Page 13 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“Good. That’s settled then. We may go back to the house.”
She started to slip past him, but he caught her wrist, His grip was light but she still had the panicky sensation of some woodland creature hopelessly ensnared.
“Why are you in such a hurry, my lady? Do I frighten you so much?”
“Yes! No. That is ...” She faltered, struggling for possession of her hand.
“Alas, my black reputation. Tell me. What sort of dreadful gossip have you heard?”
“Nothing. It is not the gossip so much as my own impression of you.”
“Which is?”
“That you are a man who has made a career out of wickedness and enjoys it very much,” Anne blurted out, thenwinced. Excessive candor. Her mother had always said it was her worst fault and the years had done little to cure it.
But Mandell appeared amused rather than offended. “A career of wickedness,” he mused. “Well, you must admit that is far more diverting than politics or going into the army.”
“I admit nothing except that it is shameful for a man to waste his time in such a sinful fashion.”
“Some sins, my lady, are never a waste of time.” He raised her hand to his lips, whispering a kiss across her fingertips. The sensation caused her heart to pound. The intensity of his eyes held her spellbound even as she struggled to be free.
To her surprise, he released her. She stepped back, clutching her hand to her as though it was a treasure he meant to steal.
“Flee then, if you must, my virtuous Anne. But are you really sure you want to go back there?” He gestured toward the bright lights of the ballroom. “Back to paste on a smile when your heart is aching, to exchange insincere greetings with people who don’t care a whit about you, to allow no hint of your private pain to escape you lest it be reduced to a source of gossip?
“Nay, Sorrow, you would do far better to linger here in the darkness with a rogue like me. I, at least, would expect nothing of you.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I would even give you my assurance, for the moment, that you will be safe. I’ll make no further effort to pry into your secrets.”
Anne hesitated, stealing a glance back toward the safety of the ballroom, the harsh lights spilling through the French doors. Mandell’s uncanny perception unnerved her. How could he possibly understand her feelings so well? Her face ached from smiling and uttering commonplaces, struggling to pretend that nothing was wrong when nothing was right. And all the while she waited upon tenterhooks for her chance to confront Lucien.
Her brother-in-law was unlikely to leave the card table for hours. The strain of continuing to hide her anxiety was driving her mad. The garden, by contrast, was dark and soothing, the rustling shadows designed for concealment, a place to go with all her misery, her fears, her despairing hope that Lucien might at last be brought to see reason.
The garden would have been perfect if not for Mandell. And yet now he did not appear so threatening. He seemed almost kind. The subtle mockery that shaded his features was missing, the expression in his eyes merely thoughtful.
“Well,” she said at last, “I might walk with you as far as the gate and back.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. With a courtly bow, he offered her his arm. After the barest hesitation, Anne took it, resting her fingers on the crisp fabric of his sleeve.
He led her along the gravel walkway in silence, the glitter and noise of the ballroom fading into insignificance. From the way he escorted her, with such an air of distant politeness, they might have been taking a very proper stroll through St. James’s Park at the fashionable hour.
Anne could only marvel at the situation she found herself in, going for a midnight walk with one of the most notorious rakes in London. Her late husband would have been scandalized. So would her mother.
What was it Mama had always said? “Lily has beauty, Camilla has wit, but you, my Anne, have neither. That is why you must always strive to be a perfect lady, correct in all things. The gentlemen will never come flocking to your side, but at least you may obtain a worthy husband.”
And Mama had been right—to a certain degree. Anne’s proper manner had won for her marriage to the handsome and estimable Sir Gerald Fairhaven. But being good and meek had not been enough to secure her future. Not enough to prevent herworld from shattering, not enough to keep her from losing what she treasured most. Norrie.
Anne was roused from her unhappy musings by a tickling sensation against her cheek. Startled, she glanced up to discover Mandell staring down at her. He had plucked a white blossom and brushed it against her face, to regain her attention.
“For you, milady,” he said, offering her the flower with a gesture of exaggerated gallantry. `This—whatever it is. I am afraid that, beyond roses, I cannot identify one bloom from another.”
Anne accepted the blossom, but it discomfited her to think that he must have been studying her face while she had been lost in her gloom-ridden thoughts. Those intense eyes of his saw far too much. To cover her unease, she rushed into breathless speech.
“I cannot identify all of Lily’s flowers, either. She has so many strange ones. Her garden is quite exotic.”
“Rather like the countess herself.”
