“The right choice.” Saybrook gave another glance into the gloom. “Stay here and wait for Henning and the others to arrive. Then bring them along.” He checked his pockets for the oilskin pouch of lucifers. While he dared not relight the lantern, the phosphorous matchsticks would provide an occasional flame. “Remind Henning to move quickly but quietly—we must take them by surprise.”
In a quicksilver flash, a thin blade cut through the gloom.
“I spent some time in India several years ago,” said Gavin. “An interesting culture.” Back and forth, back and forth, the point teased through the air just inches from her nose. “They have honed the art of extracting information from their enemies to a fine art.”
Arianna dropped her gaze to the floor, unwilling to let him see her fear. That must be how he knew Kellton, she thought, concentrating on collecting the facts to keep herself calm.
“Don’t be a fool, Lady Arianna,” urged Cockburn. “We just need you to work out a stock offering template to show to our partner.” He picked up the closest pile of papers. “Why don’t you have a look before making a decision you will likely regret? We will pay you very well for your work.”
“And if I do, you will let me go free?” she asked.
“But of course,” replied Cockburn smoothly. “As I said, we are civilized gentlemen. Violence is only a means of last resort.”
“Oh, yes, how very, very civilized,” said Arianna. Strip away the fancy title and tailoring and all that would be left is dung in silk stockings.
Gavin shot out a hand and seized her throat. “Mind your tongue, bitch, or I’ll cut it out.”
“Philip!” cried Cockburn.
The fingers slowly released.
“As you see, Lady Arianna, my partner is on edge. It would be best if you didn’t trifle with us.”
She sucked in a raw breath.
“She’s just like her father,” muttered Gavin. “Too bloody stubborn to see reason.”
Oh, no. A sudden thought uncoiled like a serpent in her gut.
No, no, no.
“What do you mean?” she asked slowly.
“As we mentioned, we worked with Richard on a few enterprises before he left England,” explained Cockburn.
“My father often mentioned Concord and Hamilton, but I don’t recall him talking about you,” she said, still fighting off the horrible suspicion that was slithering up from the pit of her stomach. “I wonder why?”
Gavin looked up from his blade. “Because generals don’t mingle with their foot soldiers—unless there is the threat of mutiny in the ranks.”
“Philip.”
The warning came a split second too late. As Arianna watched Gavin’s mouth twist into a bloodcurdling grin, she knew in her heart that Saybrook had guessed right—Concord and Hamilton were mere underlings. It was these two who were responsible for her father’s murder.
The wind whistling through the shutters, the death rattle of her father’s last breath . . .
All of a sudden, Arianna was no longer so resigned to death. She wanted very much to live.
Think, think. There had been times in the past when quick wits had been the key to her survival. St. Vincent, Isla la Tortuga, Grenada . . .
But here she was trapped deep underground with two ruthless men . . . her only ally, the Earl of Saybrook, had no idea where she was. . . .
How the devil was she going to dig herself out of this hole?
A faint whoosh, and a flare of weak light showed water up ahead. Saybrook noted the location of the bridge before the flame fizzled. The lucifers had allowed him to follow the trail of steps in the chalky dust, and while his supply was running low, he thought he could hear the sound of voices above the gurgling of the stream.
Easing a pistol from his pocket, he started forward.
“I told you she was going to be trouble.” Gavin’s blade swooshed in a lazy arc. “But don’t worry. She will soon be begging to do the equations.”
“I tried to warn you, Lady Arianna.” Cockburn sighed and smoothed at the faultless folds of his cravat. “There really was no need for it to come to this.”
“As I said, she’s just like her father—willful, stubborn, and deaf to reason.” Gavin touched the razored steel to Arianna’s cheek and smiled darkly.
She didn’t flinch.
The marquess turned away with a grunt of disgust. “I find the sight of blood so distasteful.”
“While I, on the other hand, rather like the color crimson,” answered Gavin. “What about you, Lady Arianna?”
Arianna ignored his question to ask one of her own. “You had my father killed, didn’t you?”
“No, actually I didn’t.” His mouth stretched wider. “I did it myself.”
Her pulse began to pound, the sudden rush of blood building to a deafening roar in her ears.
“So, what is your choice? Do you wish to be a fool and follow him to the grave?”
She held the air in her lungs, trying to bring her body under control. The array of blades was but a lunge away. If she moved quickly, an upward thrust would slice through his liver. . . .
Saybrook would say there was more at stake than personal vengeance.
To hell with what the earl believed, she told herself. When had she cared for what anyone else thought?
And yet . . .
Gavin might die, and maybe Cockburn, if she were lucky enough to evade a bullet. But what about the other conspirators? The gentlemen of power and privilege who had betrayed principle for greed. For a plan of this magnitude, there had to be others involved. A better revenge would be to take them all down.
Her muscles unclenched and she slumped back in her chair.
Gavin saw the slight movement and sneered. “That is the first sign of sense from you yet, Lady Arianna. Thank God you did not try tears or pleas.”
Their eyes locked.
“I have always thought that weeping or wailing is a waste of time,” replied Arianna. Leaning back from the blade, she took several measured breaths. “What, exactly, is it that you want me to do?”
Leather scraped over stone as Cockburn pivoted on his heel and moved back to the table, his face once again wreathed in a smile. “I knew that you would see reason, once you had a moment to think about it.”
“What choice do I have if I wish to live?” she countered. “The fact is, I’ve been forced to scrabble for my survival since I was a child. My father left me penniless and disgraced in Society, so it’s not as if I owe his memory my blood.” She shrugged. “I’m tired of fending for myself. A great deal of money would be welcome.”
“What happened to your tender conscience?” said Gavin. He sounded a trifle disappointed at being deprived of his ghoulish games.
“I lied,” she said coolly. “It was worth a try to bluff. I prefer to work alone. But I also believe in being pragmatic.”
The answer didn’t quite satisfy him. “Tell me, what were you doing with Concord?”
“Discussing business—and pleasure,” replied Arianna. “I knew of him because of the connection with my father. I came to England six months ago, and as I’m not exactly welcome by the respectable members of my family, I decided to make myself known to him. He immediately saw the value of joining our talents.” She gave an impatient wave. “But enough of the past. Tell me about your present plan.”
“Yes,” agreed Cockburn.
“And yet, Concord didn’t look very amorous this evening,” said Gavin slowly.
“He thought I was cheating on him in business,” replied Arianna, quickly composing a lie. “I wasn’t.”
Like his exotic blades, Gavin’s laugh had a nasty edge. “No, it was Kellton who was diddling him. They had partnered on a military contract, but it was a small deal. Kellton was going to pull out of it in several months after skimming off some of the advance money, and leave Concord in the lurch. Selling his services to us was far more profitable, and his expertise in shipping and bills of lading was useful to us in creating a mod
el for false templates to be used on a far larger scale.”
So that was the connection. Saybrook would find the information a key part to the puzzle of his own investigation, she thought.
Assuming, of course, that she lived to tell him about it.
Forcing her concentration back to the cat-and-mouse game with her captors, Arianna accepted the set of papers offered by Cockburn. “It’s a moot point,” she said, “seeing as Kellton had the bad luck to shuffle off his mortal coil in the middle of the deal.”
“His Indian friends would call it bad karma.” Gavin had backed off, but the scalpel was still in his hands, the sharpened steel tapping lightly against the pad of his thumb. “He panicked over a minor problem that occurred at Lady Spencer’s residence, and was threatening to upset all our plans.”
“Study the numbers, Lady Arianna,” interjected Cockburn, who appeared eager to gloss over the topic of murder. As if keeping his own hands lily white absolved him of any responsibility. “Between the projected trade revenue and sale of company stock,” he went on, “I assure you, our new venture will rival the East India Company.”
She spread the first few pages out on the table and took a few moments to study the equations. To her grim satisfaction, it appeared that all her earlier conjectures were essentially correct.
“Profits are easy to put down on paper. But for me to work with these numbers, I need to have a clearer idea what you are actually doing.” She paused, carefully choosing her next words. “Frankly, I can’t conceive of any trading scheme that matches the scale of the East India Company.”
“Perhaps it’s because you have no imagination,” answered Cockburn smugly.
She choked down a laugh.
“The Spanish colonies in the New World possess far grander riches than India,” he went on. “There is Mexico, and a whole continent below it to exploit.”
“Think of the ancient Aztec treasures brought back by the first Conquistadors.” Gavin’s eyes lit up. “Gold, silver, emeralds, spices. Not to speak of the potent coca leaf narcotic. And that’s just the beginning.”
“Yes, but the Spanish colonies are controlled by Spain,” pointed out Arianna. “And Spain is controlled by France. Which in turn is ruled by Napoleon. Doesn’t that present a slight problem for an English company?”
A smile blossomed on Cockburn’s lips. “Not for us.”
Gavin chuckled. “Vivre l’emperor.”
Et voilà. With that simple French phrase, the whole puzzle fell neatly into place. Saybrook had been essentially right in his speculations. Granted, the people who made up the pieces were slightly different, but the overall picture was the same—a group of English aristocrats had conspired with the French to betray their country’s interest for their own economic gain.
“Lady Spencer told me about the Prince Regent’s poisoning,” said Arianna slowly.
“Lady Spencer ought to confine her activities to the bedchamber. Else she is going to end up like the others,” said Gavin darkly.
Arianna ignored him. “She thought it was Concord who bribed her chef. But it wasn’t, was it?” The words came tumbling off her tongue as she sought to clarify one last bit of information. “It was you who poisoned the Prince. By throwing the government into turmoil, you hoped to ensure that the meeting of Eastern allies would fail, allowing Napoleon to conquer all of Europe and then force England to sue for peace.”
“Clever girl,” murmured Cockburn.
“There’s just one thing that I can’t quite figure out—how did Major Crandall tie in?” she asked. “Is Grentham involved in your group? If I am to be part of this, I would like to know who else is involved. It’s all part of assessing the risk of a venture as well as its reward.”
“Clever girl,” echoed Gavin. A pause. “Too clever, in fact.” With one hand, he slowly loosened the knot of his cravat. “Lady Spencer didn’t know that Crandall was killed in her kitchen. Outside of a very select circle of Whitehall officials, only Lord Saybrook is privy to the knowledge of how the Major really died.”
Arianna clenched her teeth, realizing her mistake a heartbeat too late.
“And if he shared it with you . . .”
I’m so sorry, Papa. I thought I was smarter than this.
Gavin tossed the length of linen to Cockburn. “Tie the she-bitch to the chair. I think it’s time we cut through Lady Arianna’s lies and extract the truth from her.”
Not without a fight, you bastards, vowed Arianna.
She jerked up a knee, catching the marquess flush in the groin.
A yowl reverberated off the rocks as he dropped like a sack of stones.
Hurling herself sideways, she scrabbled to her feet from the overturned chair and darted for the dark opening of the passageway. Just a few quick steps and—
“Not so fast,” snarled Gavin, snaring a handful of her hair. Pain sizzled through her scalp as he yanked her back and punched a fist to her temple.
The shadows began to spin and blur.
Still moaning, Cockburn crawled to his knees.
“Right the chair,” ordered Gavin. He drew his pocket pistol from his coat and passed it over. “Use this to keep her under control.”
“By God, I’ll blow her brains out,” gasped the marquess.
“No! Not yet,” exclaimed Gavin.
Arianna felt herself shoved back against the wooden slats. Fear lanced through the fuzziness in her head. She knew she was going to die—and quite horribly. Sweat began to bead on her brow, and strangely enough, she could hear as well as feel the salty drops drip onto her lashes.
Click, click. The sound was unnaturally loud. Like metal against metal.
Clucking in impatience, Cockburn set the pistol down for a moment to finish knotting the linen looped around her chest and arms.
“First, we need to find out just how much the earl knows,” finished Gavin.
A boot scuffed, sending a few pebbles skittering across the rough-hewn rocks.
“Then why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Cockburn lunged for his weapon, but a blast erupted from the darkness, and an instant later a round of molten lead kicked it out of reach in an explosion of shards and sparks.
The marquess screamed and stared down in dazed shock at the blood spurting up from the stump of a finger.
“Drop the knife, Gavin.” Saybrook calmly jammed the still-smoking barrel into his pocket and took aim with his second pistol. “Blades make me very twitchy.”
Gavin hesitated, and then lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No need to get nervous.” He moved a step closer to the table. “See, I’m just setting it down here.”
“Are you hurt?” The earl’s gaze flicked to Arianna . . .
In that split second, Gavin grabbed the lamp and hurled it at Saybrook’s head.
The earl ducked and the glass shattered against the chalky walls, splashing hot oil and flames over his coat. A spark set off his weapon, the bullet ricocheting off the ceiling with a thunderous bang.
“Sandro!” cried Arianna, struggling to get free of her bonds. Gavin had snatched up the scalpel and hurtled a fallen chair. Plumes of silvery smoke spun through the slivers of wildly flickering light and shadow. “Watch out! He has a blade!”
The earl dodged the oncoming attack, moving with catlike quickness despite his lingering limp. A swing of the pistol butt smashed the nearest sconce as he danced away from the arcing steel.
Gavin slipped on the spattered oil, swearing a savage oath.
“Déjà vu,” called Saybrook as he ducked low and pulled a knife from his boot. Patches of red-gold fire burned on his coat, painting him in a demonic glow. Sparks flared, catching the curve of his mouth.
Good God, was he actually grinning? Arianna blinked. That long-ago day of the kitchen duel he had looked like hell, while now—now he appeared a lithe, long-limbed Lucifer. An avenging dark angel.
“Watch out!” she cried again, seeing Gavin take up a jagged hunk of broken globe and fling it at
the earl’s face.
“Don’t worry, sweeting.” For an instant, a wink seemed to hang on his dark lashes, and then he whirled back with a deft sidestep, letting the missile fly harmlessly over his head. “I’ll not need you to pull my cods out of the fire today.”
Glass crunching under his boots, he angled away from the wall, forcing Gavin to retreat several steps. “Give it up. I’m not going to let you escape.”
Sweat sheened Gavin’s face and the glint in his eye reflected a rising panic. “Give it up? For what—Newgate and a date to dance the gallows jig?” The scalpel slashed through the air, a feint one way and then a quick cut that lanced to within an inch of the earl’s chest. “I’ll take my chances with a sodding cripple.”
“It’s your choice,” said Saybrook, parrying the thrust. His own blade swooshed back and forth. “I daresay I’d do the same. A noose takes a long time to choke the life from a man.”
With a snarled oath, Gavin suddenly pivoted and lashed out with a hard kick, desperation giving his attack added force. “The pistol, Charles, the pistol!” he screamed over his partner’s mewling moans. “For God’s sake, shoot him!”
As the earl’s leg buckled, Cockburn started crawling across the floor.
Saybrook dropped to a knee, but as Gavin raised his weapon and cut an arcing downward slice, he caught the other man’s wrist and gave a vicious twist.
A last frantic jerk and Arianna finally broke free of her bonds.
Too late? Too late?
The marquess was already reaching out for the weapon. . . .
Gulping for air, she dove for the table.
Struggling to break free, Gavin hammered a flurry of punches at Saybrook’s face. The earl countered by smashing the hilt of his knife into Gavin’s nose. Flailing and kicking, the two of them tumbled to the hard stone floor, tangled together in a bellicose blur of fists and steel.
Arianna dared not focus on their fight. Her fingers found the chamois and its bevy of lethal implements. Thank God for the theatrical tricks and circus games needed to keep a restive pirate audience amused in her former life. In one sweeping motion, she plucked up a slim two-edged blade, whipped around, and let it fly.
Sweet Revenge Page 29