Sweet Revenge lahm-1

by Andrea Penrose

  Cockburn and Gavin exchanged a quick look.

  It was Gavin who answered, his tone nonchalant. “I met with your father when I was passing through Jamaica shortly before his unfortunate death. He pointed you out to me from afar.” A smile curled on his lips. “He was very proud of you, but very protective. He didn’t wish for you to be exposed to his old friends.”

  How very like Papa, to think of shutting the barn door when the horses had long ago galloped away.

  “So when I saw you in Lady Battell’s ballroom, I recognized you immediately,” continued Gavin. “And immediately thought that as a stroke of luck had brought us together, why not profit from it?”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” she replied.

  “Oh, come, there is no reason to play coy with us,” interjected Cockburn. “We worked with your father on a few deals in the past. Why not take his place, so to speak? We are putting together a business enterprise—a highly profitable one—that could make use of your talents.” He settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “Mathematical geniuses are, as you undoubtedly know, scarce as hen’s teeth. We had a perfect man for the job. He did an impressive job on the preliminary papers. But alas, we recently learned that the ship bringing him from Denmark for the next round of work foundered in a Baltic storm.

  “It was distressing news, for you see, timing is critical. Our foreign partner is demanding a further sample of how the numbers can be made to yield fabulous profits before making a final commitment, and it so happens that we promised him a special formula for how to shave an extra profit from the sale of every share of stock,” continued Gavin. “The deal was in danger of falling through. Until I thought of you.”

  Her head began to swim. “You thought of me? From all that my father said, I—I always assumed that Concord, and his friend Hamilton, were behind all the business schemes.”

  “Concord and Hamilton?” Gavin gave a nasty laugh. “Neither had the brains nor the vision to be a real leader. Yes, they and your father did some deals together. But they were only small-scale swindles.”

  Arianna found herself longing for Saybrook’s calming presence. Her hands were beginning to tremble with uncontrolled emotion. Steady, steady.

  “So you see, my dear,” said Cockburn, “we’re offering you an extraordinary opportunity.”

  Clasping her fingers together in her lap, she squeezed out a terse reply. “I’m not interested.”

  “No?” Cockburn’s genial smile faded. “Pray, why not?”

  “Because I know what sort of deals my father was involved in, and I have no desire to repeat his mistakes in life.” I make enough of my own, she added silently.

  “We could make you a very rich lady,” said Gavin.

  “You are forgetting that I am already a rich widow.”

  “Are you?” he countered. “I don’t think so. But whatever game you are playing with the ton, be assured that ours will make you far more blunt.”

  She watched the patterns of shadow and light dance over the rough-hewn rock. “What makes you think that I have inherited my father’s knack for numbers?”

  “Because even before he left England, Richard used to wax poetic about how his little daughter was more of a genius than he was,” answered Cockburn.

  Her throat tightened, as if an unseen hand was gripping her flesh.

  “A wizard,” went on the marquess. “With a magical ability to make mathematics do her bidding.”

  Somehow she managed to keep her voice level. “If you knew my father as well as you claim, then you are aware that he often distorted the truth. He was, in a word, a liar. A charming one, to be sure, but a liar nonetheless.”

  Her words stirred a flicker of uncertainty in Cockburn’s eyes.

  Gavin, however, responded with a snarl. “It is you who are lying, Lady Arianna. Your family cook in Jamaica has regaled me with stories of you cleverness—”

  “Philip,” cautioned Cockburn.

  She was suddenly tired of all the deceptions, weary of all the lies. What did it matter? For once, she would simply be herself. “Regardless of whether I possess my father’s talents for mathematics, I will not use them to help you.”

  “Why, you haven’t even heard our offer,” said Cockburn.

  “It’s not the money, it’s the principle,” she said slowly, the statement surprising her as much as it did them. “What you are asking is . . . evil.”

  “Who do these financial manipulations really hurt?” asked Cockburn quickly.

  Good God, he sounded as if he actually believed his own drivel.

  “Yes, we will profit handsomely,” said the marquess. “But so will a lot of other people.”

  Her mouth curled in contempt. “Ask that question of Concord.”

  Gavin shifted his stance. “Concord made the fatal mistake of prying too deeply into our affairs. We had cut him into the business of distributing Devil’s Delight because of his connections with the gaming hells in London, but he was greedy. He suspected we had bigger plans, and issued an ultimatum earlier today.” He flicked his wrist, as if swatting at a fly. “In doing so, he became a liability and forced us to move more quickly than we would have liked.”

  “So we improvised,” interjected Cockburn. “An ability that is the key to any successful endeavor.”

  “Concord was stupid,” went on Gavin. “I had hoped that you would be smarter.”

  “What are you going to do? Stick a knife in my heart, too?”

  His expression might well have been carved out of the surrounding stone for all the emotion that it showed. “It would be foolish on your part to let it come to that.”

  “Two bodies in one night?” she said. “Even you might have difficulty explaining that away.”

  “Not at all,” he shot back. “Everyone saw you go off with Concord. I will simply claim that I saw you kill him and followed in pursuit as you fled the scene. That you put up a fight, forcing me to defend myself, won’t be questioned.”

  True.

  Her mouth went a little dry, but she managed to keep her voice level. “I won’t help you. And there is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise.”

  “Nothing?” With a low laugh, Gavin slowly unrolled the chamois, revealing a set of slim steel scalpels.

  In spite of her resolve, her heart kicked up and thudded against her ribs.

  “We shall see about that.”

  24

  From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano

  What a pity that between the dangers of war and the achings of my old bones, travel is such a daunting endeavor for me to contemplate these days. I should very much like to visit Paris, where I hear that a physician by the name of Sulpice Debauve, who served as pharmacist to King Louis XVI, has just opened a shop at 4 Faubourg Saint-Germain that sells edible chocolate! I must write to Sandro right away and tell him about this marvelous idea. . . .

  Mexican Turtle Chocolate Mink

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces, plus additional for greasing ramekins

  3 ounces bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), chopped

  1 large egg, separated

  pinch of salt

  ⅛ teaspoon ground cinnamon

  1 tablespoon sugar

  4 tablespoons cajeta (Mexican caramel)

  4 tablespoons pecans, toasted and chopped

  1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Butter 2 oven-safe bowls or ramekins.

  2. Melt butter and chocolate in heavy saucepan over very low heat, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat and cool, stirring occasionally, 5 minutes. Whisk in egg yolk, salt, and ground cinnamon until combined. Beat egg white in a bowl with an electric mixer at medium-high speed until it holds soft peaks. Gradually add sugar, and continue to beat until white just holds stiff, glossy peaks. Whisk one-fourth of white into chocolate mixture to lighten, then fold remaining white gently but thoroughly.

  3. Divide batter between bowls or ramekins. Cover each bowl with
small squares of foil and crimp foil tightly around rim. Place a baking dish in oven and pour hot water (easiest with a teakettle) into dish. Carefully place ramekins into baking dish. Make sure foil is above water. Bake until puddings are set, about 30 minutes. The desserts will be slightly gooey to the touch.

  4. Transfer bowls to a rack and cool puddings, uncovered, about 1 hour. Just before serving, unmold puddings into serving bowls or onto a plate. First, unmold desserts by taking a knife and running it along the edge of the ramekin. Second, place ramekins into a bowl with hot water for about 15 seconds. Turn ramekin upside down and tap bottom. Top each pudding with 2 tablespoons of cajeta and 2 tablespoons of the pecans.

  Edging around the abandoned curricle, Saybrook peered through the wisps of fog. There was no sign of light, no stir of movement on the footpath up ahead. And beyond the dark archway, the hillside stood deathly still, the vague shapes of stone and foliage cloaked in a silvery shroud of vapor.

  “Davy?” he whispered.

  Leaves rustled as a figure emerged from the nearby bushes. “Here, sor.”

  “Good work with the lantern,” murmured the earl. “The beacon proved easy to spot from afar.”

  The sailor bobbed his head. “The gent took the lady up through them gardens. Another cove was waiting at the entrance te some sort of tunnel. I thought it best te come back here and wait te tell you, rather than follow them inside.”

  “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 welc
ome.”

  “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 model 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.”