Andrea Penrose: The Cocoa Conspiracy

“Poxy slut.” Breaking away, the man clenched a fist and threw a wild punch at her head.

She ducked the blow and countered with a kick that buckled his knee. “True—if I were a real lady, I would be falling into a dead swoon.” Her jab clipped him flush on the chin. “But as you see, I’m not. Not a lady, that is.”

Staggered, the man fell against the display table, knocking several books to the floor. His curses were now coming in a language she didn’t recognize, but the edge of panic was unmistakable.

What madness possessed him? It was only a book, albeit a lovely one.

Arianna glanced at the archway, intent on making a strategic retreat. The last thing she wanted to do was to ruffle the rarified feathers of Messrs. Harvey & Watkins by brawling among their rare books. Such a scene would only embarrass her husband, who, ye Gods, had suffered enough gossip on her account . . .

Bloody hell. A glint of steel drew her eye back to her assailant.

His fumblings inside his coat revealed not only a book hidden in the waistband of his trousers but a slim-bladed knife.

“Try to use that on me, and you’ll find your cods cut off,” she warned softly.

He blinked, looking torn between anger and fear.

The sliver of silence was broken by the sound of hurried steps in the adjoining room. “Is someone in need of assistance ?” called a shop clerk loudly.

Her assailant hesitated for an instant, then whirled and darted for the archway, bumping into the other man as they crossed paths.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeve, the clerk frowned at Arianna. “This is not a place for sordid assignations, miss,” he chided, looking down his long nose at her chipped straw bonnet and drab serge gown. As his gaze slid to the fallen books, he added a sharp sniff. “I must ask you to leave—immediately. We cater to a very dignified clientele who expect an atmosphere of decorum when they visit us.”

Ah, no good deed goes unpunished, thought Arianna sardonically. On her way home from the rough-and-tumble markets, she had stopped her carriage on impulse to browse through the fancy books. Better to have waited until she had swathed herself in silk and satin for the requisite morning calls in Mayfair.

“First of all, it is madam ,” she corrected. “And secondly, I am quite aware of what sort of patrons frequent your shop.”

The clerk winced at the word “shop.”

“However, you might want to take a closer look at the so-called Quality you allow through your door,” Arianna continued, assuming an air of icy hauteur. “That man was certainly no gentleman. He had a knife, and was probably cutting prints out of your precious volumes.” Her husband had explained how some unscrupulous collectors sliced up rare books for the maps or prints, which were sold individually to art dealers for a much higher profit.

The clerk’s look of disdain now pinched into one of horror.

“He also stole a book,” she added. “I saw it hidden under his coat.”

“B-but he has made several purchases recently, all properly paid for,” protested the clerk. Another glance, another sniff . “You must be mistaken. By all appearances, he is a perfect gentleman; no matter that he is a foreigner.”

“Well he’s not,” shot back Arianna. “You may take my word for it.”

His mouth thinned. “And who, might I ask, are you ?”

“The Countess of Saybrook.” Arianna held out the chocolate book. “Now, before you toss me out on my arse, kindly wrap that and write up a receipt. And do make it quick. My carriage is waiting and the earl does not like for his prime cattle to take a chill.”

2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder

⅓ cup boiling water

1 15-ounce can coconut milk

¼ cup dark brown sugar

Pinch kosher salt

1 ounce bittersweet chocolate, chopped (about ¼ cup)

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the meringue (optional)

1 large egg white

3 tablespoons superfine sugar

1. Whisk cocoa into ⅓ cup boiling water.

2. In a saucepan, combine coconut milk, brown sugar and salt. Simmer, stirring, until sugar is dissolved, about 2 minutes. Whisk in hot cocoa and chopped bittersweet chocolate until smooth. Stir in vanilla.

3. In bowl of an electric mixer, beat egg white on medium speed until it begins to foam, about 1 minute. Add superfine sugar tablespoon by tablespoon as mixer is running. Beat until egg white stiffens to soft peaks and is shiny, 5 minutes. Dollop onto cups of hot chocolate.

Heels clip-clopping over the black and white marble tiles of the entrance hall, Arianna crossed to the side table and tossed down her bonnet. It was, she admitted, a hideous head covering. But until now, she hadn’t noticed the smudge of green slime on the peak of its poke.

No wonder the shop clerk continued to eye me suspiciously, even after I passed over a large wad of banknotes to pay for the book.

“You are looking very fetching, my dear.”

As she turned abruptly, several hairpins slipped free, loosening a lopsided spill of curls across one cheek.

“And is that a new perfume you are wearing?” Alessandro Henry George De Quincy, the fifth Earl of Saybrook, gave an experimental sniff. “Eau de Rotten Cabbage, perhaps? Or is it turnip?”

“Oh, please. Don’t ask.”

“Very well.” His gaze moved to the neatly wrapped package tucked under her arm. “What have you there?”

“Never mind,” she said tartly to her husband. “It’s a surprise.”

He made a face. “I am not overly fond of surprises.”

Neither am I.

“This one is perfectly harmless,” Arianna assured him. Anxious to change the subject, she gestured for the maid who had accompanied her on the shopping expedition to take the baskets of fresh produce down to the kitchens. “Elena, tell Bianca that there were no cèpes to be had,” she instructed. “Though I do think she will find the goat cheeses a perfect match for the Seckel pears she purchased yesterday.”

Her husband raised a teasing brow as he surveyed her disheveled appearance. “Did you have to battle a regiment of Soult’s cavalry for the last wedges?”

“The market was crowded this morning,” she answered evasively. “I know I look a fright.”

“You would look ravishing wearing a burlap grain sack,” he replied with a grin. “Still, you may wish to change before joining Charles and me in the library for tea.”

“Your uncle is coming by? Good Lord, then I’d better hurry.”

Saybrook coughed. “Actually, he arrived just a few moments before you did.”

It was only then that Arianna noticed the tall, elegantly attired figure standing in the shadows of the marble staircase.

“Forgive me for intruding without notice at this early hour.” Charles Mellon stepped forward and bowed over her hand.

Some perverse imp of Satan must be intent on making mischief for me today.

“Nonsense, sir. You know that you are always welcome here.” Despite the quick assurance, her smile was a little tentative. She suspected that Mellon was not very pleased about her recent marriage to his nephew, though he was too much of a gentleman to be anything but scrupulously polite in her presence.

“Thank you, milady,” he replied with grave formality.

That he hadn’t approved of her at the beginning of their acquaintance was no secret. And with good reason, Arianna thought wryly. At the time, she had been a fugitive from justice, and because of her, Saybrook had been drawn into a tangled web of corruption and conspiracy. It was only by the grace of God—and their cleverness—that they had escaped with their lives.