Page 21 of Beneath the Devil's Mask

“I have always found that hard to understand. I know our grandfather was bitter over what happened to your mother but to blot out all traces of your youth, your connection to your father’s family!”

“My damnable French blood,” Mandell said drily. “There no longer is any connection. My father and all his family may be dead for all I know.”

“If it distresses you so much, there must be a way that you could find out.”

“Who said that it distressed me?” Mandell asked with a haughty lift of his brow.

“Surely you must want to know, at least what happened to your own father.”

Mandell turned away, disturbed by a memory of himself as a child, staring up at a laughing young man with hair and eyes as dark as Mandell’s own. He lifted Mandell up to the pianoforte, patiently guiding his small fingers over the keys.

Mandell blotted out the memory, replacing it with one of his mother’s blood staining the pavement.

“Very likely, my father is dead,” he said. “I hope he is and burning in hell.”

“Perhaps he is, but I don’t believe you will ever know any peace until you find out for certain. You ought to go back to France, Mandell.”

“Leave it alone, Nick,” Mandell growled.

Nick subsided. Neither of them said anything and tension filled the air until Nick broke it with a shaky laugh.

“Since it is not in truth your birthday, then I need not feel obliged to spout for a gift. My pockets are rather to let at the moment.”

“Your pockets are always to let.” Mandell turned back to face his cousin, feeling enough in command of his feelings to assume his usual dry tone. “Besides, I have already received a gift.”

He drew forth a gaudy gilt-trimmed snuffbox, the sides decorated with jade dragons, their eyes gleaming with the fire of red rubies.

“Good lord!” Nick said. “Where did you get that awful thing? I can scarce believe that our grandfather would give you such a thing.”

“The old duke is not that sentimental. I received it from my dear friend Lancelot Briggs.”

“I am surprised that you accepted it.”

“So am I. I was sampling a fine madeira at the time and feeling unusually gracious.” Mandell stared at the snuffbox with a slight frown. The scene had been embarrassing. He had been trying to enjoy his dinner at White’s in peace when Briggs had entered the club and plunked down at Mandell’s table. Mumbling something unintelligible, Briggs had blushed as shyly as a maid and shoved the snuffbox at Mandell.

Briggs’s lips had trembled with a wistful smile, his eyes full of that doglike adoration. Such a simple man. Such an irritating one. For the life of him, Mandell did not know why he put up with Briggs or why he had pocketed the snuffbox.

But now, as he sat turning the absurd thing in his hands, his mouth creased into an expression that was half smile, half grimace. He mused aloud to Nick, “You know, it does tend to grow on one. I may actually learn to like it.”

“There is no accounting for tastes.”

“No, there isn’t” Mandell angled a pointed glance at Nick’s waistcoat as he returned the snuffbox to his pocket.

Nick cleared his throat. “Now about that dinner tonight?—”

Mandell vented a weary sigh. He hoped that they had worn that subject out, but Nick rushed on doggedly, “I know you and Grandfather have become estranged in recent years.”

“We were never close to begin with.”

‘The old duke can be very autocratic and gruff, but beneath it all, Mandell, I believe that he loves you.”

“Likely he does, but if you ever brought your head out of your law books, you might learn what a burden love can be. Your efforts at peacemaking have been duly noted, cousin. But you should stick with your politics and leave the diplomacy alone.”

“You could not at least make an appearance at the dinner tonight?” Nick pleaded.

“No. I have other plans.” Mandell allowed his gaze to drift across the theatre to where the Countess Sumner’s party had returned to the box. Anne was on the verge of taking her seat when she glanced up. Her eyes locked with Mandell’s. Even from such a distance, he could see her face register both shock and dismay.

He bent slightly, favoring her with an ironic bow. She acknowledged the gesture by looking fixedly in the opposite direction. Her knees appeared to give out beneath her and she sank into her seat.