Page 56 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Then Mandell cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her gown and Anne found she could not breathe at all. She no longer felt light, a warm heaviness stealing over her that seemed to center at her woman’s core. As he stroked her nipple, teasing it to a state of hardness, a sigh escaped her, and the sheer cotton that separated her from his touch became a torment.
He shifted her to a sitting position upon his lap. Breathing kisses against her neck, he reached around her. No lady’s maid could have been more adept at undoing the fastenings of a gown and chemise. But the brief respite gave Anne time to cool down a little.
“No, please,” she could not keep from saying as he began to slip the gown down her arms.
He stopped at once, exposing only her shoulders. “But you are lovely.” He traced the path of her fragile collarbone with hisfingers. “Mrs. Brindlehurst was right about the posture. I am excessively grateful to her.”
Starting with her shoulder, Mandell caressed her with his lips, his mouth warm against her tender flesh. Anne drew in a tiny gasp, trying to stem the sparks of sensation he aroused, delicious wild sensations that threatened to overwhelm her.
His own breath coming a little quicker, Mandell eased her gown down farther, exposing the soft upper swell of her breast. As his mouth covered the pulse beating at the base of her throat, Anne stifled a soft cry. The fabric of her gown fell away to her waist, revealing the full round globes of her breasts to Mandell’s gaze. She watched the desire flare in his eyes.
No man had ever stared thus at her nakedness, not even her husband. Anne tried to fold her arms protectively across herself, but Mandell stopped her.
“Would you drive me to madness, Anne? Don’t seek to hide your beauty from me.”
When he kissed her again, Anne thought it was she who would go mad. He caught her lower lip gently between his teeth, sipped at her mouth, his tongue skimming hers, re-kindling the fire.
The contact of his warm palm against her bare breast sent spirals of heat through her. He stroked and caressed. She trembled and burned, biting down upon her lip to keep from moaning aloud.
He sought the valley between her breasts and kissed her there. Anne was shocked as much by her own eager response as by what he was doing to her. He whispered against her flesh, “Let your feelings go, Anne. There is no passion you need be ashamed of with me, no desire I would not be pleased to indulge,”
Anne caught his head, seeking to stop him as his lips closed over one nipple, his mouth hot and moist as he gently suckledher. She found herself burying her hands in his dark hair instead, arching back her neck and closing her eyes with a long shuddering sigh. The rush of pleasure that coursed through her was wondrous and new, almost unbearable in its intensity.
She squirmed on his lap, striking up against the hard evidence of Mandell’s own arousal.
“Ohl” she gasped.
“I think it is time I showed you my bed,” he said.
Anne gave a dazed nod. He rose to his feet, gathering her up amidst a tangle of gown and chemise, lifting her high against his chest. She wrapped her arms about his neck, clinging to him as he moved away from the glow of the fire, bearing her off to the cool dark mystery that was his bedchamber.
The moon had finally succeeded in piercing the clouds. It shone through the tall, latticed windows, spilling its silver-white light across the massive four-poster bed.
When Mandell lowered Anne onto the mattress, she was bathed by a shaft of moonlight, turning her tumbled hair to gold, her soft white skin as translucent as pearl.
Mandell had never brought any woman to his own bed before. This chamber was his inner citadel, a prison of pain-filled memories, tormenting regrets, and empty dreams. But tonight, he felt as though he had captured an angel, brought her there to drive back the darkness and loneliness that filled too much of his life.
As he gazed down at Anne through eyes hazed with passion, Mandell’s throat closed with an unexpected surge of emotion that had little to do with the desire pumping through his veins. Struggling to remove his dressing gown and shirt, his hands seemed wooden and clumsy.
When he stripped away his shirt, Anne stared up at the bare contours of his chest with a kind of wide-eyed wonder. She half reached out to touch, only to retreat.
As he stretched himself out beside her on the bed, he caught her hand, drawing it against him. Her fingers felt slight and fragile threading through the matting of his dark hair, resting over the thundering region of his heart.
“I’ve never touched a man’s naked chest before,” she whispered.
His surprise at this pronouncement must have been evident, for she hastened to explain, “Gerald always wore nightshirts to bed.”
Mandell smiled. “Well, milady, I wear nothing at all.”
She stole a downward glance. “But you are still wearing your—” Anne broke off, looking enchantingly flustered.
“A condition I intend to remedy.” Mandell began undoing the buttons on his breeches when Anne sat up abruptly, her hair spilling forward across her naked shoulders.
“No, wait. Please. Before we go any further, I have a confession to make.”
“Confessions are best left for the morning after,” Mandell said, easing her back down, brushing back the golden tendrils that veiled her small firm breasts from his view. He sought to stir again the sweet desire he had glimpsed in her face before.
But she restrained him. “No, it is something I must tell you now.” She averted her face, her voice sounding small and guilty. “I did intend to cheat you of this night, milord. I was going to take Norrie and run away.”
