Page 12 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)
Mandell remained where he was. He had no desire to address Anne in the company of a crowded theatre foyer. When next he spoke to the lady, he meant to be alone with her.
Besides, he might as well find out what the blazes Nick wanted now. Then perhaps he would be left in peace. He turned to his cousin, who stretched.
“Entertaining fellow, Shakespeare,” Nick said with a mighty yawn. “But why couldn’t he have written his plays in plain English?”
“It’s called Elizabethan poetry, cousin.
” For the first time, Mandell took full note of Nick’s appearance.
The coat, alas, was indeed purple, and rather disheveled for the dapper Nicholas.
His ash-blond hair was disarranged as well, swept to one side in a clumsy effort to conceal the bruise darkening on his temple.
“What the devil happened to you?” Mandell demanded.
“Oh, the debates became a little heated tonight. Someone shied a book at my head.”
“Tories can be so impetuous.”
“Actually, it was one of my fellow Whigs. I seem to be getting too radical for everyone’s tastes.” Nick touched his fingers gingerly to the bruise and winced. “Does it look very dreadful?”
“No, it matches your coat beautifully. What sedition have you been espousing now to rouse such passions?”
Nick’s mouth set into a bitter line. “I have not been doing anything but trying to convince those blockheads that this city is crying out for an organized police force. Instead of supporting the notion, everyone treats me as though I were a second Cromwell attempting to organize a military state.”
“Take heart, coz. Perhaps the Hook will oblige you with another murder. That should stir things up in your favor.”
To Mandell’s surprise, this offhand bit of raillery caused Nick to go white.
“That’s not amusing, Mandell,” Nick said tersely. “There is nothing laughable about murder.”
“Isn’t there?” Mandell murmured. “I have often wondered whether death might not prove the greatest diversion of all.”
Nick regarded him for a moment with troubled eyes, then said, “I have had enough of debates for one night. Let us talk of something else. We are going to have to leave the theatre early. I for one do not care to face our grandfather’s temper if we are late.”
“I have no plans for calling upon His Grace tonight.”
“Mandell, you cannot have forgotten. We have all been bidden to attend a late supper. Even Mama and my sisters will be there.”
“Give them my regards.”
“But the supper is to honor your birthday.”
“It is not my birthday. It is the anniversary of the day my grandfather brought me to England to acknowledge me as his heir.” Mandell’s tone was one of indifference, but it masked the bleak feeling that stole over him at the memory of that day.
The day he had been re-created as the marquis of Mandell, the day that he had utterly lost all sense of another identity.
He added, “I don’t even know when my real birthday is.”
“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.
Behind him, Mandell heard Nick groan. “Oh, no, Mandell! You are not still bent upon tormenting Anne Fairhaven. I hoped that after what happened at the Countess Sumner’s ball you would leave her alone.”
“And what would you know of that?” Mandell turned to state at his cousin. “Have you been spying upon me?”
Nick looked a little uncomfortable. “No, but I did see you escort her into the garden. I don’t know what you did to upset her, but when she returned, she was flustered and blushing.”
“The woman needs to blush occasionally. She is far too pale.”
Nick swore softly. “Mandell, you’ve got that look in your eye. I know it well. You have set your sights upon seducing Anne Fairhaven. Why, Mandell? Out of all the willing trollops in London, why must you meddle with a lady like her? Sometimes I don’t understand you at all.”
“That is hardly surprising. I rarely understand myself.” Plucking a piece of lint from his sleeve, he said casually, “By the by, I am indebted to you for drawing my attention to the lady that night at Lily’s.
I might not have noticed her otherwise. You were quite right about the lady’s eyes. They are a most haunting blue.”
Nick’s eyes flashed with the beginnings of his infamous temper. “Curse you, Mandell. The lady is obviously already suffering from some sort of heartbreak.”
“Women’s hearts rarely break. The gentler sex is far more resilient than you would suppose. I will admit there is something troubling Anne, but I daresay it will prove to be quite mundane. She will recover in my arms.”
“You are damned confident, but there is the possibility the lady will have none of you. I despise gossip, but there has been talk that there may be something between Lady Fairhaven and her brother-in-law Lucien.”
Mandell’s jaw tightened for a moment, even the suggestion of such a thing enough to send a strange feeling coursing through his veins that was both ice and fire. He forced himself to shrug. “And so? I have ousted far better rivals than Sir Lucien.”
“And what if I were to appoint myself the lady’s champion?”
“Oh, I don’t believe you would do that. You have more entertaining causes to fight for than a lady’s virtue.”
Nick jerked to his feet, his hands clenching into fists. Mandell remained as he was, leaning indolently back in his chair. His eyes held Nick’s steadily until the young man looked away.
Nick slowly relaxed his hands and drew in a cleansing breath. “Damn it, Mandell, why do you do this to me? You know my lamentable temper. I would never want us to come to blows.”
“We won’t. At least not over a lady’s honor. Your choice of waistcoats perhaps, but never anything so insignificant as a woman.”