Sweet Revenge lahm-1

by Andrea Penrose

  “What sort of deal?” urged Arianna.

  “I don’t know, but it looked important.” Her smile returned. “And I could tell that Mr. K was very nervous that I had seen the papers, so I was making a little extra blunt from him for keeping quiet about it.” She lowered her voice even more. “Concord has a nasty temper and tends to turn violent if he thinks he is being cheated.”

  Kellton was cheating Concord? Arianna gave an inward grimace. That didn’t seem to make any sense. But given Lady Spencer’s state of inebriation, perhaps she was getting things garbled. It seemed clear that she knew nothing about the New World trading company.

  “How exceedingly clever of you,” murmured Arianna. Keep talking, keep talking, she added silently. Saybrook needed to know all the details for his investigation, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

  Lady Spencer nodded. “Yes! But unfortunately Mr. K succumbed to a fit of apoplexy. And now I fear that Concord suspects I knew about the deception and didn’t tell him. So it’s possible that as a way to get back at me, he bribed my chef to poison the Prince.” She frowned. “Or he may have done it for a reason I don’t yet know about.”

  Arianna thought for a moment. Concord had been in the corridor near the kitchen on the night of the poisoning . But he hadn’t been alone. Damnation—if only she had been able to make out the other man’s face in the swirl of shadows. Knowing his identity might help answer a number of questions.

  Noting that Lady Spencer was watching her intently, she curled a cool smile. “Ah, I see what you mean. You would like me to see what dirt I can dig out of Concord.”

  “You are a sly little puss, aren’t you?”

  Arianna let out a little laugh. “I didn’t become a rich widow by being a sweet, biddable little girl.”

  An answering cackle stirred the air. “Try to find out what his feelings are about me—men do like to talk in bed. And, by the by, try to find out where he’s getting this Devil’s Delight.”

  “The Devil’s Delight?” repeated Arianna, pretending that she had never heard the name mentioned before.

  Lady Spencer tapped her now empty glass. “It’s a special drug that will bring in a fortune from rich men who crave new excitement. If we can learn who his partner is, and how they get their supplies, we could demand to be part of the deal.” Her rouged lips curled up in a quick smile. “You would, of course, get a share of the profits. Do we have a agreement?”

  “Oh, yes.” How sublimely ironic that the request melded so well with her own intentions. “Be assured that you can count on me.”

  Lady Spencer’s low titter was cut off by a loud laugh. Concord was fast approaching, his boots clicking a staccato tattoo over the polished wood floor.

  Smiling, Arianna quickly turned to greet him with a flirtatious look. “La, I hear you’ve been sampling a stimulating new treat. Aren’t you going to invite me to have a taste?”

  “But of course.” His eyes were dilated, and his whole body seemed to crackle with a strange sort of energy. “I was just coming to ask if you would like to join me in a special toast before the real festivities begin.” He touched her arm, and she could feel the heat of him pulse against her skin.

  Lady Spencer melted away into the shadows, but not before fluttering a last little wink.

  “I would like nothing better!” Arianna didn’t have to feign a note of anticipation. At last, at last. After all the years of battling for every hard-won step, things were beginning to move at a dizzying pace. No wonder she felt a little breathless.

  Concord’s grin stretched into a leer. “Then come with me.”

  “You suspected this,” said Henning.

  “Yes.” Saybrook checked the priming of his pistol. “Put Lady Arianna in a position to do something that should strike terror into the heart of any mere mortal, and one can pretty much count on her setting off in a flash.

  The surgeon blew out his cheeks.

  “Your man is sure that her carriage was headed out of the city?” asked the earl.

  “Aye, he trailed it until he was certain of the direction,” answered Henning. “There’s something else you should know, though. He’s also positive that Lady Arianna was being followed by someone else.”

  “One of Grentham’s spies, no doubt,” replied Saybrook matter-of-factly. “I caught sight of a fellow when I was leaving your surgery.”

  “Well, your surveillance skills from the Peninsula seem as sharp as ever,” said Henning. “And yet you seem awfully calm about it. Isn’t the minister’s interest in the lassie cause for alarm?”

  Saybrook didn’t look up from adjusting the flint. “There is no use speculating about Grentham’s motives in this case. The man is a cipher. He could very well be the one who ordered her lured to Wooburn Moor, or he could have other reasons for keeping a close watch on her.”

  “By the by, how the devil did you know she was headed for Wooburn Moor?” demanded Henning. “Have you taken up reading tea leaves, or scrying the future in a crystal ball?”

  “The answer is far more mundane. I visited Lady Spencer this afternoon, and in the process of becoming better acquainted with her, she invited me to attend the same party.”

  “You should have said yes. That way you could have kept a closer eye on Lady Arianna.”

  “I’m not sure she would welcome the scrutiny.” Saybrook flicked a grain of gunpowder from the polished steel. “Besides, such a move might scare away our quarry. We’ve gone to a good deal of trouble to bring Concord sniffing around her skirts. It would be a pity to have all our efforts go for naught.”

  “Isn’t that rather liked staking out a lamb to draw in a wolf,” groused the surgeon.

  “Ha—if he tries to take a bite, he’ll break his teeth.”

  “The lady is remarkably capable,” replied Henning. “But these men are ruthless murderers. I am surprised you aren’t more worried.”

  “My feelings are irrelevant.” The earl began loading the second weapon of his matched set. “There appears to be a dangerous conspiracy threatening to do great harm to the country. We have a duty to expose it, Baz, and see the miscreants arrested, no matter the risks involved.”

  “Sounds awfully cold-blooded to me.”

  “On the contrary, Lady Arianna would likely carve out my liver if I were to interfere in her quest to bring Concord and his coconspirators to justice. As you learned from Ashmun’s revelations, she has personal reasons for wishing to see the men responsible for her father’s death locked up in Newgate.”

  “I still don’t like it,” muttered the surgeon. “Ashmun—”

  “Ashmun is no threat to her,” said the earl.

  “How do you know that? You weren’t so certain at our last meeting.”

  “Because I paid him a visit after my tête-à-tête with Lady Spencer. As you know, I’ve experience in interrogating prisoners. I’m satisfied that he is telling the truth.” His face was a mask of concentration as he methodically checked over the trigger mechanism. “Which means that, as I feared, Lady Arianna has been only partly right in her quest for revenge.”

  Henning pursed his lips. “What—”

  “Never mind that now. I am taking what precautions I can, and will do my best to keep her safe.” Click, click. The hammer cocked and released. “Speaking of which,” went on Saybrook, “do you have your troops assembled?”

  “Aye. I’ve four laddies from the First Royal Scots Foot Regiment waiting to come with us in your coach. In addition, a half dozen of my friends from the Royal Navy are traveling by boat to the estate. They will hide themselves and wait for our signal to show themselves.”

  “They will likely make better time on the water than the coach will over the rutted country roads,” observed the earl. “Which is why I’ve decided to go on by horseback while you and your foot soldiers follow in the coach. Lady Arianna has a head start, but I should be able to make up the time.”

  Henning made a face but didn’t argue. “Yer leg will hold up?”

&nb
sp; “I can ride to Hades and back if necessary.” Saybrook tucked extra bullets and a flask of powder into his pocket. “I trust that your men are in fighting trim?”

  “A few fingers and toes may be missing,” admitted the surgeon. “But the men are still crack shots and handy with their fists. I’d pit them against any foe.”

  “Good.” He slid the pistols into a well-worn cavalry saddle holster. “We may encounter no trouble. But if all hell breaks loose, I would like to believe that we can beat the devil at his own game.”

  Despite the sugar, the liquid was sharply sour, like dried lemons, and left Arianna’s tongue feeling a bit numb.

  “Odd,” she murmured, regarding Concord over the rim of the glass.

  “It’s an acquired taste. But you will soon be craving more,” he assured her. Smacking his lips, he quaffed the rest of his drink in one hungry swallow and then quickly poured a refill. “Come, let us drink to the Devil.”

  She drew in a mouthful before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Covering her lips with her glove, she muffled the sound. “Ooooh, it tickles.”

  He gave a wolfish grin, unaware that most of the libation was now soaking into the delicate kidskin. “I can think of lots more ways to bring a tingle to your flesh, Lady Wolcott.”

  “You,” she teased, “are a very naughty man.”

  His gaze turned lidded. “Guilty as charged.” Placing a hand on her hip, Concord steered her to a long, low divan set near the hearth.

  “Just how naughty?” she said archly, obediently taking a seat on the buttery soft leather. Bold striped pillows of black and gold accented the vivid shade of scarlet. Kicking off her slippers, she sunk her stocking-clad toes into the thick bearskin rug beneath her feet.

  He merely smiled and moved away to latch the door shut.

  The room, a private parlor located at the end of a long, winding corridor, reminded her of some of the fancier bordellos she had seen in her Caribbean travels. Gaudy colors, expensive decorations—her head was beginning to ache from all the gilding. Or maybe it was because of the drug. Despite all the little tricks learned in her tropical travels, she had been forced to drink more than she wished, in order not to stir his suspicions.

  She tapped her nearly empty glass. “Lady Spencer says this is your own special elixir. I’ve never had anything like it.”

  “That’s because it’s something very new and very costly.” Concord took a seat next to her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. Twitch, twitch, twitch. A strange current of heat was rippling through his muscles, making it hard for him to sit still.

  Smoothing at her skirts, Arianna summoned her resolve. I will sleep with Satan himself if it will bring justice for Papa. The declaration, so forcefully asserted in another time and place, was harder to hold on to now, with the devil’s hot breath tickling her cheek.

  Concord had carried a slim crystal bottle of the elixir cradled in his arms from the drawing room. Holding it up to the sconce, he set the contents to turning in a slow whirl. “It’s made from an exotic plant, brought all the way from South America.”

  Backlit by the flames, the tiny white flecks in the liquid swirled like snow. She widened her eyes. “Wherever did you find it?”

  The elixir was spinning faster and faster and faster, a whirlpool of white. He watched, mesmerized for a moment, before emitting a low laugh. “Oh, I have my sources.”

  The Earl of Cockburn?

  The name was on the tip of her tongue, but Arianna caught herself. Recalling Saybrook’s gruff growl only echoed the voice in her own head.

  Be careful.

  Concord surely considered himself cleverer than other men—she must turn that strength into a weakness.

  “Oh, I see.” Arianna deliberately added a shade of disappointment to her voice. “I thought Lady Spencer said that you had created it. But what she meant was that you merely purchased it from someone else.”

  A bit of smugness drained from his face. “Don’t believe everything you hear from Lady Spencer.” He sucked in a mouthful of his drink. “She may think she knows everything . . .” He reached out and ran a thumb along the line of her jaw. “But trust me, she is not quite as smart as she thinks.”

  Trust you? I should rather trust an asp.

  His touch slithered down to the top of her bodice. “My partner and I will make a fortune off the Devil’s Delight. There are plenty of wealthy men willing to pay any price for pleasure.”

  It took every ounce of her hard-won acting ability to repress a shudder. Up close, his fleshy good looks took on a grotesque twist—the dilated eyes, the lines of dissipation. . . .

  Arianna gulped for air, hoping her reaction would be seen as desire and not disgust.

  He smiled and smacked his lips. “You see, Lady Wolcott, everything I touch turns to gold.”

  Or blood.

  She dropped her gaze to the hand hooked in her gown, and all she could see was his fingers dripping with her father’s gore. Her pulse began to pound in her ears, and with it a whisper from the past.

  Forgive me for being such a wretched parent. And for sinking you in such a sordid life.

  Strange, but her father’s dying words brought a sudden sense of calm. Yes, I forgive you, Papa. Perhaps bringing his murderer to justice was more about her own redemption than anything else.

  The past could finally be buried, along with all the old sins.

  Summoning a smile, she gave a feline stretch and reclined against the pillows, leaving his hand hovering in midair. “So, you have a Midas touch, milord?” she said. “How very intriguing. Pray, refill our glasses and then let us put your claim to the test.”

  “You won’t be disappointed, m’dear.”

  Crystal clinked against crystal.

  A splash of liquid sloshed over the leather. Oddly enough, though his gaze still held a dangerous glitter, the crackling energy of earlier seemed to have suddenly ebbed. His movements seemed mired in a heavy languidness.

  She, too, was suddenly having trouble keeping her eyes open. “How . . .,” she began, but all her questions had turned terribly fuzzy.

  “Drink,” he urged.

  Damn. All at once, his voice sounded very far away.

  “Drink.” His clammy hands were now on her throat.

  As his face turned blurry, she was only dimly aware of the glass slipping from her fingers.

  23

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  The Church figures into yet another bit of chocolate lore—although this time the situation takes on a far more sinister shade. It is said that Pope Clement XIV was murdered in 1774 by the Jesuits, who poisoned his cup of chocolate in retaliation for his persecution of the Order in earlier years. It is true that chocolate’s rich flavor provides an excellent mask for lethal substances, so perhaps the story is true. . . .

  Dulce de Leche and Nut Butter Truffles

  4 ounces 60%-cacao bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

  2 tablespoons dulce de leche at room temperature

  2 tablespoons well-stirred natural almond butter or peanut butter

  For coating

  ¼ to ½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder (preferably Dutch-processed)

  2 ounces 60%-cacao bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped

  1. Melt 4 ounces chocolate in a heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water, stirring occasionally until smooth. Remove bowl from heat and stir in dulce de leche and nut butter. Cool slightly, then roll level teaspoons of mixture into balls and place on a tray. Chill completely, about 30 minutes.

  2. Sift cocoa powder into a medium baking pan or onto a tray. Melt 2 ounces chocolate in a shallow heatproof bowl set over a saucepan of barely simmering water, stirring occasionally until smooth. Remove pan from heat, leaving bowl over water. Dip truffles, 1 at a time, in chocolate, lifting out with a fork and letting excess drip off, then immediately transfer to cocoa, turning to coat. Let stand until coating is set, then shake off excess cocoa in a siev
e. (Remaining cocoa can be sifted and returned to container.)

  Darkness drifted in and out of her consciousness, shadows twining with shards of light.

  What a bloody stupid fool I am.

  After all the years of plotting and planning, to fail so miserably . . .

  How very, very ironic that she, who had sworn not to repeat the mistakes of her father, had in the end proved less clever than Concord.

  Recriminations were, she knew, a little late. Yet oddly enough, the sharpest pinch of regret was that she had let Saybrook down. He had been willing to risk his life for a higher purpose than personal vendetta. While she—

  A light slap to her cheek jarred her eyes open.

  “Lady Wolcott?”

  “I . . .” She blinked, trying to clear the wooziness from her head.

  “Let me help you sit up.” Gavin was kneeling by the divan, his grip steadying her slumping shoulders. Propping her against the pillow, he brought a glass to her lips. “Here, drink this.”

  She tried to pull away.

  “It’s just water,” he assured her.

  The liquid was blessedly cool and clean, washing the sour taste from her mouth. “Thank you,” she croaked.

  “Don’t try to speak quite yet,” said Gavin. “You’ve had a nasty shock.”

  “Concord . . .,” she began, trying to clear the fog from her head. The question died on her lips as she spotted her nemesis sprawled on the floor.

  “Won’t be bothering you again.” With a casual prod of his boot, Gavin nudged the body faceup. A circle of darker red was fast spreading over the scarlet jacket. Centered in it was a dagger, sunk to the hilt in the baron’s left breast.

  “Or anyone else for that matter.”

  “I think he meant to kill me,” she whispered.