Sacrament

by Susan Squires

  Sarah stared after him, wondering if he had ever been there at all. Foolish girl. There was nothing to connect this strange man to the victim lying in the circle of light. The drawing could have been anyone. Behind her George apologized for having left them. His mother revived and began to scold. It didn't matter. What mattered was one face in the dark, barely discerned. The face of anarchy, perhaps the face of evil, infinitely repellent, infinitely attractive.

  Sarah trailed behind George and his mother as Lady Beldon remarked on each new wonder of Carlton House, finding fault with each. The noblewoman scanned the Dutch and Flemish paintings for The Shipbuilder and His Wife by Rembrandt, as she was pushed through the Blue Salon by the crush of people. "Rumor has it the regent paid five thousand guineas for it," she yelled into Sarah's ear. It would have been a whisper, but the cacophony made that impossible.

  "There it is." Sarah pointed. Souls gleamed out through Rembrandt's daubs of paint.

  Lady Beldon examined the small, dark portrait. "Disappointing, really," she pouted. "It doesn't look worth so much. They aren't even handsome subjects."

  Sarah gritted her teeth. This was worse than she had imagined.

  The crowd spilled through the public rooms and downstairs into the prince's private apartments. The Beldon party surged with it. The long Gothic Conservatory was a fairyland. Chinese lanterns hung below the stained-glass ceiling that fanned out in a spider tracery above its supporting columns. Here the regent would serve his intimates late supper at a table 200 feet long.

  It was said that the stream running down the center of the table held real fish.

  The money spent upon Carlton House over the protestations of Parliament was a symbol of the regent's power. With his father locked up at Windsor, he was king in all but name. The nation was grateful there was no danger of the old king regaining his senses to rule again; Carlton House was the regent's reward.

  The crowds pressed in around them. Sarah felt elbows and knees prodding her. Why was she here? Just as she was ready to turn tail, she heard a familiar tinkling laugh above the hubbub. It could only be Corina, her lifelong, sometimes best, friend. She craned to see, but she was too short. Instead she started through the crowd into the mirrored dining hall said to be modeled after Versailles. Of course Corina would be drawn to mirrors. Sarah would find her at the center of a dozen young men. Her beautiful friend was a magnet for them. It was some minutes of concerted pushing and many muttered apologies before Corina's golden hair appeared.

  "Corina, I thought I would never find you in this crush," she called over the din of conversation. Her friend wore white satin with topaz dripping from her ears, trembling upon her breast, around her wrist, from combs in her hair. She was draped on the arm of Sir Rodney Kelston, of blond mustaches and broad shoulders, who hung on her every word. And there were several other young men that Sarah knew. John Kerseymere was here, eldest of the Kerseymere brothers—about to give up the handsome regimentals he wore tonight and muster out—and the young Viscount Alvaney. They looked uncomfortable in their collars, so high they could not truly turn their heads. Each had dressed in his finest. Fobs and seals and diamond rings, gold and silver snuff boxes, and patterned waistcoats in a rainbow of colors were everywhere.

  "Sarah, what are you doing here?" Corina challenged, frowning. "I thought you were a stick-at-home in Bath when you wouldn't come with me."

  Ten pairs of male eyes focused on Sarah. She cleared her throat. "I came up to see my solicitors at the last moment. George and his mother were good enough to bring me."

  "And no time to order a new dress, I see, though I have always liked that lavender."

  Sarah felt herself flush. It wouldn't have mattered what she was wearing, she told herself. She always felt dowdy around Corina.

  "You're looking very drawn tonight. You must let me suggest strawberries, just under the eyes here." Corina touched Sarah's face with one elegant finger, then leaned in. "How fortunate we are to have escorts who can procure us their mothers' invitation cards," she whispered. Sarah recognized the signal that she was forgiven, and thought it might have to do with her dress. What woman wouldn't want a friend who set her off to advantage?

  "Oh, I had a card of my own," Sarah replied. Corina frowned, then consciously relaxed her brow and turned dismissively back to her admirers.

  Lady Beldon puffed up to the group with George behind her. "I refuse to stay another night in a town where murders occur on every street corner," she breathed. "I am going home tomorrow, whether you come or not, George."

  "So soon? But I told you I must see my solicitor." This was awful news for Sarah.

  "And meet your death, no doubt. No, no, no, no." Lady Beldon shook her head. "You had best come home with me."

  "I can't." Worse, Sarah could not stay at Beldon House alone with George.

  "Stay with me, dear Sarah," Corina offered. "I do not return, to languish in Bath, for a week."

  "Thank you." Sarah sighed. She felt an elbow in her back. "I wonder why we came," she said to George. "No one can even dance."

  "Everyone who is anyone is here," Corina snapped. "Perhaps even your disreputable Mr. Davinoff, Kerseymere. Why, Sarah, whatever is the matter?"

  "Did you say Davinoff?" Sarah managed. Her throat had unaccountably closed.

  "Upcott, take her arm, I think she is about to faint," Corina ordered. "I hardly thought to bring on a spell by the mere mention of rakes. Kerseymere here was just telling me that Mrs. Hertford may have given him a card, even with all the stories."

  "What stories?" Lady Beldon asked.

  "Word has it he was the root of the Marquise Barone's suicide in Paris last year," Kerseymere disclosed. "Her husband called him out. Dashed cool customer had a tailor present at the duel. Fellow got two orders for coats, with fabric and cut, while Davinoff paced his fifteen. After he killed the husband, he left the marquise flat. She was a suicide the next morning."

  Could the man be here? Sarah might bump into him at any second.

  "Shall I take you for some air, Sarah?" George asked. "After seeing that dreadful murder tonight, any lady of sensibility would be distraught."

  Lady Beldon turned to greet a dowager whose turban had even more feathers than her own.

  "I am quite fine." Sarah glanced around wildly. Her heart was skipping beats.

  "I say, what murder is this?" Sir Kelston pounced upon George's revelation. "One of those where the body is drained of blood?" The crowd in their circle of conversation grew.

  "The very same. I go to Bow Street tomorrow as a consultant." George smiled with satisfaction. "My new device may have a bearing on the case." A hue and cry of questions began from several of Corina's young men.

  "Who could be committing these murders?" Corina interrupted.

  "The magistrates believe a madman is involved," George announced, with a harrumph.

  "Could draining blood be sane?" Sarah murmured, scanning the crowd. What would he look like, her persecutor?

  "I shall experiment to see if a pump might have pulled the blood from the body." This drew clamors for information on George's role in the investigation. He held forth.

  Corina began to tap her foot impatiently. Sarah knew her expression. George was monopolizing attention Corina felt rightfully belonged to her. She turned to her escort. "Let us go and see the murder scene, Sir Kelston."

  "Dash it, no, madam!" Kelston was shocked. "What man would take a lady into such danger?"

  "I'll wager Kerseymere and his friends will go there yet tonight." Corina answered with a pretty pout, then glanced at the crowd. "Won't you, you rogues?"

  Several pairs of eyes gleamed with excitement.

  "I would not take your wager, madam," Kelston said after glancing around. "But that does not mean I will take you there!"

  Corina looked into one of the gigantic mirrors to catch her reflection, then yelped and spun back toward the room. Sarah followed her eyes to a dark form at the edge of the crowd, like a black bird of prey among gaud
y peacocks. He was so tall that even Sarah could see him. She trembled. Classic profile, high cheekbones, long straight nose. His black coat was cut by the best of tailors, not English, though. The soft curls at his neck and the comma of black hair that strayed over his forehead gave him a boyish look. Sensual lips promised secret knowledge. He was the personification of anarchy from the murder scene.

  "Sir Kelston, whoever is that man in black?" Corina caught at her escort's arm.

  Kelston looked dismayed. "Davinoff has procured an invitation after all."

  Sarah's knees went weak. She grabbed George's elbow for support. Of course! The chaos of murder in London and the chaos likely to engulf her life if Clershing was lost seemed to merge into a single pinprick of light illuminating a man called Julien Davinoff. The face of iniquity on the streets of London and the force of evil that threatened her future were one and the same. She raised a hand to her forehead, feeling alternately faint and flushed.

  "Of course that would be him," she whispered. George drifted away to tell more responsive guests about his new device. Sarah had eyes only for the harbinger of doom.

  "What a quiz he is"—Corina laughed—"all in black. How have I never encountered him?"

  "I expect he doesn't run in your circles, Mrs. Nandalay." Kerseymere laughed.

  Sarah let her eyes follow Davinoff as he moved closer and spoke to a fellow in the group surrounding George. They were discussing the murders, no doubt. Others were pushed and jostled by the crowd, but not he. The crowd swirled around him.

  He seemed distracted, scanning the room for something or someone. Sarah felt his gaze brush her, and it burned.

  "You must introduce me to our rake, Sir Kelston," Corina murmured, behind her. Sarah glanced over to see that she was fascinated, too. Her friend had no time for her admirers now.

  "But no, madam—it is not an introduction you would enjoy. He is an evil man!"

  "You have already denied me one opportunity for excitement tonight," Corina pouted. She and Sarah both watched as Davinoff made his way toward a ravishing woman wearing an oriental-collared brocade, lavishly embroidered. He bent and whispered into her ear. Her eyes searched his in shock. She grasped his arms, frantic, shaking her head. The dark man was implacable. Suddenly the woman drooped. She almost fell before Davinoff grasped her elbow. Sarah could not help but wonder what he had said.

  "Come, you are surely not afraid of this man, Sir Kelston?" Corina asked, rapt. Sarah turned back to her. What game was her friend playing?

  "I should think not," Kelston replied indignantly, then stopped. Corina had him.

  "What can happen in a room full of people?" Sarah's friend placed her lace-gloved hand on Kelston's arm and looked up, expectant.

  The man sighed. "I hope you have no male relative present, Mrs. Nandalay, who would take me to task for the deed I am about to perform."

  "None whatever, Sir Kelston. I am my own mistress."

  Corina and her escort maneuvered through the crowd toward the man in black, leaving Sarah and the others to stare after them. Corina was on the hunt. And her target tonight was Sarah's persecutor. Sarah gathered her courage. Her target must be Davinoff, too. Perhaps she could find out some detail of the brute's claim against her land. She pushed after Corina.

  "Mr. Davinoff, allow me to introduce Madam Corina Nandalay," she heard Kelston say as she approached. Davinoff at close range was a frightening man. His eyes were black pools of dreadful knowledge, his form a study in languid power. Sarah tore her eyes away with difficulty. They came to rest on his beautiful companion. She heard Kelston stutter, "Countess Vadim…"

  Corina curtsied just in front of Sarah, her eyes never leaving the face of Davinoff's companion. The soul-engulfing need still emanating from that woman was evident. Corina would be drawn by that need. It would make her want the object of it all the more.

  "His Lordship provides his introduction at my request," Corina said lightly.

  Davinoff's eyes flicked over her. "Perhaps you do not know my reputation." His voice was a deep rumble, utterly masculine, used to command. Sarah shuddered.

  "No, Sir Kelston was careful in his duties on that point." Kelston reddened beside Corina, but her quarry did not even glance in his direction.

  "Yes? Then you are, perhaps, an unusual female." At Davinoffs words, the woman at his side came to life, her eyes sparking.

  "I have been told as much," Corina agreed. She glowed with a dangerous radiance.

  Sarah stepped up beside Corina and saw her friend frown at the unwelcome intrusion. She did not like to be disturbed at the hunt. Sarah didn't care.

  "May I present Sarah Ashton, Lady Clevancy?" Kelston murmured, throwing to the wind all reservations about introducing young women to the notorious rake.

  "Ah, the owner of Clershing." Davinoff eyed her gown with an almost imperceptible flicker of distaste. Sarah's color heightened. She raised her chin half an inch.

  "Who are you?" Sarah asked. Perhaps not a propitious means of introducing her topic.

  "Your neighbor," Davinoff said, then nodded, a contemptuous smile just visible at the corner of his lips. Still, some curiosity lurked behind his eyes. "I look forward to the time when Clershing runs again with Thornbury Abbey."

  "No one owns Thornbury Abbey," Sarah sputtered.

  "I am desolate to disagree with you," Davinoff observed.

  "I don't know what you think you can get away with, but I have no intention of letting Clershing run with the abbey." Sarah trembled with emotion.

  "How final. But there is always a way to get what one wants." The brute seemed amused.

  "Not always," Sarah said between clenched teeth. "You may be mistaken."

  "That would certainly be surprising." Davinoff bowed. He seemed taken aback by Sarah's vehemence. How could he be so maddeningly sure of himself? "Who knows what time will bring?"

  "How true." Corina inserted herself into the conversation. "But one thing time brings is never a surprise. Time always brings death." She cast about for a way to interest him. "I saw you conversing, sir, with Mr. Upcott's circle. You have no doubt heard there was another murder."

  "I heard."

  "Mr. Davinoff is not unfamiliar with these murders," Sarah said in a low voice, watching him. "You were present at the scene of the murder tonight, were you not?"

  He looked down to search her face. "One hates to admit a fascination with the macabre. You have caught me out, Lady Clevancy."

  "I don't hate to admit it at all," Corina said, glaring at Sarah as though to announce a prior claim to her quarry. "I have only now been pressing Kelston here to take me to the scene."

  "It seems we have much in common then. It is unfortunate that We will not have an opportunity to pursue our acquaintance." He swept his eyes over Corina, Sarah and even the Countess Vadim. "I leave London tomorrow."

  The countess's bleak expression said that this was the whispered confidence. He was leaving her. She touched her throat, covered so strangely with that oriental collar.

  "Where are you bound, Mr. Davinoff?" Corina boldly ignored both the countess and Sarah.

  "My plans are not set." His horrible, wonderful eyes swept the crowd.

  "If you own land near Bath, perhaps that should be your destination. My own estate, Chambroke, is near Bath. How is it we have not seen you in those parts?"

  "Bath…" He seemed to consider. "How common a name compared to Aquae Sulis." He came to himself. "I have not lived there for many years."

  "But you must remember how beautiful the country is this time of year," Corina rushed on. "As for society, my own estates attract a small but select guest list. The hunting is tolerable, if you are hunt-mad."

  "Perhaps I cannot avoid Bath," he drawled, then glanced to Sarah. She thought she might melt. Unaccountably, she did not want to watch Corina at the hunt anymore.

  "Then I shall expect to see you," the blonde said, a tiny note of triumph in her voice.

  "Perhaps." He committed nothing. "Excuse me. I have
business yet tonight."

  And he was gone, cutting once more through furtive glances and murmurs toward the great double doors, leaving the countess to drift after him, her handkerchief to her mouth.

  "Well, I must say, you were very bold," Sir Kelston reproached Corina.

  "I hope so," she answered in a murmur, gazing toward the giant doors. "For the course I have set requires boldness." She spun on Sarah. "What's this about Clershing?"

  "He contests my ownership." Sarah gazed after Davinoff, her stomach churning.

  "Well, you were certainly rude," her friend admonished. Then she turned her smile on her escort. "Sir Kelston, I am afraid I have quite a headache. I find I must retire immediately."

  "But, but the evening has hardly begun. I thought…" Sir Kelston wailed off.

  Corina glanced at the doorway. "I can see you want to stay. I shall call for the carriage."

  Kelston applied to Sarah. "Tell Mrs. Nandalay that her plan is out of the question."

  Sarah roused herself. "I never tell Mrs. Nandalay anything is out of the question."

  "I could not allow you to go home alone," Kelston announced stiffly.

  "I shan't be alone," Corina confided. With that she whirled and hurried through the crowd, Kelston sputtering behind her. Somehow she would get Davinoff to take her home; Sarah knew it.

  Chapter Two

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  Julien gazed out the window of his carriage at the waxing moon, brooding. What had made him take up the Nandalay woman, tonight of all nights? He should have simply compelled another to take her home. He glanced over at the blonde woman huddled in the squabs of the upholstery, obviously frightened. Well, she'd got what she wanted tonight, a ride with the devil. Let her stew in her fear. She reminded him of Charlemagne's cousin. What was her name? Both were beautiful, surely.