Sweet Revenge (40 page)

“Watch out!” she cried again, seeing Gavin take up a jagged hunk of broken globe and fling it at the earl’s face.

“Don’t worry, sweeting.” For an instant, a wink seemed to hang on his dark lashes, and then he whirled back with a deft sidestep, letting the missile fly harmlessly over his head. “I’ll not need you to pull my cods out of the fire today.”

Glass crunching under his boots, he angled away from the wall, forcing Gavin to retreat several steps. “Give it up. I’m not going to let you escape.”

Sweat sheened Gavin’s face and the glint in his eye reflected a rising panic. “Give it up? For what—Newgate and a date to dance the gallows jig?” The scalpel slashed through the air, a feint one way and then a quick cut that lanced to within an inch of the earl’s chest. “I’ll take my chances with a sodding cripple.”

“It’s your choice,” said Saybrook, parrying the thrust. His own blade swooshed back and forth. “I daresay I’d do the same. A noose takes a long time to choke the life from a man.”

With a snarled oath, Gavin suddenly pivoted and lashed out with a hard kick, desperation giving his attack added force. “The pistol, Charles, the pistol!” he screamed over his partner’s mewling moans. “For God’s sake,
shoot him
!”

As the earl’s leg buckled, Cockburn started crawling across the floor.

Saybrook dropped to a knee, but as Gavin raised his weapon and cut an arcing downward slice, he caught the other man’s wrist and gave a vicious twist.

A last frantic jerk and Arianna finally broke free of her bonds.

The marquess was already reaching out for the weapon. . . .

Gulping for air, she dove for the table.

Struggling to break free, Gavin hammered a flurry of punches at Saybrook’s face. The earl countered by smashing the hilt of his knife into Gavin’s nose. Flailing and kicking, the two of them tumbled to the hard stone floor, tangled together in a bellicose blur of fists and steel.

Arianna dared not focus on their fight. Her fingers found the chamois and its bevy of lethal implements.
Thank God for the theatrical tricks and circus games needed to keep a restive pirate audience amused in her former life.
In one sweeping motion, she plucked up a slim two-edged blade, whipped around, and let it fly.

The point spun a quicksilver trail through the dancing dust motes and buried itself deep into bone and flesh.

Cockburn’s hand spasmed, then went slack as he screamed and collapsed in a dead faint.

Arianna rushed to retrieve the pistol.

“Here, here, I’ll take charge of that.” Saybrook wiped a bloodied palm on his torn trousers. “Your hands are shaking so badly that I fear you might accidentally fire at
me
.” He gently peeled away her fingers. “However unorthodox, we seem to make an effective team in fighting miscreants. Gavin is no longer a danger.”

A lick of light caught the gleam of steel protruding from the dead man’s throat.

She looked away. “Poetic justice, I suppose.”

“Or divine retribution,” said Saybrook with unholy satisfaction. “The deities do not like it when mere mortals play God.”

Her lower lip was cut, and as she swallowed, the acrid taste of blood, salt, and grains of gunpowder stung her tongue.

“True,” she whispered, and then was suddenly aware of another soft sound melding with her sigh. The slither of wool.

A wave of fury washed over her and for a moment she saw red—a deep, viscous bloodred.

Her kick hit flush on target, but bare toes didn’t manage the desired wallop.

“Allow me.” Saybrook drew back a booted foot. “Always aim for the jaw. It is a far more effective way to knock a man senseless.”

Cockburn twitched as the muddy leather connected with a sickening thud, and then went very still.

Despite the swelling on her cheekbone, Arianna managed a lopsided smile.
“Gracias.”

“De nada,”
replied Saybrook with a soot-streaked grin. And then enfolded her in his arms.

T
he thump of approaching steps jarred her out of a dreamlike haze. She raised her cheek from Saybrook’s shoulder and stepped back. “What—”

“Reinforcements,” murmured the earl.

Before he could elaborate, Henning burst out of the darkened tunnel, brandishing a cavalry pistol. Behind him was a band of ragged men armed mostly with cudgels, though one or two naval cutlasses glinted in what light was left.

Skidding to a stop, the surgeon surveyed the chaos. “Hell and damnation. I promised the laddies that they would get to kick a few lordly arses, and here you have gone and spoiled all the fun.”

“My profound apologies.” said Saybrook dryly. “Next time I shall be more considerate of your men’s tender sensibilities.” He nodded at the ex-soldiers and sailors. “You can still lend a hand by carrying this corpse outside.”

“What about that bilge rat?” asked one of the men, pointing to where Cockburn lay curled in the corner.

“Leave him for now,” replied the earl. “Baz, perhaps you could tend to his scratches. We wouldn’t want him to bleed to death before we hand him over to the authorities.”

At that, Cockburn’s whimpers grew louder.

The surgeon blew out a huff of disgust. “I’d rather cut off his
cojones
. But I suppose we ought to let justice take its proper course.” He gave a curt wave at Gavin’s lifeless form. “Haul the carcass away, laddies. And keep a close guard on things outside until we decide how te deal with this night’s work.”

“It was all Gavin . . . he forced me . . . I can explain . . . ,” began Cockburn.

Ignoring the appeal, Henning turned to Arianna. “What about you, lassie? Are ye hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. A few bumps is all.” She chafed at her arms, feeling a chill seep through her skin now that the warmth of Saybrook’s big body was gone. “And perhaps a slight headache from the Devil’s Delight.”

The surgeon brushed a callused fingertip to her cheek. “I’ve got some arnica salve in the carriage. It will keep the bruising down.” To the earl he added, “I thought ye were going to keep her safe! Did ye stop fer a wee dram along the way?”

“Don’t badger the earl,” she murmured. “He was . . .”
A storybook hero?
No, that made her sound like a sentimental schoolgirl. “He was . . . quite efficient, especially considering his recent injury.”

“Yes, well, we have chocolate to thank for a happy ending to this affair,” quipped Saybrook. “I owe my restored strength to its potent healing properties.”

Healing
. For all her aches and bruises, Arianna realized that she felt remarkably free of pain.

“Help me! I’m dying.” Cockburn’s piteous whine interrupted their exchange.

“Ye deserve to,” muttered the surgeon, reluctantly shuffling over to the marquess.

“I swear, it was all Gavin’s idea,” repeated Cockburn, as Henning began to tend to his injured hands.

“Indeed?” said Arianna. She imagined that Saybrook would subject the dastard to a thorough interrogation, but first she had some questions of her own. “We’ve already figured out the basics of the stock scheme, and I now understand why Prinny was poisoned. But how did Major Crandall fit in? Why did he try to kill Lady Spencer’s chef?”

“C-Crandall was my cousin.” Cockburn groaned as Henning staunched the bleeding with strips of linen torn from Gavin’s cravat. “He was recruited to keep us informed about state security activities.”

“So it was he who told you about the upcoming secret meeting of allies?” asked the earl.

“Yes,” answered Cockburn. “The timing seemed perfect, and he was supposed to ensure that the chef was blamed for the Prince’s demise. But when you were called in to investigate, it was decided to eliminate the chef. You see, Gavin worried that the cursed fellow had spotted him sneaking into the kitchen.”

Arianna thought back to the night, and the other shadowy figure she had seen with Concord in the corridor. “So Concord knew nothing about the poisoned chocolate?”

“No, nothing at all. We—That is, Gavin made up an excuse concerning the Devil’s Delight narcotic in order to arrange for a clandestine meeting at Lady Spencer’s town house. He claimed it was urgent business, but he didn’t want Lady Spencer to know of the partnership, lest she demand a cut.” Cockburn drew a deep breath. “As we told you, Concord was unaware of our plans for a New World trading company. He only became suspicious when Kellton panicked over Crandall’s death and ended up revealing more about the scope of the business than he should have.”

How ironic,
thought Arianna. Once again, the echo of her father’s laugh began to whisper in her head, along with the lines of his favorite poem.
The best laid plans of mice and men . . .

“And Lady Spencer had no idea about any of this, either?” she asked.

“No. She was only involved with Concord and Kellton on a minor deal to supply cheap boots to the army at premium price. Her role was to persuade the Prince to award them the contract.”

Saybrook shifted his stance, throwing his face deeper into shadow. “Kellton was brought in because of his experience with the East India Company, correct?”

“He was very clever with numbers and had a great deal of experience with drafting shipping records,” confirmed Cockburn. “But more than that, his amorous relationship with Lady Spencer allowed him to gain access to certain important financial papers. Her grandfather was—”

“We know who he was,” interrupted Arianna. “Just as we know his papers were key in helping you create your new company’s calculations.”

“How—,” began Cockburn.

“Never mind that,” said Saybrook brusquely. “I want to know more about Crandall. He was Grentham’s lackey, so does that mean that the minister is one of your conspirators?”

“God, no. If Grentham has a weakness, it is not money.” Cockburn grimaced. “Nor anything else that I could discern. I was delegated to judge whether he might be tempted to join our group, but in the end, I advised that it was too dangerous to try.”

“So it was you, from your position in the Foreign Ministry, who made contact with the French?” pressed the earl.

“N-nobody in Europe is going to stop Napoleon,” responded Cockburn evasively. “His new army is going to thrash the Eastern opposition. So it was in our country’s best interest to engineer an end to this interminable conflict and sue for peace.” His voice grew more wheedling. “Think of all the lives that would be saved.”

“And what of my father?” asked Arianna softly. “Why did you and Gavin decide that he should die?

Cockburn wet his lips. “I swear, it wasn’t my decision. I was quite fond of Richard—really I was. But he cost us a great deal of money by refusing a reasonable fee to handle the mathematics for a very lucrative deal with a Baltic supplier of naval supplies.”

“And then, he threatened to expose the arrangement. So, well . . .” Cockburn gave a beseeching lift of his shoulders. “I was an ocean away! Had I been there, I would have tried to use reason. But as you saw, Lady Arianna, Gavin could turn violent when crossed. If only Richard hadn’t pushed him.”

If only.
Arianna couldn’t find her voice. She looked away, only to catch a fleeting glance of Saybrook’s lidded gaze darkening to the color of coal.