Page 72 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
The little girl’s shoulders shook as she struggled to suppress a cough. Norrie crept around the side of the bed as though she approached some dangerous but fascinating beast. Mandell could easily have outstared the haughtiest of duchesses. But something about the child’s steady regard unnerved him. It was almost as though those clear blue eyes could peer straight through to his soul, not a pretty sight for anyone, let alone a little girl.
Drawing the coverlet up to his chin, he sagged back against the headboard. In his current state of misery, he would have told anyone else to get the devil away from him. Instead, he murmured, “Begging your pardon, Miss Fairhaven. I am not precisely up to receiving visitors at the moment.”
“You look very sick,” Norrie agreed. “You have tiny little black hairs growing out of your face.”
Mandell rubbed his hand along his unshaven jaw. “That is one of the consequences of calling upon a gentleman before he has had recourse to his razor. Surely you must have seen your own papa—” Mandell broke off as Norrie’s face fell. He silently cursed himself for reminding the child of the father she had lost.
“I never saw my own papa very much,” Norrie said in woebegone accents. “I was sick too many times and my papa had a ‘version to sickness.”
“Did he, indeed?” Mandell said, thinking God rot the saintly Gerald.
“I get the sniffles and cough too much.” As though to demonstrate, another hacking sound erupted from her throat which she fought by stuffing her hand against her mouth. “You see? It makes my face turn too red. Most un-unattractive, Papa used to say.”
“He was quite mistaken. Your face is not red at all, but a most becoming shade of pink. You are a very pretty young lady, Miss Eleanor,”
Norrie beamed. “Thank you. You are very pretty, too.”
Mandell started to chuckle, but it hurt too much. “In my present state? I hardly think so.”
“Not pretty, but handsome,” Norrie corrected. “Those dark bristly hairs make you look fierce and your eyes are red. I used to pretend my uncle was the king of the underworld, but you would make a better dark lord than him.”
“I always had a strong presentiment that I looked like the devil. But thank you for confirming it, young lady.”
“Not the devil. The god of the underworld. Don’t you know who he is?”
“Yes, Hades.” Mandell pressed his fingertips to his throbbing brow. “But I am not quite up for a mythological discussion at the moment and I think you had better return to your nursery.”
“You read myths, too?” Norrie wriggled in delight. “Which ones?”
“All of them, I expect, but?—”
“Uncle Lucien never did.”
Lucien. Out of all the child’s prattle, the single word struck Mandell like a blow. He stared down at his injured hand and closed his eyes as one of the shards of memory slipped into place. The smoke-filled tavern, Lucien Fairhaven crumpled beneath him, the sickening sound of his fist connecting to bone, the flow of blood.
Lost in the memory of that grim scene, he realized that a small hand was patting his where it lay extended along the coverlet. Opening his eyes, he found Norrie peering at him, her small brow furrowed with concern.
“Are you feeling very poorly?” she asked. “There is a doctor coming.”
What ailed him was past the power of any physician to cure. To the child, Mandell merely said, “I don’t need a doctor.”
“Neither do I, but Mama thinks I do because of my coughing.” Norrie fretted her lower lip. “What would you do if a doctor came to see you and you didn’t want him to?”
In a painful effort, Mandell arched one of his brows. “I would simply say to him, ‘Sir, you can retire at once.’”
After absorbing this with intense concentration, Norrie pranced over to peer at herself in the mirror suspended above the dressing table.
“Sir,” she said, “you can be tired at once.” She could mimic Mandell’s haughty tone to perfection, but his expression gave her more difficulty. After much scrunching and grimacing, she was obliged to take her fingers to press her eyebrow into the upraised position.
For the first time since he had wakened, Mandell felt the inclination to smile. But he tensed as he heard the door opening. From his angle on the bed, he could not see who it was that tiptoed into the room.
He heard a soft gasp and Anne’s voice whispered, “Norrie! What are you doing in here? Come away before you awaken Lord Mandell.”
Nonie spun about. “He already waked up by himself, Mama.”
Mandell had not yet steeled himself for encountering Anne again, especially under such humiliating circumstances. But he had no time to brace himself, for she appeared at the foot of the bed, standing where he had first seen Norrie.
Anne’s primrose morning gown rustled softly as she stepped closer. Her honey blond hair was tucked beneath a lace cap, silken wisps of gold caressing her pale cheeks. Deep shadows rimmed her eyes and she looked as though she had not passed a much better night than he.
