slight importance.”
Sir Lucien looked suspicious and a little ill at ease. But he conceded with an ungracious shrug. “Oh, very well. But I trust this will not take too long.”
“That is entirely up to you, sir.” Giving the man no further opportunity to think or change his mind, Mandell led the way toward the farthest corner of the crowded salon.
He was aware that a few heads turned, remarking their progress. The marquis of Mandell was not known to bestow his attention upon parvenus like Sir Lucien Fairhaven. Nick stared after them with troubled eyes.
Mandell found two chairs in a secluded corner and sent one of the waiters to fetch some madeira and two glasses. As they waited for the wine, Sir Lucien cracked his knuckles, his gaze traveling toward where the bets were being laid, fast and heavy.
Mandell had the opportunity of studying Fairhaven at his leisure. The man possessed a certain florid handsomeness. But in a few more years, there would likely be no trace of those good looks, the vigor of youth all but vanished.
Mandell had encountered the likes of Sir Lucien before, a hedonist of low tastes and even worse breeding, a man whose decadent soul was rotting him from the inside out. Mandell had heard it said that Sir Lucien frequented the lowest gaming hells and brothels. His sexual appetites were supposed to be so strange that none of the more respectable establishments would have him, no matter what coin he offered.
And it was this creature who had charge of Anne’s daughter, that curly haired waif who had been dragged from her bed at midnight, who had to stand shivering in a garden just to be able to feel the touch of her mother’s hand.
Something strange stirred inside Mandell the more he stared at Sir Lucien, something cold and hard. He had pledged to help Anne simply as a means to his own ends. But it occurred to Mandell that dealing with Fairhaven might be a pleasure.
When the wine was served, Sir Lucien took a large gulp, then growled, “So? You had something to say to me?”
“Yes.” Settling back, Mandell tasted his own wine. “I believe you are in possession of something that does not belong to you.”
“You mean something of yours? I think not, my lord.”
”Something of Lady Anne Fairhaven’s. Stolen away by you many months ago. Her daughter.”
“My niece. I am the girl’s legal guardian. I have a perfect right to do whatever I choose with her.” He scowled. “In any event, my lord, I fail to see that these family matters are any concern of yours.”
“I am making them my concern.”
“Why?”
“Consider me a tenderhearted fellow. It gives me great distress to see a child separated from its mother. So much so, I am afraid I must ask you to return young Eleanor to the lady Anne. By noon tomorrow at the latest.”
This cool demand left Sir Lucien dumbfounded at first. Then he flushed, blustering. “And if I don’t choose to do so?”
Mandell twirled the stem of his wineglass idly between his fingers. “Then I fear I would be vexed with you, Sir Lucien, very vexed, indeed. I might even consider your refusal an insult of the gravest kind.”
Fairhaven choked on his wine. He set the glass down with a sharp click. “Could you possibly be implying that you would challenge me to a duel over the chit? It would do you no good. Do you think I would allow myself to be drawn into such an affair? I know your reputation with a pistol. I have seen Derek Constable still hobbling about on his crutches. And I heard talk aboutthat highwayman on the heath that time. Shot dead through the heart at twenty-five paces.”
Sir Lucien snorted. “Challenge to a duel. It would be more like an invitation to die. No, thank you, my lord.”
“And yet I could make it impossible for you to refuse. Suppose I was to fling the contents of my glass into your face in front of all these interested gentlemen.”
Sir Lucien stole a nervous glance about him, waxing pale at the mere suggestion of such a thing.
“Think you that you could then just walk away,” Mandell purred, “and ever show yourself in this club or anywhere else again?”
“You are utterly mad, Mandell, or else drunk. Did Anne put you up to this? She does not seem the sort of woman to have any influence over you. My dour sister-in-law is hardly worth your notice.”
