Page 114 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“Mandell, don’t,” Anne cried. “Don’t you see what he is doing? He is goading you on purpose. He wants you to be his executioner.”
Mandell blinked and hesitated while Anne wheeled upon the duke. “Leave him alone,” she said. “Haven’t you done enough to him? Would you torment him with yet one more nightmare? Are you such a coward that you would seek this way of escaping all the pain you have caused?”
The duke flinched at her words. He stared at her, but Anne refused to be intimidated by his icy gaze. He was the first to avert his eyes. He lowered the sword as though all the strength had suddenly gone out of him.
“No,” he said. “You are right, milady. The fate of a duke should rest in no other man’s hands.”
Mandell exhaled a deep breath, easing back the hammer on his weapon. The duke turned away. Sparing not a glance for Nick, he stepped past his fallen grandson and began a slow ascent up the stairs, only to disappear into the darkness beyond.
Anne and Mandell raced up to Nick. Mandell bent down to feel for a pulse. “Thank God!” he said. “He is still alive.”
As gently as Mandell could, he managed to heft Nick into his arms and carry him to the hall below. He laid Nick out upon thefloor. But it was Anne who worked over Drummond, fashioning a makeshift bandage out of Mandell’s neckcloth.
Mandell could feel the numbness of shock begin to creep over him, born of these last dread-filled hours, forcing himself to accept Briggs’s terrible revelation about the old duke, racing back to Anne only to walk into that hellish scene upon the landing. If Mandell had been but a few minutes later, when he thought what might have happened to Anne, to Nick ...
Mandell gave himself a mental shake. This was hardly the time for such grim contemplations. He eased himself out of his frock coat. Bundling it up, he used it to pillow Nick’s head.
Anne touched one hand to Nick’s cheek. “He has lost so much blood, Mandell,” she said. “We must get him someplace where he can be attended properly.”
“Hastings should be here at any moment. He was coming right behind me with the carriage.”
Even under Anne’s gentle ministrations, Nick groaned and stirred. His eyes fluttered open, at first hazed and bewildered. Then he focused upon the marquis.
“Mandell,” he said, weakly raising one hand. Mandell clasped it between the strength of his own.
Our grandfather,” Nick muttered. His eyes roved fearfully.
”It is all right,” Mandell soothed him. “His Grace is gone.”
Nick fixed him with a look of pure misery. “Sorry, Mandell. When Sara told me about where you were going to take Anne. I knew. Knew it was not the Hook doing the killings. But when I began to suspect the truth ... It was too horrible. I couldn’t tell you.”
“Don’t try to talk,” Mandell commanded. “We’ll soon have you out of here, back safe with your Sara.”
Nick’s lips quivered with a smile, but the expression faded. He pressed Mandell’s hand with a renewed intensity. “You aregoing to have to go after the old man, Mandell. We cannot allow him to continue.”
Mandell nodded.
Anne regarded Mandell with troubled eyes. “But he is, after all, your grandfather, my lord. What will you do with him?”
Mandell fingered his pistol and stared upward toward the gallery, the darkness where the old man had vanished. “God help me,” he said hoarsely. “I wish I knew.”
His Grace of Windermere sat behind the small desk amidst the faded splendor of the restored bedchamber. Scratching the quill pen across a sheet of vellum, he paused to move the candle closer so that the light fell across the page. When Mandell appeared upon the threshold, the duke continued to write, not even bothering to look up.
Mandell entered; the loaded pistol still gripped in his hand. He had not quite known what to expect, but certainly not this degree of sangfroid even from the duke of Windermere. It might have been just like dozens of times from Mandell’s childhood when His Grace had summoned Mandell to his study to account for some transgression, the duke forcing Mandell to cool his heels until His Grace was ready to deal with the matter.
Mandell stared at the old man, looking, almost hoping to perceive some change in him. Surely murder must leave some mark upon a man. His eyes did appear a little more sunk deep with weariness, but the brow was as ever untroubled, as smooth as marble. It was like looking upon the face of a stranger. But then His Grace had always been a stranger to Mandell.
The quill continued to scratch across the paper, the duke pausing only long enough to remark, “There was no need for you to have brought the pistol, Mandell. As you can see, I am making no effort to escape. Put that thing away.”
Mandell paced over and dropped the weapon upon the bed. He turned back, saying, “We managed to get Drummond off in the carriage. In case you are interested, I believe he will live.”
“Indeed?” The duke dipped his quill into the ink and resumed writing. “And your lady? I presume you have also whisked her out of harm’s way.”
Mandell nodded. The duke paused briefly. He frowned and said, “I do not know if it will much matter to you at this juncture, Mandell, but I did not begin with the intention of harming Lady Fairhaven. It was pure chance that she happened to be there when I finally chose to dispatch Sir Lucien.”
“I did not see you come rushing forward to clear her name. And if I had not arrived in time tonight, what would have happened to Anne?”
“She would be dead. That might have been a pity. She possessed more courage than I supposed. If not for her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve, she might have made a tolerable marchioness after all.”
