Page 30 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Could she be more than ten minutes late? Surely Louisa would not have given up on her after such a short delay—that is, if the girl intended to keep their rendezvous at all.
The prospect that Louisa might fail her was too daunting, and Anne refused to consider it. She continued her vigil, clutching the bar of the gate, staring anxiously at the silent house.
How long she stood there Anne had no idea, the minutes crawling by. The cold damp of the night air seeped through her thin shawl, chilling her to the bone, but Anne scarce noticed it for the numbness stealing into her heart.
She feared that the dawn would find her still clinging to Lucien’s gate, wistfully regarding all those windows, wondering which one her little girl slept behind. Louisa was not going to come. Anne knew that with a sick certainty, but she could not bring herself to abandon her hope and start the miserable trudge back home.
If only she had taken more pains with Louisa, been more persuasive, offered her more money to keep their bargain.
“Did I not make you understand?” Anne whispered. “You are my last hope.”
She rested her head against the bars of the gate, the pistol she clutched a heavy weight in her hand. The plan she had formed began to seem both ridiculous and pathetic. She wasutterly useless at this kind of thing. Getting Norrie safely out of that bleak dark mansion would take someone far bolder, more ruthless than she.
It was disconcerting that an image of the marquis of Mandell should pop into her head. Ruthless Mandell was, and most certainly bold and unscrupulous. But if Anne ever stood alone in the dark with him, she knew that Mandell’s thoughts would not be upon rescuing her daughter.
And God help her, perhaps her own would not be, either. Mandell’s eyes had a seductive effect upon her, both hypnotic and strange. He seemed to call to some wild, dark, secret corner of Anne’s heart, a part of herself that alarmed her. Even now she could feel that stirring of her blood which was almost a fever.
Anne fought to suppress the unwelcome feeling, to banish Mandell from her mind. She was still struggling to do so when she straightened, suddenly alert. Was it only her overwrought imagination again or had she seen something this time? A shadowy form emerging from the shelter of the house?
Anne strained against the gate. No, this time she had not imagined it. Someone was coming down the garden path. And it was a woman carrying a large bundle in her arms.
Anne was momentarily confused. It occurred to her that she ought to step back out of the pool of lantern light on the chance that this was not Louisa. Her gaze fixed on that mysterious bundle, a bundle that she realized was a child swathed in a blanket, the folds falling back enough to reveal a glint of golden curls.
Anne’s throat constricted painfully.
“Norrie,” she rasped. That foolish maid had stolen her little daughter straight out of her bed and brought her out into the chill damp of the night. But as Louisa stumbled closer, Anne was consumed by an overwhelming longing. She could think of nothing but her need to see her child again, to touch her.
“Lady Anne?” Louisa stopped within yards of the gate, peering cautiously.
“Yes. Yes!” Anne choked out, flinging back the shawl so that she would be more readily recognized. Her daughter stirred awake in Louisa’s arms. Norrie raised her head from the maid’s shoulder, knuckling her eyes in a familiar gesture that wrenched at Anne’s heartstrings.
Louisa crept near the gate whispering, “I’m right sorry, ma’am. But I didn’t know what else to do. It seemed much easier to bring the little girl out to you.”
Anne nodded, unable to tear her gaze from her daughter’s face. The lantern bathed Norrie in a soft glow, illuminating those fragile porcelain features, the rosebud lips, the small, upturned nose, eyes such a clear blue they were almost transparent. She was a dream child, an angel child, a golden-haired fairy who had often seemed not quite real to Anne and never less so than at this moment.
She strained her arm to the utmost, stretching through the gate, able to touch only the blanket, half fearing Norrie would vanish into mist as she had in so many of Anne’s nightmares these past months.
Norrie was small for her age, but it was obvious she had already proven a great burden to Louisa’s slender arms. With a mighty sigh, the maid set Norrie down. The child was clad in nothing but her nightgown and the blanket, but Anne was relieved to see that Louisa had at least enough wit to have eased slippers onto Norrie’s feet.
Anne hunkered down to Norrie’s level. Setting the pistol she carried by her knee out of the child’s sight, Anne smiled tremulously, reaching both arms through the bars.
Instead of coming any closer, the little girl shrank back against Louisa, the child’s sleep-misted eyes regarding Annewith confusion. The memory of Lucien’s mocking words echoed inside Anne’s head.
I vow the child has forgotten you already.
Anne’s chest hurt so that she could hardly breathe, but she managed to croon gently, “Norrie. It’s me. It’s Mama.”
“Mama’?” Norrie took a tentative step forward, blinking at Anne with the solemnness of a baby owl. Then her glad cry rang out, shattering the silence of the brooding darkness.
“Mama! It is you. I thought I just dreamed you again.”
Norrie flattened herself against the gate, and Anne ran her fingers through the child’s silken curls, pressing feverish kisses against Norrie’s face, her own tears wetting Norrie’s baby-soft cheeks. Her arms ached with the need to gather her child close.
“For the love of God,” Anne cried to Louisa. “Unlock this wretched gate.”
Her eyes large in her frightened face, Louisa bit down upon her lip. “Oh, I can’t, milady. I brought the girl to see you. I dare not do any more.”
“Please. Let me into the garden. Just for a moment.”
