Recipe for Treason (10 page)

“It would be most unfair of me to ask him to compromise his sense of gentlemanly honor,” replied Sophia dryly. “So I will take your word for it.”

“Cats,” muttered the earl under his breath.

Arianna raised a brow. “I beg your pardon, Sandro?”

“Cats,” he repeated. “Mysterious creatures. Quite impossible to read their minds.”

“Yes, and unlike dogs, they can’t be trained to do a man’s bidding,” she murmured.

Her husband chuffed a harried laugh. “
That
is putting it mildly. Obedience or intelligence—at times it’s a bloody difficult choice as to which is preferable.”

A smile tugged at Sophia’s lips. “I do have some questions.” She consulted her notes. “Given the events in Vienna and Scotland, it would seem to me that this Renard fellow must be aware that you are after him—”

“Not necessarily,” interrupted Saybrook. “You see, both his henchmen were killed during the confusion before the Carrousel in Vienna. We were able to leave the scene before anyone knew we were there, so I’m confident that he received no word of our involvement. As for Scotland, when I learned from Grentham that he had to inform an inner circle of trusted officials of our discovery, I demanded that he use a pseudonym for us when discussing the Austrian mission, as well as the trip to St. Andrews.”

He allowed a small pause. “Given that we have reason to suspect a traitor has access to the most privileged information in Whitehall, it seemed the prudent thing to do. The group of advisers knew us only as Messrs. X, Y and Z—naturally I kept secret the fact that one of our party was a female. So our attackers knew they were striking at government emissaries but didn’t know our actual identities.”

“Assuming Grentham’s word can be trusted,” pointed out Arianna.

“Correct. But as of yet, I have no reason to think otherwise,” answered the earl. “The minister tried to hide it, but he appeared surprised when I alluded to the attack.”

“What about the contacts in St. Andrews?” asked Sophia, after a moment of mulling over what the earl had said.

An astute question,
thought Arianna, grudgingly admitting that the other lady seemed to possess sharp analytical skills.

Still, I miss seeing Basil’s rough-cut scowl and rumpled coat across from me rather than a coolly appraising stare and unruffled silk.

“Unless we were betrayed by Grentham, both Stoughton and Rollins were told I was a Spanish officer who had served with Wellington’s staff on the Peninsula. Of course, it’s known that the Earl of Saybrook is half-Spanish, but word has been spread that Arianna and I have been traveling home through Europe and only arrived in London yesterday from the Continent. That should cloud matters enough to keep them in the dark.”

“All good explanations,” mused Sophia. “But if I were Renard, I would be suspicious of why my plans keep going awry. So my guess is, he suspects that someone is onto his scent. And if he is as smart as you think he is, you and your wife have to be high on his list of suspects, regardless of alibis.”

Arianna stilled the twitching of Sethos’s tail. “It’s a game of cat and mouse. We must make sure that we are the predator and not the prey. As to that, we have a few ideas.”

“Any clue as to Renard’s identity?” asked Sophia.

“Two.” Saybrook went on to explain about Lord Reginald Sommers, the Duke of Lampson’s youngest son. “Because of his father’s title and connections, he moved within the highest echelons of Society. Seeing as he appeared to be in charge of the conspirators in Vienna, it seems logical to assume that Renard would be a member of his circle of friends here in London.”

“We have no hard evidence of that,” added Arianna. “However, both of us believe that it makes sense.”

The other lady fixed her with a long look before shifting her gaze back to the earl. “And secondly?”

“In addition, we have Girton’s dying words that warned of someone within the Royal Institution. Again, the words were cryptic, but given that we are after a dangerous chemical, it does make sense.”

“A great many of your discoveries seem to be based on breaking the coded letters you found. How very fortunate that you possess such special skills in cryptanalysis—”

“Actually, it is Arianna who deciphered most of them,” interrupted Saybrook.

Surprise shaded Sophia’s face. “Indeed,” she murmured.

The earl refolded his papers. “Are you still willing to be part of this? As Arianna pointed out, it is not a decision to make lightly, and once you read the first page, you will be committed to the very end.”

“I am
always
careful about the decisions I make regarding my life, Lord Saybrook,” replied Sophia. “They may be considered eccentric, but they are never unmeditated.”

He acknowledged the statement with a tiny nod.

“That said, I am not intimidated by the dangers . . .”

Was that, wondered Arianna, a subtle challenge directed at her?
Damnation, this entire mission was getting more complicated by the moment.

“It is imperative that Renard be stopped from causing more destruction and bloodshed in this world,” went on Sophia. “If you think I can help, I shall gladly be part of your fight against him.”

“Excellent.” The earl placed the papers on the tea table. “Might we return tomorrow to begin a discussion of strategy?”

“Tomorrow is Christmas, Sandro,” Arianna reminded him. “We have family commitments. As I’m sure does Miss Kirtland.”

A faint flush colored Sophia’s face. “I am not sentimental about holidays,” she said curtly. “And besides, I haven’t spoken to my relatives in years. My cousin, the present duke, finds my company intolerable.” A pause. “The feeling is mutual.”

“Perhaps . . . ,” began Saybrook, then let his voice trail off.

“Perhaps you would care to join us for holiday supper. We dine with Saybrook’s great-aunt, who is a very interesting female, so I don’t think you will be bored.”

Sophia hesitated, an odd flicker sparking in her eyes before she turned her head. “Thank you, but I have work to do.” She pulled a folded sheet of paper from her notebook and made a show of smoothing it out. “I’ve a series of mathematical projections to calculate in support of my current experiment, and the equations are proving perversely complicated.”

Arianna craned her neck for a look. “The problem is there,” she said, tapping her teaspoon to a string of numbers. “Sandro, please hand me your pencil.” To Sophia she added, “May I show you what I mean?”

Looking skeptical, Sophia passed over the paper.

For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the faint whisper of graphite scribbling over foolscap. “There, this new equation should simplify the process of calculating the algorithms.

“Good Lord,” murmured Sophia, her eyes widening just a touch as she looked over the complicated equation. “I wasn’t aware that you are good with numbers.”

“Arianna isn’t merely good with numbers—she is a mathematical wizard,” said Saybrook.

“I have no formal training,” she said quickly. “The knack seems to come naturally.”

“That is a remarkable gift to have.”

Arianna shrugged. “My father had it as well. Though he chose to use it for less than admirable purposes.”

Sophia allowed a fleeting frown and then glanced at the clock. “Is there anything else we need to discuss right now? I have perhaps five minutes more before I must excuse myself.”

“As a matter of fact . . .” Perhaps she was being a trifle thin-skinned about things, but Arianna found herself feeling a little nettled by the other lady’s attitude.

You
could
say thank you.

“As a matter of fact . . . ,” she repeated, taking care to avoid meeting Saybrook’s eyes. This was not part of the original plan, but in battle one often had to improvise. “There is something we ought to mention, before you make a final commitment. Your help in analyzing the scientific data is, of course, key. But it would be equally important if you would agree to play a more active role in the investigation.”

The mathematical paper crackled softly as Sophia fisted her hands.

“You see, it’s critical that I become friends with the inner circle of the Royal Institution—that is, the followers of Humphry Davy and the interim director, Mr. Willoughby. I assume you attend the lectures there regularly, so if you would agree to introduce me, it would save a great deal of time.”

“Why do
you
need to gain access to the group?” asked Sophia a little sharply.

“Because I’m good at seducing secrets out of people,” she shot back. “I have a great deal of experience in sorting out lies from truth, and I’m not afraid to use an arsenal of unladylike skills to beat a cunning criminal at his own game.” A pause. “Theoretical knowledge is all very well, but we will also have to be willing to strip off our kidskin gloves and get our hands dirty, if need be.”

“I see,” replied Sophia slowly.

Two could toss down a gossamer gauntlet of challenge,
thought Arianna, carefully observing the other lady’s face for her reaction. To her credit, she masked her emotions rather well. Other than a slight thinning of her mouth, her expression did not alter.

“Miss Kirtland,” interceded Saybrook. “Be assured that neither of us expects you to take any real risk—”

“There is an old saying—in for a penny, in for a pound,” drawled Sophia. “I said I would help—but only if I am treated as a full member of the investigation, not some delicate glass beaker that must be wrapped in cotton wool to protect it from cracking.”

“Women,” muttered the earl. “I swear, the fairer sex will badger me into an early grave.”

“I sincerely hope that
all
of us will survive to lead long and happy lives,” said Arianna, trying to blunt her husband’s ire with a bit of dry humor. “I know you are not happy about any of this, Sandro, but Miss Kirtland is right. She must be fully involved. Half measures will only cause unnecessary confusion and make it more dangerous for her.”

He did not retort, which in itself was an acknowledgment that her words were true.

“Excellent. Then it’s settled,” said Sophia crisply, giving him no chance to reconsider. “When do you wish to start?”

“As soon as possible,” replied Arianna. “I have checked the schedule of lectures. Willoughby is speaking on the twenty-eighth and then hosting a party afterward, with a holiday punch and a pianoforte recital by one of the institution members. It seems a perfect opportunity to introduce me.”

“Let us plan to meet beforehand and go on to the lecture together.”

“One other thing,” counseled Arianna. “I won’t be appearing as myself. As you pointed out earlier, Renard may be suspicious if Lady Saybrook develops a sudden interest in science. So for the duration of this investigation, I shall become . . . someone else.” She switched to a different accent. “A rich widow from America, who has decided to return to her homeland now that the wars are over. I am curious about science—but most of all, I’m curious about people. I’m vain, volatile, and clever at learning the little secrets that can stir up trouble.” A casual wave emphasized the assertion. “Along with a number of other malicious little habits.”

Sophia blinked. “But it is not easy to become an entirely different person, and one slip of the mask will give away the investigation. How can you be sure that you can pull it off?”

“Because I’ve done it a number of times before.” Arianna allowed a tiny smile. “It won’t be the first time that London Society sees me slide into another skin.”

Saybrook confirmed her words with a quick nod. “Arianna is a master of disguise. She’s fooled a great many people. Including me.”

“Though not for long,” she conceded.

“Your wife appears to be a female of many unusual talents,” said Sophia slowly.

“Yes,” murmured the earl. “She is.”

“Well, then, given all our eccentricities, the three of us should make a very formidable force indeed.”

“Yes.” Arianna ran her fingers through the cat’s fur. “I think that Renard may finally have met his match.”

9

From Lady
Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

Dark Chocolate–Cherry Ganache Bars

1
¹
/
₂
cups all-purpose flour

³
/
₄
cup confectioners’ sugar

¹
/
₄
cup unsweetened cocoa powder

¹
/
₂
teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

³
/
₄
cup (1
¹
/
₂
sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into
¹
/
₂
-inch chunks

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 tablespoons cherry jam

12 ounces bittersweet chocolate (at least 62% cocoa)

²
/
₃
cup heavy cream

3 tablespoons kirsch, rum, brandy or other spirit

¹
/
₂
teaspoon fleur de sel, for sprinkling

1. In a food processor, pulse together the flour, sugar, cocoa powder and fine-grain sea salt. Pulse in the butter and vanilla until the mixture just comes together into a smooth mass. Line an 8-inch square baking pan with parchment or wax paper. Press the dough into the pan. Prick all over with a fork. Chill for at least 20 minutes and up to 3 days.

2. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Bake the shortbread until firm to the touch and just beginning to pull away from the sides, 35 to 40 minutes.

3. Cool in the pan for 20 minutes on a wire rack. Brush the jam over the shortbread’s surface and let cool thoroughly.

4. Place the bittersweet chocolate in a heatproof bowl.

5. In a saucepan, bring the cream to a simmer. Pour the cream over the chocolate and whisk until smooth. Whisk in the kirsch. Spread over the shortbread. Sprinkle with the fleur de sel. Cool to room temperature; cover and chill until firm. Slice and serve.

“C
ome along, gel, and walk with me to the library before the bell summons us to our Christmas feast.” Constantina, the dowager Marchioness of Sterling, set down her glass of sherry and waved a bejeweled hand at Arianna. “I have a lovely little book there that I wish to fetch for Sandro to see.”

“You could send a footman,” pointed out the earl.

“Yes, but then I wouldn’t have a chance to gossip in private with your lovely wife,” shot back his great-aunt. “And seeing as the two of you have been gone for months, I am sure that there are a number of delicious scandals for her to tell me about.”

Charles Mellon, Saybrook’s uncle and a senior diplomat with the Foreign Office, chuckled. “As they were in Vienna, I imagine that Sandro could write a book about royal peccadilloes as well as one on the history of chocolate.”

“Oh, do tell us, is the Russian Tsar as much of a rake as is reported in the newspaper?” asked Mellon’s wife, Eleanor.

Arianna bit back a harried laugh. Given that his name had become entangled in a treasonous plot, Mellon had never been told the real reason for their recent trip to the Austrian capital. He and his wife thought the earl had wished to study the collection of early manuscripts from the New World held at the Emperor’s famous rare book library.

“Alexander loves fine wine, rich food and beautiful women,” answered Saybrook with a small smile. “He was very attentive toward Arianna. They became . . . well acquainted.”

“The Tsar is a glutton for pleasure,” added Arianna. “Though I assure you that from me he got only tiny morsels of friendship.” A pause. “To his credit, he has some redeeming qualities.”

“And what about Prince Metternich?” asked Mellon. “It is said—”

“Come along, my dear,” said Constantina, punctuating the command with a sharp rap of her exotic cane.

Arianna dutifully offered her arm to the elderly dowager. “When did you start needing to walk with the aid of a support, Constantina?” she asked in concern, once they were in the corridor.

“Oh pish! I haven’t slowed a step,” responded the dowager with an evil grin. “Lord Gambrill brought this stick to me from Constantinople. Like me, it’s an antique, and I enjoy looking at the filigree gold work and jewels of the handle.” Humor glinted in her pale gray eyes. “Besides, it’s rather fun to wave it at everyone and see them scamper out of arm’s reach.”

“Ah.” Arianna laughed. “I am glad to hear that your body is keeping pace with your wit.”

“Thank God my mind seems as sharp as ever,” replied Constantina. “At my age, one worries about sinking into permanent decline, but I intend to go down kicking and screaming.” As they entered the library, the dowager directed her Turkish cane at the sideboard, where a bottle of champagne was sitting in a silver cooler. “Pour me a glass of bubbly and let’s have a comfortable little talk together before rejoining the others.”

Over the cheerful fizz of the wine, Arianna amused her elderly great-aunt by marriage with anecdotes from their Austrian sojourn, taking care to omit any mention of the darker reasons for their travels. No one, save for Grentham and his inner circle, knew of the trip to Scotland.

“Hmmph. Given all the excitement of Vienna, with its glittering celebrities and late-night revelries, it’s no wonder you look a little peaked.” Arching her silvery brows, Constantina lifted her quizzing glass and looked Arianna up and down. “You’re not increasing, gel?”

“Only with chocolate,” quipped Arianna. Though she appreciated the dowager’s blunt frankness, this particular question made her a little uncomfortable. She slowly spun the glass between her fingers before adding, “In all seriousness, Constantina, I don’t know if I can . . . bear children. I did warn Sandro of the possibility . . .”

The cane whapped against sofa pillows. “Sandro looks
quite
satisfied with the state of his marriage.” The dowager spoke lightly, but a spark of sympathy lit in her eyes. “Besides, some women need a long time to conceive. You simply must let nature take its course.”

For an instant, Arianna couldn’t help but picture Sophia Kirtland, who possessed such an intriguing face and erudite mind.

Suddenly anxious to change the topic of conversation, she nodded and quickly said, “Actually I have another delicate subject to discuss. Might we discuss it now, before rejoining the family? I should prefer that Sandro doesn’t overhear what I am about to say.”

“I am very liberal minded about many things, my dear,” murmured Constantina. “But bear in mind that I am exceedingly fond of my great-nephew. So if you are about to confess to some marital scandal, I am not sure I can lend a sympathetic ear.”

Arianna smiled. “No, no, the scandal does not involve me, but the old earl—Sandro’s father.” She watched the candlelight play off the faceted crystal before drawing a deep breath and going on.

“Has Sandro told you he has a sister?”

Constantina nearly choked on a sip of champagne. “A
sister
?”

“A
half
sister,” amended Arianna. “Who may or may not be legitimate.” She went on to explain about how Saybrook had discovered the existence of a sibling when going through his late father’s papers. “The girl—her name is Antonia—is currently at a school in Shropshire. Charles is using his diplomatic connections to make discreet inquiries in Spain about whether the old earl was, in fact, married to Antonia’s mother.”

“I confess, this is quite a great surprise.”

“Not an unwelcome one, I hope,” said Arianna. “For you see, regardless of the circumstances surrounding her birth, Sandro would like to have Antonia come live with us and make a proper come-out in Society.”

“It could be done,” mused the dowager. “Not easily, mind you. But with a concerted effort to cultivate the right support from influential members of the
ton
during the winter months before the Season begins, she could receive invitations from most everyone who matters.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” replied Arianna. She knew that Saybrook was reluctant to draw Lady Sterling into their dangerous mission, but in thinking over the situation, she believed that she had come up with a clever compromise. “Naturally, I will need to learn a great deal about the inner workings of Society in order to help. I hope that I may turn to you for guidance.”

“But of course! In truth, it will be great fun.” A martial gleam lit in the dowager’s eye. “Ha! Just let any of the high sticklers try to whisper a nasty word about the gel.”

Arianna quickly stilled a twinge of guilt.
Experience has taught me that one sometimes has to be devious and duplicitous for good to triumph over evil.
This strategy would allow her to ask Lady Sterling a good many probing questions without telling the elderly dowager the real reason.

“Ha!” echoed Arianna, hoping her laugh didn’t sound too forced. “I can’t imagine anyone having the courage to cross verbal swords with you. Even Lord Grentham does not care to test his steel against yours.”

Lady Sterling tapped the handle of her cane against her palm. “Actually, I rather hope he does.” Her eyes narrowed. “Has he been pestering you?”

“Not really,” answered Arianna. “I did exchange some barbs with him at the Marquess of Milford’s house party several months ago, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Tap. Tap.
The dowager waggled a brow. “Somehow, I have the feeling you are not telling me everything, gel.”

“I—”

“Nor do I expect you to,” went on Lady Sterling. “Whatever you are up to, you can count on my help.”
Tap, tap.
She set down her glass. “Now, we had better return to the others and sit down to supper, before Cook burns the Christmas goose.”

* * *

“How do I look?” Stepping away from the cheval glass, Arianna fluffed her skirts and turned in a slow circle.

Saybrook pursed his lips and studied her with a critical eye. “I hate to admit it,” he said after several moments. “But I’m not sure I would recognize my own wife if we passed on the street.”

“Then there should be no worry about anyone connecting Mrs. Greeley, newly arrived from Boston, with the Countess of Saybrook.” She cast another glance at her reflection. A henna wash had added rich red highlights to her dark hair, and kohl had darkened her eyes, subtly changing their shape. Lip color made her mouth look fuller and wider, while her bosom and hips had been padded, giving her willowy form a lusher shape.

“There is a certain benefit to being something of a recluse,” she murmured, smoothing at the ruffles edging her bodice. “Most of the people attending the institution lectures have never met me, which makes a masquerade like this far easier to pull off.”

The earl’s gaze remained riveted on her enhanced décolletage. “What do you use to create such curves?”

“Never mind,” replied Arianna. She batted her lashes at him. “Feminine secrets,” she drawled, practicing her American accent. “Bianca’s cousin is a very skilled modiste, and combined with my experience in theatre costumes, we came up with a whole new wardrobe.” The colors and embellishments were deliberately brighter and bolder than her usual style. “I trust that you will send the bill to Grentham.”

“I should like to see his face when he opens it,” quipped the earl.

“Fine silks and fancy accessories are expensive, and Mrs. Greeley must appear fashionable enough to move in the highest circles of Society.” She picked up her reticule. “The gowns have been delivered to the house on Half Moon Street.” Saybrook had rented a town house to serve as the American widow’s residence, and two servants from their Shropshire estate had come up to serve as a makeshift staff.

Yet another costly expenditure—but then, justice was worth any price.

“The minister would likely fall victim to a fit of apoplexy if you asked him to pay,” she said.

“Then I shall be sure to pass him a bill. Well padded—like your false chest.”

Arianna made a face at him before tying the ribbons of her new bonnet. “I must be off. Needless to say, you can’t be seen with me.”

“There is a chance that you may be spotted entering or leaving from here on in, so we need to—”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been giving that careful consideration. From now on, I shall dress at the Half Moon house. It’s far easier for a street urchin to slip through the back alleys of Mayfair without anyone noticing,” said Arianna. “But today, I shall sneak out with the modiste, wearing one of her assistant’s cloaks, and ride in her carriage to the shop. From there I will go out the front door and hail a hackney to take me to Miss Kirtland’s residence.”

Saybrook nodded, finding no fault with the plan. However, after a slight hesitation, he cleared his throat. “Arianna, you are exceedingly clever. But so is Renard. We have been lucky in our two previous encounters with him, yet we both know that luck can be fickle. Do
not
make the mistake of underestimating his cunning.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I’ve a lifetime of experience in eluding predators, so I’m very aware that I can’t let down my guard for an instant if I wish to survive.”

Her words only deepened his frown. “Rather than reassure me, such a statement only reminds me that you are taking all the risks, while I sit with my nose buried in books and papers.”

“Learning more about Cayley and Girton’s friends is important—you know that. Not to speak of learning the truth about why Basil’s nephew was murdered, for I can’t help but believe that it is in some way related to Renard,” she replied. A tug straightened the hem of her glove. “I really must be going. It wouldn’t do to be late.”