Susan Carroll (44 page)

Anne realized he sought to relieve her
apprehensions with his jest and she wished she could have obliged
him by smiling. But the chill of those forbidding prison walls
still seemed to cling to her and she shivered.

Observing this, he released her and produced
a ring of keys which he proceeded to try upon the mansion's
imposing front door. Anne leaned wearily against one of the
pillars, the recent escape already fading to become a blur in her
mind—helping Mandell to truss up Griffiths's unconscious form,
scrambling into the footman's livery, locking the cell door,
creeping down to the courtyard.

Only one moment stood out with terrifying
clarity. All had gone smoothly until they were to pass beneath the
shadows of the prison lodge itself. The guards were too busy
harassing and checking the more humble visitors. None of the
turnkeys presumed to question the lordly figure that was Mandell
any more than they had dared to search him on his arrival. But one
of the younger guards had frowned at the sight of Anne, perhaps
realizing that my lord the marquis had somehow acquired an
odd-looking footman within the prison walls.

As the guard had approached them, Anne's
heart had threatened to stop, not with fear for herself, but for
Mandell. Despite his cool exterior, she sensed the danger in him.
In that instant she had realized he was prepared to fight to the
death before he would have allowed anyone to touch her.

But the guard had only winked and offered to
clear a path for the marquis and his servant through the common
herd. Mandell had nodded tersely, slipping a small purse into the
man's calloused palm. Anne had felt so weak with relief, she
marveled that she had been able to continue playing her part,
following a few steps behind Mandell until they had cleared the
final gate.

After that she had a dazed remembrance of
being bundled into a hackney cab, alighting to trail Mandell on
foot through a maze of streets and alleys designed to confuse any
pursuer until they had at last slipped into the grounds of this
strange abandoned house.

Going through key after key, Mandell muttered
an impatient oath until he slotted in the one that fit the lock.
The door creaked loudly as Mandell shoved it open. Anne bent to
retrieve her hat and followed him inside.

She felt awkward and self-conscious in the
masculine clothing Mandell had provided to disguise her for the
escape. Hat in hand, she gazed nervously about a great hall, the
gallery above where musicians must have once piped tunes for ladies
in farthingales and ruffs, the gentlemen in doublets. But the vast
chamber stood empty now, cobwebs clinging to the lion head brackets
upon the chimneypiece.

“Mandell, what is this place?”

“Windermere Palace, one of the family icons.”
Mandell grimaced at the layering of dust he dislodged as he brushed
up against the wall. “A relic of late Tudor times. Anyone with any
sense sold off their riverfront property at a great profit, but my
ancestors persisted in clinging to this lumbering pile and my
grandfather upheld the tradition. He wanted to give it to me, but I
made haste to decline the honor. The property was then to have
reverted to Nick, but since his recent marriage, I doubt that will
happen.”

“Is is safe for us to be here?”

“Safe enough for the present. No one ever
comes here anymore except perhaps Nick. Most of the locals tend to
avoid this place like the plague because of the legends about the
house being haunted.” Mandell slipped his arm about her shoulders.
“You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Sorrow?”

“After what I saw happen to Lucien, I am no
longer so sure,” she murmured.

“We will discuss that presently, but first
permit me to escort you to less daunting quarters.”

Linking his arm through hers, Mandell
cautioned her to beware of rotting floorboards and guided her
toward the end of the hall. An L-shaped staircase stretched upward,
the intricately carved newels adorned with snarling lions the same
as on the fireplace.

When she and Mandell reached the top, Anne
saw there was a landing that led to a long gallery, pale splotches
on the wall bearing testimony to the portraits that must have once
hung there.

Mandell went along the gallery, trying door
after door. “I know there was one of these chambers that Nick had
partially restored. Ah, here it is,” he said as he opened the last
door but one. He beckoned to Anne to join him.

She stepped across the threshold of what had
once been a large bedchamber. When Mandell located a tinderbox and
managed to light a candle, Anne saw that unlike the rest of the
house, this room was furnished. A worn Turkish carpet covered the
floor and a faded tapestry of a hunt scene graced one wall. A
massive bedstead minus its hangings dominated the room, a small
chest tucked at the foot. To one side, stood a small battered desk
and chair.

The chamber was damp and musty, reminding one
of the house's close proximity to the river. Anne rubbed her arms
to dispel the chill. Seeing her do so, Mandell frowned.

“I wish I could light a fire, but I cannot
risk anyone seeing the smoke and becoming curious enough to pay us
a call. Nor can I vouch for the condition of this chimney. I
daresay it has not been cleaned for years.”

He whipped off his cloak and draped it about
her shoulders. “And this time I trust you will remember to return
it sooner, milady,” he teased gently, trailing his fingers against
the curve of her jaw.

She caught his hand. “Please don't, my lord.
It is not necessary for you to try so hard to delude me with this
show of good cheer. I fully realize what a desperate case we are
both in. They will soon be searching all over London for me, and
you, too. I should never have allowed you to take such a risk for
me.”

“So you have protested several times, and at
the most inconvenient moments. Damsels are not supposed to raise
such a fuss when being rescued.”

Although he was still smiling, Anne sensed
the underlying edge of his tension starting to pierce through. But
she could not refrain from saying, “I should not have let you do
it. I should have guessed what you were about as soon as you
entered my cell. I should have found a way to have stopped
you.”

“You had grown so fond of Newgate, then, that
you wished for a longer residence there?”

“No, God help me, wretched coward that I am.
The prospect of the trial, of being found guilty terrified me so, I
would have given anything to have been free.”

“Well, then?” Mandell said impatiently.

“Anything , but sacrificing you to do so. Now
you are as much a fugitive as I. They will want to arrest you for
helping me.”

“So they will. What of it?”

“So perhaps if I surrendered myself now, your
conduct would be excused”

Mandell swore, a fire leaping into his eyes
that was as much fear as anger. He gripped her shoulders so hard it
hurt. “Don't you dare even to think of such a thing or I swear to
God I will bind you up and hold you prisoner myself if I have to,
to keep you from such folly.”

When she flinched he eased his grip, but she
felt the tremor in his hands. “I fully understood the dangers when
I set out to free you, but I did not give a damn. Do you think I
could have endured leaving you in that place, waiting upon the whim
of some oafish judge to decide your fate? I would have gone mad, do
you not understand that, Anne?”

She comprehended far too well. She could see
the shadows of the ages old nightmare, the anguish in his
remarkable dark eyes.

She reached up, brushing her fingers over his
brow, trying to ease the lines of pain she found there. “Yes, I do
understand, Mandell. This whole thing stirred memories for you, of
what happened to your mother.”

“It was worse than that,” he said. “I thought
I knew what hell was, but I didn't, not until I stood outside those
damned prison gates, fearing that you might already be exposed to
that cursed gaol fever or to the brutalities of some coarse
guard.”

A shudder of strong emotion wracked through
him. “No, Sorrow, I could not have endured you being in that foul
place another moment. I could not take such risks with the woman I
-”

He broke off. The word he could not bring
himself to say seemed to hang suspended in the air between them.
Anne's heart hammered so wildly she could hardly breathe, for she
found the thought completed in the depths of his eyes.

The woman I love.

The moment was too intense and solemn for
Anne to feel a flooding of joy. Mandell turned away from her,
grinding his fingertips against his eyes. He said shakily, “You
see, Anne, it is not you who is the coward. I have never known any
woman possessed of such quiet courage and strength, capable of
feeling such compassion, even for a wretch like me who cannot tell
you what you deserve to hear even now.”

“Mandell,” she breathed. He refused to face
her. The most she could do was rest her hands upon his shoulders,
press her face against the iron line of his back.

His voice cracked as he continued, “You
deserved a prince, my dear. Not one like Gerald Fairhaven, but a
truly noble man. Instead you got the dragon.” He raised his hand in
a gesture of hopelessness. “I wonder if all dragons are like me, on
the surface fire and bluster, but beneath it all, nothing but smoke
and fear.

“You were right that day in the park when you
accused me of living my life as though I were still trapped in a
dark closet, afraid to allow myself to feel anything but the most
shallow emotions. But sometimes you are forced to confront the
things you fear, whether you will or not.”

He turned slowly to face her, his eyes
glistening. “I love you, Anne. And it hurts as much as I always
feared that it would.”

She cupped his face tenderly between her
hands. “It is not supposed to be all pain, my love.”

“I know that.” He caught one of her hands,
pressing a heated kiss within the center of her palm. “But now I am
vulnerable. Now I have something to lose.”

“You will not lose me. I am here with you now
and everything is going to be all right.”

She flung her arms tightly about his neck. He
responded with a low groan, crushing her in his embrace. His mouth
sought her lips, raining feverish kisses over every inch of her
face.

“I love you, Anne,” he repeated again and
again, as though each word was a prayer, a blessing, a miracle.
Anne returned his kisses, for one moment allowing herself to be
deliriously happy.

His arms tightened about her, straining her
close as though he would gather her into the recesses of his heart
and hold her safe there forever.

“There was a great love between my mother and
father,” he said. “Even as a child, I was aware of that. But in the
end, she died alone, horribly. Her death left me so confused and
bitter. My grandfather taught me it was better not to love, that it
was an emotion reserved for fools, and I believed him.”

Mandell buried his face against Anne's hair.
“He wanted me both to forget and to remember. And so the nightmares
started, tormenting me until I would cry out in my sleep, a child
wanting his mother.”

Anne stirred in his arms, realizing there was
something about those dreams that Mandell did not even comprehend
himself. She drew back a little, saying hesitantly, “But Mandell,
the night that I overheard what you said , you were not crying for
your mother. It was your father whose name you called.”

He frowned down at her, his eyes clouding
with disbelief. “But I hated him. I always have. He failed my
mother when she needed him most. I swear that will not happen with
you.

“I won't fail you, Anne,” he vowed
passionately. “I will find a way to keep you safe. But you must
tell me everything about that night in the garden with Lucien.”

Lost in Mandell's arms, dazed by the
admission of his love for her, nothing else seemed to matter to
Anne. It was as though the events surrounding Lucien's murder were
a bad dream, an illusion already half forgotten. Only this moment
was real.

But Mandell persisted. “Obviously you did not
slip away to your bedchamber as I had supposed. And after you had
faithfully promised me to stay away from that bastard, that there
would be no more midnight wanderings! Then I hear that you have
been arrested for shooting Fairhaven.”

“I did not kill Lucien, Mandell, I swear
it.”

“It would not matter to me if you had, love.
Now go slowly and tell me everything that happened.”

Anne forced her mind back to those last
hideous moments of Lucien's life. Haltingly, she related to Mandell
every detail of the terrifying encounter that she could
remember.

“Thus the accursed Hook claimed yet another
victim,” Mandell said. “But for no reason apparent to any sane man.
And why the deuce did he use a pistol this time?'

“I don't know.” Anne managed a shaky laugh.
“He did not tarry long enough for me to ask him.”

Mandell cradled her close, depositing a kiss
upon her brow. “One thing is now certain. We are dealing with no
common footpad. This brigand marches to some tune of his own
devising, and it has nothing to do with mere robbery. Yet I fear
your innocence cannot be proved until this villain is
unmasked.”

“But how, Mandell? He is indeed like a
phantom. No wonder poor Lucien was so terrified, being stalked by
such a creature. He rose up in the garden like some specter from
hell, and vanished just as quickly. No one can guess at his
identity.”

“There is one man who might be able to do so.
Briggs.”

“Sir Lancelot? But you told me that you
feared he had lost his reason.”

“Then I must endeavor to help him find it
again.”

Anne heard the grim note in Mandell's voice.
She tipped her head back to peer anxiously at him. A determined
light had come into his eyes.