Page 106 of Beneath the Devil's Mask

Was it just that she yearned after the sight of him, or did Mandell indeed look more magnificent than she had ever seen him? His dark cloak with the many capes draped lightly over his shoulders, he wore a blue frock coat and tight-fitting cream breeches, his feet encased in gleaming black Hessians. He swept in with all the hauteur of a king.

Anne trembled, rising to her feet. She had never expected he would come to her. They had severed their relationship, said their final farewells last night. But she also remembered something else Mandell had said to her.

If you should ever need me for anything, you know you have only to send for me.

Her heart swelled with a joy and renewed hope. If there was one man in London who would believe in her innocence, she knew it was Mandell.

It was all she could do not to cast herself into his arms. She was restrained by the presence of the turnkey and by Mandell’s own manner. He bowed over her hand with as much studied elegance as though he greeted her at teatime in Lily’s parlor.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said. “Your sister commissioned me to bring you the shawl that you requested.”

Shawl? Anne could not recollect requesting any such thing, but she was too dazed by Mandell’s unexpected appearance to do any more than murmur her thanks. Mandell dropped a paper-wrapped parcel on her bed Anne started to open it, but Mandell prevented her doing so.

His casual aspect was belied by the way he gripped her hand. He crushed her fingers within his own as though he meant neverto let her go, his eyes filled with dark shadings of a nightmare only she could understand.

“They have not harmed you?” he asked tersely.

“No,” Anne was quick to reassure him. She sensed a tension in him that she had not at first perceived, a subtle hinting of danger that she began to find alarming.

Mr. Griffiths piped up indignantly, “Of course, ‘er ladyship ‘as not been ‘armed. She ‘as been treated well, as befitting a female of ‘er station with a sister as what possesses such a generous purse. You can see, m’lord, the lady ‘as not even been shackled.”

“I am relieved,” Mandell murmured, glancing down at Anne’s wrists. The smile that touched his lips struck Anne as being etched with a strange sort of satisfaction. Her inexplicable feeling of apprehension deepened.

“This is the room where the marquis of Sligo was kept before ‘is trial,” the turnkey continued eagerly.

“You don’t say,” Mandell drawled.

“Aye, just look at all the extra comforts.”

“Indeed, most excellent accommodations, but the lady will not be staying.”

“Eh? Beg yer pardon, m’lord?”

By way of reply, Mandell eased a pistol from beneath the folds of his cloak. Anne gasped, but Mandell’s lips were still curved in that hard smile. His eyes glinted with a reckless light as he leveled his weapon at Griffith’s scrawny chest.

“Dear God, Mandell! What are you doing?” Anne cried.

“Rescuing you from this vile place.” He arched one brow as though surprised that she could even ask such a thing.

“Oh, no. You must not. Please, put that pistol away.”

“Aye, do, m’lord and I’ll just forget I ever saw you had it,” Griffiths quavered. “It is mightily against the law to help a prisoner escape.”

“Is it indeed?” Mandell mocked. “How remiss of me to forget that fact.”

“Mandell, please listen to him,” Anne begged. “You could be imprisoned yourself for attempting such a thing.”

“Neither of us shall be imprisoned if you make haste and do what I say, Anne.” Mandell jerked his head toward the parcel upon the bed, “In that package is a suit of masculine garb, my footman’s livery. I will request Mr. Griffiths to kindly avert his gaze while you put it on.”

“No, Mandell. I cannot allow you to put yourself in such peril for me.”

“Damn it, Anne. Will you stop arguing and do as I say?”

She stubbornly shook her head, her heart already pounding with fear for him. He shifted to glare at her and in the split-second Mandell’s attention wavered, Griffiths bolted toward the door.

He started to shout for aid, but Mandell moved with lightning swiftness. Raising the butt end of the pistol, he clipped the turnkey alongside the head, cutting him off in mid-shout.

Griffiths collapsed in a heap.