The Man Behind the Mask Read Online Free PDF Page A

fire in her almond-shaped hazel eyes as she’d castigated him for being too intrusive, he felt his skin tighten hotly. Irritably ignoring the unsettling sensation, he strode into the ornate marble bathroom that led off his private suite of rooms and for several moments just stood in the centre of the floor, unsure why he had even gone in there. Restlessly he pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. It was probably best he curb his philanthropic urges where that particular young woman was concerned and concentrate his efforts on repairing his damaged leg, doubling his belief that one day soon he would be able to walk as well as he had before the accident—confidently, and without even a trace of a limp.
    After that…Eduardo moved across to the vanity unit, staring at his reflection in the large oval mirror there and grimacing at the deep shadows wrought beneath his eyes by agony of body and spirit and a severe lack of sleep. After that… Well, he would just have to take one day at a time, he told himself, hardly able to contemplate afuture that wasn’t as bleak and pain-filled as the present. How could such a prospect be possible when the two lives most intimately inter twined with his had been ripped away? When every night he relived the terrible night mare of the accident that had killed them—the accident that he had caused?

CHAPTER THREE
    T HERE was indeed a heavy snowfall that night, as the fruit vendor had predicted. After surveying the cloak of spark ling white that blanketed her garden as well as the street outside the next morning Marianne tidied the house, made herself a hot drink, then tinkered with an unfinished song she’d been composing on the piano. But her mood was not buoyant, and she struggled to stave off the sense of melancholy that kept threatening to over whelm her. Finally, unable to bear the enforced isolation a moment longer, she donned a warm coat, boots and a hat over her jeans and sweater and went outside.
    The ice in the air snatched at her breath, making her eyes water, but her spirits lifted at just being out in the open again. She took herself off for a long, if laboured walk, due to the impediment of snow, into the park nearby. Just watching the children toboggan down the glistening frosted hillside and hurl snow balls at each other restored her sense of perspective and her good humour. And if any thoughts of the child hood she’d experienced, which had been bereft of similar happytimes and feeling secure started to threaten, she firmly pushed them away, knowing it was point less to contemplate such things when her cheerful mood could so easily regress to one of despair.
    By the time she returned home she’d made a vow to fight off any gloomy recollection that might seduce her into unwanted misery. She simply would not allow herself to go there. But by mid-afternoon, when early darkness had descended, impelling her to turn on all the lamps again and draw the curtains, Marianne was sitting in an armchair in front of the fire place, watching the flames lick round the burning coals and crack ling twigs, and considering the prospect of life on her own again for the fore seeable future. Donal would be so mad at her for sitting here feeling sorry for herself! That was for sure. And suddenly she was crying. An unstoppable flow of hurt and sadness long dammed up could no longer be contained—making her weep until she was utterly spent and could cry no more.
    Taking herself off to bed, she curled up in a foetal position, drawing the duvet right over her head, feeling numbed and empty. Just before she closed her eyes she swore to herself she would never indulge in such futile self-pity again. Tomorrow was a new day, and when the morning light came it would herald a new and more positive beginning. Marianne was adamant about that.
    However, on lifting a corner of the bedroom curtains the following morning and being con fronted by an even thicker blanket of