The Cocoa Conspiracy lahm-2

by Andrea Penrose

  Mellon took a long sip of his port before answering. “A careful assessment of any situation is, in my opinion, always wise.”

  The conversation felt a little like moonlight and mist, silvery swirls of subtle nuances blending and blurring into one another. Dancing in and out of shadows, never quite touching.

  Angling her gaze to meet his, she asked, “Is it also your opinion that one should ask for help if that situation is proving hard to sort out on one’s own?”

  His expression remained neutral. “My opinion is that it is not a weakness to ask for help. In my work I’ve come to realize that new perspectives on a problem can often be of great help in spotting a solution.”

  “A wise reply,” she said softly. “But then, I expected no less from you.”

  Swirling the last of his wine, Mellon lifted the glass and watched the ruby-dark liquid spin in a slow, silent vortex.

  Arianna asked herself whether she was making an error of judgment. Perhaps it wasn’t her right to share family secrets . . .

  Ah, but I am family, she reminded herself.

  Drawing a deep breath, she made her decision. “Given your sentiments, I am hoping that you might consent to help me with a very delicate situation.”

  His expression remained polite but his eyes turned wary.

  God only knew what he expected—a confession of murder. Or infidelity?

  “It concerns . . . Sandro’s sister.”

  Mellon cleared his throat with a cough. “I fear you are confused, Lady Saybrook. Sandro has no sister.”

  “Actually, he does. Though whether she is a legitimate sibling or simply the late earl’s by-blow lies at the heart of the problem.” Arianna went on to explain Saybrook’s surprising discovery among his father’s papers concerning the young lady currently boarding at Mrs. Martin’s Academy in Shropshire. “Her name is Antonia, and she is registered as the daughter of a Spanish noble—a purely imaginary one, according to the letters left by Sandro’s father. He chose to disguise her identity while he decided how to make public his secret marriage to another foreigner—and a commoner at that.”

  Mellon expelled a harried sigh. “I confess, you could knock me over with a feather. My brother spent a great deal of time in Catalonia, but he never breathed a word about having another family.”

  “Sandro was equally shocked,” replied Arianna. “His father’s notes revealed that an Englishwoman has been set up with an annuity, and acts as Antonia’s guardian. The woman knows the truth of the girl’s birth, but has told her that Sandro is a distant relative. For now, he lives with this charade, but I know he would very much like to acknowledge the truth and see that she takes her rightful place in English Society.”

  A furrow had formed between Mellon’s brows. “Assuming she has a rightful place.”

  “Yes, that is certainly part of the problem.” Arianna paused. “As is the fact that I am just as much a foreigner to the Polite World as Antonia. I should like to see her accepted by the ton regardless of her birth, but I have little idea of how to go about it. Aunt Constantina, of course, will be a great asset, for I am sure she will relish the idea of orchestrating a debut Season. I—I am hoping you might consent to give me advice as well. Things like whose favor it is important to curry, which hostess has the most influence.”

  “Forgive me, but aren’t these the sort of activities you loathe?”

  “I have done a great many things in my life that I did not wish to do, sir,” she replied. “That did not prevent me from doing them very well. When I set my mind to something, I can be very stubborn.” Her lips quirked. “As you have no doubt noticed.”

  He acknowledged the quip with a tiny nod.

  “It would mean a great deal to Sandro. Though he keeps his feelings well hidden, I know that the matter is eating at his insides.” Though she considered herself good at reading people, she was having trouble trying to gauge Mellon’s reaction. For a skilled diplomat, masks were like a second skin.

  A fact that she must not forget during the coming weeks.

  “So, I was also wondering if, given your connections in the government, you might also consent to make a few discreet inquiries into your brother’s affairs while we are away in Vienna,” she went on. “It would be of enormous help to know whether there was indeed a marriage to Antonia’s mother, and whether England would recognize it as legal.” Arianna kept her eyes on his face. “I would like to surprise Sandro by making it possible for Antonia to come live with us when her school term is over next spring.”

  Mellon gave a rueful grimace, the first overt show of emotion he had allowed. “You know, I couldn’t in my wildest dreams have imagined any greater shock than this news.”

  I am afraid that you will soon have to confront an even worse nightmare, she thought to herself.

  “But yes, of course I can make some inquiries.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m very grateful.”

  “And I, in turn, am happy that you took me into your confidences.” He stared meditatively into his port. “I assume that for now, you wish to keep this a secret from Sandro.”

  Secrets.

  She nodded. “I think it would be best.”

  “You may count on my discretion.”

  A short while later, Arianna stepped into the night and walked the short distance to where her carriage was waiting. Shadows flickered over the pavement as the mist-dampened darkness dueled with the bright blaze of the town house torchieres, mirroring her unsettled thoughts.

  There was much to think about. Kydd, Rochemont, Mellon . . . How ironic, she mused. Only a short time ago life had seemed a bit flat.

  If it was a spark of danger that she craved—that frisson of liquid fire pulsing through the blood—the coming few weeks promised to leave every nerve ending tingling with its burn.

  Lifting her face to the breeze, she inhaled and held the cool air in her lungs for a moment, waiting for the sudden pounding in her ears to subside. Ahead lay the unknown, and that should be frightening to any proper lady of the ton.

  A tiny gust tugged the corners of her mouth upward. Ah, but I’m not a proper lady, am I?

  “I trust your evening went well?” Saybrook stepped out of the shadows and opened the carriage door for her.

  “Very well. And yours?”

  “Baz and I made some interesting discoveries.” He offered her a hand. “Come, let us return home without delay, and I’ll explain it all over a cup of late-night chocolate.”

  The pale stone of the Horse Guards rose up like a square-shouldered ghost from the tendrils of morning mist. Despite the earliness of the hour, a troop of mounted soldiers emerged from the stables and wheeled into formation for their parade ground drills.

  His boot steps melding with the muffled beat of hooves and jangling of metal, Saybrook mounted the side stairs and made his way through the warren of corridors to Grentham’s office. He had spent the previous day and half the night following up on the information found in Kydd’s rooms, so the urgent summons from the minister had not been a welcome sight at the breakfast table.

  “How kind of you to respond so quickly,” said Grentham, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I would offer you coffee, but I assume you only drink the mouth-fouling sludge that you and your wife find so fascinating.”

  “You mean spiced chocolate?” replied the earl. He sat down without invitation. “Try adding sugar. Perhaps it would sweeten that sour phiz of yours.”

  “You’re awfully generous with your bon mots, Lord Saybrook. Would that you were half as forthcoming with information,” snapped the minister. “You were supposed to come by yesterday with an update on your visit to Kydd’s rooms.” He tapped his fingertips together. “I am tiring of giving you everything that you want and getting nothing in return.”

  “You wish a bon-bon?” Saybrook arched a brow. “Very well. I’ve discovered an interesting lead on how to learn more about Kydd’s clandestine political activities. Which in turn may lead me to whoever re
cruited him.”

  Grentham waited.

  The earl began buffing the chased silver knob of his walking stick on his sleeve.

  “I don’t find you amusing, Saybrook.”

  “I didn’t come here to entertain you by jumping through hoops.”

  The locking of their eyes produced a near-audible click. Both men tensed, as if they had heard the hammer of a pistol being drawn to half cock.

  “In all honesty, Grentham, can you blame me for being less than eager to reveal my plans or my sources? Based on our previous investigation, I have good reason to have little confidence in you and your lackeys. It would seem that Renard, a French fox of a traitor, is still running tame in your own department. Until he is trapped, it would be foolhardy to be too forthcoming.” Saybrook crossed his legs. “I’m pursuing the matter. What more do you need to know?”

  Thinning his lips, Grentham countered with his own question. “That is all you intend to tell me?”

  “Yes.”

  “The information will not be shared with—as you so delicately put it—my lackeys.” A pause. “Or is it that you still suspect me?”

  Saybrook’s cool smile grew a touch more pronounced.

  “You are balanced on a razor’s edge, you know,” said Grentham. “Teetering between triumph and disaster.”

  “So are you,” retorted the earl. “Don’t waste your breath trying to blow me over the edge. I did not come here to waste time in bluster or bravado.” He stared for a moment through the tall windows overlooking the blue-coated riders, watching the raindrops form into sinuous snakes of water that slid down the glass. “I have been thinking over strategy, and I am concerned about a fundamental weakness in our plan.”

  Grentham leaned back in his chair and steepled his well-tended hands.

  “It has to do with Davilenko,” Saybrook continued. “Replacing the documents in the book may have fooled him into thinking that the treason is as of yet undetected. But he’s not stupid, and our appearance in Vienna might appear too much of a coincidence. I am not sure—”

  “I’ve already anticipated that problem, Lord Saybrook.” The minister allowed a self-satisfied smile. “Davilenko has been dealt with. He won’t be making any waves, so to speak, in Vienna.”

  “Might I inquire how you are so certain?” asked the earl.

  Grentham’s expression pinched to a smirk. “Unlike you, I shall not indulge in childish hide-and-seek games. Davilenko met with an unfortunate accident on his crossing to Calais on the way to the Conference. The ship encountered a patch of rough weather, causing him to lose his footing on deck and fall overboard.”

  Saybrook lifted a brow.

  “Alas, the poor fellow drowned before the crew could fish him out of the water—and even the meticulous Mr. Henning, had he been there, could not have found evidence to the contrary.” The minister lowered his voice to a deceptively soft murmur. “Water in the lungs leaves no telltale bruising, you know.”

  “Ah. Thank you for the warning,” drawled the earl. “I’ve assumed that travel abroad is fraught with peril, but I shall be extra vigilant.”

  “It’s always wise to be on guard,” replied Grentham. “One never knows when Fate will strike, eh?”

  “Indeed. I will take care, especially on the journey home,” muttered the earl. “For some reason I have a feeling that getting to Vienna will not be as difficult as returning.”

  “Prevailing weather patterns in the Alps,” said the minister with a perfectly straight face.

  “That would explain it.” He spun his stick between his palms. “Anything else, milord? Much as I enjoy exchanging social pleasantries with you, I’ve better ways to spend my time.”

  Grentham’s nostrils flared, but he covered his annoyance with a sarcastic smile. “Let us hope so. It would be a pity to see your uncle’s reputation sunk into a stinking cesspool after all his years of stalwart service.”

  The only answer was a whisper of wool as the earl brushed a wrinkle from his trousers.

  “One last thing,” added the minister. “Before he fell overboard, Davilenko did confess to the ship’s captain that he had made no mention to his superiors of his temporary loss of the hidden documents. So as of yet, the conspirators have no reason to suspect that anything is amiss. Until, of course, you or your wife muck things up.”

  “Anything else?” repeated the earl

  Grentham took a moment to inspect his pristine white cuff before answering. “It was Davilenko who you spotted sneaking into the woods. He had arranged through a local contact to have the French Guard take a shot at you, but he confessed that the man threatened to expose him unless he paid more money. So he slit the fellow’s throat when your pursuit caused a moment of distraction.”

  “Who was the local contact?” demanded Saybrook.

  “Davilenko claimed not to know—it was arranged by leaving a letter at a prearranged spot.” A nasty smile. “And I believe him. Captain Leete is quite proficient at carrying out his duties.”

  “I thought your man left no evidence of trauma,” remarked the earl.

  “Oh, come—surely you know there are far more sophisticated ways of drawing out information than resorting to physical violence.”

  “Thank you for the enlightenment. It quite brightens my day.” Saybrook rose. “I do have another request of my own. I take it you have routine dossiers compiled on Talleyrand, Tsar Alexander and Metternich. I would like to read them before I leave for the Continent.”

  Grentham gave a brusque nod. “Come back this afternoon. You’ll find that their reputation as rapacious rakes is well deserved. So I should keep an eye on your wife, if I were you.” He opened one of the document cases on his desk and began reading through some papers. “She seems to enjoy the company of dissolute men.”

  “Unlike most of the pompous prigs of the ton, I don’t find an intelligent, clever female intimidating.” Saybrook curled a mocking smile. “Indeed, I find it quite attractive.”

  The minister didn’t look up. “If I want a sonnet on sex, I’ll visit a brothel.”

  “Which one do you prefer? I hear the Grotto of Venus is much favored by gentlemen who need help in rising to the occasion of having a spot of fun in life.”

  “I suggest you remove yourself from my office, Lord Saybrook.” Grentham picked up a pen and made a notation in the margin of the document. “While your pego is still attached to your person.”

  * * *

  Arianna crossed off another item from her list as two footmen carried a large brass-latched case down to the entrance foyer. “Good God, you would think we were moving home and hearth to Cathay,” she muttered, surveying the growing mound of baggage with a baleful grimace. Saybrook had warned her that they might be away from home for as many as three months—and maybe longer. It was now the middle of September, so that meant they might not be home before the new year . . . which suddenly seemed very far away.

  “How many trunks are still upstairs, Juan?”

  “A half dozen more, madam.”

  She let out a sigh. “I fear that come tomorrow, we shall need a camel caravan.”

  “The baggage coach is designed to handle a heavy load,” said the footman tactfully.

  Yes, but I am used to traveling light.

  “There is a chest of books to be fetched down from the library,” called Saybrook as he came down the stairs.

  “Is all of this really necessary?” Arianna arched a skeptical brow as she read the first page of her list aloud to him.

  “We have a role to play,” Saybrook reminded her. “Several, in fact.”

  “You have a point,” she said, surrendering her protests with a rueful smile. Among the trunks of fancy clothing and fine furnishings was one that contained theatrical face paints and false hairpieces, along with a variety of disguises. “Maybe more than several.”

  When she and the earl had first met, she had been masquerading as a French chef. A male French chef who had ended up being the prime suspect in the poi
soning of the Prince Regent. “Monsieur Alphonse” had disappeared into thin air. But the situation in Vienna might very well require a new persona to come to life.

  “It’s best to be prepared,” her husband said, as the footmen headed off for another load. “Mixed among my botanical books are a number of volumes on cryptology.”

  “I look forward to more lessons during the journey,” she replied.

  “There will be plenty of hours.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “My uncle has invited us for a farewell supper. In the morning, we shall leave at first light to catch the tide at Dover.”

  “So, the wheels are finally spinning into motion.”

  “Yes.” He fixed her with a searching stare. “No regrets?”

  Arianna shook her head. “I confess, I am probably anticipating the challenge more than I should be.”

  The subtle shift of his mouth was nearly lost in the soft light of the wall sconces. “As am I.” His lips suddenly possessed hers in a swift kiss. “Though I hate dragging you into danger.”

  “I would be kicking and screaming if you tried to leave me behind.”

  “I know. Not that it makes me feel any less guilty.”

  “Grentham has a grudge against me too,” Arianna pointed out. “I’m probably safer with you than I am staying here in London on my own. You know my ungovernable temper—I can’t seem to resist needling him whenever we meet.”

  “ Arianna . . .”

  She turned away before he could go on. “Ah, look! Bianca has sent up a sample of the new confection I found in your grandmother’s notebooks.” Taking the tray from the maid, she added, “There is a pot of chocolate as well. Let us retreat to the parlor and enjoy a respite from the chaos.”

  “Speaking of Grentham,” said Saybrook, toying with his spoon as a plume of steam wafted up from his cup.

  “I hope that duplicitous bastard hasn’t turned you up sweet,” growled a voice from the doorway.

  Arianna looked around, a smile wreathing her face. “Mr. Henning! Do come join us.” She offered him a plate. “The praline is made with Marcona almonds, a specialty from Spain.”