Page 90 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
The duke’s lip curled. “That makes your conduct all the more distasteful.”
Mandell clenched his hand. For a moment he almost forgot the duke’s advancing years and relation to himself. Taking a cleansing breath to steady himself, he said, “And is this the sort of muck you have been spouting to Anne?”
“No. I merely took the opportunity to offer her the sort of advice her own father would have done were he still alive.”
“And which is?”
“To put an end to whatever sort of liaison she has formed with you. Lady Fairhaven has always been noted for her virtue. She is far too good to be your mistress.”
“But not good enough to be my wife!”
“I believe we had already settled that point in our last conversation, Mandell. Lady Fairhaven understands the inequities in your situations even if you do not.”
“Anne is a damn sight too understanding,” Mandell snapped. “What would you say if I told you that I agree we are unequal? I realize more all the time that the lady is quite far above me.”
“I would say that your passion in this matter alarms me, Mandell. I raised you to have a better awareness of what you owe to the name I have given you.”
“You raised me to be a cold-hearted, unfeeling bastard, just like yourself.”
Something flickered in the old man’s eyes, something that might have been pain in a countenance less icy. He clutched his walking stick, the lines about his mouth deepening as he stalked the rest of the way to his carriage. One of the bewigged footmen sprang forward at once to let down the steps and open the door.
The duke paused long enough to command, “You will end the connection, Mandell. I endured seeing your mother cast her life away on a mesalliance. I will not tolerate you making the same mistake. I brook no interference with my wishes.”
“That is but one more way in which we are alike, Your Grace. I tolerate no interference, either.”
Their eyes locked in one final clash of wills. Then Mandell turned and strode away, without glancing back. He heard the coachman give the signal and the clatter of wheels as the carriage lurched into motion and vanished down the lane, leaving that part of the park silent except for the twittering of some sparrows. But the peace of the afternoon seemed irrevocably shattered.
Mandell started back to where Anne waited for him beneath the trees. His gelding was tied off to a low-lying branch, but Norrie and her groom were nowhere in sight.
Anne had watched the entire scene, observing with dismay Mandell’s white-hot rage, the old man’s rigid disdain. Anne had always known of His Grace of Windermere. One could not help having an awareness of a personage of such rank and such regal dignity, but the duke had always seemed far removed from the sphere of Anne’s quiet existence.
Even as she had grown closer to Mandell, she had not thought about the duke’s role as his grandfather. But then, she reflected ruefully, she had not allowed herself to think about much of anything these past weeks. She had learned to measure her life in moments instead of days, moments of strolling through the park with Mandell, of hearing him delight Norrie with legends of water nymphs and tree dryads, of glances exchanged above the child’s head, of smiles both secret and tender. Of moments more private when Mandell played his music just for Anne, notes that conjured a majestic passion trapped within Anne’s soul that only Mandell’s caress could release. Moments when his eyes appeared darkened with a power beyond desire, when her heart fluttered with foolish, unspoken hopes, moments of a warm, romantic spring that seemed likely to spin on forever.
But it had taken only a few well-chosen words from His Grace of Windermere to bring the magic to an end. Anne rubbed her arms as though she had taken a sudden chill as she watched the duke’s carriage vanish through the trees. Mandell strode back to her across the grass, his face still gaunt with anger.
“Where’s Eleanor?” he demanded.
“I asked James to take her back to the lake. I thought it best if they gave the pony some exercise.”
“Very wise of you.” Mandell’s eyes were full of such ironic understanding, Anne felt the color rise in her cheeks.
“Mandell, I never realized that I might be the cause of such discord between you and your grandfather. I am so deeply sorry.”
“Damn it. Don’t you dare, Anne Fairhaven!”
Anne retreated an involuntary step before Mandell’s blaze of fury. “Don’t you even think of apologizing for what is none of your fault simply because that old devil?—”
Mandell spun away from her, pressing one hand to his brow, struggling for command of himself. Anne had never seen the ice-cool Mandell lose such control of his temper. He presented a stark figure set against the soft green of the park, the sunlight dappling between the trees.
Anne had often perceived him thus, standing so solitary, possessing no close ties to anyone or anything. She realized that was in part what drew her to him, the sense that she might indeed have something to offer a man who always seemed too much alone. She had forgotten that he was also a marquis, an heir to a dukedom.
No matter what Mandell might say, she felt responsible for his quarrel with his grandfather. Going to him, she laid her hand gently upon Mandell’s arm, seeking to mend some of the damage she had inadvertently caused. “My lord, I am sure the duke meant no harm. Your grandfather has been hearing rumors about the illicit nature of our relationship, and it worried him.”
“His Grace has never fretted over much about my lack of morals before.”
“He seems to perceive some difference in our affair.”
“And so it is different.” Mandell gave a harsh bark of laughter, pulling away from her. “I don’t know what I am about myself these days. Meandering through the park, stopping by to take tea with you, bringing dolls to your daughter instead of diamonds to adorn your neck. This is not exactly my customary procedure with a mistress, Anne.”
