They walked in silence for a bit, the noises of the party fading until the only sound was the breeze ruffling through the leaves of the tall boxwood hedge bordering the path.
“It’s so peaceful here, now that we’re away from the crowd.” She sighed. “I hate these gatherings with all their false laughter, false flatteries and false promises.”
He nodded. “Believe me, I know how you feel.” Arianna paused and looked up at the heavens. Careful, careful—one false move and I will ruin everything.
Expelling a sigh, she turned her head slightly to meet his searching stare. “Do you?”
Kydd blinked.
“You speak so eloquently about noble principles. I—I come away from our talks feeling inspired by your idealism. And yet . . .” She deliberately let her voice trail off.
A glimmer of starlight ghosted over his profile, catching the tiny, telltale tic of his jaw.
Oh, the folly of youthful passions, she thought, suddenly feeling old as Methuselah.
“Lady Saybrook, may I ask you a personal question?”
At her hesitation, his pale skin darkened in embarrassment. “Forgive me—”
“No, please. Of course you may.”
He cleared his throat. “Why did you marry the earl?”
“I take it you have heard that ours was not a love match.”
Kydd shifted uncomfortably. “Mr. Mellon does not indulge in gossip. But I couldn’t help overhearing several private exchanges with Lord Saybrook in which he voiced reservations about the match.”
“I can’t say that I blame him.” Arianna let her tone go a little rough around the edges. “I was caught up in a scandal—please don’t ask me to explain—and so was the earl. I had precious few choices.” She shrugged. “As you know, females have little control over their destiny.”
“I did not mean to stir painful memories,” he said haltingly.
“Don’t apologize.” A tentative smile softened her expression. “Your company has been a source of comfort to me. It is very heartening to be able to converse with someone who shares similar beliefs.”
“I do share them,” assured Kydd. “I haven’t betrayed my beliefs by working for the Foreign Office.”
No—just your country and the honorable man who nurtured your career.
“I am not at liberty to say more,” he whispered. “But I am working to effect real change, and create a better world for the future.”
Arianna greeted his words with a tremulous sigh. “Oh, how I admire you. A better world—I shall look forward to that.”
Kydd relaxed slightly. “Change is not easy, but there are goals that are worth fighting for. However . . .”
Suddenly alert, she held herself very still, hoping that he would go on.
“However . . . I am having some second thoughts about how to achieve my aim.”
“Would it help to talk about it?” she asked softly. “I cannot promise to have all the answers, but sometimes simply expressing your doubts aloud helps to clarify your feelings.”
“You—you are very kind. I can’t tell you how fortunate I feel to have a friend I can trust.”
Arianna looked away, repressing a twinge of guilt by reminding herself that Kydd and his cohorts were planning a cold-blooded murder.
“I can’t help but wonder . . .” Shuffling his feet, he abruptly offered her his arm. “Shall we continue along this path?” He gestured at a shadowed stretch of gardens up ahead. “A display of fireworks is planned for later, and as Herr Steuer is famous for his pyrotechnics, it promises to be spectacular. The rockets are being set up near the North Gate, so we shall have a better vantage point from up close.” His hand tucked a fold of her shawl more securely around her shoulders. “There is also going to be a balloon ascension to top off the entertainment.”
“That sounds very exciting.”
As they moved off at a leisurely pace, her mind began to race. Kydd was coming tantalizingly close to revealing his secrets. She didn’t want to risk making him suspicious, and yet surely there was some way she could take advantage of his current mood.
Information—Sandro needs specific details, not vague hints that merely corroborate what we already know.
Arianna thought for a moment, and then a gleam of light from behind the thickets of greenery sparked an idea. “Oh, look! They are beginning to inflate the balloon.” Looking up at the sky, she added, “Sometimes, when I stare at the stars, I let my imagination soar.”
Kydd tilted his head upward.
“You may think me foolish, but I like to think of the words that inspire me. Ones like ‘hope’ and ‘dream.’ ”
“It’s not foolish at all, Lady Saybrook.” He moved closer—so close that she could smell the warm scent of his bay rum shaving soap.
“What words make your heart sing?”
“Freedom,” he answered without hesitation. “Equality. Democracy. Courage. Independence.”
“All very noble sentiments,” she murmured, making careful mental note of them as possible key words. It was a shot in the dark, but as Saybrook said, luck and intuition were major weapons in a code breaker’s arsenal.
A wry grimace tugged at Kydd’s lips. “You probably think me a pedant, to always be talking of principles and abstract ideas.”
“Oh no, not at all.” Keep talking, keep talking. “I want to hear all about what thoughts, what dreams are important to you.”
“Dreams,” he repeated. “I should like to see Scotland truly free, and in control of its own destiny. But at what cost?” Gravel crunched softly under his boots. “In a short while, I have a meeting in which I shall have to decide . . .”
His voice trailed off in a harsh sigh.
He seemed to be teetering on the edge of a precipice. Did she dare give him the last little nudge?
“You sound uncertain,” she said cautiously.
“I confess that I am. For the longest time, I was so sure that I knew what was right. And now . . .” Kydd raked a hand through his hair. “But enough of politics and philosophy.” His mood seemed to be veering wildly, from reflective to reckless in the blink of an eye. As he stepped closer, Arianna heard a different sort of intensity grip his tone. “Let us spend the rest of our time together enjoying each other’s company.”
The moonlight tipped his golden lashes with the flare of fire. He was leaning in, his breath hot on her skin. In another instant his mouth would capture hers.
Distraction. Diversion. Was there a way to deflect his advances without destroying his trust?
Deception was a dangerous game to play. Her husband understood that, thought Arianna as she steeled herself for Kydd’s kiss.
BOOM!
A sudden explosion ripped through the shrubbery, throwing up a shower of fiery sparks and burning leaves. The force of the blast knocked Arianna to the ground. Dazed, disoriented, she rolled to her knees and tried to shake the terrible ringing from her ears.
Flames shot up from the shattered hedge, forcing her to scramble back from the searing heat. A series of rapid-fire pops released plumes of colored vapors into the fire-gold glow, adding a mad, macabre beauty to the scene.
The wind swirled, driving the danger closer.
“Mr. Kydd!” she croaked, trying to see through the cloud of acrid black smoke.
On getting no response, she pulled her shawl up to shield her face and started to crawl forward along the edge of the gravel. “Mr. Kydd!”
Was that a whisper, or just the crackling of the branches?
Choking back a cough, Arianna felt her way over the soot-streaked grass. Above the roar of the fire, she was vaguely aware of shouts and the pounding of running feet. But they sounded very far away.
Her eyes began to water and the sour stench of gunpowder made it difficult to breathe. Damnation—
Another loud bang rent the air.
As she flinched, her hand grazed against a booted foot. Grasping the heel, she gave it a shake. “Mr. Kydd.” The blast must have knocked him sens
eless. “Wake up, wake up. There must have been an accident with the fireworks. We must move away from here.”
In answer, a pair of hands grasped her roughly around the waist and dragged her back from the raging fire.
“No! Wait! Put me down!” she protested as she felt herself lifted from the ground.
“For God’s sake, stop squirming,” ordered Saybrook. Gathering her in his arms, he stumbled down the hill and slid behind the shelter of a marble folly. “Stay down,” he growled, covering her body with his. “The rest of the explosives could ignite at any moment.”
“But Mr. Kydd—”
“Mr. Kydd is dead.” Soot blackened the earl’s face. Limned in the red glow of the burning bushes, he looked like the Devil’s own shadow from hell. “And you are bloody lucky to be alive.”
“Drink,” commanded Saybrook, placing a large mug of brandy-laced chocolate in her hands.
“I don’t need a posset.” Arianna nestled deeper into the armchair of their parlor and heaved a sigh before taking a sip. “I’m not about to fall into a maidenly swoon of shock.”
The warm, potent drink did, however, taste ambrosial. Closing her eyes for an instant, she savored its soothing sweetness. Gulps of water had already washed the smoky grit from her throat, but the sour dregs of fear still lingered—more than she cared to admit.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” asked her husband. He had taken advantage of all the confusion and chaos of fighting the fire to slip away from the estate unnoticed.
“Just a few bumps and bruises.” She rubbed at a sore spot on her shoulder and winced. “But my wits were certainly wandering. Thank God you thought to whisk us away before anyone realized that I had been with Kydd at the moment of the accident.”
Saybrook’s scowl deepened as he plunged the poker into the hearth and stirred the coals to life. “If it was an accident,” he muttered. After seeing her to the safety of their carriage, he had returned to the grounds for a quick surveillance. “Steuer’s foreman was adamant that all possible precautions had been taken around that section of the fireworks. He’s known as a stickler for safety and claims that it would have taken an act of God to set off the canisters of gunpowder.”
“Or a far less Divine Being.”
Their eyes met over her mug.
“You noticed nothing suspicious in the area?” he asked after a long moment.
Arianna shook her head. “My attention was all on Kydd. He was oh so close to confiding in me. I think he was having second thoughts about his involvement . . .” She swirled the chocolate and watched the dark liquid form a silent, spinning vortex. “In any case, I still might have learned something important from the interlude. I got him to talk about words that had special meaning for him, thinking you might try them as keys for the code.”
“Clever thinking,” he conceded. But if anything, his expression grew more troubled. He moved to the sideboard and poured himself a large glass of brandy. Which he proceeded to down in one swift swallow.
“Sandro, is something bothering you?”
“Other than the fact that my wife was standing a scant foot away from a man who had half his skull blown to bits?” he shot back.
A chill snaked down her spine. “Gunpowder is a volatile substance. It could have been an accident.”
“The metal fragments I found embedded in his flesh were a thin gauge steel,” he said flatly. “The canisters are made of heavy lead.”
“So you think someone deliberately tossed a bomb to kill him?’
“And most likely you. I had only a quick look, but it appeared as if the killing arc—the spread of the lethal fragments—was thrown off. Perhaps he moved at the last moment and it struck his back instead of his chest.”
Arianna felt herself go pale.
“What?” he asked softly.
“Yes, Kydd did move.” She hurried on, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to explain. “But if what you suspect is true, why the big explosion? Wasn’t the assassin risking his own life by setting off such a conflagration?”
“He may have inadvertently dropped a lucifer. Or he may have planned to cover his crime by making it look like an accident, then set his fuse too short.” Saybrook lifted his shoulders. “There are many ways in which a plan can go wrong.”
A not-so-subtle warning. But then, her husband did not appear to be in much of a mood for nuances.
“Arianna, this masquerade you have undertaken—”
“If you are about to order me to abandon our plan, you may save your breath.”
“It’s too dangerous,” insisted Saybrook.
“I beg to differ. So far, there has been no hint of trouble. We both know that most people see only what they expect to see—and no one in his wildest dreams will imagine that Monsieur Richard is a female.”
“Talleyrand is a threat. He misses very little.”
“I agree,” said Arianna quickly. “I am taking care to stay well out of his sight when he comes down for his daily meeting with Carême. It’s not difficult. Kitchens are smoky or steamy, and there are a number of storage pantries, all of them dark.” Recalling their first encounter, she essayed a note of humor. “And if push comes to shove, I am rather skilled in using a carving knife to defend myself, as you have reason to know.”
He did not crack a smile.
“Sandro, unless you wish to abandon the effort and leave Renard to execute his murderous plan, we cannot walk away from the opportunity to gain access to Talleyrand’s palace,” she reasoned. “That both the Prince and the comte are in residence makes the chance even more important. With Kydd dead, it’s our one—our only—lead.”
He looked as if he wished to argue.
She had held her best weapon until last, when his defenses had already been battered. “But if you wish, we can pack up and return to London. That will, of course, mean having to admit to Grentham that we failed to track down the traitor.”
Saybrook drew in a harsh breath. And then let it out in a mirthless laugh. “You are utterly remorseless.”
“And unscrupulous.”
Perching a hip on the arm of her chair, he touched his palm to her cheek. “Ruthless,” he murmured.
“Heartless,” she responded.
His hand slid down to just above her left breast. “Oh no, you have a heart. You simply keep it well guarded.”
The heat of him seeped through the singed silk of her gown. “That is rather like the pot calling the kettle black.”
“So it is.” His eyes had a strangely molten glow, perhaps from the burn of the brandy. “I hate being in the dark, Arianna. It makes me feel helpless to protect you.”
“I don’t expect you to,” she whispered.
“That has no bearing on what I expect of myself.”
How to answer?
Looking away, she watched the play of shadows on the far wall. “I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Liar.” There was no heat behind the accusation. Indeed, he said it with a reluctant smile. “Of course you will.”
“No, truly. I have no desire to stick my spoon in the wall just yet. So I shall be careful.”
“I suppose I must be satisfied with that for now,” said Saybrook. He turned to the hearth and began to bank the glowing coals. A hiss of smoke rose from the crackling sparks.
“But that may change.”
17
From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
Chocolate Marshmallows
Canola oil, for greasing
1½ cups sugar
¾ cup light corn syrup
¼ cup honey
1 cup water
3 tablespoon unflavored powdered gelatin, softened in
½ cup cold water
¾ cup Dutch-process cocoa powder, sifted
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1. Grease an 8-inch x 8-inch baking pan, line bottom and sides with parchment paper, and grease paper. Grease a rubber spatula; set aside.
2. Combine sugar, syrup, honey, and
½ cup water in a 2-qt. saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a simmer; cook, without stirring, until syrup reaches 250° on a candy thermometer. Remove from heat; let cool to 220°.
3. Meanwhile, bring ½ cup water to a boil in a small saucepan. Place bowl of gelatin over boiling water; whisk until gelatin becomes liquid. Transfer to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whisk; add ½ cup cocoa powder. Add cooled sugar syrup to gelatin; whisk on high speed until mixture holds stiff peaks, 5–6 minutes. Pour mixture into prepared pan; smooth top with oiled spatula; let cool until set, 5–6 hours.
4. Combine remaining cocoa powder and cornstarch in a bowl and transfer to a strainer; dust work surface with mixture. Slide a knife around edge of pan to release marshmallows; remove from pan. Dust cocoa mixture over top. Using a slicing knife dusted with cocoa mixture, cut marshmallows into forty 1½ inch squares. Toss marshmallows with remaining cocoa mixture.
Yield: 40
“Damnation, damnation, damnation.” Saybrook balled the sheet of paper and lobbed it into the fire. “Would that you hadn’t taken your bloody secrets along with you to the grave, Kydd.”
He stared at the coded document. “None of the words Arianna wrested from you work, which leads me to believe that, as I suspected, you were but a pawn on this diabolical chessboard. So . . .” Tap, tap, tap. His pen drummed an impatient tattoo on the desk. “Who is moving the pieces around the board? There has to be a clue that I have missed. But for the love of God Almighty, I can’t figure out what it is.”
Another bout of scribbling.
Another crumpled missile arced into the flames.
“If only Baz were here,” muttered the earl. “He is always willing to bat ideas back and forth, no matter how outlandish they sound.”
Slapping a fresh sheet down upon the blotter, he dipped his pen in the inkwell. But before he could begin to write, a clatter of footsteps on the stairs distracted his concentration.
“What in Hades . . .” Uttering a fresh string of oaths, Saybrook set down the quill. “Jose knows that I’m not to be disturbed. Whoever the arse is, it sounds like he is intent on waking the dead.”
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