Page 57 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Her confession did not surprise him as much as she expected. But he said gravely, “What made you change your mind?”
“I had promised you and I never break promises.”
Mandell pulled her close, settling her softness against his own hard length. Nuzzling his mouth against her neck, he murmured, “And was the prospect of coming to my bed so alarming you considered going back on your word?”
“I thought so, but I realized tonight that it is not you I am really afraid of.”
“I am glad to hear that.” His lips located the sensitive hollow behind her ear.
A long blissful sigh escaped her. “It is really myself that I fear. I have been only the ‘virtuous Anne’ for so long. I am not sure who I will be after my night with you.”
Mandell stilled for a moment. That was something he had not given much thought to, how Anne would feel about their passionate encounter on the morning after, in the cold light of day. It was not something he wanted to think about now.
He skimmed his hands over her bare flesh, down to her waist, seeking to remove her clothes the rest of the way. He felt Anne’s quiver of response.
“I never imagined it would be like this,” she said. “I never thought you could be so gentle and kind.”
Kind? Now there was a word to cool a man’s ardor. He kissed Anne, long and deep, attempting to put a stop to any more of these confessions.
But when he drew back, she looked up at him, her eyes shining. “I owe you so much, my lord, more than I can ever repay. And I just want you to know that I am ready now to give you whatever it is you want from me.”
Mandell stared at her, stunned to silence. Anne took his hand and breathed a kiss along the back of it, then cupped his palm against her cheek. She began running her own fingers over his chest in a feather-light exploration. Mandell had never realized that so gentle a touch could prove such exquisite torture, the promise of all he longed for and now knew he could not take. He held himself as rigid as stone, not responding. With more self-control than he ever dreamed he possessed, he wrenched himself out of her arms. He stalked over to his dressing table,gripping the back of the chair until he thought he would splinter the wood to bits.
“My lord?” He heard Anne’s voice behind him, soft and confused.
She could not be any more confounded than he was himself at this moment. He ached with his need of her, his desire to bury himself deep within her welcoming softness. Never could he remember wanting any woman more. So, what stopped him from taking her? They had made a pact between them. She had just told him that she was willing and ready to redeem her pledge, to do anything to please him.
Ah, but there was that other blasted word that still seemed to hang in the air.Kind. Mandell grated his teeth. From the moment he had met Anne at Lady Sumner’s ball, he had schemed and manipulated to get her into his bed, used whatever ploy he could think of, including her love for her child. And she thought him kind.
So kind she had overcome her fear of having any regrets. Now the fear was all his. When he had satisfied his selfish desires, taken his fill of Anne, what was he going to do with his virtuous Lady Sorrow after his passion was spent? She would be no Sara Palmer, giving him a cool nod the next time he chanced to pass her out driving in the park. Would Anne hereafter blush with shame every time she met his eye across some crowded ballroom? Would she seek to bury herself back in the country rather than ever encounter him again?
It was the most damnable moment to be asking himself such questions with the lady sprawled out on his bed half naked, her own desires finally awakened. Mandell dragged his hand back through his hair in pure frustration.
“Mandell?” Anne called again. “Is something amiss?”
”Get dressed,” he snapped without looking around.
”I don’t understand.”
“I said get dressed. You can manage that much on your own, I suppose?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Good,” he growled. “It would be well if I did not touch you again.”
She fell silent, but he could sense her puzzlement. Then her voice came again, sounding quiet this time. “Did I do something wrong?”
Mandell swore softly. “No, you didn’t. I did. I should know better than to ever permit a woman to talk when I am making love to her.”
He heard her shifting off the bed and realized with some alarm she meant to approach him.
“Stay back,” he snarled. Unwisely he risked a look at her. Her flow of angel’s hair tumbled about her flushed features, her gown dragged up only as high as her smooth white shoulders. It was pure agony watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, the wistful trembling of her lips.
He turned away, feeling beads of cold sweat break out on his forehead. “Our pact is ended, madam. When you are dressed, I shall summon Hastings to take you home.”
“You are releasing me? But why?”
“Because!” Mandell gave a harsh self-mocking laugh. “Who would have ever thought it? After all these years, I have stumbled over my conscience in the dark of my own bedchamber.”
