Susan Carroll Read Online Free Page A

broad
shoulders. Without glancing around, Mandell handed off his gloves,
high-crowned hat, and gold-tipped cane to another pasty-faced
footman. Then, straightening his cuffs, the marquis passed between
twin marble pillars into the main drawing room.
    It was a long chamber done up with gilt
mirrors and hung with red damask like some opulent Italian palazzo.
Mandell presented a stark contrast in the severe style of his
evening clothes, the unrelenting black relieved only by the snowy
folds of his cravat.
    The gallery was already thronged with the
countess's guests. Mandell observed the assembled company through
cynical eyes. Apparently Glossop's murder had done little to
discourage any of the haute ton from venturing abroad in search of
their pleasures. If anything, it added a certain titillation to the
hum of gossip. The well-bred voices could be heard even above the
scrape of the violins.
    “ My dear, positively too
dreadful.”
    “ That murderous footpad, the
Hook.”
    “ Mr. Glossop's throat pierced quite
through.”
    “ And it happened right here on the corner
of Clarion Way .”
    Mandell's lip curled with contempt and he
wondered why he had come. He might have done better to have
appeased Sara, lingering in her bed, except that he had been
troubled with a restlessness of late that not even she could
satisfy. He felt as hollow, as empty as this roomful of chattering
fools.
    The hour was advanced enough that Lily was no
longer receiving latecomers. Mandell waved aside the servant who
would have announced him. He strolled into the drawing room, but he
had not taken many steps when he was accosted by Sir Lancelot
Briggs.
    The man came scrambling to Mandell's side
like a bumbling puppy. Briggs was plump, with shirt collars worn
too high, his hair curled too tight. His eyes lit up with joy at
the sight of Mandell and he clutched at the marquis's sleeve.
    “Mandell! Oh, thank God! Thank God you are
unharmed.”
    “Which is more than can be said for my coat,”
Mandell complained, prying Briggs's fingers away.
    “I am sorry. But I have been so anxious about
you, what with that fiend the Hook still roaming abroad.”
    “Oh? Have you seen him tonight?”
    “Well, no, but one knows he is still out
there, lurking. After what happened to poor Bertie Glossop, I fear
none of us are safe until that villain is captured.” Briggs added
shyly, “I looked for you at the club earlier. When you did not come
to dine, I confess I was worried.”
    Mandell eyed Briggs with distaste. The man
trailed after him so much he was becoming known as “Mandell's
toady.” Perhaps that did not affront Briggs's pride, but it
certainly did Mandell's.
    “Your solicitude is touching,” the marquis
said coldly, “but I trust I may alter my schedule without it
becoming a matter of public concern.”
    Briggs turned a bright red. “Yes, of course.
That is, I am sorry. I only ...” He allowed his words to trail
away, his cowlike brown eyes welling with hurt. He walked off,
looking crestfallen.
    “Why must you always be so cutting, Mandell?”
The quiet voice might have been his conscience except that Mandell
did not believe he possessed one. Turning, he discovered that his
cousin Nicholas Drununond had come up behind him.
    Nick's sartorial magnificence was almost
blinding. He wore a mauve frock coat, lace spilling from his cuffs,
his neckcloth folded in an intricate arrangement. It amused Mandell
that Nick, intensely serious about everything else, should be so
frivolous in matters of dress, loading himself down with fobs and
diamond stickpins. Mandell, on the other hand, who accounted
nothing to be of great importance, wore no jewelry save his gold
signet ring.
    Nick asked, “Why do you always treat poor
Briggs so shabbily? He is your friend.”
    “I was not aware that I had any friends,”
Mandell replied.
    “Briggs apparently thinks otherwise. The man
is devoted to you.”
    “So would a dog be, if I had one.” Mandell
drew forth an enameled