Page 92 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Mandell glared at her. “Did you not understand me? I just asked you to marry me.”
“Demanded that I do so.”
“Did you want me to go down on one knee, flatter you with some flowery speech of devotion?”
“It would make no difference. Not while your motive for doing so remained the same.”
“What would you know of my motives?”
“I can read them in your face.” Anne brushed one finger upon his temple near the darkness roiling in his eyes. “Here, I see defiance of your grandfather.” She trailed down to touch upon the implacable line of his jaw. “And here, I see the stubborn determination to offer me and Norrie the protection of your name.”
“Rubbish. We both know I am not afflicted with such noble impulses. I already told you I consider myself obliged to marry one day, and contrary to His Grace’s opinions, I have decided you would make me a suitable bride.”
“You also told me your conception of marriage. The bartering of lands and title to beget an heir. A very cold bargain, Mandell.”
“But not very different from the contract you willingly entered with your first husband,” he sharply reminded her.
“I was younger then and a great deal more foolish. And at least with Gerald, I started out with the illusion of love.”
“Is that what you are looking for, illusions?” He sneered. “So much for all your bold talk about being content with a few moments of passion. What was it you were really hoping for, Anne? That I would eventually fall in love with you, that your dragon would turn into a prince and carry you off to his castle to live happily ever after?”
Anne flinched at his acid tone.
“I don’t believe in such romantic folly,” he continued. “You knew that at the outset. The search for eternal love is nothing but some idiot’s dream that can only lead to pain and sometimes ...” He swallowed hard. “Sometimes even death.”
“It would be better to risk both than to go about with your heart encased in ice, afraid to ever feel anything,” Anne cried. “To spend your life as though you were still trapped in some dark closet?—”
She broke off, horrified at what she had been betrayed into saying, but it was already too late. Mandell fixed her with an accusing stare, his face gone white.
“What the devil do you know of dark closets’?” he asked.
“Nothing. I?—”
“You merely chanced to overhear me sobbing in my sleep like some frightened child? When, Anne?”
When she did not answer him, he gripped her wrist. “When?”
Seeing that it was pointless to attempt to deny it, she confessed, “The night that you collapsed at Lily’s, when I had you put to bed in the guest room. You were delirious, caught in the throes of some hideous nightmare.”
“You told me you heard nothing that night. You lied to me. Why?”
“Because I feared you would not have wanted me to have seen you when you were so devastated.”
“You are quite right about that.” He released her, stalking a few steps away. His reaction to her knowing of his most secret pain was all she had ever feared it would be. His eyes darkened with the haunted expression of a proud man suddenly stripped of all his defenses, left brutally exposed.
She wanted to touch him, draw him into the comfort of her arms, but she knew she did not dare.
“Mandell,” she said softly. “It is nothing to be ashamed of that you should still feel grief and pain over what happened to your mother. You cannot simply forget such a terrible thing. Being vulnerable is no disgrace.”
“That is where you are mistaken. Being vulnerable is the worst sin a man can commit.” His jaw hardened. “It onlyleaves one open to the ridicule of the world and the misplaced compassion of tenderhearted fools such as you. Don’t waste your pity upon me, simply because you saw me plagued by a nightmare.
“I may not be able to control my dreams, but I assure you I have always been in command of my waking hours, never allowing them to be cluttered by the sort of useless sentimentality that torments lesser men.”
“Then it was quite wrong for you to propose marriage to me,” Anne said. “A tenderhearted fool would never make you a good marchioness.”
“There seems nothing more to be said. I suppose at this juncture I am expected to utter some noble rot about wishing you every future happiness, but I am not that generous.”
His bitter words stung her like a lash. She had thought his reaction to her refusal would be his usual shrug of indifference or even relief. What she had not expected was the depth of his anger and a flash of hurt in his eyes.
