The Cocoa Conspiracy (15 page)

Grentham had gone white around the mouth during her speech. Now he looked at her with pure loathing.

Oh, I’ve been given the evil eye by far more duplicitous bastards than you, milord.
Summoning a careless shrug, she went on, “So, much as he hates it, his best chance of catching the culprit is by enlisting us to do his dirty work. Once again, I might add.”

Saybrook nodded slowly. “As you see, Grentham, my wife is an uncanny judge of human nature. She sees things that others miss.”

The minister answered obliquely, which in itself was an admission that she had hit on the truth. “I don’t give a rat’s arse if she can scry the future in a crystal ball. Will you go to Vienna?” he demanded curtly.

Saybrook didn’t reply right away.

Vienna
. Common sense warned against doing another deal with the Devil. But on impulse, Arianna decided to throw caution to the wind. Not out of any love for Grentham. The truth was, she had always wanted to see the city’s fabled sights. As a little girl, she had spent hours curled in her father’s lap as he had regaled her with tales about Europe’s most romantic cities. Vienna—the crossroads of East and West. A melting pot of cultures, with rich history, exotic splendors . . . and sumptuous cuisine.

“The Emperor of Austria is very interested in science, and is said to have one of the most magnificent collection of botanical books in the world,” she pointed out. “I am sure it would have some unique treasures concerning chocolate, given his country’s historic ties to Spain.”

The earl’s scowl lessened a fraction.

“And our desire to see the collection would provide a perfect cover for a trip to the city. It’s known throughout the
ton
that you are working on a book, and my interest in chocolate recipes is no secret either. We are considered odd. Unconventional and uninterested in the usual jockeying for power and privilege. So it will be easy to appear detached from all the political intrigue.” In the reflection of the leaded glass, she saw that both men were watching her intently. “And yet your title and pedigree will assure that we are invited to dance attendance on the parties surrounding the Conference. Which would allow us to pursue our own agenda—that of catching the traitor and stopping whatever murder is planned.”

Saybrook looked thoughtful. “An interesting suggestion.”

The minister maintained a stony face, but a telltale pulse of flesh, just a hairsbreadth above his starched shirt point, betrayed his inner emotions.

Yes or no.
The final decision was up to Saybrook.

“There is, of course, the question of the murder here.” The earl met Grentham’s gaze. “For which I am under suspicion.”

“As you have pointed out, the evidence of the knife wound seems to indicate your innocence,” replied the minister tightly. “The inquest will no doubt return a verdict of assailant unknown.”

“Very well,” announced Saybrook after a long moment. “Seeing as you are in danger of making a royal cock-up of this business, we’ll go and do your department’s work for you, Grentham.” His voice turned slightly mocking. “But let us not make a habit of it.”

As the minister took a moment to square the documents, he speared Arianna with yet another daggered look.

Arianna felt a quiver of outrage. Rather than mentally cutting up her vital organs, the ungrateful lout ought to be expressing his gratitude. “You might say thank you,” she muttered.

Grentham ignored the sarcasm. “We have no time to waste in formulating a plan.”

“Starting with the documents.” Saybrook folded his arms across his chest. “What do you suggest we do with them?”

“Why, copy them and put the originals back in the book,” answered Grentham without hesitation. He was in command of himself, any hint of emotion banished by the intensity of crafting a trap for the enemy. She felt a twinge of unwilling admiration for a man who could so be single-minded in his purpose.

Life as a hunter. But surely the chase must grow tiring at times.

“Dare I hope that your wife managed to extract them without doing too much damage to the marbled papers?”

Thrusting aside her musings, Arianna smiled sweetly. “I am very good with a knife.”

“Excellent. Let us hope your skills with a glue pot are equally sharp.” He gestured at the cabinets built into the far wall. “I would imagine there are some bookbinding supplies here. Find what you need and smuggle the items back to your rooms—I need not remind you that secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

“As you so kindly pointed out, sir, I am no stranger to scheming,” replied Arianna, any feelings of sympathy for the minister quickly dispelled by his insufferable arrogance. “It goes without saying that Davilenko must think he has outwitted us by getting his hands on the book.”

“In this case, truth will serve our purpose well,” said Saybrook. “I shall make a show of displaying the gift that my wife chose to celebrate my birthday. It will be easy enough to leave it lying around in one of the parlors.”

“You think he’ll take the bait?” asked Arianna.

“He has no reason to think that we know anything about the hidden documents,” said Saybrook. “If I were him, I’d seize the opportunity to recover them. There’s a good chance he has not yet admitted his initial failure to his contact—conspirators are very unforgiving of any mistakes—so my guess is that the plot will proceed as planned.”

“Let us hope so,” said Grentham brusquely. “For your sake.”

“And for yours,” countered Saybrook. “If I were you, I would not forget about the murdered stranger. Does not the fact that a former French Grenadier took dead aim at me set off any alarm bells?”

Grentham laughed softly. “Indeed, it’s quite alarming to learn that Imperial Guards are such terrible shots.”

Arianna muttered something in Creole that wiped the smile off his face.

“There are legions of half-starved former soldiers roaming the streets, both here and across the Channel,” added the minister. “And most are willing to commit violence for a handful of coins. Perhaps someone doesn’t like you.”

“I can, of course, think of a few.” They stared at each other, and the space between them seemed to crackle with invisible sparks. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be satisfied with such a glib answer.”

Arianna could no longer keep quiet. Gesturing at one of the study tables, where a sheaf of fresh paper and several sharpened pencils lay on the blotter, she said, “Shall I draw you a diagram, milord? An unknown French operative loose in your department, a
Grognard
assassin.” She sketched an imaginary line through the air. “Even a lackwit can see that they are likely connected. The question is, was the soldier aiming at my husband, or was he hired to shoot Rochemont. It would help our investigation immensely to know the answer to that question.”

She paused, aware that her heart was drumming angrily against her ribs. All the talk had exacerbated her frustrations. She much preferred action to endless debate. “Surely your minions can manage to track down the truth while we occupy ourselves with the other conundrums. I am assuming that your resources are more extensive than ours—though quantity does not, of course, mean quality.”

“Be advised that you rouse my wife’s ire at your own peril. As you know, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly.” Saybrook’s mouth twitched. “So, Grentham, are you going to pursue that lead?”

“No,” answered the minister with a sneer. “As I said, I shall see that the coroner’s inquiry rules death by unknown assailant, so you need not fear for your own neck. As to how and why the Frenchman came to have his throat cut, I’m leaving it to you and your motley Scottish sawbones to figure it out.”

“Your confidence in our abilities quite takes my breath away,” said the earl.

The minister dismissed the comment with an impatient flick of his hand. “Your uncle must also be dealt with.”

“What would you suggest?” asked Saybrook warily.

“That you tell him nothing,” replied Grentham decisively. “Mellon must not betray any hint that Kydd is under suspicion. Keeping him in ignorance is the best way to assure he does not make a slip.”

Saybrook gave a grudging a nod. “On that, at least, we are in agreement. He has no experience in subterfuge.”

“As opposed to the two of you.” Grentham was clearly savoring the chance to reseize the offensive.

“We shall have to come up with an excuse for leaving here early,” mused Arianna. “One that won’t rouse his suspicion that anything is wrong.”

“On the contrary, Lady Saybrook. You must not rush off in a pelter,” replied the minister. “It’s imperative that Davilenko have no reason to be alarmed either. And don’t forget, your husband will have to appear at the inquest to give testimony on the circumstances of finding the body.” The flash of teeth was not meant as an encouraging smile. “You can accomplish nothing in Austria until Kydd and the English delegation arrive, so use your time here to be sociable—spread word that all the talk of Vienna has sparked an interest to see the Emperor’s library.”

An astute suggestion, conceded Arianna.

“Once in Vienna, you will, of course, need to draw on your full arsenal of sordid skills,” Grentham went on. “I suggest that you, Lord Saybrook, handle the mundane surveillance and the searching for evidence.” The scudding sunlight lit hot and cold flickers of silver in his gray eyes. “While you, Lady Saybrook would be best used . . .”

Tapping a finger to chin, he pursed his lips. “Let me think . . . Ah, of course. You would be best in putting your God-given talents to work in seducing every last little intimate secret from Kydd. As I recall, you have no trouble making yourself comfortable among
Chlorella vulgaris.
”

A warning growl rumbled deep in Saybrook’s throat.

“Yes, I studied a bit of botany too—enough to know the Latin name for pond scum,” said Grentham nastily. Returning his attention to her, he continued. “Or perhaps your husband is afraid that your loyalties might not be as strong as they should be. After all, yours was a marriage of mere convenience—convenience for you, that is. As I see it, the earl has not profited by much, other than a warm body in his bed.” A pause. “Or do you not sleep together?”

“Why not ask your spies?” said Arianna coolly, willing her blood to keep from coming to a boil. “I am sure they have been crawling like rats along the roof slates and window ledges of our town house.”

Grentham began gathering up the papers and carefully folding them along their original creases. “My informants need not go to great lengths to gather quite a bit of interesting information about your habits. Take, for example, the rather attractive woman that the earl meets with every Thursday afternoon for several hours.”

Arianna blinked.

“Oh, come, Grentham. If you are looking to dig up dirt on me, you had better tell your lackeys to use a shovel and not a teaspoon,” drawled Saybrook. “Do you really think you have shocked my wife?”

No, it’s not a shock,
thought Arianna.
Merely a . . . surprise.

In an instant, the minister’s spiteful sneer turned a little tenuous. But he covered it by taking up his dove-gray gloves from the table and slipping them over his well-tended hands. “I’ll leave you to put the bait back together. And be advised that I shall expect a full report once you’ve coaxed Davilenko to bite.”

Arianna was tempted to cram the leather-bound volume down Grentham’s spiteful throat. With any luck, half of his perfect pearly teeth would be knocked to flinders.

As the door fell shut on the minister’s parting words, Saybrook expelled a harried sigh.

“Pompous prick,” growled Arianna through clenched teeth. Stalking to the storage cabinet, she began rummaging around for a glue pot and brushes.

The earl remained silent for a long, awkward moment. “About what Grentham just said,” he began haltingly. “The lady in question is a botanist, a spinster who belongs to—”

“For God’s sake, Sandro, you owe me no explanation of your life. Pray, do not make further mention of it.”

“I . . .” He looked at her uncertainly.

“It is of no concern,” said Arianna sharply. The sudden clench in her belly was not jealousy, she assured herself, but merely anger at Grentham for his malicious games. “Come, we have work to do.”

 

The book lay on the side table by the rosewood cigar case, a spill of candlelight catching on the gilt lettering stamped on the spine. A faint skirl of smoke wafted across the ceiling rosette as the lone figure in the smoking room rose from the corner armchair.

A puff of breath blew out the tiny flame, leaving the room shrouded in slanting shadows cast by the flickering moonlight. Footsteps crossed noiselessly over the carpet—the only sounds were a brief whisper of leather sliding over smooth wood, followed by a soft hiss of triumph.

Dark on dark, the shadows shifted as the clock began to strike the midnight hour. And then the door closed quietly, leaving the empty space enveloped in blackness.

 

The next morning dawned cloudless, the last vestiges of the squalling storms having blown through during the night. Saybrook rose early to join the Spanish diplomats for breakfast, while Arianna avoided the public rooms downstairs, choosing instead to invite Henning to share a repast in the sitting room of her suite.

“Vienna,” muttered the surgeon, in between bites of kippered herring. “Do ye really think it’s wise to get tangled in Grentham’s web of intrigue again?”

“The strands are already twined around Charles,” Arianna pointed out. “You know Sandro—he wasn’t about to leave his uncle at the mercy of that spider.”

“I say the minister was bluffing. He would have been hard-pressed to prove any wrongdoing on Mellon’s part.”

“Perhaps,” she replied. “But the document would have been damaging, and Sandro is very protective of family.” A bit of toast crumbled between her fingers as she recalled his reaction to Grentham’s mention of Antonia.