Sweet Revenge lahm-1

by Andrea Penrose

  “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?”

  “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.

  “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.

  “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.

  “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.

  “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. . . .

  “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

  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.

  An 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.

  “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.”

  “I’ve accumulated a great deal of knowledge over my many years.” She paused to ring for tea. “And see no reason not to express it.”

  “I was hoping as much.”

  Lady Sterling’s pale gray eyes immediately looked more alert. “Does that mean your visit is not simply about making amends for your shocking neglect of your elderly great-aunt?”

  “My favorite elderly great-aunt,” amended Saybrook.

  She gave a snort. “Your only elderly great-aunt.”

  “I did bring a little something to make up for my shameful neglect.” He drew a small pasteboard box from his pocket.

  “My taste runs to sapphires these days,” quipped the dowager.

  Leaning forward, he placed it in her lap. “I shall leave the jewels to your other suitors. I think you’ll find these even more delicious.”

  The dowager opened the package and gingerly picked up a buttery brown cube dusted with cocoa powder. “Pray, what is it?”

  “Chocolate. Go ahead—taste it.”

  Her brows rose a notch higher. “My dear boy, I wasn’t born yesterday. If you wish to play puerile pranks on someone, please poison someone younger. My constitution is far too delicate to survive a mouthful of mud.”

  Saybrook laughed. “What fustian! You are hearty as a horse. And given your fondness for confections, you will be missing a rare treat if you refuse to be adventurous.”

  After a long look, she gave an experimental nibble. “Mmmm.” The rest of the morsel disappeared in a flash and the purr turned into a sigh. “Edible chocolate! Lud, how divine. Is this something you discovered in your grandmother’s journals?”

  “The journals hold a number of fascinating secrets,” he replied obliquely. “But speaking of stories . . .”

  Lady Sterling popped another piece of chocolate into her mouth. “Very well, now that you have sweetened me up, you may go ahead and tell me the real reason for your visit.”

  “I am hoping that your memory is as sharp as your sense of humor, Aunt Constantina. For I need help in unearthing some information from the past.” The earl shifted his outstretched leg. “You have always kept au courant with the gossip in Town. Do you recall an old scandal in which a gentleman of the ton was forced to emigrate to the West Indies?”

  “More than a few,” she replied dryly. “Jamaica and Barbados have long been popular spots for disposing of wayward sons. Can you be more specific?”

  Saybrook made a face. “Not really. I would say we are talking about something that happened between ten and fifteen years ago, but that’s merely a guess. The only thing I know for sure is that the gentleman involved had a young daughter who accompanied him to the islands.”

  “Hmmm.” Looking pensive, the dowager fingered the rope of pearls resting at her bodice. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I would rather you didn’t ask.”

  “A romantic interest?” she pressed, looking hopeful.

  He shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you but it’s nothing personal. I’m merely interested in solving a mystery, and if I could put a name to my conjecture, it would be extremely . . . useful.”

  “Let me think about it for a bit.” A sigh, almost imperceptible, fluttered between them. “I can also pay a call on Lady Octavia Marquand. When it comes to peccadilloes of the peerage, she puts even my knowledge to blush.”

  “A frightening thought,” observed Saybrook. He waited for the maid to place the tea tray on the table and leave the room before going on. “In all seriousness, Aunt Constantina, you must be absolutely discreet about making any inquiries. Not a soul must guess that you are trying to uncover information on a member of the ton.”

  Light winked off her spectacles. “Does this have anything to do with your military activities in the Peninsula?” She leaned forward. “Are you still a spy?”

  “I’m simply an invalid, with far too much idle time on my hands,” he replied.

  A wisp of steam floated up as she filled two cups. “And pigs have suddenly sprouted wings and can fly rings around the moon.”

  “Can they?” he replied without batting an eye. “Then perhaps the War Office ought to think of forming an aerial brigade to bombard Bonaparte’s army as they march east. God knows, the Russian tsar could use some help from Above to keep the French from invading his country.”

  The dowager emitted a low snort. “A clever try, but diversionary tactics won’t work on me, dear boy.” She wagged a finger. “For heaven’s sake, Sandro, I am very good at keeping a secret.”

  “If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. “However, the less you know, the better.”

  “You mean to say it might be dangerous?” she demanded.

  He stirred a lump of sugar into his tea. “Yes. So you must be very careful. God knows, I’ve enough on my conscience without drawing you into harm’s way. But time is of the essence, so I must set aside m
y personal scruples.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Sandro. I’ve a lifetime of experience in navigating through the shoals and crosscurrents of the ton,” replied Lady Sterling. “I’m more concerned about you. The waters can be very treacherous for those who are unfamiliar with the shifting tides and hidden whirlpools.”

  “I’m a strong swimmer, Aunt Constantina.”

  “So are the sharks, Sandro. And they are quick to scent even a single drop of blood in the water.”

  “The warning is duly noted. Be assured that I will take great care to preserve what little I have left.”

  “See that you do.” After a pointed look at his leg, she set down her beverage untasted. “Come back this evening. By that time I should have some answers for you.”

  Arianna opened the pasteboard folder that she had taken from Lady Spencer’s desk and studied the topmost page. Then, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper from the escritoire drawer, she copied the equations and began working through their permutations.

  Her father had loved the magic of mathematics, saying that it represented the essence of the universe. For him, numbers were gods.

  Or devils. She sighed. No, it was only humans who embodied them with positive or negative forces. In and of themselves, they were purely functional, though to her, their limitless possibilities for combinations and complexities held a certain abstract beauty.

  Looking back at her calculations, Arianna tapped the pencil to her chin. There was something familiar about the sequences, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  However, further calculations would have to wait. A discreet knocking reminded her of an appointment with a modiste in Bond Street.

  “Yes, I must swathe myself in fancy silks and satins,” she muttered, reluctantly returning the papers to their hiding place. “For I’ve a far more pressing challenge to meet than the task of solving a mathematical conundrum.”

  “Here is the dossier you requested, milord.”