Page 30 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)
Ten
The carriage ride was short. Anne did not have enough time to compose herself before the silent Hastings was handing her down into the darkness of a stable yard.
“If it would please you to follow me, my lady,” he said.
As if Anne had any choice but to do so. Huddling deeper into her cloak, she stumbled after Hastings through the inky blackness of a starless night, broken only by the bobbing light of the lantern he carried.
He took such long strides she had to hasten to keep up with him, having little chance to gain her bearings other than to realize that she passed beneath the branches of some trees, through the shadows of what appeared to be a garden.
It was not until the footman led her across the threshold of a formidable door, and her feet clattered against the cold marble tile of an entranceway, that Anne dared ease back her hood to determine exactly where she was.
She stood in an imposing front hall, cold, elegant, and austere, a stairway with a wrought iron balustrade sweeping up to a shadowed landing above her. A shock of realization pierced her and she nearly exclaimed aloud.
Mandell’s own London house. She had never been past his front gate before, but she knew with inexplicable certainty that she stood in his reception hall.
The coach could have done no more than circle the square several times before bringing her back here, to a house only down the street from her own sister’s.
Feeling more confused and unsettled than ever, Anne turned to question the footman, but Hastings had vanished, leaving her alone in the chill silence of the hall, the house around her a ring of forbidding closed doors.
There was no sign of Mandell or anyone else for that matter.
Now what was she expected to do? Anne wondered miserably.
There was not even a fire kindled upon the hall’s massive stone hearth.
Hastings had taken the lantern away, and if not for the candles flickering in the wall sconces, she would have been left in darkness.
She stood, shifting from foot to foot. The front door loomed but yards away. She could fling it open in a trice. If she ran fast enough, it would be a matter of minutes before she was back safe in her own bedchamber.
“You are late, Sorrow,” a silky voice echoed from the regions behind her. Her heart thudding, Anne whipped around.
The marquis of Mandell stood on the landing above her, his tall shadow cast down the length of the stairs. The candlelight accented the hauteur of his features, giving him an aura of almost satanic male beauty, the glow bringing a sheen to the dark waves of his hair.
He was clad in a wine-colored dressing gown of satin, belted at the waist. The rich folds parted enough to reveal that he wore close-fitting black breeches beneath and a white shirt opened slightly at the neck. He extended one hand toward her, his signet ring glinting in the light.
It was not so much a supplication as a silent command. Anne risked one longing glance toward the front door before drawing in a steadying breath. She raised her skirts, beginning the long climb up toward Mandell.
When she came close enough, he caught her hand, his own fingers strong and steadying as he drew her up to stand beside him.
“It is nearly eleven of the clock,” he said. “I have never waited so long for any lady to keep her appointment with me. I had begun to think you intended to fail me.”
There was an edge to his voice and when she dared glance up at him, she saw that his eyes were as still and brooding as his great empty house.
“I had difficulty getting away,” Anne said. “Norrie woke up and she needed me. I had to soothe her back to sleep,”
Mandell’s face softened. “The important thing is that you are here now.”
“Yes, but I never expected you would bring me to your home.”
His brows rose haughtily. “You thought I would hie you off to some sordid inn where any common knave might look at you? I have a little more regard for your reputation than that, milady. That is why I instructed Hastings to take great care when spiriting you away to me.”
“But servants will gossip and—”
“Mine don’t. Especially not the one I sent to fetch you. I acquired John Hastings reluctantly at the insistence of my cousin Drummond. He has turned out to possess the two traits I value most in my servants, obedience and silence.
“But I have kept you standing in this drafty hall long enough.” Mandell draped his arm about her shoulders. “My house possesses far warmer rooms.”
Like his bedchamber, Anne thought with a sinking heart, her mind filling inevitably with that Turkish sultan’s den she had once imagined, rife with shameful secrets and satin sheets.
She allowed Mandell to guide her toward a door at the end of the corridor. He pushed it open, urging her across the threshold. Holding her breath, Anne stepped inside and blinked.
The room was normal, almost sedate, a sitting room of undeniably masculine influence, the glow of oil lamps reflecting off rich paneled walls.
A small but comfortable forest green settee was drawn up near the hearth where a cozy fire crackled, a book of Dryden’s poetry left carelessly open upon a tripod table nearby.
Busts of Mozart and Beethoven peered down from atop the mantel.
Somewhat reassured, Anne crept farther into the room only to draw up short at the sight of the arch which led into the adjoining chamber. She could make out the shape of an enormous four-poster bed, the coverlets already turned down.
Shrinking back, Anne collided against Mandell’s hard frame. She gasped as he reached for her, but he was only seeking to brush back her hood.
“Come out of hiding, Sorrow,” he said. “Your presence has been noticeably absent this past week. I wondered if you were seeking to avoid me, if you intended to cheat me out of my promised reward.”
Anne felt a telltale flush spread over her cheeks. “Of course not. But it was not the sort of debt I could repay by posting you a bank draft through the mail. You could have sent for me sooner. I would have come.”
“Would you have, indeed?”
Anne could not meet his eyes. He placed his fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look up. “I tried to give you a little time to make up your mind to come to me. You disappointed me, Anne, and my patience finally wore thin.”
“And if I had tried to cheat you, what would you have done?” she asked anxiously. “Would you have sought to undo your part of the bargain?”
“There are many things I am interested in undoing, my lady.” Mandell reached for the fastenings of her cloak. “But our bargain is not one of them.”
His long, graceful fingers deftly unbuttoned the braided froggings. Anne exhaled, telling herself she must try to relax. He was only taking off her cloak ... thus far.
Mandell swept away the garment, draping it over a leather armchair. As he took in the details of her very proper attire, his teeth flashed in a smile of genuine amusement.
“By God, madam, you could be on your way to church. Have you brought your prayer book as well?”
“No, but perhaps I should have,” Anne retorted “No doubt you could use a few prayers said for your soul.”
“Alas, milady, it is far too late for that.”
Anne flushed under his sardonic regard. “I told everyone I would be visiting my elderly godmother this evening. I had to dress accordingly.”
“Your godmother finds you quite charming, but far too pale as usual. Come, let me offer you some food and drink.” He waved her toward the window, where the heavy velvet draperies had been drawn, shutting out the night.
Anne saw that covers for two had been laid out upon a small table, some silver-covered chafing dishes being kept warm on a sideboard.
“You intend for us to dine first?” Anne asked incredulously,
“Would you have me seduce you on an empty stomach?”
Her stomach was tensed into a thousand knots. How could he possibly expect her to eat? When Mandell began to draw back her chair, Anne shook her head.
“I am not hungry.”
“Let me at least offer you a little wine then.” He picked up a glass of delicate crystal and reached for a dust-covered bottle, a rare vintage that must have graced his cellars for some time.
“If you insist, my lord. But I should warn you it takes very little wine to make me fall asleep.”
Mandell paused with the bottle suspended in midair, that expressive brow of his arching upward. “Then perhaps I had better send down to the kitchen for some lemonade.”
“I am not thirsty, either,” Anne snapped. She did not sound very gracious, but she had never felt more nervous or out of her depth in her entire life. Not even on that dreadful night she had made her debut at Almack’s.
“All this politeness is not necessary, my lord. Whatever you want to do with me, I wish you would just do it and get it over with.”
“Some pleasures are not to be rushed.” Mandell set down the wine bottle. He stepped closer, framing her face with his hands.
His poor Lady Sorrow. It was difficult to remember at this moment that she was a widow, a woman who ought to know a little something of the world and men. She looked young, vulnerable, and scared, as though she expected him to pounce on her, tear off her clothes, take her right there on the floor.
It was not as though the desire burning inside him waxed too cool for such a thing.
But he had ever been a man of iron control and possessed more finesse than that.
He had taken far too many pains over his conquest of the virtuous Anne, planned too carefully to ruin all by a clumsy burst of passion.
He wanted her beneath him, hot and willing, trembling not with fear but with a fire that would match his own.
“I’ll have no martyrs in my bed, milady,” he said, tracing his thumbs over her cheekbones. “I do not intend to proceed until I feel you are ready, my beautiful one.”