Recipe for Treason (13 page)

Sophia expelled a rueful laugh. “My life has been a bit boring of late. I could use a spark of excitement.”

* * *

Muttering yet another curse—this one in Spanish—Saybrook shuffled the pile of papers into order and began rereading his notes. “Something is eluding me, though I am not sure what is it is.”

He reached for the chocolate pot and slowly spun the
molinillo
between his palms. The liquid, now lukewarm, swirled inside the porcelain, its whisper teasing, taunting . . .

The sound was suddenly drowned out by the thumping of steps in the corridor.

Frowning, the earl released his hold on the polished ebony handle. “Bloody hell, Sebastian knows better than to admit visitors at this hour.”

Unless . . .

The door flew open. “Auch, I hope ye have some decent malt close at hand, laddie,” rasped Henning. “My throat is dry as a bone after traveling all night.”

Saybrook regarded his friend for a long moment before allowing a tiny smile. “I may be able to rattle up a bottle. Have a seat by the fire while I have a look.”

“Make it more than a wee dram,” said Henning. Heaving a sigh, he dropped into the leather armchair and propped his scuffed boots on the fender. “Much as I hate to admit it, it’s good to be back in London—despite all the Sassenachs crowding the streets.”

“I thought you were under orders to keep your mangy carcass in Scotland for the next few weeks,” said Saybrook as he handed the surgeon a generous measure of whisky.

“Since when have I ever obeyed orders?” Henning took a long swallow. “Ahhh, that tastes nearly as good as yer wife’s chocolate.” He looked around the room. “By the by, where is Lady S?”

“Out,” replied the earl.

“Not getting into trouble, I hope.”

“Hope springs eternal,” quipped Saybrook.

“I trust that yer bottle does the same.” The surgeon held out his glass for a refill. “Any further progress in the investigation?”

“We’ll talk about that in a moment. But first, I want to hear your news.” His gaze slowly traversed Henning’s rumpled figure. His clothes were in worse disarray than usual, the wrinkled wool and frayed linen hanging off his gaunt body like rags on a scarecrow. “You look like something the Devil dragged out of the deepest pit of Hell.”

The surgeon raised his glass in mock salute. “It’s lovely te see you too, laddie.”

Pinching back a smile, Saybrook crossed his arms and assumed a stern scowl. “Have you had your head up your arse? As a medical man, you know that a patient has to keep up his strength in order to recover quickly. And yet you look like you haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

The surgeon dropped his eyes and stared into the glowing coals. “I didna have much of an appetite fer food. Or fer life.” His mouth thinned to a grim line. “But then my sister decided to visit relatives in Skye, to get away from home during the painful holiday season, and I got to feeling useless, just sitting and brooding. So I decided I might as well come back to London and help you trap a fox. But make no mistake, it’s fer you and Lady S, not for that bloody English bastard Grentham and his Whitehall coterie.”

“Damnation, Baz, I know how hard it must have been for you, having to break the news to your sister. But if there is any blame to be shouldered, it’s me who should bear the brunt. Bringing you into my investigation put your family at risk.”

Henning answered the statement with a rude sound. “We both know that Angus was involved with the Dragons of St. Andrews long before that.” He blew out his cheeks. “I thought I could be clever enough to save him, but I failed.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think Grentham double-crossed us. He appeared surprised to hear of the shooting.”

The surgeon chuffed a skeptical snort.

“I haven’t forgotten about Stoughton,” said the earl. “You have my promise that I’ll press to learn what really happened, and if I can prove that he violated any military rule, I’ll see that he’s punished.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn about the military’s rules, Sandro,” growled Henning. “We Scots adhere to a more primitive code.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“I know that, laddie. I don’t expect
you
to break any laws.”

“Baz—”

“Enough said on the matter.” Setting his empty glass aside, the surgeon leaned back and let his eyes fall half-shut. “Now tell me about what you’ve discovered before the whisky and the warmth of yer hearth put me to sleep.”

“I’ll allow Arianna to recount her progress, but as for me, I’ve been following up on the names in Girton’s coded letter.”

“And have ye learned more about the chemical explosive?”

“A little,” answered Saybrook. “But there may be an even greater threat hovering on the horizon . . .”

* * *

Wincing, Arianna gingerly descended the stairs. “Why anyone enjoys riding is beyond me,” she mumbled, rubbing at her sore bum. “But then, I find the rolling motion of a ship in rough seas exhilarating, while others are puking over the larboard side.”

One man’s pleasure is another man’s poison.

There was a deeper, darker truth lurking within the sardonic humor of the old adage, she reminded herself. The elemental differences in human nature could be stark. Like good and evil.

“Yes, and whoever invented a sidesaddle was
truly
evil,” she said under her breath.

“Did you say something, my dear?” Saybrook poked his head out of the library.

“Nothing important,” answered Arianna. “How is Basil? Sebastian told me he arrived just a short while ago.”

“Sleeping,” replied the earl. “Let’s not wake him. He looks exhausted and has lost far too much weight.”

“I’ve asked Bianca to prepare some of his favorite foods. She will soon have him fattened up.”

“Chocolate will help nourish his body, but we shall need to find a tonic for his spirit as well,” mused Saybrook. “He’s still bitterly resentful of the British government.”

“Can you blame him?”

“Of course not. But I worry that he might have his own motives for wishing to rejoin the investigation. He spoke obliquely about revenge.”

“A sentiment that I understand well,” she said dryly. “Let us not start imagining specters. We have enough real demons to face.”

The earl quietly closed the door behind him and led the way to a parlor overlooking the back garden. “How did your walk go?” he asked, once they had settled in the chairs by the bank of diamond-paned windows.

“I think Miss Kirtland and I are making some headway,” she replied carefully.

“That sounds ominously vague.” He said it lightly, but a shadow of concern hung beneath his lashes. “If you feel that the two of you cannot march in step together, it would be best if we come up with another plan. A stumble will only put both of you at risk.”

“I know that, Sandro. Just as I know that it would put you in peril, as well as Basil and Constantina.”

Patterns of light and shadow played across his profile, dipping and darting along the chiseled planes of his face. She saw a tiny muscle in his jaw twitch.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Other than the fact that some fantastical chariot of fire may at any moment streak through the heavens and drop devastation on the Earth?”

“My question was not well phrased,” said Arianna.

“Sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “There is something unsettling about this investigation. I feel as if I am walking blindfolded through a nest of vipers. I feel their coils brush against my boots, but every time I reach down to grab one, it slithers out of reach.”

Arianna repressed a shiver. “We dealt with snakes before and always managed to catch them and then cut off their heads.”

“This feels different,” he said softly. Uncertainty shaded his voice. “And I can’t explain why.”

“Then I understand your concern. Your instincts must be trusted, so we have to be even more careful.”

A sigh seeped out. “Not a word I normally associate with you.”

“This mission has forced me into a number of odd new associations,” she said dryly. “As you know, I am very good at improvising.”

He acknowledged the remark with a gruff nod. “True. But if anything were to happen to you—”

“Good God, do you think that I don’t worry about you, Sandro?”

The question forced him to silence.

“We must accept that fear will be an elemental ingredient in our emotions. As in chemistry, we will have to find a way to balance its volatility.”

The earl rose and went to stand by the windows, his gaze fixing on the bare branches of the elm trees lining the far wall of the garden. “There is no going back, so we must look ahead. What is your next move?”

“Chittenden’s party,” she replied. “Tomorrow night. And then Constantina has secured invitations to a ball given by Lord and Lady Brodhead. Their son was friendly with Lord Reginald Sommers, and he is expected to be in attendance.”

Saybrook clasped his hands behind his back.

“Miss Kirtland has agreed to come too,” said Arianna.

He turned around abruptly, surprise etching a furrow between his brows. “She hates going out in Society.”

“As do I,” she replied calmly. It was hypocritical to feel any hurt at his reaction. Miss Kirtland had little experience in playing a role other than a recluse, so it was natural that he comment on it. “But we must put aside our own personal preferences if we are to trap Renard.”

A grunt.

Arianna made a show of pleating the folds of her skirts before explaining her reasons for distancing Miss Kirtland from the Royal Institution’s scientific circle.

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought,” was his only comment.

“You are not the only one who senses danger. I am trying to plan everything carefully,” she answered. “But even with the best-laid plans, one must be prepared to make spur-of-the-moment changes.”

12

From Lady Ariann
a’s Chocolate Notebooks

Chocolate-Dipped Hazelnut Caramel Squares

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup packed light brown sugar

¹
/
₄
teaspoon salt

³
/
₄
cup (1
¹
/
₂
sticks) plus 6 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, cut into
¹
/
₂
-inch cubes

²
/
₃
cup granulated sugar

6 tablespoons heavy whipping cream

¹
/
₄
cup honey

2 teaspoons finely grated orange peel

5 ounces hazelnuts, coarsely chopped

¹
/
₄
cup chopped candied orange peel

8 ounces bittersweet chocolate (not exceeding 61% cocoa), chopped

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a 13 x 9 x 2–inch metal baking pan with foil. Mix the flour, brown sugar, and salt in a food processor for 5 seconds. Add
³
/
₄
cup of the butter. Pulse until a coarse meal forms.

2. Transfer to the pan; press firmly and evenly onto the bottom of the pan. Bake the crust until golden, about 20 minutes.

3. Bring the remaining 6 tablespoons butter, granulated sugar, cream, honey, and finely grated orange peel to a boil in a small heavy saucepan, stirring until the sugar dissolves and the butter melts. Boil until a candy thermometer registers 230°F, about 6 minutes. Stir in the nuts and candied orange peel.

4. Spoon the hot nut mixture evenly over the crust in the pan. Return to the oven and bake until the entire surface is bubbling, about 10 minutes. Cool for 20 minutes.

5. Using the foil as an aid, lift the cookie from the pan. Carefully peel the foil from the edges. Cut the warm cookie into 1
¹
/
₂
-inch squares. Cool the cookies completely.

6. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper or waxed paper. Melt the chocolate in a small metal bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water until warm to the touch. Remove the bowl from over the water. Dip the corner or edge of each cookie in the melted chocolate and place on the prepared baking sheet. Chill until the chocolate is set, about 1 hour.

A
rianna made a last check of her reflection in the glass before descending from the elegant carriage. Working with their usual quiet efficiency, Saybrook’s country servants had taken charge of things and quickly arranged for all the outward trappings of wealth. Mrs. Greeley now appeared to be just what she claimed—a worldly lady of means, intent on residing in London for an indefinite period of time.

Approaching the front steps of her destination, she paused and looked up at the town house. The draperies in the drawing room were drawn back, allowing the blaze of the crystal chandelier to shimmer through the leaded windows.

Bright lights.

She would have to match that brilliance with some fire of her own.

“Mrs. Greeley, how lovely that you could join us tonight.” Her host flashed a gracious smile as a servant escorted Arianna through the double doors at the top of the staircase. “There are light refreshments set up in the side parlor, and a champagne punch can be found in the music room. Please be forewarned that it is all very informal here. Everyone simply circulates as they wish, for the main purpose of the gathering is to talk and exchange ideas.”

“Thank you,” replied Arianna. “Don’t worry about me. I am quite capable of managing on my own.”

“Indeed, don’t fret about our new American friend feeling adrift among foreign faces, Chit.” Henry Lawrance, whom she had met at the Royal Institution reception, suddenly appeared by her side. “I shall be sure Mrs. Greeley is introduced properly to the other guests.”

“There is no need for you to trouble yourself, Mr. Lawrance,” said Arianna quickly.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” he answered politely.

Damnation.
She turned, hoping a cool response might discourage his misplaced gallantry. The last thing she wanted was company. “I’m sure you have come to mingle with your own friends, sir. For me, part of the allure of travel is feeling independent, so I am not at all intimidated by having to navigate foreign waters on my own.”

“It’s clear you are a lady who is interested in exploring both intellectual and physical boundaries.” Lawrance smiled, seemingly oblivious to her hint. “You have my admiration, for it cannot be easy, given the prejudices against those of your sex.”

“Indeed, it can be very trying at times,” said Arianna tartly.
For someone who supposedly possesses a modicum of intelligence, your brain appears as thick as granite.

Without further word, she walked off.

“The music room is the first door on the left,” he said, sticking close to her side. “Shall we get a glass of punch?”

“How kind.” Spotting Willoughby holding court close by, she stopped just inside the doorway and fanned her cheeks. “I shall wait for you here.”

As he headed for the refreshment table, Arianna sidled closer to the group of men gathered around the institution’s acting director. They were discussing some arcane point of chemistry, and though she couldn’t follow the technical talk, she listened carefully to the exchange, watching the faces and making careful note of who spoke up to challenge Willoughby. The dangerous spark among the Bright Lights would be an individual who was both clever and confident.

“Do you have a special interest in potassium?” murmured Lawrance as he returned with two glasses.

“I am not very familiar with the subject, but I am always curious to learn about new things.”

He fixed her with a measured look. “What is your particular field of interest, Mrs. Greeley?”

“Oh, since I am among such experts, I just wish to listen and see what sparks my imagination,” she said coyly.

His gaze sharpened, though his tone matched her teasing note. “Sparks can be dangerous in chemistry.”

Arianna gave a light laugh. “Yes, of course—thank you for the reminder. I see that I shall have to be more careful with my choice of words.” She took a sip of her drink and felt its effervescence prickle against her tongue. “And you, sir? What draws you to science?”

“Echoing your sentiments, I find a variety of topics fascinating.”

Before he could go on, a portly gentleman with ginger side-whiskers and a large, intricately enameled stickpin decorating his cravat approached from the side salon. “I say, Lawrance, I have found the answer to that question you were asking me about lighter-than-air gases.” Suddenly aware that he was interrupting, the stranger inclined an apologetic nod to Arianna. “Forgive me, madam. I didn’t realize my fellow member was already engaged.”

“Please don’t apologize. The enthusiasm shown by all you scientists is most refreshing.”

“Ha! How nice of you to say so. Some of my colleagues think I’m filled with naught but hot air.”

“Are you?” drawled Arianna.

“Ha, ha, ha! I confess, sometimes I do get carried away in talking about my specialty.”

She turned slightly to allow someone to pass, and once again her gaze fell on his cravat. “That is a very unusual stickpin. Does it have some special significance?”

“Indeed it does! It is a replica of the first manned balloon launched by the Montgolfier brothers. You see, my field of study is aeronautics.”

“How interesting.” Arianna slanted a quick glance at Lawrance, who seemed to have fallen oddly silent. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your colleague?”

He reluctantly did so. “Mrs. Greeley, this is Mr. Brynn-Smith—who does tend to expend a great deal of wind talking if you allow him to go on and on.”

Brynn-Smith accepted the needling with a good-natured laugh. “I try to rise to the occasion when I am asked about my work. And seeing as you asked some very arcane questions, you ought to be glad of it.”

Lawrance’s gaze clouded for just an instant.

“Come around to my lodgings tomorrow. I’ve made copies of the papers you inquired about,” continued Brynn-Smith. “Oh, and if you have further questions on flight, there is a new tea shop on Montague Street that has become quite popular with the aeronauts who lift off from the Artillery Grounds. The proprietor is a Spanish woman who serves a variety of exotic coffee and chocolate drinks.” He looked at Arianna and explained, “One tends to get chilled at high altitudes, so a hot beverage serves to warm the bones after several hours aloft.”

“I can imagine,” she murmured. “Do you soar through the skies as well, Mr. Brynn-Smith?”

“Alas, only occasionally,” he answered. “My work is mostly confined to the laboratory, as I like to experiment with the types of gases that allow the balloons to defy gravity.”

“So without you, no one would get off the ground?”

Brynn-Smith beamed. “I suppose you could say that. Though I did not, of course, invent hydrogen, I am trying to see if a new element might be added to make balloons more maneuverable.” Pulling a pocket watch from his waistcoat, he checked the time. “Dear me, if I don’t fly off this instant, I shall be late for another engagement. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Greeley. I hope we have a chance to talk further at some later date.”

“I look forward to it.”

Bobbing a quick bow, Brynn-Smith hurried off.

“What an interesting fellow,” she remarked, curious to draw a reaction from Lawrance. He did not seem happy about the interruption, and she wondered why. “The members of the Royal Institution are engaged in
such
intriguing projects. I can see that I shall enjoy my stay here in London.”

“What other plans do you have for your visit?” he asked. “Perhaps you would allow me to escort you to the theatre some evening?”

“Actually, I don’t care for playacting,” said Arianna. Flicking a curl of faux hair from her cheek, she refused to be diverted from talk of flight. “Tell me, do you fly balloons, Mr. Lawrance?”

“No,” he replied. “The information is merely for a friend.”

A glib response, given just a little too quickly, she decided. He definitely merited further scrutiny.

“What about you, Mrs. Greeley? Do you aspire to soar through the heavens?”

“It must be a unique experience, to see the world from such a perspective. Everything must look very small and insignificant.” Arianna deliberately drew out a pause. “I wonder if, like Icarus, one feels a great sense of power and freedom from constraint.”

“Icarus crashed back to Earth in a fiery ball of flames,” said Lawrance slowly.

“Oh, yes, he did, didn’t he?” She smiled. “Ah well, so much for dreams of power and glory.” Anxious to move on and observe the other guests, she pointedly looked around. “I hope your friend appreciates the effort you have made to help him. Now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go sample some of Mr. Chittenden’s refreshments. I am feeling a little . . . How do you English say it . . . peckish?”

“Yes, peckish—like a bird,” replied Lawrance with an enigmatic smile. “Come, the parlor is this way.”

Like a cocklebur, he seemed determined to stick to her skirts. Was he merely an incorrigible flirt who liked to attach himself to a lady? Or was there some other reason she couldn’t shake him off?

Ignoring his attempts to talk about London’s landmark sights, Arianna kept pondering the questions. Perhaps Miss Kirtland knew more about his background. If not, Saybrook could make some inquiries . . .

Spotting Lady Urania and her brother near the platters of cheese and shaved ham, she put aside the pesky thoughts of Lawrance to concentrate on them.

Once her self-appointed companion returned from the tables with a plate of food, Arianna asked, “Does Lady Urania ever venture out from her sibling’s shadow?”

Lawrance eyed the pair over the rim of his wineglass. “I suppose there is a special bond between twins that the rest of us cannot fathom.”

“Twins?” Arianna hadn’t been aware of the connection and made a mental note to ask Miss Kirtland why it had not been mentioned. Details like that were important.

“Yes, and I believe that she is the eldest,” went on Lawrance. “Which may explain why she fusses over him like a mother hen.”

“In truth, the opposite appears the case to me,” she replied pensively. “To my eye, it is Lord Canaday who seems solicitous of his sister’s welfare. He looks like he feels beholden to protect her.”

As Arianna watched, the lady in question took hold of her brother’s arm, as if to steady a momentary tremble. Smiling, he shifted slightly in order to place his hand at the small of her back.

“Many men would resent the duty of playing constant guardian to an invalid sister,” she mused. “And yet he seems quite good-natured about it.”

“Indeed, he is a paragon of virtue,” said Lawrance, though there seemed to be a slight shade of sarcasm to his voice.

“Are you friends with His Lordship?”

“We move in the same circles, so yes, we are quite well acquainted.”

The reply, noted Arianna, did not really answer the question she had asked. For a moment, she debated whether to retreat, in hope of shaking off Lawrance and returning a little later on her own. However, given that time was of the essence, the chances of missing the siblings seemed too great a risk to take.