Sweet Revenge

by Andrea Penrose

  The point spun a quicksilver trail through the dancing dust motes and buried itself deep into bone and flesh.

  Cockburn’s hand spasmed, then went slack as he screamed and collapsed in a dead faint.

  Arianna rushed to retrieve the pistol.

  “Here, here, I’ll take charge of that.” Saybrook wiped a bloodied palm on his torn trousers. “Your hands are shaking so badly that I fear you might accidentally fire at me.” He gently peeled away her fingers. “However unorthodox, we seem to make an effective team in fighting miscreants. Gavin is no longer a danger.”

  A lick of light caught the gleam of steel protruding from the dead man’s throat.

  She looked away. “Poetic justice, I suppose.”

  “Or divine retribution,” said Saybrook with unholy satisfaction. “The deities do not like it when mere mortals play God.”

  Her lower lip was cut, and as she swallowed, the acrid taste of blood, salt, and grains of gunpowder stung her tongue.

  “True,” she whispered, and then was suddenly aware of another soft sound melding with her sigh. The slither of wool.

  A wave of fury washed over her and for a moment she saw red—a deep, viscous bloodred.

  Her kick hit flush on target, but bare toes didn’t manage the desired wallop.

  “Allow me.” Saybrook drew back a booted foot. “Always aim for the jaw. It is a far more effective way to knock a man senseless.”

  Cockburn twitched as the muddy leather connected with a sickening thud, and then went very still.

  Despite the swelling on her cheekbone, Arianna managed a lopsided smile. “Gracias.”

  “De nada,” replied Saybrook with a soot-streaked grin. And then enfolded her in his arms.

  25

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  I have mixed up a fresh pot of glue, and Luisa has wielded her scissors with great care, trimming the last batch of my recipes so that I may paste them into these pages. They shall fill the rest of this journal, for I have become quite loquacious in my old age and rambled on longer than I intended. Tomorrow, I shall start a new notebook, for there is still much I wish to record. . . .

  Chocolate Chili Bread Pudding

  1 tablespoon unsalted butter plus additional for

  greasing ramekin

  ⅓ cup heavy cream

  2 ounces fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweet-

  ened or extra-bitter), chopped

  1½ teaspoons sugar

  ½ teaspoon vanilla

  ¼ teaspoon cinnamon

  ⅛ teaspoon cayenne

  1 large egg, lightly beaten

  ¾ cup cubes (1/2 inch) firm white sandwich bread

  (from about 2 slices)

  1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Generously butter ramekin or 1 muffin cup.

  2. Cook butter (1 tablespoon), cream, chocolate, sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, cayenne, and a pinch of salt in a 1- to 1½-quart heavy saucepan over low heat, stirring constantly, until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in egg until combined. Fold in bread cubes and let stand 5 minutes.

  3. Fill an 8 ounce ramekin with bread mixture and bake until puffed and set around edge but still moist in center, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool 5 minutes before serving. Serves one.

  The thump of approaching steps jarred her out of a dreamlike haze. She raised her cheek from Saybrook’s shoulder and stepped back. “What—”

  “Reinforcements,” murmured the earl.

  Before he could elaborate, Henning burst out of the darkened tunnel, brandishing a cavalry pistol. Behind him was a band of ragged men armed mostly with cudgels, though one or two naval cutlasses glinted in what light was left.

  Skidding to a stop, the surgeon surveyed the chaos. “Hell and damnation. I promised the laddies that they would get to kick a few lordly arses, and here you have gone and spoiled all the fun.”

  “My profound apologies.” said Saybrook dryly. “Next time I shall be more considerate of your men’s tender sensibilities.” He nodded at the ex-soldiers and sailors. “You can still lend a hand by carrying this corpse outside.”

  “What about that bilge rat?” asked one of the men, pointing to where Cockburn lay curled in the corner.

  “Leave him for now,” replied the earl. “Baz, perhaps you could tend to his scratches. We wouldn’t want him to bleed to death before we hand him over to the authorities.”

  At that, Cockburn’s whimpers grew louder.

  The surgeon blew out a huff of disgust. “I’d rather cut off his cojones. But I suppose we ought to let justice take its proper course.” He gave a curt wave at Gavin’s lifeless form. “Haul the carcass away, laddies. And keep a close guard on things outside until we decide how te deal with this night’s work.”

  “It was all Gavin . . . he forced me . . . I can explain . . . ,” began Cockburn.

  Ignoring the appeal, Henning turned to Arianna. “What about you, lassie? Are ye hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No. A few bumps is all.” She chafed at her arms, feeling a chill seep through her skin now that the warmth of Saybrook’s big body was gone. “And perhaps a slight headache from the Devil’s Delight.”

  The surgeon brushed a callused fingertip to her cheek. “I’ve got some arnica salve in the carriage. It will keep the bruising down.” To the earl he added, “I thought ye were going to keep her safe! Did ye stop fer a wee dram along the way?”

  “Don’t badger the earl,” she murmured. “He was . . .” A storybook hero? No, that made her sound like a sentimental schoolgirl. “He was . . . quite efficient, especially considering his recent injury.”

  “Yes, well, we have chocolate to thank for a happy ending to this affair,” quipped Saybrook. “I owe my restored strength to its potent healing properties.”

  Healing. For all her aches and bruises, Arianna realized that she felt remarkably free of pain.

  “Help me! I’m dying.” Cockburn’s piteous whine interrupted their exchange.

  “Ye deserve to,” muttered the surgeon, reluctantly shuffling over to the marquess.

  “I swear, it was all Gavin’s idea,” repeated Cockburn, as Henning began to tend to his injured hands.

  “Indeed?” said Arianna. She imagined that Saybrook would subject the dastard to a thorough interrogation, but first she had some questions of her own. “We’ve already figured out the basics of the stock scheme, and I now understand why Prinny was poisoned. But how did Major Crandall fit in? Why did he try to kill Lady Spencer’s chef?”

  “C-Crandall was my cousin.” Cockburn groaned as Henning staunched the bleeding with strips of linen torn from Gavin’s cravat. “He was recruited to keep us informed about state security activities.”

  “So it was he who told you about the upcoming secret meeting of allies?” asked the earl.

  “Yes,” answered Cockburn. “The timing seemed perfect, and he was supposed to ensure that the chef was blamed for the Prince’s demise. But when you were called in to investigate, it was decided to eliminate the chef. You see, Gavin worried that the cursed fellow had spotted him sneaking into the kitchen.”

  Arianna thought back to the night, and the other shadowy figure she had seen with Concord in the corridor. “So Concord knew nothing about the poisoned chocolate?”

  “No, nothing at all. We—That is, Gavin made up an excuse concerning the Devil’s Delight narcotic in order to arrange for a clandestine meeting at Lady Spencer’s town house. He claimed it was urgent business, but he didn’t want Lady Spencer to know of the partnership, lest she demand a cut.” Cockburn drew a deep breath. “As we told you, Concord was unaware of our plans for a New World trading company. He only became suspicious when Kellton panicked over Crandall’s death and ended up revealing more about the scope of the business than he should have.”

  How ironic, thought Arianna. Once again, the echo of her father’s laugh began to whisper in her head, along with the lines
of his favorite poem. The best laid plans of mice and men . . .

  “And Lady Spencer had no idea about any of this, either?” she asked.

  “No. She was only involved with Concord and Kellton on a minor deal to supply cheap boots to the army at premium price. Her role was to persuade the Prince to award them the contract.”

  Saybrook shifted his stance, throwing his face deeper into shadow. “Kellton was brought in because of his experience with the East India Company, correct?”

  “He was very clever with numbers and had a great deal of experience with drafting shipping records,” confirmed Cockburn. “But more than that, his amorous relationship with Lady Spencer allowed him to gain access to certain important financial papers. Her grandfather was—”

  “We know who he was,” interrupted Arianna. “Just as we know his papers were key in helping you create your new company’s calculations.”

  “How—,” began Cockburn.

  “Never mind that,” said Saybrook brusquely. “I want to know more about Crandall. He was Grentham’s lackey, so does that mean that the minister is one of your conspirators?”

  “God, no. If Grentham has a weakness, it is not money.” Cockburn grimaced. “Nor anything else that I could discern. I was delegated to judge whether he might be tempted to join our group, but in the end, I advised that it was too dangerous to try.”

  “So it was you, from your position in the Foreign Ministry, who made contact with the French?” pressed the earl.

  “N-nobody in Europe is going to stop Napoleon,” responded Cockburn evasively. “His new army is going to thrash the Eastern opposition. So it was in our country’s best interest to engineer an end to this interminable conflict and sue for peace.” His voice grew more wheedling. “Think of all the lives that would be saved.”

  “And what of my father?” asked Arianna softly. “Why did you and Gavin decide that he should die?

  Cockburn wet his lips. “I swear, it wasn’t my decision. I was quite fond of Richard—really I was. But he cost us a great deal of money by refusing a reasonable fee to handle the mathematics for a very lucrative deal with a Baltic supplier of naval supplies.”

  Her father’s blood, calculated in buckets of pine tar and spruce spars.

  “And then, he threatened to expose the arrangement. So, well . . .” Cockburn gave a beseeching lift of his shoulders. “I was an ocean away! Had I been there, I would have tried to use reason. But as you saw, Lady Arianna, Gavin could turn violent when crossed. If only Richard hadn’t pushed him.”

  If only. Arianna couldn’t find her voice. She looked away, only to catch a fleeting glance of Saybrook’s lidded gaze darkening to the color of coal.

  “Getting back to the present crimes, you must have a French contact here in London. Who is he—or she?” demanded Saybrook, darting a sidelong glance at her. “For I’ve learned not to underestimate the female intellect.”

  “I—I don’t know, I swear! Gavin arranged it all. I only know his code name. R-renard.”

  The fox.

  “How very crafty of you,” murmured Arianna. “Did you think a plea of ignorance would excuse your treason?”

  “Gavin was just a lowly baronet, and had become obsessed with acquiring wealth and power above his station—he went too far! I couldn’t stop him.” Cockburn was babbling now, and appealing to the earl with a wave of his newly bandaged hands. “Surely you see that, Saybrook. He wasn’t a true gentleman, not like us. God help me but I was as much a victim as anyone. I agreed to skim a few profits, not be party to murder. Once it began, I had no choice but to go along with his plans. You’ll help me explain it all to the authorities, because . . . because . . .”

  “Because of the bonds of blue blood?” suggested the earl. “The fraternity of titled families whose heritage stretches back centuries?”

  “Yes. Precisely.” Expelling a sigh of relief, Cockburn flashed a sweaty smile. “I knew you would understand.”

  “Ah, but you forget that I am a mongrel.” Saybrook grimaced in disgust. “And you—you are a contemptible cur.”

  Cockburn’s jaw went slack.

  “Take him away, Baz. Before I succumb to the urge to kick his bloody teeth out through his arse.”

  The echo of the receding steps seemed to distort in the heavy air, for to Arianna, the thuds suddenly sounded like soft claps that were coming closer and closer.

  “Bravo, Lord Saybrook.” Grentham emerged from the gloom, his leather-clad hands coming together in mock applause. “Bravo. A most entertaining performance. Normally, I dislike it intensely when a crisis demands that I leave the comforts of my office and take charge of an actual mission. But I wouldn’t have missed this one for the world.”

  Saybrook swung around with a scowl. “How edifying to know that I provided you with such amusement. Would you have enjoyed an extra laugh had the lady’s throat been cut?”

  “It was imperative to have Cockburn confess to his crimes,” replied the minister. “By the by, you did an excellent job of drawing the details out of him. As I said, I much prefer to let my underlings mop up the muck, so it saved me a great deal of bother.”

  “Be grateful that I don’t ram those supercilious words right back down you gullet,” growled Saybrook. “You, too, have some explaining to do.”

  “Do I?” Grentham arched an imperious brow. “Actually, I don’t answer to anyone. The Prime Minister has entrusted me with state security and doesn’t much care how I get the job done.”

  “Officially speaking, you may be right.” Saybrook flexed his bloody hands. “But at the moment I’m not in the mood for word games, Grentham. Why did you draw me into this mess?”

  For a moment, it appeared to Arianna as if the minister wouldn’t answer. Then, with a slight shrug, he said, “I suspected Crandall was spying on me, but hadn’t yet figured out why. I needed someone outside my department to put pressure on him and his fellow conspirators. I had overheard your uncle mentioning your interest in chocolate. I knew of your war record, of course, and your intelligence work with Wellington’s staff. So, seeing as chocolate was the agent used for the poisoning, I took a chance on bringing you in.”

  “Figuring you had nothing to lose,” said the earl. “Whether I made a mull of it, or got myself killed, it didn’t really matter.”

  “I did all I could to aid your investigations.”

  “Right—the dossier on Kellton.” Saybrook frowned. “How long did you know about Lady Arianna?”

  “That was, I confess, an unexpected twist. . . .”

  Arianna felt his cold gaze flick to her.

  “Not that it really matters who she is,” added Grentham.

  “Goddamn you,” growled Saybrook. “If anything had happened—”

  “Tut, tut, surely there wasn’t any real danger. After all, you assured me on several occasions that you were quite capable of defending yourself.” Grentham shot another faintly contemptuous look at Arianna. “And the females who are under your protection.” The acrid air quivered with a deliberately drawn-out pause. “You seem quite fond of surrounding yourself with less than respectable ones.”

  A crystalline crackle broke the silence as Saybrook took several quick strides over the broken glass, bringing him nearly nose to nose with the minister. “Excuse us for a moment, Lady Arianna, while Lord Grentham and I step outside for a word in private.”

  After a slight hesitation, the minister followed him into the tunnel.

  “Well?” drawled Grentham, his breath forming a pale puff of vapor against the netherworld shadows.

  In answer, the earl seized him by the lapels and slammed him up against the rock wall. Chalk dust blossomed from the fissures, coating Grentham’s well-tailored shoulders with a sprinkling of grit.

  “Having done your dirty work for you, I’m anxious to go home and wash my hands of Whitehall and its sordid games. But before I do, let us get a few things straight. First of all, leave my family alone. Or do you wish to have your own peccadilloes made publ
ic?”

  Grentham’s nostrils flared. “Don’t try to taunt me with vague threats, Saybrook. You heard Cockburn—I had no involvement in his filthy scheme.”

  “Perhaps not, but you, of all people, nursed a traitorous viper—several, in fact—at the very bosom of the government’s highest ministries. At best, you will look like a bloody fool. At worst . . . well, I shall leave it to the newspapers to debate the possibilities. There is, after all, still the matter of an unknown French operative loose in London.”

  The earl’s words wiped the last trace of smugness from Grentham’s face.

  “Second, I will not have Lady Arianna suffer for finding herself caught in this intrigue. Is that understood?”

  “Let a murderer go free? Tsk, tsk, where is your noble sense of justice now?” Seeing Saybrook’s jaw tighten, the minister added, “Oh, yes, I’ve figured that one out. Henning is a clever surgeon, but so is the fellow I employ for certain tasks.”

  “She has paid more than enough for her father’s sins. If now she wishes to take her rightful place in Society, you will do nothing to stir up trouble for her.”

  “Trouble? Lady Arianna has created her own trouble.” A note of malice had crept back into the minister’s voice. “Even if I were to agree to your demands, she can hardly appear in London, claiming to be Richard Hadley’s daughter. Not after parading around Mayfair these last few weeks as the Widow Wolcott.”

  The earl remained grimly silent.

  “And be assured that no explanation of this affair will ever be made public. It will be reported that Gavin perished in a carriage accident, fleeing after killing Concord in a drunken fight over gambling debts.” The minister dusted a speck of chalk from his lapel. “And alas, Cockburn will suffer a hunting accident at his country house. A faulty cartridge, I believe. Yes, yes, it will explode his new rifle, taking off his hands and head.”