The Cocoa Conspiracy (17 page)

“Let us not trade recriminations,” she interrupted quickly. “I couldn’t resist baiting the minister during the opening reception, so it’s quite likely that his venom is directed at me. Assuming, of course, that he isn’t the serpent responsible for trying to poison the government.”

Saybrook set down his cup. “Before we go on, perhaps we ought to clear the air.”

“Of brimstone and gunpowder?” joked Arianna, watching a twisting plume of smoke rise up from the burning logs.

“Of innuendos and speculation,” he replied.

Within the dark irises of his eyes, the reflection of the flames was like pinpoints of molten gold.

“Sandro,” she began, only to be silenced by a flick of his hand.

“No, let me speak.” He straightened, the slope of his broad shoulders steeling to an unyielding edge. “Grentham spoke the truth. I do make regular visits to a lady who lives in Charlotte Street, off Bedford Square. But it is not for any prurient reason, as was his unspoken suggestion. She is . . .”

Arianna sipped her chocolate, watching him through the fringe of her lashes.

“She is an Original, to use common cant.” He heaved a harried sigh. “Though in truth there is nothing common about Sophia Kirtland.”

He paused, as if waiting for some reaction. But Arianna, warned to silence, decided to take him at his word.

Clearing his throat, the earl continued. “Miss Kirtland has never been married—she is a spinster, a distinction she holds proudly, having little desire to surrender her independence to—as she so colorfully puts it—a dolt whose ballocks would likely be more active than his brain. Which is to say, she has no high opinion of men in general. Nor women, for that matter.”

Arianna was careful to keep her expression neutral.

“As you no doubt gather by now,” he went on, “she is eccentric. Acerbic. Opinionated.” A fresh splash of brandy sloshed into his cup. “She is also the most brilliant scientist I know. I met her at a lecture on chemistry at the Royal Society some years ago, and engaged in a most interesting disagreement over the speaker’s conclusions. We corresponded while I was in Spain, and over time, we became . . . friends, for lack of a better word.” He drank deeply, avoiding Arianna’s eyes. “Given her outspoken views, Miss Kirtland would not be overly welcome in Polite Society, even if she sought to fit into the social whirl. She lives as a recluse, surrounded by her books, her Egyptian cats and occasional visits to a small circle of equally unconventional thinkers. However, I think she’s a little lonely, so I make a point of visiting her every week.”

Arianna carefully aligned the sugar teaspoons on the tray, waiting for him to go on.

“Bloody hell,” said Saybrook. “When I asked you to hear me out, I was not meaning for you to mimic the Sphinx.”

“As you ought to know by now, I tend to take things to the extreme.”

“I trust that does not mean you are contemplating cutting off my
testiculos
with a rusty knife.”

“I am not crazed, merely curious,” she replied. “Is there a reason you never mentioned this before?”

It may have been a quirk of firelight, but his cheeks seemed to turn a shade redder. “I . . . I suppose I feared that you might ask to meet her.”

“And that might have proved awkward,” answered the earl reluctantly. “Miss Kirtland did not approve of my marrying in haste.”

“In that we think alike,” quipped Arianna. “Was the lady unhappy because she had designs on your person?” Not wishing to sound overly cynical, she omitted any mention of his title and money.

“God, no. It’s just that as she does not bother to temper her tongue, I worried that she might say something . . . offensive.”

Arianna burst out laughing. “Me? Offended?” she gasped in between chortles. “My dear Sandro, whatever were you thinking? On the contrary, I can’t imagine anything more interesting than to be insulted by a brilliant female scientist.”

His jaw unclenched ever so slightly. “She can be prickly and sarcastic.”

“So can I.”

“Yes, well, sometimes in chemical experiments, when one puts two volatile substances together, they don’t react according to the textbook description but blow up in your face.”

True,
Arianna conceded. Strong-willed people often clashed despite shared interests. Still, his halting explanation had piqued her curiosity. Was Sophia Kirtland pretty? Strangely enough, that was the first question that popped to mind. The thought surprised her, but on a moment’s reflection she decided it was a fair thing to wonder. Clearly the earl was attracted to unconventional females who weren’t afraid to be different.

Individuals who dared to defy the rules
. Sandro himself did not feel bound by many strictures. Save, of course, for his rigid sense of honor.

She shifted uncomfortably, heat tickling over the fire-kissed side of her body, while the shadowed half felt chilled to the marrow. All at once, the awareness of her utter lack of formal schooling seemed to press against her flesh. Did Sandro regret the fact that his wife did not possess a classical education, and could not discuss books and arcane scientific texts with him?

Damnation.
Arianna forced herself to push such questions aside. There were enough hidden secrets to uncover without delving any deeper into how her husband felt about the erudite stranger.

“I appreciate your candor, Sandro,” she said. “And consider the matter closed.”

He looked faintly relieved.

“We’ve more pressing problems to deal with.”

“Correct,” he intoned. “
Not
that Miss Kirtland is a problem for us in any regard, Arianna.”

So you say, and I’ve no reason to doubt your word.
She accepted the statement with a nod.

There was an awkward pause, unspoken questions shadowing the silence. Saybrook cleared his throat, a tacit signal that in his mind the subject was closed.

“However, since we are being candid, might I ask something about another female?” she said quickly.

His face betrayed a spasm of surprise. “There is no other—”

“Antonia,” she said. “I could not help but notice your reaction when Grentham mentioned her existence. Is she, perchance, a part of the reason you and the minister are constantly at daggers drawn?”

Her husband drew in a deep breath. “He threatened to blacken the name of an innocent girl in order to keep me under his thumb during our first investigation. I told him I would kill him if he ever harmed her, so yes, I suppose you could say that there is a lingering enmity over the matter.”

“Is that not something I should have known about?”

That question elicited a harsh exhale. “At the time, we didn’t know each other well enough for me to confide such a secret. Then”—he looked up—“you had enough to worry about in trying to fit in with Polite Society. I wished to protect you from yet another trouble.”

Protect.
Arianna allowed a tiny smile. “I am unused to anyone trying to shield me from the sordid realities of life.”

“I know that,” he replied softly, and yet the force behind the words took her by surprise. “We both have old habits that must begin to adjust to a new relationship.”

“True,” she acquiesced. “No easy task.”

His mouth quirked up at the corners. “I fear that nothing we face will prove easy over the coming months.”

“No,” agreed Arianna. “But like you, I don’t find a challenge intimidating.”

Saybrook held her gaze for a moment before taking up a slim leather folder from the tea table and methodically shuffling through the papers inside it. “Then let us begin formulating a plan of attack. As I said, I have been thinking . . .” He withdrew several sheets and placed them side by side on the polished wood. “There are going to be a bewildering array of issues and alliances raised at the congress in Vienna. Now that peace reigns over Europe, the powers that defeated Napoleon want to fix the political and social problems caused by over a decade of constant warfare.”

He pursed his lips. “But rather than try to sort through it all, and run the risk of becoming hopelessly entangled, we must choose our battles, so to speak. What I’m suggesting is that we decide on the most likely enemy, and draw up an offensive strategy. I know from experience that unless we are disciplined and focused, we will end up blundering around, and simply shooting in the dark.”

“And if we are wrong?” she asked.

“We have limited time and resources, so there is only so much we can do in any case.”

“I don’t suppose we can count on Grentham and his department for much assistance.”

“No,” he said decisively. “For obvious reasons, I think it best to keep our own activities as much a secret from the minister as we can. There are certain ways in which he can help us, but I shall have to be extremely cautious in how I look to leverage them.”

“Mr. Henning thinks him capable of treason,” mused Arianna.

“Like many Scotsmen, Baz is suspicious of any English government official, especially one involved in state security.”

“Do
you
think Grentham a traitor?” she pressed.

The earl shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I think; it matters what I know. And right now, I have no information one way or another to indicate whether Grentham is involved in this sordid scheme. So until I know more, I shall err on the side of caution.”

“And yet, caution calls for going slowly,” she pointed out. “Time is not on our side.”

“True. The odds are against us being able to figure out the target and stop whatever murder is being planned in such a short time,” agreed Saybrook. “But we have a clue—or clues. We simply have to use logic and probability to narrow down our choices, and then hope for the best.” He looked up from the pages. “That is not to say we won’t improvise in the heat of battle, but it’s best to have a strategy in mind when embarking on a campaign.”

Interesting.
Arianna could see the earl’s military experience reasserting itself. He was sitting up a little straighter, speaking a little more forcefully. “How would that be decided in the army?”

“A general would call a staff meeting. He would listen to his regimental officers and review the intelligence reports from units like mine, taking care to study the facts and weigh the options. On top of all that, a good leader, like the Duke of Wellington, knows the importance of understanding the character and motivations of the opposing commander.”

She thought for a moment. “So when all the fancy uniforms and gaudy medals are stripped away, it all comes down to human nature.”

“Yes.”

“So, we should start by making a list of what we know about Renard. He’s extremely cunning . . .” She paused to take up a pencil and her pocket notebook. “Extremely bold.”

“Extremely confident,” added Saybrook. “To the point of arrogance. And that fact should work in our favor. Hubris tends to make someone underestimate his opponent.”

“Hubris will also make him want to strike at a grand target, not some obscure official,” mused Arianna.

“I think it’s safe to assume that Renard aims to do something dramatic. So we must consider his motives, and who he is aligned with.” He carefully sharpened a quill with his pen knife and dipped the fresh point into the inkwell. “Talleyrand seems the most likely. He too is an extremely clever man, skilled in dissembling and a master of political manipulations. Together they make a formidable force.”

“So do we,” she said softly.

“Indeed.” The firelight caught the subtle quirk of his lips.

Arianna wasn’t sure how to interpret the response. It seemed shadowed by a hint of hesitation. But then again, the flames were a dancing kaleidoscope of colors and her imagination was already overstimulated.

“Intuition and luck proved stronger than cold-blooded calculation during our previous encounter with Renard,” said Saybrook. “So we were fortunate enough to beat him at his own game. However, we must be mindful that he and his employer are, for lack of a better term, professionals at deception and duplicity. And likely they have a very strong incentive for ensuring that their plan is a success.”

“So do we,” repeated Arianna stubbornly. “They are acting on purely selfish desires, while we believe that thwarting their plans will avoid suffering and bloodshed for a great many people. So, in essence, it is a fight between good and evil.”

Another little movement tugged at his mouth. “I thought you considered yourself far too pragmatic to believe in absolute principles like good and evil.”

“As you see, you are a bad influence on me,” she quipped.

Her husband’s laugh was a low smoky rumble that echoed the crackling of the coals. “Forgive me.” And then, in an instant, the flicker of humor was gone. “Fighting these dirty wars against dangerous adversaries was not part of our bargain, Arianna. I’ve very mixed feelings about involving you—”

“Come, give me a little credit for having the ability to make up my own mind,” Arianna cut in. “I’m not some meek mouse of a wife, who wouldn’t dare display her own teeth and claws.”

“Your abilities, both mental and physical, are most certainly not in question,” he replied tersely.

“So?” she challenged.

Saybrook stretched out his long legs and appeared to be contemplating the tips of his boots. Arianna poured another cup of chocolate, only to find the brew had gone tepid.

“So, very well,” he finally answered. “I will take you at your word.”

Words
. Somehow their clarity had become clouded by nuance.

“Thank you,” said Arianna, a little more forcefully than she intended.

Turning away from the light, the earl drew an envelope from the leather portfolio. The ornate seal was, she saw, already broken. “Charles is having a reception later this week for the English delegation going to Vienna. He’s still a bit perplexed by my sudden desire to see the Emperor of Austria’s book collection, but he is used to my odd quirks by now, so I’m sure he doesn’t suspect any ulterior motive.”