Sweet Revenge

by Andrea Penrose

  His laugh held no mirth. “There are few in Society who don’t consider me a mongrel because of my breeding. For me to denigrate you or your forebearers would be like the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “Then why won’t you come to my bed?” blurted out Arianna. “Do you find me unattractive? Undesirable?”

  His dark lashes hid his eyes. “It would be wrong to take advantage of your present emotions. I would rather not let you do something that you might regret in the morning.”

  “An honorable, incorruptible gentleman,” she jeered. “I thought that species only existed in fairy tales.”

  Saybrook didn’t react with any anger, which was what she was hoping for. “I do my best to live by certain principles,” he said calmly.

  “Why should any of us care about abstract principles?” she challenged. “What does it matter? One only ends up defeated, disillusioned.”

  “Only if you let yourself turn tail and run,” said the earl.

  Arianna sucked in her breath. “I see no reason to care anymore. Let Concord and his evil cronies do as they please. It no longer matters to me.”

  “I should think you would care about justice. It is an even more compelling reason to act than revenge.”

  “Unlike you, sir, I’m not idealistic,” she retorted. “Far from it.”

  “Perhaps you will surprise yourself.”

  “How can you speak of justice? You heard the sordid facts—my father was guilty.” Her throat constricted. “Guilty.”

  “Whatever his sins, he paid the price for them,” answered Saybrook. “Don’t you wish for the others to be called to account for their own misdeeds?”

  “I . . .” Arianna was suddenly aware of the hot sting of salt against her lids. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice.

  “A show of feminine frailty?” His brow rose in a sardonic arch. “Of all the roles you’ve played, a weak, weepy female is by far the least convincing one.”

  Crack. The impact of her hand left an angry red imprint on his cheek.

  He didn’t so much as flinch. “Feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “Yes!” she cried. “I bloody well am.”

  “So you want to give up? Crawl away and wallow in self-pity, leaving your father’s murderers free to plot yet another sordid scam?”

  She blinked.

  “If that’s what you wish, pack up your belongings and I will allow you to slip away to . . . wherever it is that you wish to go,” he finished.

  “Is that a challenge, Lord Saybrook?” muttered Arianna.

  His mouth twitched. “Of a sort.”

  Walk away and forget about everything? The idea was tempting. After all, she didn’t owe anything to anyone.

  “Though it’s understandable if you’ve lost your stomach for a fight,” said the earl. “I did warn you that in a mano a mano duel of wills, you would not come out on top.”

  “Don’t sheath your steel just yet, sir.”

  “Then come tomorrow, be ready for another round.” Saybrook moved for the doorway, but paused with his hand on the latch. “By the by, in answer to your question earlier this evening, I was approaching your town house because I thought you might be interested in knowing that Lady Spencer is as rapacious in business as she is in pleasure.” He turned slightly, setting his dark hair to dancing across his shoulders. “In addition to sleeping with Kellton, she was also making money from him, and in more ways than one.”

  He would have made an excellent actor—his sense of dramatic timing was superb.

  “H-how do you know that?” she demanded.

  “Armed with my aunt’s revelation, I decided to pay a visit to her town house after leaving the ball,” he replied.

  “But your leg—”

  “Like you, I can improvise, Lady Arianna.” He quirked a thin smile. “Your information about the hidden panel in her desk saved me a great deal of time. I was able to read through the packet of letters from Kellton before having to leave.”

  Click, click. The latch shifted slightly under his hand. “From what I could gather, she was involved in a business enterprise with Kellton, and was passing him some sort of valuable information.” His smile had turned to a frown. “Though what that information was, I am not sure.”

  Arianna felt a twinge of guilt over keeping the folder of papers she had taken from the desk to herself. But until she was more certain of its meaning . . .

  “We may never know,” went on Saybrook. “In any case, it seems that Lady Spencer knew some details of the business that had Kellton worried. So he was paying her not only a cut of the profits, but a spot of blackmail to keep quiet.”

  He thought for a moment. “I am surprised that such a clever lady is careless enough to keep written evidence in her own home, even though it is well hidden. But I suppose we should count ourselves lucky, for it seems she hasn’t yet noticed that anything has gone missing.”

  “The secret compartment is ingeniously designed, so she likely thinks there is little danger that a common thief would find it—or have any interest in mere papers,” said Arianna. “It’s easy to become overconfident—which leads to making mistakes.”

  “Very true. It’s a good reminder that we must never let down our guard.”

  An oblique warning? She didn’t need the earl’s words to know how many slips she had made over the past several weeks.

  She thought for a moment. “Perhaps you should have asked some further questions of Ashmun. He seems to know a good deal about the inner workings of English commerce.”

  “Yes—maybe too much.”

  “Oh, surely you don’t think . . .”

  “Let us just say that for now, I take his tale with a grain of salt,” replied Saybrook. “And I would advise that you do, too. Think on it—he may sound sincere, but there could be a more sinister explanation for all the things he knows.”

  “Lies and betrayal,” she whispered. “But of course, I’ve come to expect no less.”

  “Lies and betrayal.” Saybrook shifted his stance. “You told me when we first met that you trusted no one. I hope you haven’t had a change of heart.”

  “I don’t have a heart, sir.”

  His face remained expressionless.

  Arianna abruptly changed the subject. “How do you mean to pursue Lady Spencer? More and more, it appears she is intimately involved in whatever intrigue is going on.”

  “I’ve already taken the first steps. While you were dancing with Gavin, I was enjoying a champagne stroll along the balcony with her.”

  “I don’t think you’ll get very far,” she said bluntly. “You are not her type.”

  “Some women find that a challenge.”

  “But she knows you are conducting the government investigation on the Prince’s poisoning,” pressed Arianna. “It would be dangerous to encourage your attentions.”

  “Danger is like a drug,” replied the earl. A spark from the dying embers seemed to light a reddish gold gleam in his gaze. “It can bubble through your blood and reach down into the deepest, darkest recesses of your being, making you do wild things. Risky things.”

  “At times, you frighten me, Lord Saybrook,” she said.

  “At times I frighten myself.” He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and dropped it on the sideboard. “One last thing—you missed a sheet of numbers when you were riffling the lady’s desk. It looks like gibberish to me, but seeing as you mentioned tonight that you had inherited a little of your father’s skill in mathematics, perhaps you can make some sense of it.”

  19

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  Sandro has sent me the most delightful chocolatiere that he found at Sotheby’s Auction House. It is made of delicate cream-colored porcelain and is painted with a fanciful scene of the tropics. He thinks it is quite old, and in doing a bit of research on the subject, I found that this style of pot was invented in the late seventeenth century, and features a tall, thin shape and a lid with a sm
all hole, designed to fit the handle of a molinillo. . . .

  Chocolate Peanut Toffee

  4 sticks (1 pound) unsalted butter, cut into pieces

  2 cups sugar

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  4 cups whole cocktail peanuts, plus 1 cup chopped

  (1 pound, 10 ounces)

  7 to 8 ounces 70%-cacao bittersweet chocolate,

  finely chopped

  1. Butter baking pan and put on a heatproof surface.

  2. Bring butter, sugar, and salt to a boil in a 4- to 5-quart heavy pot over medium-high heat, whisking until smooth, then boil, stirring occasionally, until mixture is deep golden and registers 300°F (hard-crack stage) on thermometer, 15 to 20 minutes.

  3. Immediately stir in whole peanuts, then carefully pour hot toffee into center of baking pan. Spread with spatula, smoothing top, and let stand 1 minute, then immediately sprinkle chocolate on top. Let stand until chocolate is melted, 4 to 5 minutes, then spread over toffee with clean spatula. Sprinkle evenly with chopped peanuts, then freeze until chocolate is firm, about 30 minutes. Break into pieces.

  “I trust there is a damn good reason for dragging me out here.” Saybrook turned up the collar of his coat to the cold, clammy breeze. “I had only a few hours of sleep last night and spent most of the day haring over the city, tracking down several leads.”

  His boot made a small sucking sound as the earl shifted his stance in the mud. “So if this proves to be a wild-goose chase, I shall not be pleased.”

  “No rest for the wicked, eh?” quipped Henning. He edged to the corner of the warehouse wall and peered into the gloom. Fog was drifting in from the inky waters of the East India docks, the thick swirls of vapor heavy with the grit of salt and soot. Rising up from the sea of silver, the rigging of the tall ships rocked back and forth against the scudding clouds, looking like a tangled web woven by some giant rum-drunk spider.

  “You mean to say that you would rather be at Almack’s than the Isle of Dogs?” added the surgeon.

  “Not at all—dancing through the muck with you is far more fun that waltzing with an heiress,” said the earl dryly.

  “We must wait another five minutes,” murmured Henning, after a quick look at his pocket watch. “Then move quickly. But based on what I heard from my friend, you won’t be disappointed.

  “You’ve more tentacles than an octopus, Baz. I hadn’t realized that your reach extended to the merchant fleets.”

  “Illness and poverty are everywhere,” replied the surgeon dourly. “People are anxious to repay my help as best they can.” Hugging close to the shadows, he leaned his back to the wall. “The curare got me curious about recent shipments from the New World, so I asked around. And sure enough, a recently arrived sailor confided to my contact that his captain had been strangely secretive about the unloading of their cargo. A special crew of stevedores had been hired to work under the cover of darkness, rather than during the day. And the crew was paid off early, and replaced with a cadre of private guards. Tough-looking men who were strangers to the docks.”

  The earl gave a noncommittal grunt.

  “We’re in luck that there’s no moon,” murmured the surgeon over the low gurgle of the ebbing tide. “We turn left once we cross through the loading area. The warehouse we want is the third one on the south side.”

  “What about watchmen?” asked Saybrook.

  “The one guarding that section has been asked to ignore any activity he might notice for the next hour. But we still must be careful not to be spotted by any of the other patrols.” He pressed a finger to his lips and then signaled for the earl to follow.

  Moving stealthily through the shadows, they traversed the narrow passageways.

  “This is the one.” Henning stopped by a recessed door set within the blackened brick. He felt along the iron bands reinforcing the rough-cut oak until his hands encountered the hasp and padlock. Metal rasped against metal for just a moment. “Quick, get inside.”

  He pulled the portal shut behind him. “Go ahead and light the lantern.”

  Saybrook struck a lucifer and set it to the wick. After adjusting the metal shutters, he angled the beam around the cluttered room.

  “This is the back office. The storage area is through there.” Henning indicated another door. “My source says there aren’t any important papers kept here, but if you wish, we can have a look. Our time, however, is limited. The watch changes in an hour, and we must be gone by then.”

  “Let’s have a look at the cargo first,” said the earl. “That is the reason we are here, isn’t it?”

  “Correct.” Henning ventured a quick peek into the darkness, and then added, “Stop sounding so peeved, laddie. I had expected more gratitude for my cleverness.”

  “Sorry, but the only thing I’d give thanks for at the moment is a night of uninterrupted sleep.” Saybrook ran a hand over his bristled jaw. “On second thought, I shall shower you with several cases of your favorite malt if this turns out to be worth the trip.”

  “I shall send my request to yer agent at Berry Brothers and Rudd first thing in the morning,” shot back the surgeon. A grunt sounded as his boot hit upon a metal object. “Shine the light over here.”

  The oily glow pooled over a small chest. A padlock secured the hasp, but the earl drew a thin, flexible length of steel from his pocket and within moments the mechanism released with a soft snick.

  “I see ye haven’t lost yer touch from our times with the partisans.”

  “My skills are a bit rusty,” said Saybrook. “But it’s all beginning to come back to me.” Throwing open the lid, he pulled out several burlap bags. “Dried leaves,” he murmured, handing a sprig to Henning. A sniff was followed by a tentative nibble. “Erythroxylum coca.”

  “Aye,” corroborated the surgeon after taking a taste. “A favorite stimulant of the ancient Aztec armies.”

  “As was chocolate,” murmured the earl. He opened one of the canisters at the bottom of the chest, revealing a quantity of snow-white powder.

  “Careful, laddie,” warned Henning as the earl inhaled a small pinch. “That’s a potent drug, assuming it’s what I think it is.”

  The earl passed him the container. After a tentative taste, the surgeon nodded. “Lumley and I did some experiments in his laboratory at Oxford, distilling the coca plant’s essence.” He refastened the lid and placed the powder back in the trunk. “When reduced to a crystallized form and ground into a fine powder, it has a powerful effect on the senses, stimulating a rush of energy and euphoria.”

  “You speak from experience?”

  “A scientist must have empirical knowledge,” replied Henning. “So aye, I tried it.” He thought for a moment. “Interesting. I’ve heard rumors of a new elixir being offered within certain circles of the aristocracy. A special pleasure drug, an elixir called the Devil’s Delight. It costs a fortune for a small vial, but there are many willing to pay the price.”

  “Interesting,” echoed the earl. He dropped to his knees and began examining the contents of the canvas sack next to the chest. “Speaking of chocolate . . . There are several bales of cacao beans here, and they appear to be rare criollas of the highest quality, rather than the common trinitario variety.” There was a rustling as he edged the lantern along the planking. “Along with dried vanilla pods and what looks to be a half dozen crates of silver bullion.”

  Henning made a face. “An odd assortment. Granted, all the items are valuable, but it’s not as if there is enough of any one thing to make the long voyage worthwhile.” He picked his way along a line of assorted barrels and boxes, poking and prodding at the deeply shadowed shapes. Beyond the weak pool of light, the darkness was impenetrable. “Perhaps they are simply a sample. A taste to whet the appetite.”

  Wood scraped against wood as the earl shifted a stack of crates. “Did your contact say where the ship picked up this cargo?”

  “There were three ports of call. Veracruz, Portobelo, and Cartagena.”

  “Which were al
l main points of embarkation for the old Spanish treasure fleets,” mused Saybrook.

  The surgeon ran his hand over a cloth sack, stirring up a swirl of spicy sweetness. “So, we have merchandise coming from the New World, all of it with the potential to be highly profitable.”

  “But none of it in enough quantity to justify the cost or hazards of a long journey,” added the earl.

  “Not yet, not yet. But I tell you, this new Devil’s Delight is already turning an obscene profit. The canister we just found will go a long way to paying the expenses of the voyage.”

  Silence, save the sudden scurrying of a rat among the burlap bales.

  Saybrook tucked the sprig of coca into his pocket and sat back on his haunches. “Who owns the ship?”

  Henning cracked his knuckles. “I’m working on that.”

  “Well, spread your tentacles even wider, Baz. We need to know the names of those involved.”

  “The pieces of the puzzle seem to be coming together, eh?” mused the surgeon. “Kellton was murdered with curare, a New World poison, and here we’ve just discovered evidence of an enterprise worth killing for. Then we have Concord, whom we know to have been involved in dirty dealings in the past.” He pursed his lips. “Like Lady Arianna’s father, Kellton must have become a threat to the operation, and so they eliminated him.”

  “Perhaps. But I’m not as certain as you are.” Dusting his hands, Saybrook rose and squeezed his way through the bales to another row of crates. “As of yet, the pieces are still too damn amorphous to show any pattern, or any way they interlock.”

  “Auch, we’re getting close, laddie. I feel it in my bones,” muttered Henning.

  The earl swore as his knee banged up against a brass urn.

  “And ye know damn well how my intuition saved our skin on several occasions in—”

  A grunt cut short the surgeon’s point.

  “Well, well, well.” Saybrook had dropped to a crouch and was shifting a burlap sack. “Come see what we have here, Baz.”