Susan Carroll by The Painted Veil Page B

things this man could do with his voice, his eyes. He could
make it seem as though there were a chance that he might really
care.
    His grip upon her hand tightened, his voice
becoming low and charged with an intensity that frightened her.
“Trust me, Anne. Whatever, whoever it is who brings that look to
your eyes, I will banish it. Whatever your unhappiness, your fears,
in my arms, I can make you forget.”
    Forget Norrie? Mandell's vow snapped Anne
back to her senses as nothing else could. She reminded herself of
exactly what he was, a callous, cynical seducer of women. Nothing
more,
    She yanked her hand away. “You are the last
person on this earth that I would ever trust. A man like you! A
libertine with no honor, no heart, no proper feelings! If you will
not leave me alone, I shall go myself.”
    “That will not be necessary.”
    Whatever gentleness she had fancied in his
face was shuttered away again. He presented the sardonic facade she
found far more familiar. Idly, he rose to his feet, straightening
his cuffs. “There is no need for you to run away again. Sorrow. I
will leave if that is what you wish.”
    He sauntered toward the door of the box,
pausing only to glance back at her, his eyes as bright and hard as
onyx.
    “But my going changes nothing, Anne,” he
said. “I want you. I will have you.”
    He swept her a magnificent bow, then was
gone, his soft-spoken threat seeming to linger in the air. Anne
found she was trembling so badly, she had to grip the back of her
chair.
    I want you. I will have you
    Panic lashed through Anne, accompanied by a
feeling of strange wild excitement. It was but one more reason to
avoid Mandell.
    One more reason to gather up her daughter as
soon as possible and flee London forever.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Sara Palmer unfurled the leaves of her
ivory-handled fan and waved it before her, trying to enjoy the
luxury of what might be her last night attending the theatre. The
subscription on the box Mandell had hired for her was due to run
out. Such an excellent location it had been, near the stage, rather
private from the rest of the house.
    If she came to the theatre again, it would
have to be at the half-pay rate, coming in after the main bill was
over, sitting in the pit. Just another one of the economies she
would be forced to practice until she acquired a wealthy and noble
lover, hopefully one more marriage-minded this time.
    Sara sighed. Her prospects at the moment did
not look good. She was a fool to have broken with Mandell before
she had been assured of something better. The marquis had been most
generous, and under his protection, Sara feared, she had learned to
be extravagant. Only three days separated from him and she was
already feeling the pinch. Mandell had finished paying for the
lease on her apartment and the stabling fees for her horses, but
there had been the dressmaker's bill she had forgotten to have him
settle, also one from the jeweler.
    Sara did not know what had gotten into her.
She was usually far more efficient and businesslike in her dealings
with men. Her only excuse was that she had been distracted of late,
and she did not have to look far for the source of it.
    Frowning, she glanced at the tall figure of
the young soldier who lounged in the chair behind her. With a yawn
and a stretch, her brother rose and moved toward the door of the
box.
    “Where are you going, Gideon?” Sara asked
sharply.
    “Just thought I would step out a moment to
get a breath of air.”
    “There is plenty of air right here. Sit down.
I didn't ask for your company tonight merely to have you abandon me
while you slip backstage to flirt with some actress.”
    “Is that what you are afraid of, my dear
sister? Or did you think I was going to nip out to the alley and
carve someone else up with my hook? The intermission is almost over
and it has been so long since my last murder.”
    “Lower your voice!” Sara hissed with a
nervous glance around her. “There are some here tonight