Page 50 of Beneath the Devil’s Mask (The Hidden Hearts Collection #4)

It was a strange habit for the cynical marquis of Mandell to have formed, he reflected.

Certainly not his usual mode of courting a woman, strolling with her through the sedate walkways of St. James, helping her little girl feed bread to the ducks.

No doubt it was the spring air filling his lungs, the breeze upon his cheek as warm and heady as a kiss that made him so eager for these afternoon jaunts.

As he drew closer to the pond, he caught himself leaning forward in the saddle, straining for his first glimpse of Anne. His mistress.

The word still seemed wrong to him when applied to Anne, almost unholy.

Even though he had managed to steal her away to his bed twice more since the first night they had made love, he preferred to think of her as his friend.

It was a question of semantics, a way perhaps of avoiding the harsh realities of their relationship.

But it was the only way he seemed able to continue to meet the innocence of her gaze and that of her daughter.

As he rounded a bend, the lake stretched out before him, and in the far distance, the stately buildings of the Horse Guard and Downing Street.

The water shimmered in the sunlight, smooth as a looking glass, the surface broken only by the wakes of the majestic swans swimming near the embankment.

A willow bowed over the embankment, its slender green branches trailing like a maiden’s hair to the water’s edge.

It was a scene of enchantment, a fitting setting for the little girl with the fairy-gold curls astride the snow-white pony. The leading reins were grasped firmly in the hands of a sturdy young groom, but Mandell found the picture incomplete.

He drew up with a frown of surprise when he saw no sign of Anne.

She was usually never far from Norrie’s side.

Mandell had teased Anne about her tendency to hover, assuring her that for all of Norrie’s air of fragility, she was a sturdy imp who would doubtless give her mama many uneasy moments when she grew a little older.

But he was given no time to reflect upon the mystery of Anne’s whereabouts, for at that instant, Norrie spied his approach.

She whipped her chip straw hat off her head, hailing him with its flowing pink ribbons as he approached.

Her small face lit up with a joy and adoring trust that touched a corner of Mandell’s heart he was not even aware existed.

He halted the gelding within yards of her pony, the young groom acknowledging Mandell’s arrival with a respectful bow.

“Good afternoon, Miss Eleanor,” Mandell said with mock gravity as he dismounted. “I see you are out exercising Pegasus this afternoon. But where is your mama?”

“She walked ahead down that path.” Norrie’s bright smile faded as she complained with all the dignity of an injured princess. “We did not think you were coming today. You are dreadfully late, Lord Man. Where have you been?”

“A thousand pardons, milady,” Mandell said, sweeping the little girl his best leg. His hands encircling Norrie’s waist, he lifted her out of the saddle, holding her high in his arms. “I was detained by a fool’s errand.”

“Who was the fool?”

“No one of any consequence,” Mandell replied drily.

“Never mind then.” Norrie patted his cheek in consoling fashion. “I am just very glad you are here now.”

She took Mandell by surprise, flinging her small arms about his neck in an impulsive hug.

He returned the embrace with an awkward pat on her back.

Someone ought to inform Miss Eleanor about the impropriety of young ladies making such affectionate displays in public, but Mandell knew that he was not going to be the one to do so.

As he set her on her feet, she turned toward the gelding that was cropping at the tender green shoots of grass.

“You brought your horse today instead of the carriage,” she said. “May I pet him?”

Mandell could see no reason why not. The gelding was a town-bred animal, selected for its docility in dealing with the chaos of London traffic. All the same, Mandell took a tight grip on the reins as Norrie patted the animal’s velvety soft muzzle.

“What’s his name?”

“Er—well ...” Mandell had never troubled himself to think of sobriquets for his horseflesh. “I don’t believe he has one.”

“Did you forget it?” Norrie asked. ”The same as you forget what your mama used to call you?”

Mandell winced, recollecting their conversation of a few days ago, a discussion of nicknames. Norrie had wanted to know what he had been called when he was a small boy. Like Anne, the child had a habit of asking discomfiting questions.

To forestall any further mention of the subject, Mandell hastened to say, “I think I do recall the horse’s name. It is Nightmare.”

He was left to reflect on the irony of the first choice that had popped into his head, but Norrie appeared satisfied with it.

“Nightmare,” she crooned, giggling a little when the gelding nuzzled her hand. “I can hardly wait until my Pegasus grows into a horse as big as you.”

Mandell laughed. “I am afraid he has a better chance of sprouting wings.”

“Does he?” Norrie exclaimed.

Behind the child, Mandell saw the young groom rolling his eyes. Mandell hated to be the one to disillusion her, but he saw no remedy for it. He cleared his throat.

“What I meant, Miss Eleanor, is that ponies do not grow to be horses. Pegasus is already as big as he will ever be.”

“Oh.” She looked so crestfallen Mandell was goaded into making a rash promise.

“When you are old enough, I will get you a horse, a pretty little filly every bit as milky white as your Pegasus.”

Norrie’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said. “Uncle Lucien gave me my pony, but I know he would never buy me a horse because he does not like me and my mama anymore. When we went past his house, he made mean looks at me this morning.”

“This morning? But, Norrie, there is no one living at your uncle’s house anymore. He has gone away.”

“That’s what Mama says. But I know I saw Uncle Lucien looking out the window, making faces like a hobgoblin.” Norrie heaved a deep sigh. “Mama says I have too much imagination.”

“I fear Mama may be right.” Mandell tweaked one of the child’s curls. “And speaking of that wise lady, perhaps it is time we went and looked for her.”

“She went down the path that way” Norrie said, pointing one stubby finger. “With your grandpapa.”

“My grandfather?” Mandell echoed. He froze, certain he could not have heard the child properly. “You don’t mean His Grace of Windermere?”

“Norrie nodded solemnly. “He’s a duke, you know.”

“Yes, I know that, babe, but my grandfather rarely ever visits the park.”

“He came today, taking the air in his carriage and lo and behold!” Norrie spread her hands in an expressive gesture. “There we were. He just chanced upon us.”

“Did he indeed?” Mandell muttered, knowing full well the duke of Windermere never did anything by chance.

What reason could His Grace have for seeking out Anne?

Mandell could not imagine it was a good one, considering the last conversation he had had with his grandfather regarding the lady.

A strong sense of foreboding stole over him and he made haste to lift Norrie back onto the pony’s saddle.

Turning the reins of his own mount over to the groom, Mandell said, “I will act as Miss Eleanor’s chevalier.”

“I wish Mama would let me ride the pony by myself sometimes,” Norrie said.

But Mandell hardly heard the little girl’s soft grumbling as he led the pony back along the path.

When they turned down the part that forked away from the lake, he could see his grandfather’s shiny landau pulled off to one side, the old man’s liveried servants standing to attention as they awaited his return.

His Grace stood with Anne beneath a stand of elm trees. For a moment, Mandell had eyes for nothing but her willowy form. She looked cool and elegant, as ever his proper Anne.

But he had no difficulty remembering how different she could be in the welcoming dark, turning into a woman of passion and fire in his arms, her slim white body melting against his, their hearts pounding in unison.

Mandell had always found that gratification of desire soon lessened his hunger. He was shaken to find that his yearning for Anne grew greater every time he saw her.

He realized that the moments he spent here in the park with her and Norrie had become precious to him, something to be jealously guarded.

The stiff old man standing by Anne’s side was an intruder; winter come to blight the first spring Mandell could remember delighting in for a long time.

He did not know what His Grace was saying to Anne to drive the color from her face, but he had a fair idea.

They were both too absorbed in their conversation to take much notice of Mandell and Norrie’s approach. Mandell heard his grandfather’s voice carry to him with disastrous clarity.

“It distresses me to speak so plainly, madam. But I trust I have made my feelings clear regarding your relationship with my grandson.”

Anne nodded.

“Perhaps you had best make them clear to me,” Mandell called out.

Anne looked up, her face coloring with dismay. The duke came about more slowly, leaning heavily upon his walking cane as Mandell closed the distance between them.

“Ah, Mandell. There you are at last.” The duke’s heavy-lidded gaze traveled over Mandell, flicking from where his hand grasped the leading rein to the little girl mounted upon the pony.

The sight appeared to afford His Grace no pleasure, for he said, “Something amiss with the child’s groom, Mandell? ”

“James is taking care of Nightmare,” Norrie piped up.