Sweet Revenge

by Andrea Penrose

  Sitting up, she winced as a blade of sunlight cut across her face. No rest for the wicked, she thought wryly, squinting through the diamond-paned windows. She usually rose with the dawn, but the previous day must have . . .

  The previous day.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Arianna pressed her palms to her brow. Was this living, breathing nightmare really less than twenty-four hours old? Burnt powder. Twisted screams. Spattered blood. The smell of death. A churning vortex of spinning, swirling memories stirred a sudden nausea.

  No, no, no, it was hunger that had her feeling light-headed, not fear.

  “Signorita?” The knock came again.

  “Sí.” Throwing back the covers, Arianna reached for her wrapper. The maid had brought her nightclothes the previous evening, gorgeous silken garments that slid over the skin like a whisper of tropical air. And certainly far more costly than any clothing she had ever possessed, she reflected, catching sight of herself in the cheval glass.

  Dear God, in such borrowed finery, I actually look like a real lady.

  A wink of light. A mere illusion. From her father she had learned how easily perceptions could be manipulated.

  Turning abruptly, Arianna called, “Come in,” then added in Spanish, “Pase, por favor.”

  The door nudged open and a middle-aged woman entered, carrying a silver tray nearly as wide as her own ample girth. It was loaded with food, the aroma of fresh-baked rolls and fried York ham mingling with the sugared scent of steaming hot chocolate.

  Despite her earlier queasiness, Arianna suddenly felt ravenous. “Thank you—Gracias,” she said as the woman set it down on a small table by the windows.

  “De nada.” After carefully arranging a fork and knife atop a starched white napkin, the woman gestured for Arianna to sit.

  Pausing only to pick up a folded sheet of paper from the dressing table, she hurried to comply. A full cup was already waiting, and as the first swallow swirled down her throat, she let out a little sigh.

  “Ambrosial,” she murmured, savoring the rich taste of the cacao mingling with hot and sweet spices.

  “Good?” asked woman in tentative English, her dark eyes watchful.

  “Very good,” replied Arianna. “Cinnamon, anchiote, vanilla . . .” She took another sip. “And some spice I can’t quite place.”

  The woman tapped a finger to a tiny dish beside the chocolate pot and mimed a sprinkling motion. “Nuez moscada.”

  “Ah. Nutmeg.”

  Nodding, the woman turned to leave, but Arianna placed a hand on her arm. “A moment, por favor.” Handing over a recipe that she had scribbled out earlier, Arianna managed, through a mixture of English, Spanish, and hand language, to communicate what she wanted.

  The woman’s solemn expression gave way to a tiny smile. “Sí, sí. I understand, signorita. I will take this to Bianca.”

  “Tell your cook that if she doesn’t have the ingredients in her pantries, they are all easily obtainable in London,” said Arianna. “I will be happy to come down to the kitchen if she has any questions.”

  Tucking the paper in her apron, the woman bobbed her head and hurried away.

  “A lost cause,” she muttered to herself. “But then, who am I to talk?” Her stomach growled in answer. “Right—let the condemned eat a hearty meal.”

  After the first few bites, Arianna felt her mood brighten. The warmth of the chocolate, the dappling of the sun, the twittering of birds . . . a new day, and with it, she must look at her situation with a new perspective.

  During the night, she had already decided on a change of plan. Her first impulse had been to escape, but on further reflection that seemed a bad choice. Flee now, and she would likely never get another chance at revenge.

  Revenge. Her knife hovered for a moment over the plate. Strangely enough, she hadn’t yet decided what she wanted. Was it to coax a confession from him and then slide a blade between his ribs? Or somehow see him brought to justice for his crime?

  Either way, what mattered was that when the time came, Concord would know that a Hadley had not allowed the truth to die along with her father. But to do that, I must get close. The trouble was, the earl had seen her as a woman, and whatever his other faults, he was not a man who would be fooled twice by any disguise.

  No, if she wanted to pursue her quarry, she would have to improvise. And after careful consideration, a plan had started to take shape. . . .

  Another tap on the oak interrupted her thoughts, but this time it was Saybrook, not a servant, who entered.

  “I see you have broken your fast.” His expression conveyed an edge of irony as he surveyed the heaping platters.

  “There is more than enough to share,” said Arianna.

  The earl pulled up a chair. A night had done little to improve his appearance. He had shaved, and brushed his long locks into some semblance of order, but the burnished blackness only accentuated the sickly pallor of his gaunt face.

  Bloody hell, she hoped he wasn’t about to expire. She needed him alive, at least for a little longer.

  “I’m not hungry,” he murmured.

  “No wonder you look like you should be knocking on death’s door, not mine.” Arianna forked a piece of pineapple onto her plate. “By the by, isn’t it highly improper for you to be visiting me in my bedchamber? My reputation would be in tatters if word got out.” She met his grim gaze and grinned. “As would yours, milord.”

  “I think we can dispense with formalities, Miss Smith,” said Saybrook dryly. “Our secret should be safe enough. For now, that is. However—”

  “However, we must decide how to deal with this situation,” she interrupted. “I agree, sir. I have been thinking . . . and I have a proposition.”

  The earl crossed one booted foot over the other. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, and I shall cut to the chase, sir,” said Arianna, deciding that coyness was a waste of time. “You need me. I have seen and heard certain things at Lady Spencer’s establishment that may be of utmost importance in unraveling your mystery. So I’ll help you—but only on certain conditions.”

  “Which are?”

  “I’ll tell you all I know, and I’ll help you pursue certain leads—as to how is a detail that I will get to in a moment.”

  His face remained expressionless.

  “But in return,” she went on, “you must allow me the freedom to follow up on my own concerns. I assure you, they do not conflict with yours.” Arianna paused for a fraction, giving him time to digest what she had said. “That is my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  “But you won’t reveal what those concerns of yours are?”

  She shook her head.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Good God, no,” she replied. “I’ve learned not to trust anyone.” She slanted a challenging look at him. “Why should I? You aren’t going to claim that you trust me, are you?”

  “Good God, no,” he said with a sardonic smile.

  “There, you see,” she said. “We are capable of establishing a certain level of honesty with each other. Within such a framework, we could be of use to each other.”

  “Perhaps.” Saybrook folded his arms across his chest. “But since you are asking me to hang my cods over the fire, so to speak, I would appreciate a little more assurance that they will not end up burned to a crisp.”

  She swallowed a bite of creamed kippers before replying, “That’s a fair request.” Pouring herself another cup of chocolate she added a grating of nutmeg. “By the by, your cook is not half bad. Cilantro and guindilla verde peppers add a piquant flavor to the shirred eggs.”

  “I will pass on your compliments,” he said. “But much as I enjoy discussing cuisine, I would prefer that we stick to the subject.

  “Very well.” Arianna buttered a thick slice of toast, and then added a dollop of strawberry preserves. “Lady Spencer liked to talk, and I encouraged it. I would prepare a serving of my special hot chocolate on most afternoons, along with a plate of her favorite
almond pastries. And while she ate and drank, I asked questions about her circle of friends.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve told you, my reasons are not relevant to your interests, Lord Saybrook.”

  He grunted. “Go on.”

  “So I learned a good many details about the Prince Regent and his current circle of fellow carousers. Suffice it to say, they are a depraved group, but Lord Concord and several of his friends in particular seem to be the leaders in a variety of vices. Lady S hinted that they are members of a secret society. I had to add a little rum to her chocolate in order to loosen her tongue, but I got her to admit that they made mention of the Hellfire Club on more than one occasion. And that she herself had participated in their rites.”

  Saybrook straightened slightly in his chair.

  She didn’t miss the subtle tensing of his body. “I see that’s got your attention, eh? Yes, well, given its long and sordid history, Lord Dashwood’s creation is likely the hotbed of all sorts of illicit activities.”

  “Most of which are prurient sexual practices, not murder,” pointed out the earl.

  “What about the dark rumors of rape and human sacrifice?”

  He lifted a brow. “That was years ago. The truth is, the club is said to have died out long ago.”

  “That does not mean it hasn’t been resurrected by a new group of devils,” she countered.

  Saybrook tapped his fingertips together. “You seem awfully knowledgeable on this esoteric bit of history.”

  “I have my reasons,” she murmured.

  “Yes, yes, I know—which naturally you have no intention of sharing with me.”

  “Naturally.” Taking up a fresh cup, she switched from chocolate to coffee. “You ought to ask for a slightly darker roast,” she remarked, taking a moment to sniff the aroma. “These beans are from the Blue Mountains of Jamaica, and the extra heat would caramelize the natural sweetness.”

  “For a slender woman, you seem to consume a great deal of food.”

  “No doubt I shall grow quite fat in my old age. But for now, I consider eating one of life’s little pleasures.”

  “You know, Miss Smith, you ought to be more concerned with your neck than your stomach,” growled Saybrook.

  “Irritable this morning, aren’t you? No wonder, seeing as you’ve probably put nothing in your own bread-box, save for opium.”

  “I prefer a quiet, contemplative start to the day, and this constant verbal fencing is beginning to stick in my craw.” He rose abruptly, cursing as his leg buckled slightly. “I shall leave you to your meal, seeing as you seem to be taking such great delight in it.” His mouth thinned to a grim line. “Let us hope it is not your last.”

  Arianna carefully put down her fork. “Does my appetite offend you?” she asked.

  “No, it’s your bloody closemouthed stubbornness,” he replied through gritted teeth. “If I were you, I would be a tad more anxious to help me find the real culprit. Until I do, you remain the prime suspect.”

  “I am trying to help,” she retorted. “Shall I draw up a diagram, milord?” Her knife sketched several lines in the air. “The Prince connects to his coterie of fellow reprobates. These men are linked to a secret club . . . I should think it would all be very obvious.”

  “Perhaps too obvious.”

  “Please sit down, Lord Saybrook. You are clearly in great discomfort.”

  “That is because you, Miss Smith, are a royal pain in the arse.”

  She laughed. “I’ve been called far worse.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” The earl sat. “In another moment, it will be me blistering your maidenly ears.”

  “Why, sir, you actually possess a sense of humor.”

  He grimaced. “Rarely at this hour in the morning.”

  “I may have something that will help improve your disposition. . . .”

  As if in answer to her thoughts, the woman from earlier reappeared. This time, she was carrying naught but a tall glass filled with a pale green liquid and a plate with several nut-brown wafers.

  “Buenos días, Elena,” began the earl, only to be cut off by a rapid-fire volley of Spanish.

  His brows pinched together as he looked from the woman to Arianna and then back again. “What the devil . . .,” he muttered, trying to ward off the libation being thrust at him.

  “Dio Madre, drink it,” snapped Arianna. “It’s a draught for pain,” she explained. “As a child, I was cared for by a local quimboiseur in the Caribbean. Like your grandmother, she was an expert in the healing arts, though some called her a witch.”

  “You expect me to swallow this . . . this black-magic potion?”

  “It’s far better than that dark drug that is rotting your innards,” she countered. “But, of course, the choice is yours.”

  Elena wagged a thick finger and added her own admonition.

  “Women,” muttered Saybrook. But after a slight hesitation, he drained the glass and handed it back to Elena, who graced him with a beatific smile. “There. Satisfied, Miss Smith?”

  Arianna cut off a tiny slice of fruit. “It’s to my benefit that you stay alive a while longer.” She looked at Elena and raised three fingers. “Thrice a day, and it’s best taken with food.” To the earl, she added, “Your appetite will quickly return, once you start weaning yourself from the opium. You will also find that the draught lessens the effects of withdrawal.”

  Still smiling, Elena placed the plate of wafers on the table and withdrew from the room.

  “You don’t waste any time in turning a household upside down, Miss Smith,” grumbled Saybrook.

  “Look, I thought you were anxious to solve this case,” retorted Arianna. “From what I overheard last night, time seems to be of the essence.”

  He fingered the small silver fob on his watch chain. “You ought not have eavesdropped on my private conversations.”

  “Yes, well, see how useful a woman with no shred of decency can be to you?” she countered. “I doubt that there are any rules that I’m not willing to break in order to get what I want.” The soft splash of coffee punctuated her words. “And trust me, milord, there are things I can do to wheedle information out of the suspects that you, for all your military skills, can’t.” She fluttered her lashes. “If you grasp my meaning.”

  He stared at her, unblinking. “An interesting argument, Miss Smith. But for all your fancy verbal footwork, you still haven’t explained just how you intend to put theory into practice.”

  “I was just getting to that.” Arianna pushed back from the table with a contented sigh. “Ahhhh, that was delicious,” she said, savoring the pleasant warmth radiating through her body. She had gone hungry often enough not to take it for granted. “I think much better on a full stomach.”

  “Then you ought to be a veritable genius,” said Saybrook, eyeing her empty plate.

  She responded by pouring the last bit of hot chocolate and nudging the cup his way. “While you are still snappish as a starved mastiff. Finish this while I talk.”

  He looked about to argue, then picked up the drink and took a small sip. “Now kindly continue, before I swoon from suspense.”

  Arianna smoothed at a fold in her wrapper. “I think we both agree that the person responsible for poisoning the Prince was either me or one of the guests at Lady Spencer’s party, correct?”

  The earl gave a tiny nod.

  “Let’s assume I’m telling the truth, so that would mean our remaining suspects are all ladies and gentlemen who move in the highest circle of Society.” She didn’t bother to ask for his affirmation. “Which means that for me to get close to them—close enough to learn their most intimate secrets—I will need to be accepted as one of their own.”

  Saybrook appeared to be more interested in the carved acanthus leaf ceiling molding than her words.

  Ignoring his wandering gaze, she forged on. “How, you may ask, do I intend to do that? Well, the answer is ingeniously simple. Your uncle—the Right Honorable Mr. Mellon—”r />
  “I’m acquainted with my relative’s name,” he murmured, which showed that he was listening after all.

  “I’m aware that Mr. Mellon is a highly respected member of the ton, a paragon of virtue, a pattern card of propriety. So, if he were to introduce a distant female relative into Society, she would be welcomed without question. Embraced, as it were, with open arms.”

  That seemed to get his attention.

  “Especially if word went out that she was a very wealthy widow. Men are attracted to money, all the more so when it is attached to a lady who is not a skittish virgin. And I know enough about the most likely suspect to offer just the right enticements so that he will be drawn to me—or, rather, my persona—like a moth to a flame.”

  When Saybrook didn’t react right away, she asked, “So, what do you say?”

  “I would say,” he replied slowly, “you have a mind that rivals that of Machiavelli.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I’m not sure it was meant as one.” He blew out his breath. “Clearly you are clever. And wily.”

  “Which are just the sort of qualities you need to catch a cunning criminal. Fight fire with fire.”

  “Yes, but that brings us back to the matter of trust. How do I know you won’t run off and leave me in the lurch?”

  “That is a chance you will have to take,” she said. “But be assured that I have my own reasons for wishing to see this through. The fact that we have common goals should put your mind at ease.” Seeing his frown, she quickly added, “And after all, it’s not like you have much to lose. At the moment, you have no real leads, no real suspects.”

  “Save for you,” he reminded her.

  Arianna waved it off with an impatient huff. “You’ll only waste your precious time pursuing that idea, sir.” She paused for a moment. “By the by, why is time of the essence in tracking down the culprit?”

  It was his turn to evade a question. “The reason is not relevant to your interests, Miss Smith.”

  Confident that she would find a way to worm the truth out of him if they joined forces, Arianna let it pass with a shrug. “Fair enough. So let’s return to my proposal, Lord Saybrook. Surely you see that the positives far outweigh the negatives.”