Susan Carroll Read Online Free Page B

snuffbox and flicked open the lid with a
careless but practiced gesture. “I don't entertain sycophants.”
    “No, you are the last man anyone could accuse
of that. That is why I don't understand what possessed Briggs to
attach himself to you.”
    Mandell helped himself to a pinch of snuff,
then returned the box to his pocket. “That is my own fault. We were
both at a gaming hell once and a Captain Sharp was fleecing Briggs
at cards. When Briggs was foolish enough to object, the fellow
threatened him with a pistol. I felt compelled to intervene.”
    “Did you, by God.” Nick's eyes warmed with
admiration, but Mandell would have none of it.
    “I don't know what comes over me,” he said.
“I am beset by these beneficent impulses from time to time like a
recurrent bout of the brain fever. It is the one great flaw in my
character.”
    “Well, flawed or not, I am deuced glad to see
you. I thought you would be otherwise engaged this evening. Have
you tired of the charms of your latest mistress so soon?”
    “Why? Would you like me to introduce you to
her?”
    “No, thank you,” Nick said, laughing. “I am
far too occupied with my work for such a diversion. I have been
meaning to call upon you. I have a favor to ask.”
    Mandell cast his cousin a pained glance. “Not
to second you in another duel! My dear fellow, this is becoming a
tiresome habit. I can sympathize with you in some measure. There
are a good many people I would like to shoot myself; but not over
politics. Now it would be another matter if you fought over a woman
or because someone's waistcoat offended you.”
    Mandell flicked his fingers against Nick's
own silk garment, a pattern of bright mauve stripes.
    “Damn your eyes, Mandell,” Nick growled,
“there is nothing wrong with my waistcoat, and no, I am not about
to fight another duel. I am still recovering from the effects of my
last meeting with Beresford.”
    He rubbed the back of his left hand, which
bore a recent scar from a pistol ball. Mandell had only been
thankful that Beresford, who was a crack shot, had been content to
aim for Nick's hand rather than his hot head.
    “It is something else entirely I need to ask
you about,” Nick said. “But perhaps we had better find someplace
more quiet where we will not be interrupted.”
    “If you insist, though it is not my habit to
steal off into secluded alcoves with politicians.”
    Nick grinned. “And do not all the mamas in
this room know it! As soon as you appeared on the threshold, Lady
Ormsby gathered her girls about her like a flustered hen. I believe
she has sent out for their chastity belts.”
    “An unnecessary precaution,” Mandell
murmured. “I have seen her daughters.”
    After which quip he permitted Nick to lead
the way through the drawing room. This was not an easy feat, for
the gallery was packed. Couples performing a quadrille had hardly
enough room to pace off their steps. More than one lady present had
recourse to use her fan, the blazing lights of the chamber's four
chandeliers being over brilliant.
    The curtained alcove seemed cool and quiet by
comparison. Nick flung himself down at once upon a claw foot sofa,
but Mandell chose to remain standing.
    “Is it my imagination,” he said “or are the
voices of the ladies a little more shrill tonight?”
    “Oh, I suppose there is still a deal of
excitement owing to Bertie Glossop's death.” Nick shrugged. “Mind
you, I would not have wished Glossop any harm, but in a queer way,
his murder has turned out to be a good thing. I had hoped that the
activities of the Hook might have done so sooner, but it seems to
have taken something this grim to shake certain people out of their
complacency.”
    The more Nick warmed to his subject, the more
heated his voice became. “Now perhaps the good citizens of Mayfair
will understand some of the terrors the West End poor have faced
for years. Parliament will understand the need to do away with our
outmoded police force. The time has come