Susan Carroll Read Online Free

of his
house.
    Mandell tensed and might have reached for the
sword-stick hidden in the handle of his walking cane, except that
hooded figure was slight, obviously a woman.
    She leaned up against his wrought iron fence,
blocking the short path that led up to the stairs of the house. As
Mandell drew closer, he saw the woman shudder and heard a muffled
sob.
    He rolled his eyes. He never had much
patience for a weeping female, certainly not one who chose to
snuffle over his fence at this time of night.
    Stalking up behind her, he said, “I beg your
pardon, madam.”
    He had spoken quietly, but even that caused
her to gasp. She whirled around, clutching her hand to the region
of her heart.
    Mandell had entertained the notion that this
must be some maid from one of the houses, likely disappointed in a
rendezvous with a lover. But the richness of the woman's satin
cloak dispelled that idea.
    She was clearly a lady. But what the deuce
was she doing in the street at this hour, and why did she have to
be doing it upon his doorstep?
    As she recovered her breath, she said, “Oh,
it is you, Lord Mandell. You startled me.”
    So she knew him. But he didn't think he knew
her. The voice was not familiar. As she took a wary step back, her
hood fell back a little revealing a pale, heart-shaped face, and
delicate features that conveyed an impression of haunting
sadness.
    She was young, but not a chit just out of the
schoolroom. She might have been pretty, but it was difficult to
tell, her eyes being so swollen with her tears. Her hair certainly
was beautiful, tumbling to her shoulders in a cascade of honey
gold. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Mandell
could not quite place it.
    After assessing her appearance, he asked,
“Have we met before, madam? You are?”
    He waited for her to fill in the blank, but
she only retreated deeper into the shelter of her hood.
    “That is none of your concern, my lord. Be
pleased to pass on your way.”
    “Well, my Lady Sorrow, I would be happy to do
so,” he said drily, “but that is a little difficult when you bar my
path, rusting out my gatepost with your tears.”
    “Your gate?” she faltered. “You live
here?”
    “To the best of my recollection.”
    She choked on a bitter laugh. “Is this not
typical of my fortune? I do not even have the right house.”
    She mopped at her eyes with the back of her
hand. Even in the dim light of the street, Mandell could see that
her eyes were very blue, like violets from those long ago
springtimes he had spent in the country instead of walled up in the
stone and grit of London.
    “Do forgive me, my lord, for being such a
fool.”
    She tried to rush on, but this time Mandell
blocked her way. He never sought to burden himself with anyone
else's misery and he was not about to do so now. All the same he
felt curiously loathe to let her go.
    “You shouldn't be wandering about alone at
night, milady. It is not safe.” He was not about to bring up the
murder. If there was a chance she had not heard of Bert Glossop's
death, there was no sense in terrifying her. Instead he concluded,
“Even here on Clarion Way, them is a danger of footpads.”
    “But I have nothing left of value for anyone
to steal.”
    She ducked past him and moved off rapidly
down the street, never glancing back. Mandell stood by his gate,
watching her go. There might have been a time in his more
hot-blooded youth when he would have been intrigued enough to
follow her, discover the secret of her tears, perhaps the sweeter
secrets still she kept concealed beneath that cloak.
    But he was far too jaded and cynical now to
go pursuing mysterious young women through the streets. As he
observed that proud slender shape vanish into the darkness, for a
fleeting moment Mandell was sorry that this was so.
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    It was well past midnight by the time the
marquis of Mandell arrived at the Countess Sumner's ball. He
permitted a servant to remove the black cloak from his