Sweet Revenge lahm-1

by Andrea Penrose

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “I will also be attending Lady Ravenell’s ball.”

  “But why?” blurted out Arianna.

  “I wish to observe them for myself.” There was a slight pause. “And then there is Lady Spencer to cultivate.”

  The thought of the earl and the widow together stirred a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Yes, well, keep in mind that she is like one of those exotic plants that devours flesh-and-blood creatures that stray too close.”

  “Why should you care about me?” he asked, echoing her earlier challenge.

  “I don’t. That’s another fundamental difference between us. I’ve long since learned that sentimental feelings are a waste of effort.”

  This time, when she turned, the earl made no move to stop her.

  However, his last words swirled through the shadows, a taunting whisper just loud enough to be heard over the angry tattoo of her boots.

  “Until this evening, Lady Arianna.”

  “Another corpse was brought to my attention early this morning, Lord Saybrook.” Looking up from his desk, Grentham set aside the paper he had been reading and tapped his fingertips together. “I find it very disconcerting.”

  “Much as I hate to upset you further, I daresay more than one person expired in London over the course of the night,” responded the earl. “Large cities are, by their nature, dangerous places. The government really ought to consider establishing a permanent professional force to police the streets.”

  The tapping stopped. “I shall pass your suggestion on to the proper department. However, I didn’t summon you here to discuss the moral imperative of protecting the public.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Grentham waited for him to go on, but Saybrook merely straightened his leg and began pinching specks of dust from his trousers.

  “Have you any explanation, Lord Saybrook?” asked the minister, after allowing the sartorial adjustment to go on for several moments. “For the dead body, that is, not the state of city crime.”

  “Should I?” asked the earl.

  “A tall man with a limp was seen near the house of the deceased sometime just before dawn.”

  “Leg injuries are hardly uncommon in London. What with war veterans and occupational hazards—”

  “Spare me the litany of statistics,” snapped Grentham. “I’m not interested in numbers. I’m interested in information. Which is something I’ve gotten precious little of from you.”

  “Perhaps if I were not distracted with pointless meetings, I would have time to pursue my investigations more effectively.” He paused. “By the by, what has the death to do with the Prince and his poisoner? Was it perchance the missing chef? How convenient if he were to have imbibed a surfeit of his own creations.”

  Grentham narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play games with me.”

  “That would be foolhardy,” replied the earl. “And I’m not a fool.”

  “So I have heard.” Leaning back, the minister contemplated the stack of gold-stamped document cases arranged on his desk. The dark green grained leather mirrored the exact shade of his well-tailored coat. Both appeared nearly black in the subdued light. “The dead man is Gideon Kellton. Were you acquainted with him?”

  “He was a director of the East India Company, was he not?” answered Saybrook.

  “Yes.”

  “How was he killed?” inquired the earl. “Stabbed? Shot? Strangled?”

  Grentham stiffened, his nose lifting slightly, like a bird dog catching a scent. “What makes you think he was murdered?”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across the earl’s face. “You would hardly be summoning me here to say that the fellow had died peacefully in his sleep.”

  “The cause of his death is not clear,” said Grentham tightly, clearly unhappy at having to make the admission. “It’s possible that it was a natural one. But certain things appear, shall we say . . . suspicious.”

  The earl lifted a brow. “Indeed? And is that the opinion of your medical experts? For I would imagine that you employ some very highly skilled men.”

  The comment drew an unblinking stare. “Unfortunately, the local physician who was summoned made a complete muck of matters. The body was moved, the clothing pulled in disarray, and the desk where he was sitting cleared of his work.”

  “A pity,” murmured Saybrook. “I know of someone who is very good at discovering the secrets that lie beneath the skin. I am sure he would be happy to offer his services.”

  “Ah, yes, your erstwhile army comrade, Basil Henning. Who, interestingly enough, was a visitor at your town house this morning.”

  “Things must be dreadfully dull around here if a routine visit from the surgeon who treats my war wound draws the attention of your spies.” Saybrook stood without the aid of his cane. “As you can see I am making great progress in my recovery.”

  Grentham ignored the barb. “How fortunate for you. Do try to make headway in other matters as well, Lord Saybrook. A clever man like you should not be finding the way so difficult.”

  “Patience is a virtue.”

  “Not for me.” The minister rose and moved around his desk. “So save your platitudes for those dull-witted enough to believe that the meek shall inherit the earth. We both recognize a bald-faced lie when we see one.”

  “I defer to your greater experience with lies and deception.”

  “Oh, I seem to recall from our previous conversation that you and your family are not quite so virtuous as you wish to appear.” The hazy gray light from the windows was just bright enough to catch the glimmer of malice in Grentham’s gaze. “I trust you remember what we discussed.”

  “Every word.” Saybrook’s reply was almost lost in the sudden pelter of rain against the glass panes.

  “Good. Then we understand each other.” He dismissed the earl with a flick of his wrist. “I repeat, I am not a patient man.”

  16

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  By 1700, there were over two thousand chocolate houses open in London. They served as social clubs—for men, of course—and became known as places of political intrigue. I think Sandro would appreciate the fact that chocolate helped foment revolutionary ideas. Even as a young boy, he had very egalitarian views for a titled peer; I am proud of his principles, but I fear such they will lead him into trouble. . . .

  Chocolate Whiskey Bundt Cake

  1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch-processed), plus 3 tablespoons for dusting pan

  1½ cups brewed coffee

  ½ cup American whiskey

  2 sticks unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces

  2 cups sugar

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  1¼ teaspoon baking soda

  ½ teaspoon salt

  2 large eggs

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 325ºF. Butter 3-quart (10-inch) Bundt pan well, then dust with 3 tablespoons cocoa powder, knocking out excess.

  2. Heat coffee, whiskey, butter, and remaining cocoa powder in a 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, whisking, until butter is melted. Remove from heat, then add sugar and whisk until dissolved, about 1 minute. Transfer mixture to a large bowl and cool 5 minutes.

  3. While chocolate mixture cools, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Whisk together eggs and vanilla in a small bowl, then whisk into cooled chocolate mixture until combined well. Add flour mixture and whisk until just combined (batter will be thin and bubbly). Pour batter into Bundt pan and bake until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 40 to 50 minutes.

  4. Cool cake completely in pan on a rack, about 2 hours. Loosen cake from pan using tip of a dinner knife, then invert rack over pan and turn cake out onto rack.

  The blaze of lights, brilliant in its fire . . . the thrum of voices, edged with anticipation . . . the feel of a costume, disguising her real self. . .

 
; Quelling a last little flutter of nerves, Arianna glided into the crowded ballroom, reminding herself of the ragtag theater in Barbados and how many times she had acted out a part in a play. This was just a more sumptuous stage, and the audience, despite their wealth and veneer of worldly sophistication, was just as willing to be deceived.

  “You are looking deliciously lovely tonight, Lady Wolcott.” Gavin bowed low over her hand. When he lifted his head, it was to reveal a wolfish smile.

  “Good enough to eat?” she teased in a throaty murmur.

  “Oh, I imagine the taste would be sublimely sweet.” It was Concord who replied. He sidled closer, forcing his friend to step back, and took hold of her gloved palm. “Allow me to claim the first dance.”

  Gavin looked a little miffed but didn’t protest.

  “How can I resist such a charming invitation?” said Arianna with a coy flick of her fan.

  He offered his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.

  “Thank you for the flowers this morning, sir,” she said, stepping just a touch closer than was proper. “How very kind of you.”

  “I regret that I was unable to be as attentive as I wished last night.”

  “Oh, you gentlemen and your boring matters of business.” She made a little pout. “It’s quite naughty of you to let it interfere with pleasure. But I shall allow you to make up for your neglect.”

  “I was hoping you would.” His palm flattened on the small of her back, the slight friction raising an involuntary shiver. He smiled, interpreting her reaction as something other than loathing. “Tomorrow night we are having another party. Will you come?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied, looking up through her lashes. “It’s a pleasure to be part of such an interesting group.”

  “Just as it’s a pleasure to discover someone who has an appetite for enjoying all that life has to offer,” said Concord in a low whisper. “If you truly find our gatherings to your taste, we may invite you to become a member of an even more select group. A club, if you will. One that meets on occasion to partake of very special treats.”

  Arianna hid her excitement with a breathy laugh. “I assure you, I’m very interested.”

  “I thought you might be.” The steps of the waltz drew them back among the other twirling couples, and for the rest of the melody they exchanged naught but light pleasantries. When the music ended, he bowed low over her hand. “Alas, I shall not be able to request another dance, Lady Wolcott, for I fear that another engagement demands my presence.”

  “I do hope you won’t be distracted tomorrow,” she murmured.

  “I shall take care that no more unwanted interruptions occur.”

  Gavin’s approach to claim the next set ended the exchange. Tapping her fan to Concord’s shoulder, she flashed him a wink. “I shall hold you to your word, sir.”

  For the next hour, Arianna spun across the polished parquet, one partner blurring into another. Several of Concord’s cronies were among them, as well as a number of gentlemen introduced to her by Mellon. She seemed to be treading a fine line between good and bad. Light and dark. Glancing around the glittering ballroom, Arianna reminded herself that she couldn’t afford the slightest stumble.

  A second look did not reveal Saybrook among the guests. He might be in one of the side rooms, she mused. Or he might have decided to change his plans. Regardless, he could find no fault with her actions this evening—she had performed her assigned duty of distraction.

  Suddenly thirsty, she requested that her next partner, a captain in the Coldstream Guards, fetch a glass of punch in the short interlude between sets.

  Her drink, however, was brought back by a different gentleman, who explained that the captain had been called away on a different duty.

  “Oh?” Arianna eyed the stranger over the rim of the glass. A thin visage, tapering to a pointed chin, a straight nose, pointing to a pair of narrow lips—his face would have been unremarkable, save the intensity of his gunmetal-gray eyes. Something about them stirred a sense of unease.

  Dropping her gaze, she asked, “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”

  He responded with a razor-thin smile. “That remains to be seen, Lady Wolcott.”

  Perhaps it was just her imagination, but he seemed to be trying to frighten her. “Dear me, that sounds rather ominous,” said Arianna lightly before pausing for a long sip of her drink. “Have we met, sir?” she challenged, deciding to match his slightly aggressive tone.

  “I’ve not yet had the pleasure of a formal introduction, but having heard so much about you, madam, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to make your acquaintance.” His bow was barely more than a dip of his head. “I am Lord Grentham.”

  The announcement turned her insides to ice.

  “Allow me to take the captain’s place,” he said as the musicians struck up the first notes of a waltz. It was more of an order than a request.

  Somehow, she forced her lips to bend in a smile. There was nothing to do but brazen it out and slide into a second—or was it third?—skin.

  I am not quite sure who I am anymore.

  “But of course.” Setting aside her glass, Arianna let him lead her out onto the dance floor. “Your name is familiar, sir—I must have heard it mentioned by Mr. Mellon. Are the two of you friends?”

  “I am well acquainted with all of your relatives, including the Earl of Saybrook.” Grentham spun them through the first turn. “Indeed, I am well acquainted with most everyone in London Society. Save for you.”

  “Alas, you won’t find me very interesting, sir. I’ve lived far removed from the glitter and glamour of city life.”

  “On the contrary, Lady Wolcott. You fascinate me.”

  Fighting down a feeling of vertigo, Arianna moved through another twirl. Steady, steady. There was no reason to panic—she had been in slippery situations before.

  “Then it seems you are easily amused, sir.”

  In another man, the rumble in his throat might have been mistaken for a laugh. “Ask anyone and you will be assured that I have no sense of humor.”

  “And why is that?” she asked.

  “Because I am in charge of state security, Lady Wolcott, and as such, it is my duty to keep the country safe from those nefarious persons who would do it harm.”

  “I can see that is no laughing matter, sir.”

  Grentham subjected her to a piercing stare. Up close, his eyes appeared even more steely. Sharp. Merciless. They bore into her with unrelenting intensity.

  “No, it is not. I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

  Arianna had long ago learned that any show of fear encouraged a predator to go for the jugular. Lifting her chin, she regarded him with a show of sangfroid. “Then I wonder why you choose to indulge in such frivolous activities as dancing, Lord Grentham. Especially with a provincial nobody.”

  “Oh, don’t underestimate yourself, Lady Wolcott.” His voice dropped a notch. “Be assured I don’t.”

  She assumed an expression of polite puzzlement. “I confess, sir, I’m not sure that I follow your meaning.”

  A quick sidestep and intricate twirl seemed deliberately designed to throw her off balance. “And yet your footwork seems extraordinarily adroit,” he remarked after she had come through the moves without missing a step.

  “Dancing is a skill that all proper young ladies are expected to master.”

  The minister’s gaze shifted for an instant, as if distracted by a movement across the crowded room.

  “Along with a number of other feminine wiles,” murmured Grentham.

  “La, you appear to have a harsh opinion of the opposite sex, sir.” Arianna batted her lashes, hoping her nonchalance didn’t ring too false. Given his interest in her, the minister must be aware of her attraction to Concord and his crowd, so a bit of boldness was in character. “Is there nothing I can do to win your regard?”

  His flash of teeth was clearly not meant to be a smile. “We shall see, Lady Wolcott, we shall see.”

>   They danced through the next few figures in silence. Then, much to her relief, the music rose to a sweeping crescendo and came to a flourishing end.

  “Thank you for such a delightful interlude,” said the minister as he escorted her to the perimeter of the room. An undertone of mockery gave an ominous edge to his words. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”

  Yes, I imagine that you did, thought Arianna.

  He kept hold of her hand for just a fraction longer. “By the by, I won’t find any record of a William Wolcott in Yorkshire, will I?”

  “Of course you will,” she replied without hesitation. “Why would I lie, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Lady Wolcott. But I intend to find out.”

  Inwardly shaken by the encounter, Arianna signaled to a passing footman for a glass of champagne. Being adrift in a sea of strangers only heightened her awareness of all the hidden shoals beneath the surface of London Society. The myriad faces, alight with . . .

  Spotting the earl across the room, she suddenly veered away from the secluded spot behind the potted palms.

  “Any shelter in a storm,” she whispered under her breath. Saybrook was standing apart from the crowd with an elderly lady who, despite her advanced age, still possessed a regal beauty. It appeared that they were engaged in a private conversation.

  Ah, but I am family, she thought wryly.

  It would appear odd, too, if she did not pay her respects to him.

  The earl looked up as she approached, his expression hovering somewhere between wariness and welcome. “You see, Aunt Constantina, I told you that our newly arrived relative would be anxious to make your acquaintance,” he said dryly. “Lady Wolcott, I’m sure the dowager Marchioness of Sterling needs no introduction.”

  “None whatsoever,” responded Arianna, picking up her cue. “It is, of course, a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Sterling.”

  The dowager raised her quizzing glass to one eye, the thick lens magnifying its speculative gleam. After a long moment of scrutiny, she let the beribboned handle fall back against her bosom. “What side of the family are you from?” she inquired brusquely.