Andrea Penrose: The Cocoa Conspiracy

“My Mantons?” His jaw dropped. “But they are far too dangerous for a lady. They have hair triggers and are deadly accurate—”

“Which is precisely why I need them,” interrupted Arianna. She smiled sweetly. “ Now , if you please.”

The curt command rendered him momentarily speechless. The weapons were not only frightfully lethal, but frightfully expensive.

“Why?” he finally sputtered.

“I haven’t time to explain, but a cadre of conspirators is seeking to throw Europe back into chaos. Saybrook and I intend to stop them.”

As Alexander shifted, she began gauging the distance between her fist and his chin. On second thought, a knee to the crotch might be a more effective way of rendering him immobile—

“Wait here.” He was lighter on his feet than she expected. Stepping over the still-smoking candle, he disappeared into his bedchamber. Arianna heard a drawer bang, and then he was back, brandishing two perfectly matched pistols. “I wouldn’t lend these to just anyone, but you strike me as someone who knows how to handle them.” The burnished walnut butts were smooth as satin against her hands as the Tsar passed them over. “However, be forewarned that if you lose them, you will have to pay a forfeit. A rather large one.”

“Agreed, sir.” Arianna slid them into her pockets. “But I don’t intend to lose either your weapons or my virtue—or the battle against a traitorous bastard.”

“Ye are sure ye don’t need my help, laddie?”

“We’ve been over this, Baz. It’s best that you stay here.” After a quick look at the time, Saybrook handed the surgeon his pocket watch. “The pageant is scheduled to last just over an hour. If I am not back by a quarter to nine, force your way to Talleyrand’s box. Wellington will recognize your ugly phiz, and as we agreed, I sent him a note this afternoon informing him that if you appear, he is to follow your instructions without question.”

“Aye, I know the plan.” Henning listened to the music drifting out from the palace. “But I still hate playing second fiddle. You are the one waltzing into danger.”

The earl ignored his friend’s grousing. “If things go badly awry, I am counting on you to get Arianna safely out of the city,” he went on in a low voice.

“That goes without saying,” answered Henning.

“Not that I expect any trouble.” Click, click. Saybrook checked the priming of his pistol. “With the metal strip in place, there is little danger that the bomb will go off. In any case, I’ll be hiding behind the cabinet and will apprehend Rochemont before he puts the acid in place.”

“What if he has an accomplice?” demanded Henning.

“You think I’ve gone soft from all my wife’s sweetened chocolate and can’t handle two adversaries?” countered the earl.

“I’m simply warning you to stay on guard for the unexpected. We both know that when on a clandestine mission, it’s always a good idea to have someone watching your arse.”

The earl’s chuckle formed a pale puff of vapor in the night air. “Seeing as I have no intention of allowing either you or Arianna to ogle my bum tonight, I’ll have to trust that I have eyes in the back of my head.”

The surgeon didn’t smile. “I’m serious, Sandro. Be careful. Renard and his pack of varlets are utterly ruthless.”

“As am I, when I have to be.” Click, click. The hammer slid to half cock. “Save me a swallow of your Highland whisky.”

Thick as saddle leather, the earthy smells of horse and sweat filled Arianna’s nostrils as she crept along the row of empty stalls. The Hungarian stallions had been led to another part of the stables to await the final preparations for the Joust, leaving the area near the storage rooms dark and deserted. The only sounds were the creak of a loose gate and the faint scrabbling of cat hunting through the straw. Looped reins and silver-studded bridles hung from the dark beams, forcing her to keep her head down to avoid tangling in their web.

Saybrook had been adamant about keeping her away from danger, but what if he needed help? Her plan was simply to watch his arse. If all went well, he would never know . . .

Bent low, she suddenly saw a twitch of lamplight dart through a small gap between the planking and the floor. Edging into one of the storage alcoves, she held herself very still and cocked an ear to listen. Someone was moving slowly and stealthily along the row of stalls on the other side of the wall.

“You are late,” came a curt whisper.

Arianna inched closer to the rough wood.

“Be grateful I’m giving you a moment of my time.” It was Rochemont speaking, and he sounded angry. “I’m the one who has done all the planning, and taken all the risks. Why should I suddenly take orders from you?”

“Because I carry this.” A crackle of paper, followed by the clink of metal.

“Then I suppose I have no choice but to accept your authority, seeing as you bear his badge.” Rochemont’s tone had turned petulant. “Does that mean Renard is here in Vienna?”

The other man gave a humorless laugh. “If he wished for you to know that, he would tell you.”

“So, that means you aren’t him,” said Rochemont quickly.

“Jumping to conclusions is dangerous, mon comte .”

So, the man was the comte’s superior . Arianna tried to catch a glimpse of his face through the crack, but the angle afforded naught but a view of highly polished Hessian boots and a hint of biscuit-colored breeches.

“Renard has survived by being clever and cautious as a fox,” the other man went on.

“I’m tired of toiling in the dark,” protested Rochemont. “From now on, I want to know who I’m dealing with.”

So do I. Biting back an oath, Arianna balled her fists in frustration and looked around.

“Is that a threat, comte?”

A hesitation. “ Non . Call it a request. If I succeed, I think I will have earned enough respect to merit it.”

“Succeed, and then we shall discuss further reward. As I recall, you’ve been paid quite handsomely for your efforts.”

Spotting a prick of light in a knothole, she reached up and hoisted herself onto one of the iron saddle racks, taking care not to make any noise.

“What is it you want to say?” demanded Rochemont sullenly. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Yes, well, that is what I wish to discuss. Renard wishes for me to deliver a few words of caution. He is concerned that you are becoming a bit reckless. First the Grognard marksman with his throat cut, and then Mr. Kydd with his head blown to flinders. Both deaths were a touch too dramatic for his taste.”

Damnation—too late. The man had turned, and all Arianna could spy through the small hole in the wood was a dark head, half hidden by the upturned collar of a caped coat.

“I can’t be held accountable for what happened to the Grognard ,” retorted Rochemont. “It was agreed that Davilenko was too untrustworthy to know of my role in Renard’s organization. Apparently the Russian worked through his local contact to arrange a diversion involving the wounding of Saybrook—why, I am still not sure. The poxy bastard nearly killed me instead.” The comte ran a hand over his smoothly shaven cheeks. “Davilenko told my local contact that the Grognard threatened to implicate him in the shooting if he didn’t pay more money, so he slit the fellow’s throat instead.” Again, a fraction of a pause. “I warned you that Davilenko was a loose cannon, but his accident has solved the problem. Any secrets he had are now buried with him in a watery grave.”

“And Kydd?”

“That was my initiative, and nobody questioned whether it was anything other than an unfortunate accident,” protested the comte. “Indeed, you and Renard ought to be glad that I can improvise so cleverly. Kydd was experiencing a belated attack of conscience and was on the verge of confessing his betrayal to Lady Saybrook.”