Sweet Revenge (5 page)

Finished with the bills, Arianna paused, taking a moment to study the decorative strip of paneling above the drawers. Reopening the center one, she pulled it out all the way and slid her hand into the opening, feeling for any ridge or groove hidden at the back.

There were other, darker rumors, too. Whispered hints about Lady Spencer’s involvement with men far more debauched than Prinny. It was said that she had been introduced to the Royal Rake by several of his cronies from the Carlton House set, men who sought to use the royal connection for—

Snick.
The paneling sprung open, revealing two hidden compartments.

The first one held a sheaf of folded letters tied with a length of red velvet.
Billet-doux
, by the look of them. Arianna thumbed through them, pausing over several from the same gentleman. After a slight hesitation, she slipped one of them into her sleeve before retying the ribbon and returning all the others to their original position.

The second one contained an assortment of keys. Buried amid the jumble of wrought iron and silvery steel was a small drawstring pouch made of tan chamois. Inside were a handful of identical reddish gold medallions engraved with an image and several lines of ornate script. Arianna tucked one in her pocket before returning the rest to the little bag.

Intrigued by what she had found so far, Arianna spent a moment longer exploring the depths of the hidden compartment. Sure enough, there was something else there—her fingers brushed over a slim pasteboard folder wedged against the grained wood. She fished it out and found it contained a sheaf of papers covered with mathematical equations. The top sheets appeared yellowed with age, while the ones beneath them seemed—

Suddenly aware of the rustle of heavy silk in the corridor, Arianna hesitated, but curiosity won out over caution. No doubt it would prove useless, but the idea that Lady Spencer had a hidden interest in something besides men was too tantalizing to ignore.

Stuffing the folder beneath her stomach padding, she quickly tidied up the telltale signs of her snooping, then spun away and took up a position by the marble mantelpiece.

“Why, Monsieur Alphonse, what a surprise to see you in the light of day!” Lady Spencer paused in the doorway to smooth out her skirts. “Like a mushroom, you seem to favor dark places.”

“Alors,”
replied Arianna, casually replacing the Sevres snuffbox that she had been examining. “Seeing as our little world has been turned topsy-turvy, I thought I had better come up and fetch the week’s menus. You have not yet sent me your list—or have you lost your appetite for my cooking?”

Lady Spencer smiled, showing off a set of dimples. Arianna could understand the widow’s appeal to the pleasure-loving Prince Regent. Everything about her had an earthy lushness, from her bulging bosom and rounded hips to her throaty purr, which oozed sensuality. As she moved closer, the air thickened with the honeyed scent of lilacs.

“No, monsieur. I vow, I cannot imagine life without your
gateaux aux chocolat
.” Fanning her cheeks, she gave Arianna a wink. “Are you sure I can’t seduce the recipe out of you?”

For a moment, Arianna wondered how Lady Spencer would react if she were allowed to uncover the shocking truth . . . and then promptly decided that the Prince’s mistress might not be as horrified as she should be.

“Quite sure,
madame
,” growled Arianna, retreating a step at the unwelcome thought of being invited to make up a royal ménage à trois.

“What a pity. I adore plump men.”

“Not when they haven’t a feather to fly with,
madame.
” Arianna folded her arms across her goose-down stomach. “I couldn’t afford you.”
In more ways than one.

“True,” agreed Lady Spencer, a note of regret shading her voice. “But you have a rather . . . unique charm.”

Choking back the insane urge to laugh, Arianna dipped into a formal bow. “The supper menu,
madame
?”

“Ah, yes. Supper.” Lady Spencer licked her lower lip. “Something simple, Monsieur Alphonse. After all you have been through lately, I don’t want to put you through any further trouble.”

 

The carriage wheels spun through a sharp turn, the iron rims jolting over the cobblestones as the driver urged the team to a quicker pace. Saybrook and his escort had exchanged few words since the earl had agreed that a visit to Lady Spencer’s town house should be the first order of business. However, the Major’s displeasure was eloquent in his body language. He was sitting pressed against the far panels, creating as much space as possible between them. As if fearing that Saybrook’s friction with Grentham might rub off on him.

“Tell me,” asked the earl slowly. “Why wasn’t the cook placed under arrest right away? Your superior seems sure he is the culprit.”

“As I’ve tried to explain, we did not wish to draw any undue attention to the incident,” answered Crandall with a martyred sigh. “Lord Grentham wishes to handle the interrogations discreetly, so for the moment, no one will be taken into official custody. But be assured, the entire household staff is under strict orders not to leave the premises.”

“You are not afraid that he might escape?”

“Let him try. Naturally, we have men watching the place to ensure that no one slips away.” The Major smoothed a thumb over his mustache. “Personally, I should not be surprised if he attempted to flee. There is something very havey-cavey about the fellow.”

“How so?” inquired Saybrook.

“To begin with, he is French.”

“So are most of the chefs who serve the
ton
,” he observed.

“I wouldn’t know,” replied Crandall stiffly.

The rest of the ride proceeded in rigid silence.

Saybrook stepped down awkwardly from the carriage, his cane catching in the iron rung of the bottom step.

The Major watched the earl’s stumbling with an ill-concealed smirk. “If you will follow me, Lord Saybrook, I shall show you the way to—”

“Actually, that won’t be necessary.”

The smirk slid from Crandall’s face.

“I prefer to conduct my inquiries alone. In my experience, people are more apt to speak freely when they aren’t surrounded by strangers.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” argued the Major.

“Perhaps not. However, you heard Lord Grentham—he has given me the authority to do as I see fit.” He held out his hand. “I shall keep the files on the staff and the guests, if you please.”

Crandall passed over the document case, although he looked none too happy about it.

“Thank you for your briefing. If I have any other questions, I know where to find you.”

An angry flush of red mottled the Major’s cheeks at the unexpected dismissal. “Would you care to keep the carriage?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“No, I would rather you take it.” Saybrook glanced up and down the quiet street. “As you so kindly pointed out, the less attention we draw to the place, the better.”

Turning on his heel, Crandall stalked back to the waiting vehicle.

In response to several sharp raps of the knocker, the heavy oak-paneled front door opened a crack, and a pair of wary eyes fixed the earl with a basilisk stare. “If you are soliciting money for a wounded war veterans’ fund, we cannot help you, sirrah. The lady of the house cannot be disturbed.”

“I’m not here about money,” said Saybrook, smiling slightly as he shrugged his bony shoulders. “As for Lady Spencer, I’m afraid that I’ll have to trespass on her hospitality,” he added. “I’ve come from Whitehall.”

The butler stepped back and allowed him to enter the town house. “If you would wait in the drawing room, sir . . .” A wave of a white-gloved hand indicated a pleasant, light-filled room to his right. “I will fetch Her Ladyship.”

Saybrook shuffled over the brightly colored carpet, eyeing the jade dragons on the mantel and bright silk pillows embroidered with unicorns nestled on the window seat. Next to it, a pair of faux-gold monkeys danced atop a brass tea chest.

“Do you like my menagerie, sir?”

Saybrook turned from his study of an alabaster lion. “You have collected quite a kingdom of wild animals,” he answered slowly. “Including the King of the Jungle.”

Her laugh was low and sultry, making her sound as if she had just tumbled out of bed. “Thank God that someone from Whitehall actually has a sense of humor. You cannot imagine how tedious that stiff-rumped Major Crandall has been this last week, glowering at me and my staff like we were a vile plague about to infect his private parts.”

Saybrook nodded gravely, though a tiny twitch did seem to play at the corners of his mouth. “I confess that I am also included on his list of noxious diseases.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” she said cheerfully. “May I offer you some refreshment—tea, sherry, or something stronger—so that we may toast to the prospect of his phallus falling off in the near future?”

“Thank you, but no. Though I do second your sentiment.”

She smiled.

“As you can guess, this is not a purely social call, Lady Spencer.”

Sighing, she brushed an errant curl off her cheek. “Oh, very well. I suppose that you, too, have a barrage of questions you wish to fire at me, Mr. . . .”

“I’m Saybrook,” he said softly. “The—”

“The new earl?” exclaimed Lady Spencer.

His nod drew another peal of laughter. “How delicious—that is, once we put some meat on your bones.” She winked. “I would recommend my chef, who really does create the most divine delicacies, but I dare-say you might not find the suggestion a tasty one, given the circumstances.”

“I appreciate the offer, but perhaps some other time,” he answered. “For now, I will settle for having a few words with the man.”

Lady Spencer’s gaze lingered for an instant on his cane. “Please make yourself comfortable on the sofa, Lord Saybrook. I shall send someone to fetch Chef from his quarters.”

“No need,” replied Saybrook, though a sudden spasm of his leg seemed to say otherwise. “I would, in fact, prefer to go to him.”

“Unfortunately, that will entail a trip down a rather steep set of stairs, sir. You see, Chef resides in a small room off the kitchen.”

“Indeed? It’s a bit odd that he would choose to live with the likes of the boot boy or coal monkey.”

“Oh, he doesn’t permit anyone else to live downstairs with him.” Seeing Saybrook arch a brow, she explained, “He’s a trifle eccentric—or perhaps temperamental is a better word. But then, most great artists are.”

“Ah.”

“Truly he is—an artist, that is,” she assured him. “I do hope you haven’t come to arrest him. Even the Prince expressed hope that Monsieur Alphonse doesn’t end up on the chopping block. Prinny is very fond of the man’s
boeuf en croûte
and
crème brûlée
.” Her lips twitched. “And,
entre nous
, he is heartily sick of the beef tea and broths that Whitehall insists on sending.”

“England does not employ the guillotine, Lady Spencer,” the earl replied dryly. “If your Cook is innocent, he has nothing to fear from me.”

“Chef,” she corrected. “He is very particular about all the little details.” Her skirts fluttering with a silky swoosh, she turned for the door. “Come this, way, sir.”