The Cocoa Conspiracy (6 page)

S
aybrook laughed. But then, on seeing Arianna draw in a lungful of garden-scented air as they passed through the French doors, he eyed her askance.

“
Are
you feeling a trifle faint?” he asked. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

“A specter,” she replied, avoiding his gaze.

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“Not at the moment.” Arianna essayed a smile. “I—I shall explain it all shortly.”

“That has a rather ominous ring.”

“No, no,” she assured him. “It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

His dark brows angled up. “Now you have me intrigued.”

As a gust of wind ruffled through the ivy vines, a sudden chill teased down her spine. Shaking off the sensation, she turned abruptly and braced her palms on the stone railing. “Don’t be silly.”

The earl came to stand beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, after taking a sip of his champagne. “I should have guessed that Grentham would be here.” The set of his jaw betrayed his inner tension. “If you wish, we can find a reason to leave. A sudden illness is a perfectly plausible excuse.”

“You need not worry, Sandro. Grentham doesn’t frighten me.”

“He should,” replied Saybrook tersely.

Yet again, she wondered what private clashes had provoked such a tone of loathing. She had a sense that he was holding something back.

“We may have piqued his insufferable pride, but he has no real reason to do us harm.” Arianna shrugged. “Besides, I am not certain what weapon he could wield, even if he wished to. You said yourself that he has agreed not to talk about my sordid past in return for you keeping silent about his own shortcomings. He is pragmatic . . .” She paused for a fraction. “As well as a being a prick. So I doubt he will be any trouble.”

He allowed a grudging grin. “I suppose you are right.”

“I confess, it may be petty, but I rather enjoy tweaking his nose.” She smiled. “It turns a ghastly shade of puce when he is angry.”

“All jesting aside, don’t push him too hard. I, for one, don’t underestimate him. He is a diabolically cunning man, and if he wishes to exact revenge, he will figure out a way to do so.”

She lifted the wine to her lips. “I shall be careful.”

Whatever he was about to say was swallowed in a harried sigh. “It seems any moment of privacy will be all too fleeting,” he said under his breath as footfalls on the stone announced that someone was approaching.

“Sandro, might I take you away again?” Mellon lifted his shoulders in apology. “Labrador has a question . . .”

“Of course,” replied Saybrook.

“You need not worry that your lovely wife will be left alone in the dark, Lord Saybrook.” Rochemont stepped forward with a gallant flourish. “I told Mr. Mellon that I should be delighted to keep the countess company.”

“How kind of you,” drawled Arianna.

“Indeed,” muttered the earl. Setting down his drink, he let his fingers graze her glove before turning and following his uncle across the shadowed terrace.

Rochemont watched them for a moment, then assumed Saybrook’s place at the railing.

Arianna quelled a flare of annoyance as he sidled closer.
Temper, temper
. For Mellon’s sake she would do her best to be polite.

Tilting his head to the light, he ran a hand through his hair, leaving the blond curls artfully tousled. “Will you and your husband be traveling to the Peace Conference in Vienna, Lady Saybrook?”

Oh, well done, sir.
She wondered how many hours it had taken to perfect the deliberately careless gesture.

“No,” she replied aloud.
Actually, I would rather be dropped into the hottest hole in Hell
. “My husband and I have no interest in politics.”

“Ah, but it promises to be a spectacle, the likes of which the world has never seen before.” The torchieres danced in the evening breeze, gilding his face with a reddish gold glow. “Kings, emperors, archdukes, margraves—why, with all the bejeweled splendor and dazzling finery, Vienna will sparkle brighter than the heavenly stars. Every night there will be dancing and feasting.” He looked up at the night sky. “And of course, flirting.”

“It sounds . . . delightful.”

“Demand that your husband take you there, milady.” Rochemont smiled and winked. “A newlywed man does not dare deny a beautiful bride a heartfelt request.”

“Really?” She let the question dance away on the breeze before asking another one. “Are you married, sir?”

“But of course.” He shrugged. “However, it is—as you English so delicately phrase it—a marriage of convenience.”

Which most likely meant the lady’s family gained the prestige of allying with an ancient and august title, while the comte gained a great deal of money.

As for the lady herself, no one much cared whether or not she benefited from the arrangement. She was simply a pawn.

“How convenient for you,” she murmured.

“That is how I look at it.” His gaze slid down to her cleavage. “All very civilized,
n’est pas
?”

“That all depends on how you choose to define the word,” she replied.

“Ah, a lady who is interested in philosophy. How very intriguing.” His handsome mouth curled up at the corners. “Pray, how would you describe your marriage, Lady Saybrook ?”

Arianna decided to deflect his intimate probings with a show of humor. “It is still so new to me that I’ve not yet had a chance to form any definite opinions.”

His laugh was low and throaty, a sound suggestive of rumpled silk and whispered passions. “You,” he said slowly, “are a fascinating female. Pray, tell me more about yourself.”

She brushed an errant lock of hair from her cheek. “Really, sir. We ladies live such boring lives. The rules of Society allow for little adventure.”

“Don’t tell me that you haven’t ever wanted to break the rules, Lady Saybrook,” he teased.

Arianna was quickly growing bored with his blatant flirtations.

Rochemont interpreted the meaning of her silence in a far different way. “Come to Vienna,” he urged with a flash of his pearly white teeth. “I promise that you will enjoy yourself.”

“A tempting offer.” Lifting a gloved hand, Arianna slowly uncurled a finger and turned his chin. “However, you will have to look elsewhere for amusement. I’ve no desire to travel at the moment—I am quite satisfied with my life here in London.”

“A pity.” He captured her hand and with a lazy grace, turned it palm up and brushed his lips over the soft kidskin. “But life is . . . how do you say . . . quixotic. One never knows when things may change,
non
?”

The echo of his question gave way to the silvery sound of a bell, signaling that it was time to move into the dining salon.

“Enjoy your stay in Vienna, Lord Rochemont,” said Arianna, coolly disengaging herself from his hold and steering the conversation to a blandly impersonal subject. “I wish you luck in your diplomatic dealings.”

The oblique rebuff seemed to take him by surprise. Light winked off his lashes, gold sparking with gold as he narrowed his eyes. Clearly he was used to women falling in worship at his feet.

His hubris, however, quickly reasserted itself. “I am always eager to pursue a new challenge, Lady Saybrook.”

“I imagine you will encounter more than enough of them in Austria to keep you satisfied.” It was her husband who responded to Rochemont’s assertion. Amusement shaded the earl’s voice, along with a sharper undertone that Arianna couldn’t quite identify. “Are you ready to go in to supper, my dear? Charles has just informed me that you will be seated between Herr Grimfeld and Colonel Lutz of the Bavarian delegation.”

“Are they friend or foe? I confess, it is hard to keep track of all these German factions,” she said drily.

He chuckled. “Perhaps we should have our host hand out a primer on all the European rivalries, along with the menu.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” she said under her breath.

And with that, they returned to the glitter and gaiety of the stately manor house.

 

“
Dio Madre
, I thought the evening was never going to end.” Stepping through the door connecting their bedchambers, Saybrook unwound his cravat and stripped off his coat.

As was their habit at home, they had dismissed their valet and maid, preferring to undress themselves at night.

“You, at least, enjoyed a bottle of superb port with your cigars, while I and the other ladies were served tea.” Arianna tossed her shawl on the dressing table. She was very fond of the Portuguese wine, so it rankled that ladies were never permitted a taste in Polite Society.

Her necklace followed.

Saybrook winced slightly. “My great-great-great-grandmother was given those baubles by Queen Elizabeth. After passing through wars and pestilence unscathed, we should try to keep them in one piece to pass on to the next generation.”

She watched the candlelight play across the faceted gems. “Your uncle seemed to unbend just a little tonight. I wonder, do you think he will ever come to like me?”

“He doesn’t dislike you,” said Saybrook, taking a seat on her bed.

She was still getting used to habits of the English aristocracy. It was
de rigueur
for husband and wife to have separate bedchambers, both at home and when visiting.

Especially
when visiting, she thought a little sardonically. The discreet name cards on all the doors were apparently to help late-night trysts go smoothly.

“No, he simply disapproves of your marriage,” replied Arianna.

“He”—her husband seemed to be searching for words— “worries about the family. He has no children, and I have no brothers, so—”

“So he thinks me unfit to continue the line?” Tired and tense from the evening’s complicated social demands, she interrupted more sharply than she intended.

“I didn’t say that,” he answered calmly.

His reasonableness somehow made her even pricklier. “You didn’t have to.”

Silence greeted the reply

Family
. When they had first met, Arianna had envied Saybrook and his relationships. His grandmother’s journals, brimming with chocolate lore and her earthly observations on life, had been a source of solace during his illness, while a loving uncle and aunt had provided the affection and support of surrogate parents.

But perhaps being all alone was easier, she thought sardonically. One could be supremely selfish.

“I am sorry,” said Arianna, her voice still a little rough around the edges. “It should have occurred to me when you offered marriage that you would expect an heir.” An uneasy pause. “I—I should have thought to inform you that . . . I may not be able to produce a child.” She sat down, and as she began combing out her hair, she tried to catch his reflection in the looking glass.

But he had withdrawn into the shadows.

Retreated into himself. They were both very private people, who kept their feelings well guarded.

“I have had a previous liaison, one that went on for nearly a year, and I never conceived.” Oh, this was damnably hard
.
“I should have told you.”

“Why?” he replied calmly. “I never felt obliged to discuss my previous life or relationships with you. How we lived and what we did before we met is not an issue in our marriage.”

“But it is,” insisted Arianna. “You had a right to know of any flaw before entering into a bargain.”

“I was not making a purchase at Tattersall’s,” he said softly.

“Your peers would disagree,” she said with a brittle laugh. “That’s exactly why aristocratic gentlemen enter into marriage—they need a bride to use as a brood mare.”

“I think you know by now that my views on life rarely march in step with those of my peers.”

“Oh, God.” Arianna put down her brush and felt tears prickle against her lids. The conversation had taken a strange turn, leaving her feeling confused. Conflicted. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Arianna looked down at her hands, feeling awkward and unable to articulate her sentiments coherently. In the flickering candlelight, the glint of the gold ring was like a dagger point pricking against her conscience. “No wonder your uncle had reservations about such an impetuous marriage. You should have refused to be rushed. I should have insisted that you take time to consider the ramifications.”

“Arianna, nobody held a pistol to my head,” he said drily.

And yet, Arianna couldn’t help feeling that circumstances had forced his hand. For all his cynicism, the earl had a stubborn streak of chivalry when it came to damsels in distress. His offer of marriage had saved her from Lord Grentham’s wrath.

It had been a purely practical solution
.

Love?

The word hadn’t been mentioned during the discussion of her options.

No, they weren’t in love—they were both too pragmatic, too dispassionate for that. Trust didn’t come easily, for at heart, both she and Saybrook did not wish to be vulnerable. They did, however, have a great deal in common—a cynical sense of humor, an open-minded curiosity, a love of chocolate . . .

“Arianna.” Saybrook had come up behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders and as his long, lithe fingers began kneading her tense muscles, she felt her anger start to melt away.

A pleasurable heat spread through her as his palms chafed against her bare skin. Physical attraction was not a problem between them. Her lips quirked as she watched his movements in the looking glass. That part of their relationship seemed to be going smoothly. They both enjoyed the intimacies of marriage, finding the fleeting joining of their bodies eminently satisfying.