Authors: Andrea Penrose
Sweet Revenge (15 page)
Concord was, of course, aware that Saybrook was investigating the Prince’s poisoning, so she quickly moved to distance herself from him. Any hint of an alliance and all her plans would be for naught.
“I did not wish to offend my cousin Mellon. But the truth is, I find Lord Saybrook worse than dull—I find him forbidding.” She slanted a look across the ballroom to where he was standing in the shadows of the colonnading and feigned a shudder. “Look how he stands so solemn and silent. He reminds me of a monk from the Spanish Inquisition.”
“Lud, you are right.” Tipton made a face. “Dark, disapproving—he should have stayed in the god-benighted Peninsula, where he belonged.”
“I know him from my club, but I cannot say we are friends,” mused Gavin. “Indeed, I was greatly surprised that he chose to introduce you to us.”
Arianna was ready with an answer. “I asked him to.” She looked around quickly then lowered her voice a notch. “You three are the only
interesting
men in the room.”
interesting
men in the room.”
“Clearly you have a very discerning eye,” joked Gavin.
Concord, she noted, had fixed her with an appraising stare. Taking care to appear unaware of his scrutiny, she playfully touched the cluster of fancy fobs dangling from Tipton’s watch chain. “What pretty baubles. Have you others dangling somewhere else on your person?”
Tipton swallowed a snort while Gavin leered.
As for Concord, he hesitated, and then the corners of his mouth turned ever so slightly upward.
Arianna slowly released her pent-up breath.
“As I mentioned, we will all be going on to a more intimate party after the Bushnell soiree on Thursday,” he said softly. “If you are free, perhaps you would like to join us?”
“I should like that, sir.” She lowered her lashes. “Very much.”
“You won’t bring the Holy Terror along, will you?” said Tipton.
“Good God, no.”
Tipton winked at his friends. “Excellent. We don’t want to be punished for any sins we might commit, heh, heh, heh.”
Arianna gave them a coy look. “
Are
we going to sin?”
Are
we going to sin?”
“Oh, maybe just a little,” replied Tipton. “So yes, it’s best you don’t bring Saybrook.”
“Then again, maybe the earl is not incorruptible.” Concord’s gaze turned lidded. “I have heard that he is addicted to opium.”
“Is he?” she responded, widening her eyes.
Concord gave a slight shrug. “It’s said he nearly lost a leg to a French saber while fighting Soult’s cavalry on the Peninsula.”
Interesting.
But any musing on the earl’s history would have to wait until later.
But any musing on the earl’s history would have to wait until later.
“Perhaps that explains his strange mood swings,” she said, making a moue of distaste. “One moment he is pleasant. The next he is, well . . . I fear that he is a little unstable.” A tremulous sigh. “I do hope I am in no danger riding home in his carriage tonight.”
“I’m sure you are quite safe, Lady Wolcott,” assured Gavin. “The earl is odd, but I don’t think he poses any threat.”
Unlike me,
she thought with an inward smile.
she thought with an inward smile.
“Thank you, that is reassuring.” Satisfied that she had titillated Concord’s interest enough for the evening, Arianna decided it was time to withdraw. Casting another glance at the far end of the room, she sighed. “I had better return to him now, before he grows too restless.”
The three of them responded with the requisite bows and polite murmurs.
Concord’s voice was the last to fade away. “Until later, Lady Wolcott.”
Yes, until later.
“I must warn you—your character has been savaged,” said Arianna over the clatter of the carriage wheels. “Perhaps beyond repair.”
“I daresay that I shall survive.” Saybrook flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “Did you have any luck with Concord?”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he prompted, “And?”
“And you need not concern yourself, milord. I have the matter well in hand.”
The soft leather of the seat suddenly shivered against her spine as he turned and braced a palm against the squabs. “You have laid down a numbers of rules, madam. Now it is my turn,” said Saybrook. “You are free to hurl epithets and insults—it matters naught what you think of me personally. But make no mistake, when it comes to this investigation, I am in command.”
“I’m not used to taking orders.”
“Nonetheless, you’re going to do as I say,” he replied softly.
Lifting her chin in deliberate defiance, she replied, “And if I don’t?”
A plume of smoke from the oil lamp swirled in the low light, and for a moment it hung between them, obscuring his face. Then it curled upward, revealing a scimitar smile.
He was amused?
Arianna wasn’t sure how to react. She still found the earl a conundrum, a puzzle whose parts didn’t quite fit together.
Arianna wasn’t sure how to react. She still found the earl a conundrum, a puzzle whose parts didn’t quite fit together.
“Use your very vivid imagination,” he drawled.
The remark should have sparked her to even greater anger, but for some reason she found herself smiling, too. “You are flirting with danger in making such a suggestion, Lord Saybrook. As you know, I can be very inventive.”
“As can I, Lady Wolcott-Smith-Alphonse-Chocolat.” He shifted and suddenly his silhouette seemed to loom larger in the flickering lamplight. “Don’t cross swords with me on this. You won’t win, but we would both be compelled to expend effort that would best be directed at defeating the enemy.”
Put that way, her defiance did sound willfully childish.
“What do you want?” she asked warily.
“A daily report, with detailed information about your activities and what you have discovered. That means an accurate account of who you meet with and what is said.”
“Including a menu of what I have for breakfast?”
“I will assume you fill your stomach, seeing as you claim to think better that way. And believe me, Madam whoever-you-are, you will need all your wits about you from now on.” He leaned in a little closer, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look, I am conducting my own investigations, and it could prove dangerous if we were to trip over each other’s feet. Furthermore, I may see some clue that you don’t.”
Arianna swallowed a sarcastic retort. He was right, and she was pragmatic enough to admit it.
“Very well,” she replied. “But I also have some demands of my own.”
A tiny nod signaled that she should go on.
“I need the freedom of having my own residence. These men must perceive me as independent of you and your family as quickly as possible.”
Saybrook considered the matter for a long moment before replying. “I’ll arrange it. Along with a staff, of course.”
“And a carriage,” added Arianna, taking some small pleasure in seeing his mouth thin. “Am I putting a pinch in your purse, milord?”
“Does justice have a price?” he countered.
“Of course it does. The only real question is whether one is willing to pay it.”
“You’ve a jaded view of life for someone so young,” replied the earl slowly. “I wonder why.”
“Why?” echoed Arianna. “Because I’ve seen enough of human nature to know the difference between fairy tales and reality.” She paused. “I trust you aren’t going to insult my intelligence by trying to convince me that the world is filled with sweetness and light.”
It may have been a quirk of the flame, but his eyes seemed to fill with shadows. “No, I’m not. But nor am I going to cede victory to bitterness and blackness so easily. Good can occasionally triumph over evil.”
“Dear God, your grandmother must have read you a few too many bedtime tales of heroic knights slaying dragons.” Her lip curled. “Or rescuing damsels in distress.”
The barb didn’t draw blood. He looked at her thoughtfully before asking, “And you, madam—what stories were read to you at night?”
Arianna felt her chest constrict. Looking away, she drew in a gulp of air, forcing her muscles to relax. “Let us not waste time indulging in childhood memories, Lord Saybrook.”
Don’t look back.
She had learned early on that to survive, one must focus on what lay ahead.
Don’t look back.
She had learned early on that to survive, one must focus on what lay ahead.
“We’ve still a number of practical matters to work out. You wish a daily report, and yet we can’t be seen together. Committing any information to paper would be unwise—”
“Thank you for the primer on what won’t work,” interrupted the earl. “However, I am surprised that you, with your creative mind, are overlooking the obvious answer.”
She frowned.
“Given your experience in appearing as a man, it should be simple for a street urchin to slip through the streets in the dark of night and enter my gardens.”
“I shall likely be busy most nights,” Arianna reminded him.
“Improvise, madam. It’s something at which you excel.” His voice held an undertone of amusement, but it quickly died away. “Make no mistake—we shall both need to be ready to react to the unexpected. Else we haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of solving this case.”
Hell.
Arianna closed her eyes for an instant, recalling a ramshackle room . . . the shriek of the wind . . . her scarlet-stained hands. . . .
Arianna closed her eyes for an instant, recalling a ramshackle room . . . the shriek of the wind . . . her scarlet-stained hands. . . .
“Hell,” she said aloud. “Like you, sir, I’ve been there and back, so I’m not afraid of doing whatever it takes to catch the real culprit.”
“How fortuitous that we have met, madam.” The earl eased his big body back against the seat. “For neither am I.”
“Well, then, it should be interesting to see which one of us is most impervious to the devil’s fire.”
10
From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano
It seems that the Church continued to debate the use of chocolate. By the beginning of the seventeenth century there was a great debate on whether it should be considered a food or a drink. The distinction was important because of the many fast days. The richness of chocolate helped ease hunger pangs, so the stricter clergy frowned on its use. However, the Pope ruled that because it was taken in liquid form, it was permissible. . . .
Fudgy Coffee Brownies
2 sticks (½ pound) unsalted butter
5 ounces unsweetened chocolate
2 tablespoons instant espresso powder
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
5 large eggs
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
5 ounces unsweetened chocolate
2 tablespoons instant espresso powder
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
5 large eggs
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
1. Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle. Butter and flour a 13-by-9-inch baking pan.
2. Melt butter and chocolate with espresso powder in a 3-quart heavy saucepan over low heat, whisking until smooth. Remove from heat and cool to lukewarm. Whisk in sugar and vanilla. Whisk in eggs 1 at a time until mixture is glossy and smooth.
3. Whisk together flour, cinnamon, and salt, then whisk into chocolate mixture.
4. Spread batter in pan and bake until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out with crumbs adhering, 25 to 30 minutes. Cool completely before cutting.
A
n elderly butler—even more elderly than the frail figure seated by the tall mullioned windows—led the earl into the sun-dappled morning room. “Your nephew, milady,” he announced in a reedy voice. “Who assures me that you won’t mind receiving a visit this early in the day.”
n elderly butler—even more elderly than the frail figure seated by the tall mullioned windows—led the earl into the sun-dappled morning room. “Your nephew, milady,” he announced in a reedy voice. “Who assures me that you won’t mind receiving a visit this early in the day.”
“You are looking well, Aunt Constantina,” murmured Saybrook, bending to plant a kiss on the lady’s cheek.
“Hmmph. I wish I could say the same for you.” The dowager Marchioness of Sterling set aside the newspaper and waved a frail finger at an armchair facing hers. Although her wrinkled skin was pale as aged parchment, and her auburn hair had faded to a silvery gray, the signs of encroaching age had not diminished her regal bearing. She still appeared a force to be reckoned with.
“Don’t stand on ceremony with me, young man,” she ordered. “Sit, before you fall on your
culo
.
culo
.
“I wasn’t aware that a lady of your rank would know such a vulgar word,” said the earl, settling his aforementioned arse on the brocade pillows. “Much less say it aloud.”
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