The only thing marring his masculine beauty was the large, ugly scar that traced from just beneath his right ear to disappear beneath the folds of his stock. It looked as though someone long ago had tried to cut Lord Rothwells throat, and very nearly succeeded.
That Lord Rothwell stood before her now, bowing, proved that not only had the attacker not succeeded, but it was highly likely that Lord Rothwell had dispatched the assailant. Killed him. Looking into his glacial eyes, Anne could easily believe him capable of violence.
Violence, or seduction. Doubtless both.
You have done England a great service, Mrs. Bailey, he said, straightening from his bow. Anne had to tilt her head back to look at him, for he was even taller than Leo.
How so, Lord Rothwell?
By marrying this villain, you have removed a great danger from the London streets.
Leo scowled as Mr. Godfrey and Sir Edmund laughed. Im no more a danger than you, Bram.
Lord Rothwell spread his hands. Thus you prove my thesis.
Quod erat demonstrandum, said Mr. Godfrey, grinning.
Anne made herself smile, for though she did not understand precisely what the men discussed, she knew it would serve her well in married life to ingratiate herself as best she could with her husbands friends.
Still, something, or rather, someone seemed missing.
Is Lord Whitney here? she asked. The scandal sheets had been very specific in naming five men as Hellraisers: the four who stood before her now, and James Sherbourne, the Earl of Whitney, or Lord Wy. Wherever one of the Hellraisers went, the others were certain to follow.
She may as well have dropped a moldering carcass in the middle of the room. Whatever lightheartedness the men might have been feeling disappeared immediately. Everyone looked grim, and something very like grief flashed in Lord Rothwells eyes.
Oh, dear, Anne stammered. He isnt ...
that is, I didnt know ... has Lord Whitney passed on? Mortified, she wanted to sink into the ground. Im so ... sorry.
Dont apologize. Leo patted her hand, but the gesture did not soothe her. Whit ... Lord Whitney is alive. Last I heard.
Have you seen him lately? Lord Rothwell put the question to her with surprising keenness, verging on an interrogation.
Four pairs of eyes fixed on her, all of them sharp and demanding. And her husbands gaze was hardest of all. Anne had to physically restrain herself from cringing.
No, she answered at once. I have seen Lord Whitney but a handful of times, the last of which was likely a year ago. She wished she could remember the specifics of the day, if only as an appeasement, but to be the object of such intense scrutiny rather unnerved her.
At her answer, the tension from the men lessened. Marginally.
Leo gave a tight nod. It seems Lord Whitney is gone from here.
Gone from here could mean any number of things, yet Anne knew better than to press for an explanation. Whatever had happened, wherever Lord Whitney was, it left a cold shadow over the four men with her now. Including her husband. At his last mention of Lord Whitneys name, Leo absently rubbed at his shoulder, and frowned at the floor. What he saw was not the Axminster carpet, but dark, ominous scenes. Scenes from his past, shared with the other Hellraisersbut not her.
She had thought it before, but she truly believed it now: her husband was a stranger. A stranger with secrets.
Shes a bit undersized, said Bram. He and Leo stood off to the side of the drawing room, watching as dancers made their figures. As the day had worn on, and the sun had set, musicians had arrived. Footmen had moved the table, the carpets had been rolled up, the candles were lit, and dancing had begun.
A fine tension ran through Leo. He felt it in Bram, and the other Hellraisers, yet none of them wanted to speak of it on this day. Anne, unknowing, had spoken of the very issuethe very personnone wanted to discuss. The one who had been their closest ally and now threatened everything.
Delicate, Leo corrected, forcing his mind toward less troubling subjects.
I would have thought you might favor a more robust girl.
Over the rim of his glass, Leo watched his new wife move through the patterns of a dance. It was the Friar and the Nun. Or maybe Gathering Peascods. He could never remember all the names of the dances, nor their figures. It mattered littlehe never stayed at assemblies and balls long enough to dance, and other, more important thoughts filled his brain. The cost of transporting pepper from Sumatra. The profitability of shipping English ale to India.
Today, hed done his duty and danced one figure with Anne, then quickly retired to the side of the chamber, leaving the celebrating to others, including his wife.
She was a delicate thing. When Leo had first seen Anne Hartfield at an assembly, shed made little impression on him. Small of stature, her hair somewhere between blond and brunette, eyes more distinctive for their liveliness than their hazel color. There were other girls, girls of more vivid beauty and sparkling dispositions, who giggled and artfully fanned themselves whenever he made mildly flirtatious remarks. Anne had only smiled and looked away, as if uncertain how to respond.