Sweet Revenge lahm-1

by Andrea Penrose

  “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 public?”

  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, t
sk, 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.”

  “Plausible explanations,” agreed the earl. “Assuming I agree to stay quiet. But if I don’t . . .” Despite the murky spill of smoke and shadows, his low murmur carried clearly. “The blood in my veins may be less than blue, amigo, but I’m still the Earl of Saybrook.”

  It was Grentham’s turn to remain mute.

  “So, it seems to me that despite our personal antipathy, it’s of mutual benefit to cooperate. In return for my silence, you will leave Lady Arianna alone.”

  “I am not in the habit of leaving stray pieces around that may come back to embarrass the government,” answered Grentham slowly. “Or worse.”

  “Nonetheless, in this case you will allow me to arrange things as I see fit. You have my word that neither the government nor your own precious reputation for efficiency will suffer any consequences.” Saybrook allowed a small pause. “Do we have a deal?”

  “For now.” Grentham took a candle from his pocket and struck a flint to the wick. “But be advised, I expect you to make this complication go away. Quickly.”

  The earl nodded grimly. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You had better, Lord Saybrook.” The flame burned bright in the still air, a hot spot of color in the darkness. “For I shall be watching you very carefully from now on. And waiting for you to make a slip.”

  Closing her eyes, Arianna slumped back against the leather seat of the earl’s carriage, undecided if the feeling pulsing through her body was exhaustion or elation. Henning had forced her to drink a bit of brandy, and in truth, the heat of the spirits was pleasantly pooled in her belly, and radiating out to her limbs. . . .

  Or perhaps the warmth was coming from Saybrook. He had drawn close, and her head was tipped onto his shoulder.

  “Feeling better?” he asked quietly.

  “Mmmm. Yes. Thanks to you.” She shifted. “How did you know where I had gone?”

  “Lady Spencer,” he answered. “I also stopped to have a chat with Ashmun, to make sure he was telling us the truth. And when it came out that Gavin was one of the most dangerous of your father’s friends, I feared you might be in more trouble tonight than you bargained for.”

  “But Ashmun never mentioned Gavin in our meeting!” she exclaimed.

  “You never gave him a chance.” Saybrook let out a wry sigh. “If you recall, you cut him off when he began his warning, so he assumed you knew about Gavin, as well as Cockburn.”

  At the reminder of her impatience, and how many mistakes she had made, Arianna winced. “Lord, what a bloody fool I’ve been. You were right about Concord. If I hadn’t been so blinded by my own assumptions, I might have listened to you . . . I might have remembered that Father had been friends with Cockburn. It only came back to me tonight.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” murmured Saybrook. “It is easy to look at others with a dispassionate eye. You saw me submerged in self-pity, and if you hadn’t so kindly pointed out my faults, we never would have triumphed over these devils.”

  “Kindly?” A laugh slipped from her lips. “I’m surprised you didn’t murder me on the spot.”

  “And lose your chocolate knowledge?” He tucked the carriage blanket over her lap. “Perish the thought.”

  She settled a little closer to him, savoring the woolly softness of his coat against her cheek. But a sudden lurch of the wheels jarred her from such momentary reveries. “You know, I feel guilty that Mr. Henning and his men must wait in the cold for another conveyance. They could have squeezed in—”

  “Don’t worry about Baz. He is extremely resourceful,” said the earl. “With any luck, he and his ruffians will hijack Grentham’s barouche. And then deposit it in the foulest stretch of the river once they reach London.”

  “You don’t like Grentham.”

  “No,” he answered tersely. “I don’t.”

  It seemed a very visceral reaction, and Arianna wondered why. “Is there a reason?”

  Ignoring the question, he shifted against the tufted leather. “Speaking of resourceful, Lady Arianna, we must decide on a strategy for the future, and quickly. The government will never admit to what really happened. The scandal would have dangerous repercussions both at home and abroad.”

  She straightened slightly.

  “So that leaves you somewhere in Purgatory. Grentham has agreed not to arrest you for Crandall’s demise. But he is also adamant that you cannot reappear in Society as Lady Arianna Hadley. It would provoke too many awkward questions.”

  And so I must leave England once again.

  Arianna gave a halfhearted shrug. “I am used to being an exile.”

  “That is not fair,” he growled.

  “Life is often unfair.” She watched a curl of smoke twist within the brass-framed glass of the carriage light. “Grentham is right. There really isn’t any alternative.”

  “Actually, there is.”

  She suddenly felt very, very sleepy, and uninterested in talking about the future. “What?” she murmured, patting back a yawn.

  Saybrook hesitated.

  “I hope you aren’t going to suggest that we do away with the minister. I’ve had quite enough shocks for one night.”

  “Have you?” The earl’s voice had an oddly wry note to it. “Try to endure one more.”

  Arianna sat up a little straighter. He now had her full attention.

  “What I propose is . . . marriage.”

  “Marriage,” she repeated faintly, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

  “It is an eminently practical solution,” he went on. “A new name solves the conundrum of your past. I wed the wealthy widow and the tangle of your previous identities no longer matters. Richard Hadley’s daughter disappeared long ago. Her existence is all but forgotten.”

  “You are not honor-bound to sacrifice your future for me, sir,” said Arianna. “There are ballrooms full of rich, mannered young ladies who would eagerly accept the invitation to become the Countess of Saybrook.”

  “Perhaps, but as you have so kindly pointed out to me, they tend to be bland and boring. I find that’s not to my taste.” His gaze met hers. “You cannot deny that we have much in common. We are both outcasts of a sort. Unconventional individuals who share similar interests.”

  Damn the dark fringe of lashes, thought Arianna. The shadows hid his eyes.

  “There is no reason why it can’t work,” he finished.

  Unlike mathematics, emotions didn’t always add up quite so neatly.

  “I . . .”

  “You don’t have to answer right now,” he said. “Think it over for the night.”

  “I . . . I shall.”

  A smile teased at the corners of his mouth. “Do keep in mind Dona Maria’s diaries. They hold a promise that a future together could be sweet.”

  Arianna imagined the taste of fire-warmed butter and sugar melting with swirls of dark chocolate. R
evenge had left naught but a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Sweet.

  The offer was awfully tempting. . . .

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Derivatives, debt-equity swaps, margin calls, stock crashes—our modern-day financial swindles and booms are nothing new. Both the South Sea Bubble and the Mississippi Bubble mentioned in Sweet Revenge are actual historical events that took place in the early part of the eighteenth century, and had grave economic repercussions for both England and France. I won’t try to sum up the complex details here—for those of you interested in learning more, there are a number of excellent books on the subject, including A Very English Deceit: The Secret History of the South Sea Bubble and the First Great Financial Scandal by Malcolm Balen and The First Crash: Lessons from the South Sea Bubble by Richard Dale.

  Though modeled on the original South Sea Company, my own New World Trading Company is pure fiction. But given current events in 1813, it could, with a bit of imagination, have been plausible. Despite his retreat from Russia during the previous winter, Napoleon still controlled most of Europe, including Spain. But under the leadership of Wellington, the British forces were making headway in the Peninsula, further threatening his aura of invincibility. As the Emperor rebuilt his army, and looked once again to conquer any opposition in Eastern Europe, he might well have granted trade concessions to anyone who could throw England—the lynchpin to a new alliance against him—into chaos. After all, he was notorious for passing out kingdoms and princely riches to his family and friends in reward for service to France.

  And lastly, a morsel of history about chocolate! Some may take issue with seeing edible chocolate mentioned at this time in history. However, my research has turned up proof that chocolate was indeed served up in solid form. Sulpice Debauve, pharmacist to King Louis XVI, opened a chocolate shop on the Left Bank of Paris in 1800. By 1804, he had over sixty shops throughout France. Debauve & Gallais Chocolates still exists today, and though its bonbons are sinfully expensive, they are sinfully good. (Ah, the hardships of research!) You may visit their Web site at www.debauveandgallais.com.