Page 83 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Mandell’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Briggs hated jaunting about such low places. He only came to try to protect me from myself. Because I once did him a misplaced kindness, he conceived this notion that I am somehow worth saving, amistaken idea that you seem to share. Is that why you came, Anne? To be my ministering angel? You cannot minister to the devil, my dear.”
His words were hard, jeering, inviting her to share in his self-condemnation. But one look into his eyes was enough to see how Mandell damned himself.
His face was taut with the strain of the past hours. A few dark strands of hair drooped over his brow. Anne had longed to smooth them back ever since she had entered the room. Closing the distance between them, she gave way to the impulse now, caressing his forehead.
“I came to you because I thought you might need a friend tonight,” she said.
He tensed at her touch and caught her hand, holding it in an iron grip. “My friends pay a high price for the privilege of my company. If you don’t believe me, ask Briggs. He could tell you—that is if he were still able to speak.”
“I am prepared to take the risk, my lord. I am not afraid.”
“You should be.” He kissed her hand brusquely and returned it to her. “Go home, Anne. You need not worry about me. I am not likely to go off into a decline over Briggs. I am after all a cold-hearted bastard. I will have forgotten all about the poor fool by tomorrow.”
Would he? Anne wondered. Or would what had happened to Briggs become one more painful memory for Mandell, buried only to resurface, haunting him in his dreams? His mouth, she suddenly realized, had never been suited for such hard mockery, but had always been formed for a more sensitive cast. She brushed her fingers lightly over his lips. He flinched as though she had burned him.
He retreated, saying, “I will summon Hastings to escort you home.”
“No.” Anne began to undo the fastenings of her cloak.
Mandell stared at her, What the deuce had come over Anne? Even she could not be so innocent that she failed to realize the temptation she was putting in his path, coming alone to his house at such an hour, rising before him like a golden-haired vision, the better part of his dreams. Ever since he had glanced up from the pianoforte to find her so close, he had burned with the longing to pull her into his arms, seek comfort from her sweet lips, find solace for the emptiness in his soul.
He was doing his best to resist the selfish urge, but she was not making it easy for him. She brushed back the folds of her cloak and Mandell’s mouth went dry. She had on the clinging gown she had worn that night to the theatre, the one that revealed all her womanly curves, the low décolletage exposing the soft white swell of her breasts.
Desire shot through Mandell, so intense it was painful. “Anne,” he said hoarsely. “What folly is this? Do you have any idea what you are about?”
Her eyes met his, those blue depths startlingly clear. Mandell’s breath caught in his throat as he realized she knew full well what she was doing. The longing in her gaze reflected his and a deeper emotion that he was too afraid to explore.
She allowed her cloak to drop to the floor. “I want to stay with you tonight, my lord,” Her voice was low, but filled with a quiet determination.
Mandell summoned up all the self-control he possessed. Clenching his jaw, he retrieved her cloak from the floor. He managed to drape it around her shoulders, touching her as little as possible.
“You are confused, Anne,” he said. “I suppose it was that foolish game we played in your sister’s drawing room that has brought this on, making you see me in a different light. But I assure you I am still what you once deemed me, a libertine withno honor and no heart. I cannot change. I thought I made that clear to you this afternoon.”
“I am not looking to change you, Mandell.” She cupped his face between her hands. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against his in a questing that stirred him more deeply than the most passionate embrace. Every muscle in his body tensed with the need to respond. But he held himself rigid, making no movement to enfold her in his arms.
She glanced up, her lips quivering in a tremulous smile. “Does my boldness shock you, my lord? You once told me I could be whoever I wished with you. Do you now deny me that permission?”
“I never gave you leave to be a fool,” he rasped. When she slipped her arms about his neck, he swore. He sought to thrust her way, but his arms seemed curiously lacking in strength.
“Anne.” He gave a hard laugh that was more of a plea. “Self-denial is not one of my virtues. It took me years to locate my conscience the first time. I don’t think I can do it again.”
“Let me be the keeper of your conscience then,” she whispered. She melted against him and breathed kisses along the line of his jaw.
Her lips were too warm, too close, her slender frame fit too perfectly against his body. He crushed her in his arms, his mouth claiming hers. Her lips parted, her tongue mating with his in a kiss that stole away his reason and resolve. The fiery embrace burned away everything but his hunger for her.
“Anne! Anne,” he groaned, burying his face in the shining gold strands of her hair, making one last effort to bring her to her senses. “I can offer you nothing but heartbreak. Leave me while you still can.”
Looking up at him, she shook her head. “You have made me realize some truths about myself, Mandell. I feel like I have lived my whole life in a dream, and someday I am going to wake up anold woman with nothing to look back on but days spent stitching samplers by my fireside. I want something better to remember, Mandell.”
“I can give you memories if that is what you truly want,” he said sadly. He only prayed that they would not be remembrances as full of bitter regret as his own.
Mandell’s hands shook as he lit the candles, dispelling the darkness in his room. He could not help reflecting how different this was from the last time he had brought Anne to his bedchamber. Now it was Anne who appeared sure and confident while he felt more awkward than he ever had, even in the raw days of his youth.
The irony of this was not lost upon him. She was seducing him tonight, his prim and proper Anne. Yet he had always flattered himself he was a man of iron control. He could resist the charms of any woman if it pleased him to do so.
He glanced to where Anne stood waiting by his bedside. Her face was pale except for the soft rose that stained her cheeks. Her hair tumbled down her back like a veil of gold.
Yes, he could resist any woman, but this one.
