Page 74 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Anne was not sure. She only knew she would never be able to view the wicked marquis in quite the same way again. As she waited for him, something compelled her to remove her lace cap, allowing her hair to tumble freely about her shoulders. She considered retiring to change her gown for something a little less matronly when the drawing room’s massive double doors were eased open.
Anne expected it to be one of the servants come to inform her that the marquis had emerged from his room and was asking for her. But it was Mandell himself who paused, silhouetted on the threshold. He turned his head, searching the room. Anne felt her heart miss a beat the moment his eyes found hers.
He stepped quietly into the room, drawing the doors closed behind him. A remarkable transformation had taken place during the hour since she had left him. In assuming the clothes his servant had brought—the cravat, the buff-colored breeches, the frock coat of midnight blue—Mandell appeared to have reassumed some of the arrogance of his stance as well. Clean-shaven, his ebony waves of hair swept back, the only sign of his recent misadventure was a certain paleness, his cheekbones standing out in gaunt relief.
Yet as he stalked the length of the room, coming toward her, Anne sensed a hesitancy in his manner that had not been there before. He stopped within an arm’s length of where she stood before the French doors leading down into the garden. They stared at each other like two strangers waiting to be introduced, which was absurd. She had nearly been this man’s lover.
Nearly.Anne had never realized what a world of regret could be found in a single word.
Mandell said, “I was told I might find you in here, milady. May I speak to you for a few moments?”
“Certainly. I have been hoping—that is, I was expecting you would wish to do so.”
“And well you might, although I scarce know how to begin. Anne. It is deuced strange. I can tender the most handsome apologies when I don’t mean a word of it. When I want to be sincere, which isn’t often, I can’t seem to think of a thing to say.”
He turned away from her, his arms locked behind his back. The sunlight that filtered in through the French doors played over the bladelike tension of his profile. “I remember enough of what happened last night to realize that I behaved like a complete idiot.”
”It was no great matter, my lord.”
“No great matter? I burst into your sister’s house, roaring drunk, assaulted the butler, roused you from your sleep, and passed out on the floor. I expected a box to the ears this morning or at least a lecture on the evils of intemperance.”
“I was exasperated with you at first. You have a habit of disconcerting me. I suppose I am getting accustomed to it.”
“I am sorry, Anne,” he said stiffly “When I was in such a state, I do not know why I chose to inflict myself upon you, of all people.”
“Don’t you remember? You came to bring me this.” Anne tugged at her gold chain, drawing forth the locket from inside the neckline of her gown.
Mandell stepped closer to examine it. The gold chain seemed more delicate when contrasted to the strength of his long tapering fingers. He opened the locket, exposing the miniature of Norrie as a babe, her eyes wide and blue, her halo of tumbled curls and dimpled cheeks making her look like a mischievous cherub. His grim expression lightened a little.
“I do have a vague recollection of rousting some pawnbroker from his bed, forcing him to open his shop.”
“I am astonished that you even remembered my telling you about the locket, let alone where to find it.”
“My memory is a peculiar thing. It is amazing what I choose to forget, what I am forced to remember.” Sadness clouded his eyes.
Anne knew the source of it. She had pieced together the nightmare of his childhood from his ravings, and the knowledge weighed heavy upon her heart. She longed to offer him some comfort, but she had a fair notion of what that would do to Mandell’s pride.
Instead, she asked him the question that most troubled her. “You went to a great deal of bother to retrieve this locket for me. Why did you do so?”
“A drunken whim, I suppose.” He snapped the locket closed. “If you are worried that it is another attempt to get you in my debt, don’t be. I don’t expect any repayment.”
“I did not think that you did.”
She thought she saw a flash of gratitude in his eyes. He tucked the locket back inside the lace collar of her gown allowing it to slip beneath her bodice. As he did so, his fingers brushed against the column of her throat, lingering. She waited breathlessly for what he might do next, but he allowed his hand to drop away, his thick lashes drifting down, hooding his expression.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “I recall enough to know that you took the time to bandage my hand. I hope you did not feel obliged to hover over me while I raved my way through some drunken delirium?”
The question sounded casual, but she was aware how intently he studied her from beneath his lowered lids. She understood what he was seeking to discover. Mandell had suffered enough humiliation from this episode. She had best take care with her answer or she knew with certainty she would never see him again. She knew with even more astonishing certainty she did not want that to happen.
“I did stay long enough to bandage your hand,” she hedged. “But when I left you, you were sleeping like the dead.” She had never been good at lying, and she was not certain Mandell would be put off by this half-truth.
But he appeared satisfied, if not relieved. “When I first arrived here, was I alone?” he inquired.
”Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason.” Mandell frowned. “Only that somehow I managed to misplace Sir Lancelot Briggs. No easy feat, I assure you. I daresay he will turn up again. He always does.”
Reaching for her hand, he bowed over it and made one final attempt to apologize for his conduct. Anne realized he was preparing to take his leave. Why should that dismay her so? Surely everything that needed saying had been said. What more was she waiting, hoping for? She didn’t know, but she found herself attempting to delay him.
