Page 16 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
The kiss that left her so shattered showed few visible signs of affecting him except for a peculiar gleam in his eyes, his breath coming light and quick.
“That is much better,” he murmured. “With a little more such effort, we might erase that primness which spoils your mouth entirely.”
Anne touched one trembling finger to her lips, bruised and moist from the force of Mandell’s embrace. A hot flood of mortification coursed into her cheeks. She had not responded to Mandell’s improper advances, but she had not put up a life-and-death struggle either.
Mandell glanced down at her with a slight frown. “You are not going to weep or swoon on me, are you?”
Anne shook her head.
“Good. Would you like to hit me?”
Anne shook her head again. She felt too stunned, groping her way through the confused haze of her own emotions to do anything. She released a great shuddering breath.
“You must be quite mad. Why did you want to do that to me?”
“Why did I want to kiss you?” Mandell’s voice was laced with amused incredulity. “My dear Lady Fairhaven, your education has been sadly lacking.”
“Yes, but I mean, why me? I am not at all the sort that—” Anne stumbled on, miserably aware she was making no sense. “You have been kissing the wrong woman.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. Unlike you, my dear, I never get lost in the dark.”
He reached for her again, but this time she managed to evade his grasp. Whirling, she stumbled down the path. Her legs so unsteady, she was never sure how she made it back to the terrace.
It did not occur to her that Mandell was not pursuing until she had breached the threshold of the French doors. When the darkness behind her remained still, she drew up short, striving to regain her composure.
For once she blessed the fact that her presence attracted so little notice in a crowded ballroom. The only one who seemed to observe her precipitate return was Mr. Nicholas Drummond. He regarded her with a frown of concern. But his stare did notbother her so much as another’s might have done. She was sure Mr. Drummond was too much a gentleman to indulge in any speculation or gossip.
Though she scarce felt in control of herself, she forced herself to step away from the windows. It astonished her that more people were not glancing her way. Mandell’s kiss must have left some indelible mark upon her.
Making her way past a flock of chattering dowagers, Anne regarded herself in one of Lily’s opulent gilt mirrors. She was both reassured and disturbed to see she looked much the same as ever. The same pale, dull old Anne. Her cheeks were a little more flushed perhaps, but that could be attributed to the heat of the ballroom. And her mouth? Her lips were composed into that familiar prim line that Mandell teased her about. Only when she moistened them could she seem to taste the heated fury of Mandell’s kiss.
How could she have been such a fool to have trusted him, to have allowed him to lead her so deep into the gardens? She should have known better. A wolf, no matter how benign he might seem, was still by nature a wolf.
She had felt safe simply by virtue of her own propriety, her lack of beauty. She was hardly the kind of woman to inspire a man to unbridled passion. When Lily and Camilla had been on the verge of coming out, Anne knew that her mother had taken them both aside, warned them of the dangers of rakehells, how to handle the company of such men. She had never felt it necessary to have such a talk with Anne.
So how should she have best reacted to Mandell? With icy dignity? With furious scorn? Anne had no idea. She only knew what she should not have done, and that was to have stood there meekly letting him kiss her, trembling like a frightened doe. She could not begin to fathom his motives, why he had singled her out for his attentions. Perhaps he had simply been bored, foundit amusing to see if he could fluster the “virtuous Anne.” He had made no attempt to come after her. Likely he lingered in the garden, laughing at the way she had run from him.
That thought cut her deeply, hurting Anne more than she would have believed possible. She felt the stinging of tears in her eyes and swiped at them with the back of her hand. That would be all she needed to make her humiliation complete. She remembered that Mandell had asked her if she wanted to weep. He had not sounded mocking then, only a little alarmed at that prospect.
“That is what you could have done,” Anne told herself sarcastically. “You could have blubbered all over him. That would have taught him a lesson.”
Angered by her own weakness, she gritted her teeth and tensed her hands into fists. She found some solace at the thought of teaching Mandell a lesson of a far different sort the next time he was ever so brash as to offer to let her hit him.
But there was not going to be any next time. She did not intend to let Mandell come within a dozen yards of her again. And she doubted that he would try. He had already had his diversion.
It had been a distressing incident, nothing more. She would be wise not to make too much of it. She had other worries, a far greater torment than Mandell to contend with.
Lucien.
It was three in the morning before Sir Lucien Fairhaven left the Countess Sumner’s ball, He strode down the curving stair into the entry hall, snatching his cloak from one of the footmen before Anne realized her brother-in-law was on the brink of departure.
Anne rushed to the door of the small parlor where she had hidden herself away since her walk in the garden with Mandell.Regardless of the curious stares of Lily’s servants, Anne called out, “Lucien! Wait!”
She was certain he heard her, but he did not once look back, stalking through the massive front doors into the night. Anne felt the familiar despair tighten in her chest and cursed herself for the inattentiveness that had allowed Lucien to escape.
She had retreated to the small downstairs parlor for most of the evening, leaving the door ajar so that she could observe all departures without running the risk of encountering Mandell again. But the strain of too many sleepless nights and an exhaustion of spirit had finally taken their toll. She must have nodded off, for how long she did not know. Only the clock chiming three had startled her awake in time to see Lucien making his exit. A minute more and she would have been too late. Perhaps she still was.
Refusing to accept that, Anne raced across the hall toward the front door. Lily’s elderly butler attempted to intercept her flight. “My lady, wait. At least allow me to fetch your shawl.”
