Andrea Penrose - The Cocoa Conspiracy

“Mmmph.” With her mouth full of hairpins, she could do no more than grunt.

“If Rochemont is Renard, or merely working for him, he may be aware that I was involved in investigating the Prince Regent’s poisoning. That incident involved a chef, so if I were him, I’d be thinking long and hard about the coincidence of having kitchen trouble here in Vienna.”

Her mouth went a little dry.

“So I think it imperative that people see the Countess of Saybrook here tonight, in all her feminine glory. The timing should quell any suspicions that Rochemont might have. Like most people, he will assume that it would take an act of God—or black magic—to effect such a transformation.”

“Rochemont . . .” Arianna quickly jabbed a few fasteners into the hastily formed topknot and threaded a ribbon through it. “So you already know that Rochemont is the enemy.”

He nodded. “Baz discovered some key information in Edinburgh. He refused to explain it all until you are present. But yes, he said enough to indicate that Adonis’s outward beauty masks an inner rot.”

“Damnation, we do have much to talk about,” she murmured, taking up a comb to put the finishing touches on her hair.

“An understatement, if ever there was one.” Saybrook began to gather up her discarded clothing.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, catching his reflection in the looking glass. “There is a paper in the right pocket of the breeches. I went through a great deal of trouble to ensure that you see it.”

“Ah.”

She saw him tuck it away.

“I thought you weren’t going to do anything risky,” he said softly.

“Please don’t ring a peal over my head. I didn’t intend to, but when the unexpected arises, one is sometimes forced to improvise.”

“Improvise,” he repeated. Opening one of the bureau drawers, he buried the chef’s clothing beneath a pile of petticoats. “Well, we are not quite done for the night. Are you ready for one more adventure?”

Arianna drew on a pair of elbow-length kidskin gloves to hide her scraped hands. “But of course.”

“At last! I finally meet the lovely countess in the flesh.”

Arianna silently cursed her bad luck. Of all the rakes and roués dancing through the Austrian capital, His Imperial Highness, Tsar Alexander of Russia was perhaps the most blatant.

“And what lovely flesh it is,” he added in silky murmur as he lifted her gloved hand to his lips.

“Your Majesty is too kind.”

The Tsar gave a lascivious wink. “I hear that the earl is writing a book on the history of chocolate. But really, why would he spend his hours in the Austrian Imperial Library studying moldering old documents when he has a wife that looks good enough to eat?”

“Ha, ha, ha.” His entourage laughed at the witticism.

“You would have to ask him,” answered Arianna with a provocative pout. She knew that she looked as though she had just tumbled out of bed. So I might as well play the role to the hilt. A saucy sway of her hips set her skirts in a slow swirl, the froth of lace and ruffles kissing up against the Tsar’s polished evening pumps. “When we are together, we don’t discuss his work.”

Alexander ran the tip of his tongue over his plump lower lip. In his youth he had been called “the Angel” for his blonde good looks, but his dissolute lifestyle was turning his body to fat. “Boring stuff, work,” he announced, drawing another round of titters from his friends. “Come have tea with me, madam. I promise there will be no talk of books or manuscripts.” An exaggerated wink of his bright blue eye. “Ha! I will keep you entertained in other ways.”

“I look forward to it,” she replied.

“Excellent!” He bowed slightly and offered his arm, setting off the chink of gold on gold as his myriad medals brushed up against one another. “We shall discuss the details while we dance.”

“Alas, I seem to have twisted my ankle during some vigorous activity earlier this evening,” Arianna flashed a coy smile. “My husband was just about to take me home.”

“Lucky man,” murmured the Tsar. “When you are fully recovered—”

“Are you ready, my dear?” Saybrook, who had been conversing with one of the English military attachés, turned and placed a proprietary hand at the small of her back. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I must get my wife to bed. If an appendage is left to swell, it can turn very painful unless properly treated.”

Alexander nodded—a little hungrily, thought Arianna.

“Do take care, Lady Saybrook. I look forward to meeting again when you are able to perform all the movements required of . . . the waltz.”

Men, she thought wryly. No matter how civilized and sophisticated they were, rivalry to impress the opposite sex often brought out the most primitive instincts.

Saybrook waited until the porter had brought him his overcoat and they had moved out to the entrance portico before saying in a low voice, “I saw Rochemont by the refreshment table watching your exchange with the Tsar.”

“Let us hope he comes to the conclusion that the light-fingered chef was simply one of the many petty criminals who have come to Vienna to profit from all the wealthy people gathered here for the Conference.”

Their breath formed pale puffs of vapor as they hurried down the line of carriages to their waiting driver.

“We may have won a skirmish,” observed Saybrook, draping his coat around her shoulders. “But I am damnably worried about the outcome of the war. We may now have a better idea of who our enemies are, but the truth is, with Kydd dead we have lost our only real lead. So, barring a stroke of luck, I fear we are fighting a nigh impossible battle in trying to stop them.”

The door clicked shut, throwing his face into shadow. “If only . . .” he muttered, sounding tense and tired. “If only I could break the damnable code . . . if only we knew their target . . .” His breath released in a harsh sigh. “If only I didn’t feel as if I was waltzing in damnable, dizzying circles.”

Arianna settled back against the squabs, the slight movement drawing squeals of silent protest from her bruised body. And yet, despite the aches and scrapes, she managed a grim smile.

“I can’t say for sure, but my own merry dance tonight may have led me to a bit of luck.” She winced as she rubbed at the back of her neck. “I trust you have that scrap of paper tucked safely in your pocket.”

½ cups (7 ounces) unbleached, all-purpose flour

½ cup unsweetened cocoa (not Dutch process)

1 teaspoon ancho chili powder

1 teaspoon cinnamon

½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

¼ teaspoon cloves

¼ teaspoon fine sea salt

1 cup unsalted butter (2 cubes), at cool room temperature

1 cup sugar

2 egg yolks, lightly beaten, at cool room temperature

finely grated zest of 1 large orange

1 teaspoon espresso powder, dissolved in 1 teaspoon hot water

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon orange oil (or 1 teaspoon orange extract)

1. In a medium mixing bowl, sift the flour, cocoa, chili powder, cinnamon, cayenne pepper, cloves, and salt together. Reserve.

2. Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter and sugar together thoroughly, about 3 minutes.

3. Add the egg yolks and continue beating until creamy.

4. Add the orange zest, dissolved espresso, vanilla, and orange oil, and incorporate.