The Cocoa Conspiracy (21 page)

“How kind of you to respond so quickly,” said Grentham, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I would offer you coffee, but I assume you only drink the mouth-fouling sludge that you and your wife find so fascinating.”

“You mean spiced chocolate?” replied the earl. He sat down without invitation. “Try adding sugar. Perhaps it would sweeten that sour phiz of yours.”

“You’re awfully generous with your
bon mots
, Lord Saybrook. Would that you were half as forthcoming with information,” snapped the minister. “You were supposed to come by
yesterday
with an update on your visit to Kydd’s rooms.” He tapped his fingertips together. “I am tiring of giving you everything that you want and getting nothing in return.”

“You wish a bon-
bon
?” Saybrook arched a brow. “Very well. I’ve discovered an interesting lead on how to learn more about Kydd’s clandestine political activities. Which in turn may lead me to whoever recruited him.”

Grentham waited.

The earl began buffing the chased silver knob of his walking stick on his sleeve.

“I don’t find you amusing, Saybrook.”

“I didn’t come here to entertain you by jumping through hoops.”

The locking of their eyes produced a near-audible click. Both men tensed, as if they had heard the hammer of a pistol being drawn to half cock.

“In all honesty, Grentham, can you blame me for being less than eager to reveal my plans or my sources? Based on our previous investigation, I have good reason to have little confidence in you and your lackeys. It would seem that Renard, a French fox of a traitor, is still running tame in your own department. Until he is trapped, it would be foolhardy to be too forthcoming.” Saybrook crossed his legs. “I’m pursuing the matter. What more do you need to know?”

Thinning his lips, Grentham countered with his own question. “That is all you intend to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“The information will not be shared with—as you so delicately put it—my lackeys.” A pause. “Or is it that you still suspect me?”

Saybrook’s cool smile grew a touch more pronounced.

“You are balanced on a razor’s edge, you know,” said Grentham. “Teetering between triumph and disaster.”

“So are you,” retorted the earl. “Don’t waste your breath trying to blow me over the edge. I did not come here to waste time in bluster or bravado.” He stared for a moment through the tall windows overlooking the blue-coated riders, watching the raindrops form into sinuous snakes of water that slid down the glass. “I have been thinking over strategy, and I am concerned about a fundamental weakness in our plan.”

Grentham leaned back in his chair and steepled his well-tended hands.

“It has to do with Davilenko,” Saybrook continued. “Replacing the documents in the book may have fooled him into thinking that the treason is as of yet undetected. But he’s not stupid, and our appearance in Vienna might appear too much of a coincidence. I am not sure—”

“I’ve already anticipated that problem, Lord Saybrook.” The minister allowed a self-satisfied smile. “Davilenko has been dealt with. He won’t be making any waves, so to speak, in Vienna.”

“Might I inquire how you are so certain?” asked the earl.

Grentham’s expression pinched to a smirk. “Unlike you, I shall not indulge in childish hide-and-seek games. Davilenko met with an unfortunate accident on his crossing to Calais on the way to the Conference. The ship encountered a patch of rough weather, causing him to lose his footing on deck and fall overboard.”

Saybrook lifted a brow.

“Alas, the poor fellow drowned before the crew could fish him out of the water—and even the meticulous Mr. Henning, had he been there, could not have found evidence to the contrary.” The minister lowered his voice to a deceptively soft murmur. “Water in the lungs leaves no telltale bruising, you know.”

“Ah. Thank you for the warning,” drawled the earl. “I’ve assumed that travel abroad is fraught with peril, but I shall be extra vigilant.”

“It’s always wise to be on guard,” replied Grentham. “One never knows when Fate will strike, eh?”

“Indeed. I will take care, especially on the journey home,” muttered the earl. “For some reason I have a feeling that getting to Vienna will not be as difficult as returning.”

“Prevailing weather patterns in the Alps,” said the minister with a perfectly straight face.

“That would explain it.” He spun his stick between his palms. “Anything else, milord? Much as I enjoy exchanging social pleasantries with you, I’ve better ways to spend my time.”

Grentham’s nostrils flared, but he covered his annoyance with a sarcastic smile. “Let us hope so. It would be a pity to see your uncle’s reputation sunk into a stinking cesspool after all his years of stalwart service.”

The only answer was a whisper of wool as the earl brushed a wrinkle from his trousers.

“One last thing,” added the minister. “Before he fell overboard, Davilenko did confess to the ship’s captain that he had made no mention to his superiors of his temporary loss of the hidden documents. So as of yet, the conspirators have no reason to suspect that anything is amiss. Until, of course, you or your wife muck things up.”

“Anything else?” repeated the earl

Grentham took a moment to inspect his pristine white cuff before answering. “It was Davilenko who you spotted sneaking into the woods. He had arranged through a local contact to have the French Guard take a shot at you, but he confessed that the man threatened to expose him unless he paid more money. So he slit the fellow’s throat when your pursuit caused a moment of distraction.”

“Who was the local contact?” demanded Saybrook.

“Davilenko claimed not to know—it was arranged by leaving a letter at a prearranged spot.” A nasty smile. “And I believe him. Captain Leete is quite proficient at carrying out his duties.”

“I thought your man left no evidence of trauma,” remarked the earl.

“Oh, come—surely you know there are far more sophisticated ways of drawing out information than resorting to physical violence.”

“Thank you for the enlightenment. It quite brightens my day.” Saybrook rose. “I do have another request of my own. I take it you have routine dossiers compiled on Talleyrand, Tsar Alexander and Metternich. I would like to read them before I leave for the Continent.”

Grentham gave a brusque nod. “Come back this afternoon. You’ll find that their reputation as rapacious rakes is well deserved. So I should keep an eye on your wife, if I were you.” He opened one of the document cases on his desk and began reading through some papers. “She seems to enjoy the company of dissolute men.”

“Unlike most of the pompous prigs of the
ton
, I don’t find an intelligent, clever female intimidating.” Saybrook curled a mocking smile. “Indeed, I find it quite attractive.”

The minister didn’t look up. “If I want a sonnet on sex, I’ll visit a brothel.”

“Which one do you prefer? I hear the Grotto of Venus is much favored by gentlemen who need help in rising to the occasion of having a spot of fun in life.”

“I suggest you remove yourself from my office, Lord Saybrook.” Grentham picked up a pen and made a notation in the margin of the document. “While your
pego
is still attached to your person.”

Arianna crossed off another item from her list as two footmen carried a large brass-latched case down to the entrance foyer. “Good God, you would think we were moving home and hearth to Cathay,” she muttered, surveying the growing mound of baggage with a baleful grimace. Saybrook had warned her that they might be away from home for as many as three months—and maybe longer. It was now the middle of September, so that meant they might not be home before the new year . . . which suddenly seemed very far away.

“How many trunks are still upstairs, Juan?”

“A half dozen more, madam.”

She let out a sigh. “I fear that come tomorrow, we shall need a camel caravan.”

“The baggage coach is designed to handle a heavy load,” said the footman tactfully.

“There is a chest of books to be fetched down from the library,” called Saybrook as he came down the stairs.

“Is all of this really necessary?” Arianna arched a skeptical brow as she read the first page of her list aloud to him.

“We have a role to play,” Saybrook reminded her. “Several, in fact.”

“You have a point,” she said, surrendering her protests with a rueful smile. Among the trunks of fancy clothing and fine furnishings was one that contained theatrical face paints and false hairpieces, along with a variety of disguises. “Maybe more than several.”

When she and the earl had first met, she had been masquerading as a French chef. A
male
French chef who had ended up being the prime suspect in the poisoning of the Prince Regent. “Monsieur Alphonse” had disappeared into thin air. But the situation in Vienna might very well require a new persona to come to life.

“It’s best to be prepared,” her husband said, as the footmen headed off for another load. “Mixed among my botanical books are a number of volumes on cryptology.”

“I look forward to more lessons during the journey,” she replied.

“There will be plenty of hours.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “My uncle has invited us for a farewell supper. In the morning, we shall leave at first light to catch the tide at Dover.”

“So, the wheels are finally spinning into motion.”

“Yes.” He fixed her with a searching stare. “No regrets?”

Arianna shook her head. “I confess, I am probably anticipating the challenge more than I should be.”

The subtle shift of his mouth was nearly lost in the soft light of the wall sconces. “As am I.” His lips suddenly possessed hers in a swift kiss. “Though I hate dragging you into danger.”

“I would be kicking and screaming if you tried to leave me behind.”

“I know. Not that it makes me feel any less guilty.”

“Grentham has a grudge against me too,” Arianna pointed out. “I’m probably safer with you than I am staying here in London on my own. You know my ungovernable temper—I can’t seem to resist needling him whenever we meet.”

“ Arianna . . .”

She turned away before he could go on. “Ah, look! Bianca has sent up a sample of the new confection I found in your grandmother’s notebooks.” Taking the tray from the maid, she added, “There is a pot of chocolate as well. Let us retreat to the parlor and enjoy a respite from the chaos.”

“Speaking of Grentham,” said Saybrook, toying with his spoon as a plume of steam wafted up from his cup.

“I hope that duplicitous bastard hasn’t turned you up sweet,” growled a voice from the doorway.

Arianna looked around, a smile wreathing her face. “Mr. Henning! Do come join us.” She offered him a plate. “The praline is made with Marcona almonds, a specialty from Spain.”

The surgeon bit into one with an audible crunch. “I shall miss your treats while you are away.”

“We shall hurry back,” she said drily. “And with any luck, we will bring some new recipes back with us.”

“Assuming Grentham doesn’t sink your ship,” said Henning darkly. He had been told the previous evening about Davilenko’s demise. “Watch your arse, laddie.”

“I shall depend on you to be the eyes in the back of my head,” said the earl.

Henning made a strange face. “Alas, I fear my orbs will be turned elsewhere.” He withdrew a letter, much stained from travel, from his pocket and tossed it on the table. “My sister has just sent urgent word to me—my nephew has gone missing from his studies at the university and she fears that he’s the victim of foul play.”

“I’m so sorry,” Arianna said.

Saybrook took longer to reply. “I take it she gave a more detailed reason for her fears.”

“Aye.” The surgeon looked grim. “Angus had apparently been recruited by a group of fellow students to join a secret political society.”

Arianna felt her throat go a little dry.

“The Dragons of St. Andrew?” asked Saybrook.

“Aye, the very devils, as I just discovered.” replied Henning. “The lad was made head of the pamphlet committee—a bloody dangerous job, given the recent military crackdown on dissent—and his friends admitted that they haven’t seen him since he was summoned to attend an urgent late-night meeting.” His hands clenched into fists. “This is no longer an inquiry that I can entrust to someone else. Like you, I am readying myself for a trip. Desmond has promised to tend to my patients, so I shall be leaving for Scotland tomorrow.”

The earl thinned his lips.

“Auch, ye need not look guilty, laddie. It seems that Fate had decided I was going to be dragged into this tangle, whether you asked me or not.”

“Fate,” repeated Saybrook. “Or some other sinister force?”

“Who else other than Grentham knows that Mr. Henning is involved in our investigation?” mused Arianna aloud.