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sulky
schoolboy, but he muttered, “I am sorry, Anne. But must you keep
hovering there behind me? You are putting me off my game.”
    The duke rose to his feet, making a bow to
the flustered Lady Fairhaven. Mandell had to give the old devil his
due. No one could behave in more courtly fashion to a woman.
    “It must be very tedious here for you, my
lady,” the duke said. “Allow me to provide you with some amusement.
Here is my grandson. Mandell, take Lady Fairhaven in to dance.”
    “Oh, no!” Anne protested, but Mandell stepped
forward swiftly.
    “With the greatest of pleasure.”
    “Always so obedient,” the duke said with
great irony. For a moment his gaze locked on Mandell's, their eyes
clashing with old antagonisms. Then His Grace stepped back to
permit Mandell to approach Anne.
    She shrank away, turning in appeal to Sir
Lucien, her expression akin to despair. “Forgive me, Lucien. But
you know I have been hoping to speak with you. If you could spare
me but a moment—”
    “Later,” Sir Lucien snapped. He was already
shuffling a new deck of cards.
    Mandell observed this byplay between the two
with interest and he wondered if Anne would yield. She had little
choice. The incident had already focused every eye in the room upon
them. After another hesitation, she permitted Mandell to take her
arm.
    As he led her toward the door, he bent down
to speak softly in Anne's ear. “I hope he appreciates it.”
    “Who?” she asked.
    “Whomever you just saved by that little
accident.”
    “Then you noticed—” She stopped, biting down
upon her lip. “Of course. You would.”
    “I saw the marked card, not who authored it.
Sir Lucien perhaps?”
    “No,” she made haste to disclaim. “It was the
boy. He is far too young. He should not even be permitted to
play.”
    Mandell was not certain he believed her, but
all he said was, “I trust your intervention will give the boy pause
to reconsider the wisdom of his actions.”
    “I hope so, too.”
    When they passed into the drawing room, Anne
tried to wriggle free. “Your grandfather was terribly kind, but of
course, you are not obliged to dance with me.”
    “Good. I hate dancing unless it is the
waltz”
    “How unfortunate. The orchestra is playing a
reel, my lord.” Her gaze skated back toward the card room. Mandell
wondered about the nature of her interest in Sir Lucien Fairhaven.
He usually had no difficulty in thinking the worst of people. But
the suspicion that Anne Fairhaven might be carrying on an intrigue
with that underbred oaf was strangely unwelcome. “There is little
use lingering about here,” Mandell told her. 'That card game will
likely not break up for hours.”
    “I know,” she said. She looked very tired.
Signs of fatigue rendered most women rather hag-ridden. Anne only
appeared younger, more vulnerable.
    “Perhaps you had better let me take you in to
supper,” Mandell said in a gentle tone he rarely used. “You appear
as though you need some nourishment”
    “I am not at all hungry, my lord.” She
pressed one hand to her brow. “It is only the heat and noise. I
fear it is giving me a headache. I am sure I shall feel better if I
step outside for a moment. Pray excuse me.”
    She took a step toward the tall French doors
that opened onto the terrace leading to the countess's garden. She
halted when Mandell moved to accompany her, casting him a look of
dismay.
    “There is not the least need for you to
accompany me, my lord.”
    “No?” Her wariness amused Mandell. “I begin
to get the feeling, Lady Sorrow, you would as soon dispense with my
company.”
    “That I would. You are far too likely to
plague me with a deal of questions I don't wish to answer.”
    “Then you may tell me to mind my own
business. You have already done so once tonight.”
    “But I don't think it would be proper being
alone with you in the garden. Not proper or—” She hesitated, biting
down on her lip.
    “Or?” he prompted.
    “Or safe!”
    Mandell's