Andrea Penrose - The Cocoa Conspiracy

“You would dare to challenge me?” snarled Grentham.

“We would both come away from a duel bloodied—but as to who would suffer a mortal wound . . . well, if I were you, I would not be so sure of your muscle. You have made a good many enemies who would be only too happy to see your entrails fed to the Tower ravens.”

It was not just the glitter of malice that caught her eye. The flash of molten anger could not quite hide a glimmer of something else.

“Enough!” she suddenly exclaimed. “The two of you sound like snotty-nosed schoolboys who think they can prove their manhood by scrabbling in the mud.”

Saybrook and Grentham fell mute.

“Go ahead and bloody each other’s noses if it will make you feel happy. But it’s clear to me what is going on.”

Her husband drew his dark brows together.

“Lord Grentham needs our help, but he is too proud to ask.” Locking eyes with the minister, Arianna moved to the table and set the book down next to the documents, forcing him to turn ever so slightly. “It sticks in his craw to admit that we are the only ones he can really trust to take on such a difficult endeavor. As you pointed out, Sandro, his department is likely harboring a very clever spy. I don’t think Mellon’s aide Kydd is the mastermind. He’s been recruited by someone else. The question is who. And the problem is, the minister cannot give an answer.”

Grentham had gone white around the mouth during her speech. Now he looked at her with pure loathing.

Oh, I’ve been given the evil eye by far more duplicitous bastards than you, milord. Summoning a careless shrug, she went on, “So, much as he hates it, his best chance of catching the culprit is by enlisting us to do his dirty work. Once again, I might add.”

Saybrook nodded slowly. “As you see, Grentham, my wife is an uncanny judge of human nature. She sees things that others miss.”

The minister answered obliquely, which in itself was an admission that she had hit on the truth. “I don’t give a rat’s arse if she can scry the future in a crystal ball. Will you go to Vienna?” he demanded curtly.

Saybrook didn’t reply right away.

Vienna . Common sense warned against doing another deal with the Devil. But on impulse, Arianna decided to throw caution to the wind. Not out of any love for Grentham. The truth was, she had always wanted to see the city’s fabled sights. As a little girl, she had spent hours curled in her father’s lap as he had regaled her with tales about Europe’s most romantic cities. Vienna—the crossroads of East and West. A melting pot of cultures, with rich history, exotic splendors . . . and sumptuous cuisine.

“The Emperor of Austria is very interested in science, and is said to have one of the most magnificent collection of botanical books in the world,” she pointed out. “I am sure it would have some unique treasures concerning chocolate, given his country’s historic ties to Spain.”

The earl’s scowl lessened a fraction.

“And our desire to see the collection would provide a perfect cover for a trip to the city. It’s known throughout the ton that you are working on a book, and my interest in chocolate recipes is no secret either. We are considered odd. Unconventional and uninterested in the usual jockeying for power and privilege. So it will be easy to appear detached from all the political intrigue.” In the reflection of the leaded glass, she saw that both men were watching her intently. “And yet your title and pedigree will assure that we are invited to dance attendance on the parties surrounding the Conference. Which would allow us to pursue our own agenda—that of catching the traitor and stopping whatever murder is planned.”

Saybrook looked thoughtful. “An interesting suggestion.”

The minister maintained a stony face, but a telltale pulse of flesh, just a hairsbreadth above his starched shirt point, betrayed his inner emotions.

Yes or no. The final decision was up to Saybrook.

“There is, of course, the question of the murder here.” The earl met Grentham’s gaze. “For which I am under suspicion.”

“As you have pointed out, the evidence of the knife wound seems to indicate your innocence,” replied the minister tightly. “The inquest will no doubt return a verdict of assailant unknown.”

“Very well,” announced Saybrook after a long moment. “Seeing as you are in danger of making a royal cock-up of this business, we’ll go and do your department’s work for you, Grentham.” His voice turned slightly mocking. “But let us not make a habit of it.”

As the minister took a moment to square the documents, he speared Arianna with yet another daggered look.

Arianna felt a quiver of outrage. Rather than mentally cutting up her vital organs, the ungrateful lout ought to be expressing his gratitude. “You might say thank you,” she muttered.

Grentham ignored the sarcasm. “We have no time to waste in formulating a plan.”

“Starting with the documents.” Saybrook folded his arms across his chest. “What do you suggest we do with them?”

“Why, copy them and put the originals back in the book,” answered Grentham without hesitation. He was in command of himself, any hint of emotion banished by the intensity of crafting a trap for the enemy. She felt a twinge of unwilling admiration for a man who could so be single-minded in his purpose.

Life as a hunter. But surely the chase must grow tiring at times.

“Dare I hope that your wife managed to extract them without doing too much damage to the marbled papers?”

Thrusting aside her musings, Arianna smiled sweetly. “I am very good with a knife.”

“Excellent. Let us hope your skills with a glue pot are equally sharp.” He gestured at the cabinets built into the far wall. “I would imagine there are some bookbinding supplies here. Find what you need and smuggle the items back to your rooms—I need not remind you that secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

“As you so kindly pointed out, sir, I am no stranger to scheming,” replied Arianna, any feelings of sympathy for the minister quickly dispelled by his insufferable arrogance. “It goes without saying that Davilenko must think he has outwitted us by getting his hands on the book.”

“In this case, truth will serve our purpose well,” said Saybrook. “I shall make a show of displaying the gift that my wife chose to celebrate my birthday. It will be easy enough to leave it lying around in one of the parlors.”

“You think he’ll take the bait?” asked Arianna.

“He has no reason to think that we know anything about the hidden documents,” said Saybrook. “If I were him, I’d seize the opportunity to recover them. There’s a good chance he has not yet admitted his initial failure to his contact—conspirators are very unforgiving of any mistakes—so my guess is that the plot will proceed as planned.”

“Let us hope so,” said Grentham brusquely. “For your sake.”

“And for yours,” countered Saybrook. “If I were you, I would not forget about the murdered stranger. Does not the fact that a former French Grenadier took dead aim at me set off any alarm bells?”

Grentham laughed softly. “Indeed, it’s quite alarming to learn that Imperial Guards are such terrible shots.”

Arianna muttered something in Creole that wiped the smile off his face.

“There are legions of half-starved former soldiers roaming the streets, both here and across the Channel,” added the minister. “And most are willing to commit violence for a handful of coins. Perhaps someone doesn’t like you.”

“I can, of course, think of a few.” They stared at each other, and the space between them seemed to crackle with invisible sparks. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be satisfied with such a glib answer.”