The Cocoa Conspiracy

by Andrea Penrose

  “In that we think alike,” quipped Arianna. “Was the lady unhappy because she had designs on your person?” Not wishing to sound overly cynical, she omitted any mention of his title and money.

  “God, no. It’s just that as she does not bother to temper her tongue, I worried that she might say something . . . offensive.”

  Arianna burst out laughing. “Me? Offended?” she gasped in between chortles. “My dear Sandro, whatever were you thinking? On the contrary, I can’t imagine anything more interesting than to be insulted by a brilliant female scientist.”

  His jaw unclenched ever so slightly. “She can be prickly and sarcastic.”

  “So can I.”

  “Yes, well, sometimes in chemical experiments, when one puts two volatile substances together, they don’t react according to the textbook description but blow up in your face.”

  True, Arianna conceded. Strong-willed people often clashed despite shared interests. Still, his halting explanation had piqued her curiosity. Was Sophia Kirtland pretty? Strangely enough, that was the first question that popped to mind. The thought surprised her, but on a moment’s reflection she decided it was a fair thing to wonder. Clearly the earl was attracted to unconventional females who weren’t afraid to be different.

  Individuals who dared to defy the rules. Sandro himself did not feel bound by many strictures. Save, of course, for his rigid sense of honor.

  She shifted uncomfortably, heat tickling over the fire-kissed side of her body, while the shadowed half felt chilled to the marrow. All at once, the awareness of her utter lack of formal schooling seemed to press against her flesh. Did Sandro regret the fact that his wife did not possess a classical education, and could not discuss books and arcane scientific texts with him?

  Damnation. Arianna forced herself to push such questions aside. There were enough hidden secrets to uncover without delving any deeper into how her husband felt about the erudite stranger.

  “I appreciate your candor, Sandro,” she said. “And consider the matter closed.”

  He looked faintly relieved.

  “We’ve more pressing problems to deal with.”

  “Correct,” he intoned. “Not that Miss Kirtland is a problem for us in any regard, Arianna.”

  So you say, and I’ve no reason to doubt your word. She accepted the statement with a nod.

  There was an awkward pause, unspoken questions shadowing the silence. Saybrook cleared his throat, a tacit signal that in his mind the subject was closed.

  “However, since we are being candid, might I ask something about another female?” she said quickly.

  His face betrayed a spasm of surprise. “There is no other—”

  “Antonia,” she said. “I could not help but notice your reaction when Grentham mentioned her existence. Is she, perchance, a part of the reason you and the minister are constantly at daggers drawn?”

  Her husband drew in a deep breath. “He threatened to blacken the name of an innocent girl in order to keep me under his thumb during our first investigation. I told him I would kill him if he ever harmed her, so yes, I suppose you could say that there is a lingering enmity over the matter.”

  “Is that not something I should have known about?”

  That question elicited a harsh exhale. “At the time, we didn’t know each other well enough for me to confide such a secret. Then”—he looked up—“you had enough to worry about in trying to fit in with Polite Society. I wished to protect you from yet another trouble.”

  Protect. Arianna allowed a tiny smile. “I am unused to anyone trying to shield me from the sordid realities of life.”

  “I know that,” he replied softly, and yet the force behind the words took her by surprise. “We both have old habits that must begin to adjust to a new relationship.”

  “True,” she acquiesced. “No easy task.”

  His mouth quirked up at the corners. “I fear that nothing we face will prove easy over the coming months.”

  “No,” agreed Arianna. “But like you, I don’t find a challenge intimidating.”

  Saybrook held her gaze for a moment before taking up a slim leather folder from the tea table and methodically shuffling through the papers inside it. “Then let us begin formulating a plan of attack. As I said, I have been thinking . . .” He withdrew several sheets and placed them side by side on the polished wood. “There are going to be a bewildering array of issues and alliances raised at the congress in Vienna. Now that peace reigns over Europe, the powers that defeated Napoleon want to fix the political and social problems caused by over a decade of constant warfare.”

  He pursed his lips. “But rather than try to sort through it all, and run the risk of becoming hopelessly entangled, we must choose our battles, so to speak. What I’m suggesting is that we decide on the most likely enemy, and draw up an offensive strategy. I know from experience that unless we are disciplined and focused, we will end up blundering around, and simply shooting in the dark.”

  “And if we are wrong?” she asked.

  “We have limited time and resources, so there is only so much we can do in any case.”

  “I don’t suppose we can count on Grentham and his department for much assistance.”

  “No,” he said decisively. “For obvious reasons, I think it best to keep our own activities as much a secret from the minister as we can. There are certain ways in which he can help us, but I shall have to be extremely cautious in how I look to leverage them.”

  “Mr. Henning thinks him capable of treason,” mused Arianna.

  “Like many Scotsmen, Baz is suspicious of any English government official, especially one involved in state security.”

  “Do you think Grentham a traitor?” she pressed.

  The earl shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think; it matters what I know. And right now, I have no information one way or another to indicate whether Grentham is involved in this sordid scheme. So until I know more, I shall err on the side of caution.”

  “And yet, caution calls for going slowly,” she pointed out. “Time is not on our side.”

  “True. The odds are against us being able to figure out the target and stop whatever murder is being planned in such a short time,” agreed Saybrook. “But we have a clue—or clues. We simply have to use logic and probability to narrow down our choices, and then hope for the best.” He looked up from the pages. “That is not to say we won’t improvise in the heat of battle, but it’s best to have a strategy in mind when embarking on a campaign.”

  Interesting. Arianna could see the earl’s military experience reasserting itself. He was sitting up a little straighter, speaking a little more forcefully. “How would that be decided in the army?”

  “A general would call a staff meeting. He would listen to his regimental officers and review the intelligence reports from units like mine, taking care to study the facts and weigh the options. On top of all that, a good leader, like the Duke of Wellington, knows the importance of understanding the character and motivations of the opposing commander.”

  She thought for a moment. “So when all the fancy uniforms and gaudy medals are stripped away, it all comes down to human nature.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, we should start by making a list of what we know about Renard. He’s extremely cunning . . .” She paused to take up a pencil and her pocket notebook. “Extremely bold.”

  “Extremely confident,” added Saybrook. “To the point of arrogance. And that fact should work in our favor. Hubris tends to make someone underestimate his opponent.”

  “Hubris will also make him want to strike at a grand target, not some obscure official,” mused Arianna.

  “I think it’s safe to assume that Renard aims to do something dramatic. So we must consider his motives, and who he is aligned with.” He carefully sharpened a quill with his pen knife and dipped the fresh point into the inkwell. “Talleyrand seems the most likely. He too is an extremely clever man, skilled in dissembling and a master of political
manipulations. Together they make a formidable force.”

  “So do we,” she said softly.

  “Indeed.” The firelight caught the subtle quirk of his lips.

  Arianna wasn’t sure how to interpret the response. It seemed shadowed by a hint of hesitation. But then again, the flames were a dancing kaleidoscope of colors and her imagination was already overstimulated.

  “Intuition and luck proved stronger than cold-blooded calculation during our previous encounter with Renard,” said Saybrook. “So we were fortunate enough to beat him at his own game. However, we must be mindful that he and his employer are, for lack of a better term, professionals at deception and duplicity. And likely they have a very strong incentive for ensuring that their plan is a success.”

  “So do we,” repeated Arianna stubbornly. “They are acting on purely selfish desires, while we believe that thwarting their plans will avoid suffering and bloodshed for a great many people. So, in essence, it is a fight between good and evil.”

  Another little movement tugged at his mouth. “I thought you considered yourself far too pragmatic to believe in absolute principles like good and evil.”

  “As you see, you are a bad influence on me,” she quipped.

  Her husband’s laugh was a low smoky rumble that echoed the crackling of the coals. “Forgive me.” And then, in an instant, the flicker of humor was gone. “Fighting these dirty wars against dangerous adversaries was not part of our bargain, Arianna. I’ve very mixed feelings about involving you—”

  “Come, give me a little credit for having the ability to make up my own mind,” Arianna cut in. “I’m not some meek mouse of a wife, who wouldn’t dare display her own teeth and claws.”

  “Your abilities, both mental and physical, are most certainly not in question,” he replied tersely.

  “So?” she challenged.

  Saybrook stretched out his long legs and appeared to be contemplating the tips of his boots. Arianna poured another cup of chocolate, only to find the brew had gone tepid.

  “So, very well,” he finally answered. “I will take you at your word.”

  Words. Somehow their clarity had become clouded by nuance.

  “Thank you,” said Arianna, a little more forcefully than she intended.

  Turning away from the light, the earl drew an envelope from the leather portfolio. The ornate seal was, she saw, already broken. “Charles is having a reception later this week for the English delegation going to Vienna. He’s still a bit perplexed by my sudden desire to see the Emperor of Austria’s book collection, but he is used to my odd quirks by now, so I’m sure he doesn’t suspect any ulterior motive.”

  If her husband felt any guilt over the deception, he kept it well hidden.

  “It’s the perfect opportunity to renew your acquaintance with David Kydd.” He offered her the invitation. “It would be helpful if you whet his appetite for a more intimate friendship.”

  Ah, well. I did ask to be fed to the lions.

  “What man can resist the flirtations of a beautiful woman?” her husband went on. “That Kydd has a taste for games of betrayal might make the opportunity even more alluring to him. It would also afford a chance for Baz and me to pay a private visit to where he lives and search his rooms.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” said Arianna coolly. “I will make every effort to turn him sweet.” She flicked a quick look at the pearl-white card and its elegant engraving, then dropped it casually on the side table. “As Grentham said, I do have the lack of moral scruples to be comfortable dangling myself as bait.”

  The earl rose, and crossed the distance between them as swiftly and silently as a stalking predator. “I don’t know what you are thinking, Arianna . . .” His hands grasped her shoulders, his lips feathered against her brow. “But be assured that you are very special to me.” He kissed her, a long, lush embrace that ignited a spark of liquid heat deep in her belly.

  Damnation, their bodies were eloquent enough in expressing their physical attraction. Would that their brains communicated half so well.

  “I won’t allow any harm to come to you,” he murmured, slowly lifting his mouth from hers.

  Noblesse oblige? Or was it some more primitive passion ?

  Her mind was too tired, her emotions too tangled to delve any deeper into such questions tonight.

  Touching a finger to his lips, she said, “Suffice it to say, we’ll both do our best, Sandro. Other than that, don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  11

  From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chocolate Angel Food Cake

  2 cups sifted superfine sugar (about 1 pound)

  1⅓ cups sifted cake flour (not self-rising)

  1½ cups egg whites at room temperature (10 to 12 eggs)

  ¾ teaspoon kosher salt

  1½ teaspoons cream of tartar

  1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

  ½ cup coarsely grated semisweet chocolate

  For the glaze

  ½ pound semisweet chocolate chips

  ¾ cup plus 1 tablespoon heavy cream

  1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

  2. Combine ½ cup of the sugar with the flour and sift them together 4 times. Set aside.

  3. Place the egg whites, salt, and cream of tartar in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and beat on high speed until the eggs form medium-firm peaks, about 1 minute. With the mixer on medium speed, add the remaining 1½ cups of sugar by sprinkling it over the beaten egg whites. Beat on high speed for a few minutes until thick and shiny. Add the vanilla and continue to whisk until very thick, about 1 more minute. Scrape the beaten egg whites into a large bowl. Sift ¼ of the flour mixture over the egg whites and fold it very carefully into the batter with a rubber spatula. Continue adding the flour in 3 equal additions, sifting and folding until it’s all incorporated. Fold in the grated chocolate.

  4. Pour the batter into an ungreased 10-inch tube pan, smooth the top, and bake it for 35 to 45 minutes, until it springs back to the touch. Remove the cake from the oven and invert the pan on a cooling rack. When cool, run a thin, flexible knife around the cake to remove it from the pan.

  5. For the chocolate glaze, place the chocolate chips and the heavy cream in a heat-proof bowl over a pan of simmering water and stir until the chocolate melts. Pour the chocolate over the top of the cooled cake to cover the top completely and allow it to drizzle down the sides. If you have chocolate glaze left over, you can serve it on the side with the cake.

  The moon hung low, a thin crescent of pale light barely visible through the dark turrets and rooftops looming above the narrow alleyway.

  Saybrook chafed his gloved palms together and inched a bit closer to the twines of ivy wreathing the recessed gate. “No sign of movement here,” he whispered, peering out toward the empty street. “How about you?”

  “Nothing,” replied Henning. He turned up the collar of his dark coat. “You’re sure Lady S can keep Kydd occupied for the evening?”

  “She’s promised to ply him with champagne and feminine flatteries,” replied Saybrook as he set to work on the lock.

  “The man would have to lack a pulse if he didn’t respond to yer wife,” said the surgeon. “If anyone is capable of squeezing the most intimate secrets from a man—”

  “Thank you, but you may dispense with a detailed description of the process,” snapped the earl.

  “Jealous, are ye, laddie?”

  “No.” Several faint metallic clicks, barely audible above the rustling of the leaves, and the gate sprung open. “Now, stubble the talk and stay close. Kydd’s rooms are on the second floor. The live-in servants are quartered up by the attics, and should all be asleep by this hour, so we ought to be safe enough.”

  Slipping through the opening, they followed the narrow cart path around to the coal cellar, where a tradesmen’s entrance was set beneath the eaves. It too yielded to the earl’s picklock, allowing them entrance into the back of the lo
dging house. He led the way through a narrow passageway, which brought them around to the front entrance. From there they climbed quickly to Kydd’s rooms.

  Closing the door behind him, Saybrook eased the bolt home. The quarters were small, as befitted a single man of modest means, and neater than one might expect.

  “Empty,” announced Henning after taking a peek into the bedchamber. “By the by, how did you know which set of rooms was his?”

  “Grentham provided me with the information.” The flare of the candle’s wick caught the earl’s fleeting smile.

  “You and the minister are becoming bosom bows, eh?”

  “I don’t expect to be suckling at the tit of friendship anytime soon,” quipped Saybrook. “Let’s just say that for now, we both recognize the benefits of sharing information.”

  “Have a care that you don’t swallow a swill of his lies.”

  “Never fear.” He lifted the light and surveyed the sitting room. Its furnishing were Spartan—a large desk, pushed to one side of the window casement, a round table and four straight-back chairs, a worn leather armchair facing the hearth, a battered sideboard with one door hanging slightly askew.

  The only extravagance was the handsome set of bookshelves, filled with various volumes. Most were the usual student’s assortment of cheap, secondhand editions. But among the tattered spines were several sets of fine leather-bound books.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” murmured Henning, making his own survey. “A neat, modest abode, with nothing to excite any suspicions.”

  “Indeed.” Saybrook continued his slow pacing around the perimeter of the room. “Let us start with the desk, though I doubt we’ll find anything incriminating there.”

  “Not unless Kydd is a complete fool,” answered Henning. “Put yer candle out before it leaves a telltale drip of wax. I’ll light the lanthorn.” He raised the shutter and ran the beam over the blotter.