Page 47 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)

“No.” Anne began to undo the fastenings of her cloak.

Mandell stared at her, What the deuce had come over Anne?

Even she could not be so innocent that she failed to realize the temptation she was putting in his path, coming alone to his house at such an hour, rising before him like a golden-haired vision, the better part of his dreams. Ever since he had glanced up from the pianoforte to find her so close, he had burned with the longing to pull her into his arms, seek comfort from her sweet lips, find solace for the emptiness in his soul.

He was doing his best to resist the selfish urge, but she was not making it easy for him.

She brushed back the folds of her cloak and Mandell’s mouth went dry.

She had on the clinging gown she had worn that night to the theatre, the one that revealed all her womanly curves, the low décolletage exposing the soft white swell of her breasts.

Desire shot through Mandell, so intense it was painful. “Anne,” he said hoarsely. “What folly is this? Do you have any idea what you are about?”

Her eyes met his, those blue depths startlingly clear. Mandell’s breath caught in his throat as he realized she knew full well what she was doing. The longing in her gaze reflected his and a deeper emotion that he was too afraid to explore.

She allowed her cloak to drop to the floor. “I want to stay with you tonight, my lord,” Her voice was low, but filled with a quiet determination.

Mandell summoned up all the self-control he possessed. Clenching his jaw, he retrieved her cloak from the floor. He managed to drape it around her shoulders, touching her as little as possible.

“You are confused, Anne,” he said. “I suppose it was that foolish game we played in your sister’s drawing room that has brought this on, making you see me in a different light.

But I assure you I am still what you once deemed me, a libertine with no honor and no heart.

I cannot change. I thought I made that clear to you this afternoon. ”

“I am not looking to change you, Mandell.” She cupped his face between her hands.

Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against his in a questing that stirred him more deeply than the most passionate embrace.

Every muscle in his body tensed with the need to respond.

But he held himself rigid, making no movement to enfold her in his arms.

She glanced up, her lips quivering in a tremulous smile. “Does my boldness shock you, my lord? You once told me I could be whoever I wished with you. Do you now deny me that permission?”

“I never gave you leave to be a fool,” he rasped. When she slipped her arms about his neck, he swore. He sought to thrust her way, but his arms seemed curiously lacking in strength.

“Anne.” He gave a hard laugh that was more of a plea. “Self-denial is not one of my virtues. It took me years to locate my conscience the first time. I don’t think I can do it again.”

“Let me be the keeper of your conscience then,” she whispered. She melted against him and breathed kisses along the line of his jaw.

Her lips were too warm, too close, her slender frame fit too perfectly against his body.

He crushed her in his arms, his mouth claiming hers.

Her lips parted, her tongue mating with his in a kiss that stole away his reason and resolve.

The fiery embrace burned away everything but his hunger for her.

“Anne! Anne,” he groaned, burying his face in the shining gold strands of her hair, making one last effort to bring her to her senses. “I can offer you nothing but heartbreak. Leave me while you still can.”

Looking up at him, she shook her head. “You have made me realize some truths about myself, Mandell. I feel like I have lived my whole life in a dream, and someday I am going to wake up an old woman with nothing to look back on but days spent stitching samplers by my fireside. I want something better to remember, Mandell.”

“I can give you memories if that is what you truly want,” he said sadly. He only prayed that they would not be remembrances as full of bitter regret as his own.

Mandell’s hands shook as he lit the candles, dispelling the darkness in his room.

He could not help reflecting how different this was from the last time he had brought Anne to his bedchamber.

Now it was Anne who appeared sure and confident while he felt more awkward than he ever had, even in the raw days of his youth.

The irony of this was not lost upon him. She was seducing him tonight, his prim and proper Anne. Yet he had always flattered himself he was a man of iron control. He could resist the charms of any woman if it pleased him to do so.

He glanced to where Anne stood waiting by his bedside. Her face was pale except for the soft rose that stained her cheeks. Her hair tumbled down her back like a veil of gold.

Yes, he could resist any woman, but this one.

She glided toward him, her eyes as soft and luminous as the candle flame. He held out his arms and gathered her to him, for the moment content to do no more than strain her close to his heart.

It was she who drew back. Solemnly, she gathered the fullness of her hair, brushing it over one shoulder to expose the fastenings of her gown. Turning her back to him, she waited for him to undress her, her breath coming quickly.

Mandell’s throat thickened with some emotion that had nothing to do with his desire. His fingers moved over the ribbon ties of her gown with a reverence that made him clumsy.

It seemed to take him an eternity to work through the layers of her garments, during which he was aware of nothing but her soft breathing and the thundering of his own heart. He pushed aside the fabric of her gown and chemise, baring the smooth ivory skin of her back.

Bending, he trailed kisses along the ridge of her spine up to her shoulder blade. Anne leaned back against him with a long rapturous sigh. Then she turned and began easing her gown down over her arms.

His pulse racing, he watched her garments, one by one, fall to the floor. The full white globes of her breasts were outlined in the candlelight, the slender line of her waist, the swell of her hips.

She stood before him, her only adornment her golden sheen of hair.

Mandell worshiped her nakedness with his eyes, her supple body a white silhouette, the mysteries of her female form intensifying his desire.

She seemed a woman more born of mists and dreams. He half feared if he touched her, she would vanish, leaving him alone in the darkness.

He stroked his fingers tentatively along the curve of her cheek.

“God, Anne, you are beautiful. If it were only within my power to make you see how beautiful you are.”

“It is enough that you make me feel that way,” she whispered.

He drew her close to him, capturing her lips in a kiss that was lingering. Somewhere within him a fire raged, a fire that demanded he possess her immediately. But the desire was overruled by a greater need to take things slowly, to make this night last forever.

He kissed her temple, her eyelids and her cheeks, his hands running down the length of her back, delighting in the feel of her skin, as warm and smooth as silk. Her face flushed, Anne tugged at the belt that held his dressing robe closed.

She undid the knot and parted the satin folds of the garment.

Her fingers skimmed his chest as she worked the robe off his shoulders. Mandell drew in a sharp breath. He had never liked to have a woman undress him, finding the notion too strangely intimate, leaving him less in control of the lovemaking.

Yet he reveled in the gentle way Anne removed his robe. He closed his eyes as her fingers roved over his chest and shoulders in tentative exploration. Her caress was almost enough to bring him to his knees.

He gathered her in his arms, kissing her again, molding her breasts to his naked flesh, the warmth of her body flowing into him, sending heat rushing through his veins. Nothing stood between them and the culmination of desire except the coarse fabric of his breeches.

Anne managed to undo the buttons, but he had to help her edge the tight cloth down his hips, his hands covering hers, gently guiding her. She bent before him, tugging the breeches to his ankles so that he could step out of them.

Then she looked up, her gaze filled with a kind of wonder as she studied his legs, the hardened evidence of his arousal, the breadth of his chest, her glance finally coming to rest upon his face. The piercing clarity of her blue eyes shook him to the core of his soul.

To have her kneeling before him in an attitude of adoration was so unbearable it was painful. Mandell made haste to draw her to her feet. Swooping her into his arms, he carried her to his bed and laid her upon the mattress.

As he settled down beside her, her mouth sought his with a sweet eagerness. Her hands moved over his back and shoulders, exploring his body with increasing boldness. Anne had spoken earlier of her own desires, but he sensed she was striving mostly to bring him pleasure.

He sought to match her generosity. He had little enough to offer her but the consummate skill as a lover he had acquired over the years, his intimate knowledge of a woman’s body, her most secret needs.

As he stroked and caressed her, he wanted to be able to do more for her, to murmur soft words in her ear.

But the practiced endearments he usually employed seemed too hollow for such a moment, and as for whisperings of tenderness, he had none.

So he had to content himself to make love to her in silence, communicating his need for her with his hands and his kiss.

His fingers skimmed over her curves. Gently capturing her breast, Mandell placed his lips over the rosy-tipped crest, caressing it with the rough heat of his tongue. Anne arched back with a whimper of pleasure.