Page 34 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Anne started to inform him she was not in the least chilled, but until Mandell had gathered her up in the warmth of his cloak, she had not realized exactly how cold she was. The garment, which came only to his knees, swirled to her ankles, nearly dragging the ground, enveloping her from neck to toe.
She should have refused to allow this. She wanted nothing from this man. But she was too tired to argue with him, too glad of the cloak’s sheltering folds.
“Thank you,” she said grudgingly.
“The pleasure is mine, milady.” Mandell steered her away from Lucien’s house. They crossed the narrow street. At the end of the block, she could make out the lights of Clarion Way, and hear the clatter of carriage wheels, the distant strains of a waltz, the revelry that never seemed to end in London’s Mayfair district.
Mandell kept her to the side street, for which Anne was grateful. The night shadows no longer seemed so formidable with Mandell at her side, the darkness almost welcoming.They walked slowly in silence until they were a good distance from Lucien’s before Mandell demanded again, “Who is Norrie, Anne?”
“Eleanor,” Anne corrected. “Eleanor Rose Fairhaven. She is my daughter, my only child.” She pronounced the last words with a deal of pride, a deal of sorrow.
At Mandell’s prodding, she told him everything, from the very beginning of Lucien’s youthful infatuation for her, a strange passion that had turned to hate. She described the death of her husband and Gerald’s infamous will.
“Gerald always saw me as a helpless little fool. Although he disliked his brother, he left Lucien in charge of everything. My house, my fortune, even my daughter.”
Anne sighed. “It was all right at first. Lucien was too preoccupied with assuming Gerald’s title to do more than harass me in small ways—withholding funds, dismissing all my servants, replacing them with his own.”
“Small ways!” Mandell echoed. “Most of the ladies I know would be ready to kill if deprived of their favorite abigail.”
A sad laugh escaped Anne. “Even that was bearable. It was not until Lucien discovered he could distress me the most by threatening to take Norrie away that?—”
Anne came to an abrupt halt on the pavement, shaking her head. “I cannot believe this wretched tale can hold any interest for you, my lord.”
“Go on,” Mandell insisted.
Anne moistened her lips. “I suppose I never believed Lucien would go that far, but one day last autumn ...” Her words trailed away, the glow of the streetlamps blurring before her eyes. The memory still had the power to devastate her.
“I was out visiting in the neighborhood. One of Gerald’s tenants had taken ill. Since he had become lord of the manor,Lucien always neglected such things. When I finally returned to the house, I knew at once something was wrong.”
Anne’s voice cracked. “The house was so still, the way a house often seems when someone has died. None of Lucien’s servants would meet my eyes. They all avoided speaking to me. But I did not have to ask. Somehow, I just knew. I went tearing up to the nursery.
“The place looked like it had been ransacked by a thief. All the drawers hung open. Norrie’s clothes were gone, her books, even her doll. I remember screaming for Norrie, calling her name. Oh, God. I thought I would lose my mind.”
She could not go on. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks and she was mortified to put on such a display of grief before Mandell. But when she glanced up at him, she was surprised to find his expression not unsympathetic.
“My regrets, Sorrow,” he said. “But I never seem to have a handkerchief about me.”
He caught her face between his hands, brushing away her tears with the tips of his fingers. Anne tried to regain control.
“I was crying that first night you met me. What a perfect fool you must think I am.”
“This is neither the time nor the place for me to show you what I think of you.”
His husky words and the feel of his hands upon her skin sent a tingle of heat through her veins. Nervously, Anne put his hands away from her, continuing with her tale.
“For a long time, I did not even know where Lucien had taken Norrie. Finally, I traced her to London. That night by your gate I was looking for Lucien’s house. This evening was the first time I had seen Norrie in months.”
“You have found your daughter at last. Now what?”
It astonished Anne that he could even ask such a question.
“I shall take her back from Lucien, of course,” Anne said fiercely.
“How?”
“I have a plan. I have already pawned all my jewels at this little shop in Chancery Street.”
“What! Are you quite insane?” he asked. “That is in Bethnal Green, one of the worst slums in London.”
