Susan Carroll (41 page)

But it was different this time. Mandell
frowned, sensing it even in the depth of his slumber. He heard the
knocking at the door, the thunder of the dream command. Open! Open
in the name of the tribunal! But this time it was not his mother's
soft hands seeking to thrust him into the closet, but bony fingers,
gnarled with age.

A mocking voice cackled in his ear. Forget,
boy. Forget everything except that you are the marquis of
Mandell.

“No.” Mandell muttered, tossing his head
against the chair's hard cushion. He could not forget. “You don't
understand. Have to save her.”

Struggling to free himself from those
clutching hands, he peered down the length of a mist-shrouded
street. He could see the distant forms of the mob, mad, howling
like a blood-crazed beast with a hundred mouths. And she was there,
in their midst, being hauled away by a black-cloaked phantom in a
plumed hat.

Anne! Anne!

The phantom glanced back when Mandell called.
He could sense the burning mockery of its gaze, but its features
were obscured by a death white veil, clinging to its face like a
gossamer layer of skin. The phantom dragged Anne toward a towering
scaffold and Mandell could see the guillotine, its sharp blade
already rich with blood.

He had to get to Anne, had to tear away the
veil that hid the phantom's hideous features. It was the only way
to save her. Mandell fought against the restraining hands, but it
was hopeless. The aged fingers seemed only to grow stronger,
entwining him like vines, pulling him back into the suffocating
darkness of the closet.

When he was thrust inside, the door slammed
closed. He could hear insane laughter and then the hammering. The
door was being nailed shut so that he could never escape.

“No!”

Mandell's head snapped forward. He wrenched
awake with a start. His breath coming quickly, his gaze roved round
the study as he tried to recollect where he was and shake off the
last vestiges of the dream. It bewildered him because he was
certain he was fully awake. And yet the hammering had not
ceased.

He blinked and realized that someone was
knocking insistently upon the study door. Before he could recover
his wits enough to issue any command, the door inched open,
Hastings thrust his head through the opening and inquired
anxiously, “My lord?”

Mandell pressed his fingertips to his eyes
and indicated with a curt gesture that the footman could enter.
Hastings stepped inside.

“I am sorry, my lord. I did not mean to
disturb you.”

“You didn't. I had merely dozed off for a few
minutes.”

Hastings frowned. `Did my lord sleep all
night in that chair?”

“No.” Mandell ran a hand over his unshaven
jaw. “I came down to read just before daybreak.” He looked for the
slender volume of Shakespearean sonnets and discovered it had
tumbled to the floor. Upon the small tripod table stood a pool of
wax that had once been a candle. “What time is it?” he
demanded.

“Near nine of the clock, my lord.”

Mandell frowned. Obviously he had dozed off
for more than just a few minutes. He noticed Hastings regarding him
with a troubled expression and snapped, “Well, what is it, man?
What did you want?”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but there is a
lady that insists upon seeing you.”

“A lady?” Mandell straightened, unable to
help the eager note that came into his voice.

“It is not your lady, sir.”

“Oh.” Mandell sagged back in the chair and
murmured. “I did not suppose that it would be. I no longer have a
lady, Hastings.”

“I am very sorry to hear that, my lord.”

Mandell averted his gaze, discomfited by the
level of sympathy and silent understanding he read in the younger
man's eyes. He asked with no real interest, “What wench is it that
would plague me at such an ungodly hour?”

“It is me, Mandell,” a soft feminine voice
spoke up.

Hastings had left the door open and Mandell
glanced up to find Sara Palmer silhouetted on the threshold. She
wore a pelisse of pink china crepe, complemented by a Caledonian
cap of plush silk trimmed with rich bands and fox-tail feathers.
Mandell remembered the hat well. He had paid for it.

His jaw tightened. He could hardly believe
that Sara would possess the boldness to come here, but nothing
about her should surprise him.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“You already appear to have done so.”

“I did not quite trust your footman to
announce me properly.”

“You refused to give me your name, madam,”
Hastings said.

“This is the Honorable Mrs. Nicholas
Drummond, John,” Mandell sneered. “You may make her acquaintance as
you escort her out again.”

Hastings looked startled by this order, yet
more than ready to carry out the command. Every line of his stolid
form radiated disapproval of Sara.

But Sara moved into the room, deposited her
parasol upon Mandell's desk and stripped off her gloves. “I only
require a few minutes of your time, Mandell.”

“I thought you would be gone on your bride
trip. Does your husband approve of his wife calling upon single
gentlemen?”

“You and I are cousins now,” she reminded
him. “Besides, Nick doesn't know I am here.”

“Nick doesn't know a good many things,”

At least she had the grace to color a little
at that. Mandell was sore tempted to evict her from the house
himself, but whatever her reason for coming, he sensed that Sara
was determined to stay put until she had her say. Loath as he was
to admit it, Mandell felt a stirring of curiosity.

After a reluctant pause, he dismissed
Hastings. The footman retired with a stiff bow. When the door
closed behind him, Mandell rose to his feet, suddenly conscious of
his disheveled appearance. He was clad in nothing but his breeches
and satin dressing robe. Sweeping back the strands of hair from his
eyes, he adjusted the folds of the robe, which gapped open about
his bared chest, and he belted the sash more snugly about his
waist.

Sara demurely turned her gaze away during the
procedure. Her affected modesty only served to sharpen Mandell's
anger with her. He did not invite her to sit down, but she did so
anyway. Perching upon the edge of his desk, she glanced about his
dark-paneled study with bright curious eyes.

“This is the first time I have ever been
privileged to enter your house,” she said. “It is exactly what I
would have expected of you, elegant but cold. Very severe.”

“Is that why you came here? To discuss my
decor?”

“No.” Some of her bravado slipped away, her
features becoming more subdued. “You might be interested to know,
Mandell, that we left the countess's party not long after you did
last night. Nick got very quiet. He hardly spoke a word during the
carriage ride back to our flat.”

“That would be a first for Drummond.”

“He was not at all himself. When we arrived
home, he gave me a quick kiss goodnight. Then he went out alone and
did not come back until well after midnight.”

“And the pair of you wed only two days? Can
it be your charms are wearing thin so soon, my dear?”

Her cheeks flooded with color at his mocking
tone. “I believe Nick's distracted state had more to do with you,”
she accused. “You told him something that upset him. Or at least I
think you did. It is not always easy to tell with Nick. He seems
such a straightforward sort of man, but I've come to realize he can
be very good at dissembling.”

“He doesn't hold a candle to you, my dear,”
Mandell said. “So you are worried about what I might have said to
him? Whether I asked if you still have that charming habit of
dragging all the covers to your side of the bed? Whether I warned
him not to waste too much money on stays and chemises because you
don't often wear them?”

“Mandell, you didn't!”

“No, I didn't, curse you. As you well know I
would not after the shock of hearing that you were already married,
of seeing Nick trail after you like some lovesick calf.”

Sara gave a tiny sigh of relief. She eased
off the desk and came to Mandell with contrition in her eyes or at
least the appearance of it. “I am sorry, Mandell. Truly I am. I
wanted to tell you about Nick and me sooner, but everything
happened so fast. And I know you would not be pleased, so I turned
craven. I thought it would be better to wait.”

“Until you had him well and truly
hooked?”

She tried to place her hand on his arm, but
Mandell shook her off. He said bitterly, “Tell me just one thing,
Sara. Out of all the trusting noble fools in London, how did you
happen to settle upon Nick? Was it some sort of twisted vengeance
against me because I would not gratify your ambitions?”

“No! It was nothing like that!”

“Then what was it? You could not have fancied
Nick any great matrimonial prize! From a worldly point of view, you
could not have done worse than Drummond. He is not a wealthy
man.”

“I did not realize his grandfather would cut
him off.”

Mandell gave a hard laugh. “There was not
much for His Grace to cut. Nick was never a favorite with the old
man. The most the duke ever offered Drummond was that wretched
palace down by the river, a crumbling Tudor wreck. He would never
have allowed Drummond even that if he had realized that Nick meant
to convert the place to a charity hospital someday.

“No, my dear, Nick has but a modest income
from the estate his father left and whatever stipend he might earn
from his political offices. And what little Nick does have, he
tends to give to any beggar that crosses his path.”

“I know that,” Sara said with a wry
smile.

“So you wed him for his title? Because he is
the grandson of a duke.”

“The Honorable Mrs. Drummond?” Sara pulled a
face. “No, I don't even like the sound of it, and as for being
related to His Grace of Windermere, I don't see how anyone could
benefit from kinship with that old curmudgeon.”

Mandell regarded her with a puzzled frown.
“Then you must have believed that Nick will rise to a position of
some political importance. Perhaps you fancied yourself the wife of
a prime minister one day?”

Sara laughed outright. “With Nick's radical
views? He will be lucky to keep his seat in the House of
Commons.”

“Then what the devil did you marry him
for?'

“He asked me and I accepted. I'm not getting
any younger, you know.”

For the first time, the bold Sara could not
seem to meet Mandell's gaze. Scowling, he studied her face,
noticing a difference in her that he had been too angry to perceive
before. There was a change in Sara, something subtle, the slightest
softening about her mouth, an added luster in her eyes.

A suspicion dawned upon Mandell, so
incredible he hesitated to voice it aloud. “You could not possibly
have learned to care for Nick?”

“Care for Drummond? Don't be ridiculous. Do
you think I would fall in love with a man simply because he has a
winsome smile?” Sara stalked away from Mandell, waving her hands in
an agitated gesture. “He's not even handsome. He's impossible, a
starry-eyed fool, an eternal optimist, forever babbling on about
this cause and that one. He is not even the sort of man who would
permit a woman to come first in his life.”

Sara continued to bluster on in this fashion
until Mandell wondered just whom she was trying to convince. He
circled round her, slipped his fingers beneath her chin and forced
her to look up.

Her eyes blazed with bright defiant tears.
Her lips trembled.

“Good God,” he said softly. “You fell in love
with him.”

“So what if I did?' She dashed his hand away.
“There is no law against it and don't you dare to laugh at me, you
cynical bastard. I daresay you think you are far too clever to fall
in love yourself.”

“No,” Mandell said, his mind clouding with a
vision of Anne that was both poignant and painful. “Not too clever.
Too much the fool to do so.”

His response caused a momentary surprise to
flicker in Sara's face. Reaching into her reticule, she produced a
handkerchief and scrubbed at the moisture in her eyes. “I always
thought that I was a damn sight too clever for such nonsense. Then
I elope with someone I have barely known for a fortnight.

“Do you realize that Nick was such a
gentleman he did not even touch me until we were wed?” Sara's voice
echoed the depths of her own disbelief. “I married a man without
even knowing what he would be like in bed. As it happens, Nick is
rather wonderful when he is not in a rush to get to
Parliament.”

Mandell's lips twitched, tempted for the
first time that morning to smile. “Forgive my continued amazement.
I still cannot imagine a more unlikely pairing than you and
Drummond. Where the deuce did you meet him?”

“I was lost in the wrong part of town. I just
looked up and there he was, strutting through the slums of Bethnal
Green in all his sartorial splendor.”

She sniffed and gave a shaky laugh. “Nick
actually believes he can make a difference, you know, with his
investigating and reporting on the conditions of the poor. That if
he writes well enough and speaks loud enough he will induce
everyone to be reasonable and see the need for reforms as clearly
as he does. When that shows no sign of happening, he gets
frustrated. So much so that I am afraid for him,”

Mandell discovered that he believed her,
detecting a genuine caring and concern behind her words. He
attempted to reassure her. “You need not worry about Drummond, my
dear. I have watched him for years, like the fabled Don Quixote,
forever tilting at windmills. And he never seems daunted when the
giants don't fall.”

“He is more daunted than you could ever
imagine, Mandell. He waxes so angry and desperate when no one heeds
his proposals. Sometimes I fear that he—” Sara's eyes clouded, but
whatever thought troubled her, she shook it off, saying
ruefully,“He has such dreams, not shallow ambitions like mine, but
real dreams for a better world where everyone would be warm and
safe and well fed. Dreams that are absurd, impossible and—and
absolutely wonderful.”