Satan's Mark. Anne Herries

best to see that you are happy here.’

      How could she have been so blind? Of course, it had to be him! Why had she not guessed at once? She had thought him a friend of the Marquis, but she had allowed herself to be deceived. Perhaps because she had wanted it so.

      ‘You are my guardian, sir?’ Annelise felt a coldness at the base of her neck. Her guardian! This changed everything. A crushing disappointment swept over her. ‘You wrote to my uncle—it was your letters which so distressed him.’

      She remembered Sir Hugh’s ramblings, when he had spoken of a man who would come to claim her—a man he feared so much it had sent him out of his senses.

      ‘The mark of Satan is upon us all. But I shall not let it fall on you. No, not if it costs me my life.’

      Annelise felt a deep unease as she stared at the Marquis. What did she know of him, or this house to which she had been brought? Why had he not told her he was her guardian before this? He could have done so when she had given him her name that day in the woods—or when she had gone to Longton Hall with the letter. Instead, he had let her believe him plain Master Rochefort—why?

      He had been flirting with her in the woods, and then his manner had changed suddenly once her true identity was revealed. Of course he could not seduce his own ward! It would be most improper. As improper as her own thoughts of him had been.

      ‘I am very sorry if your uncle was distressed by the letters,’ Justin said, his gaze narrowing. Now what was going on in that head of hers? ‘I wished only to discuss your affairs with him, to make certain you were in good health and properly settled. Had he been well enough to continue looking after your estate, I should not have interfered—unless you asked it of me.’

      As she had, of course. Annelise was silent. In her heart she knew that it was she who had precipitated the visit from Lady Emily. The Marquis had done what was necessary to prevent her from being persuaded or pushed into a marriage against her will, because she had made him aware of her situation—and yet she was angry with him. She felt guilt because of her uncle’s illness, and some apprehension.

      Why had the Marquis’s letters made her uncle so afraid? Why had Sir Hugh talked so wildly of Satan’s mark having fallen upon them?

      ‘What are you thinking?’ Justin asked. ‘Why do you look at me that way? As if I were some kind of a monster! I thought you wanted this visit with my mother?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Annelise cried, stung by remorse. The journey to London had taken some days, and in that time she had come to like Lady Emily. ‘I am most grateful to you for inviting me, sir—and to Lady Emily, of course.’

      ‘For goodness’ sake, Justin,’ his mother said. ‘Will you keep Annelise talking for ever in the hall? I dare swear she is exhausted by the journey, as I am, and can do well without one of your scolds. I find them exceedingly wearisome myself, and poor Annelise has been scolded enough already. I mean to see it does not happen now that she is my ward.’

      ‘Your ward, Mama?’ Justin raised his brows, a faint air of mockery in his manner. ‘Can I have heard you correctly?’

      ‘Indeed, I think it would be best if you were to give Annelise’s well-being into my hands,’ Lady Emily replied. She smiled affectionately at the girl. ‘We are already friends, and, since you are unmarried, it is more fitting that I should have charge of her. Besides, you are too busy to bother with all our little fancies, are you not? You may safely leave the matter of her wardrobe and education with me.’

      ‘It is fitting that you should chaperon Miss Woodward,’ Justin replied. ‘But you will defer to me in all matters of business, if you please, Mama.’

      ‘But of course.’ Lady Emily breezed past him, propelling Annelise before her. ‘As head of the family, you must always be consulted in any matter of importance, but I shall not trouble you with inconsequential trifles.’

      Annelise saw Justin’s frown of disapproval as she was driven upstairs by his mother. It was clear that Lady Emily was accustomed to having her own way—and that she meant to take Annelise under her wing.

      ‘You must not let my son intimidate you,’ Lady Emily said, giving her a look of pure mischief as they walked along the upper gallery. ‘You have been taught to obey without question, Annelise, but now you must learn to assert yourself. You must learn the power of your sex, the art of getting your own way with the least fuss. Men are after all but simple creatures—but they like to imagine themselves our masters. The secret of a good marriage is to let your husband believe you agree with his every word, while going your own merry way.’

      Annelise stared at her. For a moment she was so shocked that she did not know whether or not her hostess spoke in jest, then she realised that beneath the teasing manner lay a will of iron.

      ‘My aunt would think it sinful to deceive her husband, ma’am.’

      ‘Your aunt is no doubt a worthy woman, but she is also a fool,’ replied Lady Emily. ‘She would be lost at Court. You are a beauty, Annelise. You have intelligence and an inheritance, which, though perhaps not huge, is still of some significance. If you would make the most of yourself, of your life, you must learn how to use your womanly arts to your own advantage. After all, why should you not? It is merely a game. You have a right to happiness. I can teach you how to play the game—unless the idea offends you?’

      ‘No, it does not offend me.’ Annelise laughed suddenly, a warm, husky laugh that surprised the older woman. She gave Lady Emily a naughty, enchanting look that only her mother might have recognised—a look first seen in her crib that had been missing for many a year. ‘No, ma’am, I think I should like to learn all you have to teach me.’

      Lady Emily nodded, a speculative expression in her eyes. It was as she had thought when she first saw Annelise. Beneath the veneer of modesty lay a very different personality—a warmth and charm that might win the coldest heart.

      She believed this young woman might just be the answer to her prayers.

      Chapter Three

      ‘La, what a pretty thing she is!’ Lady Emily clapped her in delight as Annelise pirouetted for her benefit. ‘You will be the most beautiful lady at Court this evening, my dear.’

      Annelise’s gown was fashioned in the elaborate French style which had become popular since His Majesty’s return, with a close-fitting laced bodice and a décolletage that skimmed her breasts and shoulders; the sleeves reached to her elbows, were full and banded with lace and ribbons; the trained overskirt was hitched back to reveal a heavily embroidered panel at the front. Her hair had been parted in the centre, caught in a chignon at the back and allowed to fall in bunches of ringlets to either side. Small knots of ribbon threaded with pearls had been pinned above the curls.

      Annelise glanced at herself in the mirror, which was Venetian and fabulously expensive, just like her clothes. A part of her—the modest, unassuming lady that she still was by nature—was shocked by what she saw. That woman in the elegant silk gown could not possibly be her! And yet it was pleasing to be dressed so fine. She was aware of excitement, of a sense of expectation.

      A knock at the door caused both Annelise and Lady Emily to turn their heads. They were standing in the small chamber which led through to Annelise’s bedroom; it was furnished with a writing table, a handsome cabinet, stools and a settle so that guests might be received privately, something Annelise had found strange at first, but had now discovered was favoured by many of the fine ladies she had met since coming to town. After the French fashion, friends, privileged tradesmen, wig-makers and suitors were all invited to a lady’s boudoir to watch and admire as the finishing touches were put to her toilette. The practice had astounded Annelise, who had found it shocking at first, but after four weeks, during which she had been taken to meet many of Lady Emily’s friends, she had lost many of her former inhibitions.

      ‘Enter,’ she called, unsurprised when the Marquis walked in. It was not the first time he had come to her boudoir, though she had not