It was her turn to express outrage. “I should have known better than to think you would be fair—”
Saybrook touched a finger to her lips. “Must you always assume the worst?”
As if there was any other choice.
“Your anger is always so quick to boil over. As a chef, you should know that a judicious application of heat yields far better results.”
“I don’t need a cooking lesson,” she muttered. “I know my way around a stove, milord.”
“You are about to step out of the kitchen and into a world where the flames are far more dangerous.”
Arianna’s low laugh sent a ripple of lantern light dancing across the tabletop. “I’ve been to some hellholes that would make the devil’s hair curl, sir. Nothing in London can hold a candle to them.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he growled.
They locked eyes, and the air seemed to echo with the silent clash of steel on steel. Neither of them seemed willing to yield an inch.
And then, to her surprise, the earl suddenly sheathed his sword. “Christ Almighty, I suppose if I don’t tell you something, you’ll get yourself into trouble by charging in where angels should fear to tread.”
“I’m no angel,” she said, tentatively accepting the truce.
“True. If I had to compare you to any heavenly body, it would be one of the figures from ancient mythology—an Avenging Fury, or the Goddess of Revenge.” Saybrook thought for a moment. “There must be one, though the name eludes me at the moment.”
“Nemesis,” she whispered. “It derives from the Greek word νἐμειν, which means ‘to give what is due.’ Or, more simply, divine retribution.”
“With you as the self-appointed Almighty?”
When she didn’t answer, the earl slowly spun his empty glass through several rotations. “You made mention of the Hellfire Club that first morning at my uncle’s town house.”
“Yes, and you dismissed it as a harmless ghost story from the past.”
“So I did. But that phrase you just recited, Fay çe que vouldras, was the motto of the original members.” He hesitated, as if carefully choosing his next words. “For you see, those gentlemen considered themselves above any moral restraints.”
“Do what you please,” said Arianna.
“Just so.” He took a deep breath. “As I told you then, the embers were said to have been stamped out long ago. However . . .”
“You think they may have come back to life?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Saybrook. “I will need to poke my nose into a few more deep, disgusting holes in order to answer that.”
Recalling the flicker of the burnished gold, Arianna added, “I suppose I should also mention that there were a handful of the medallions. I took one of them with me.”
“I would like to see it, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well.” In for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ll fetch it from my room.”
She returned shortly and handed the medallion to him. As for the letter and the other items, she had decided to keep that information to herself. It was always wise to have bargaining chips in reserve.
Saybrook studied it for a long moment. “May I keep this for a while?”
She nodded.
His lashes lifted, yet his eyes remained shrouded in shadow. “In the meantime, bear in mind that men who consider themselves superior to ordinary mortals are very dangerous. You may think yourself tough as nails, Lady Arianna, but if they perceive you as a threat to their interests, these self-styled Lucifers won’t hesitate for a heartbeat to hammer your coffin shut.”
Her skin began to prickle. “You are beginning to sound like one of those gothic novels from the last century. Next you’ll be telling me about deep, dark dungeons and underground torture chambers.” She dismissed the idea with a sardonic smile. “Sorry, but I don’t frighten easily.”
“You should,” he replied gruffly. “Even in your wildest dreams, I doubt you’ve imagined the real evil that man can do to his fellow beings.”
Her mind was suddenly awash in a flood of memories—the feel of blood, the taste of fear, the roar of fury, the look of lust. . . .
“It’s late,” she muttered, collecting the knives and plates. “And I’m tired.”
The earl rose and draped his caped coat over his shoulders. “Let us both get some sleep. And don’t forget, I’ll expect a full report after the party.”
“Or?” she couldn’t help asking.
“Or not only will you have to answer to the Devil, Lady Arianna. You will have to answer to me.”
12
As we all know, the Italians take the art of life very seriously. So it doesn’t surprise me to learn that Francesco Redi, the personal physician to Cosimo III and one of the leading scientists of his day, spent time experimenting with the creation of decadent recipes for chocolate. Some of his concoctions included drinks perfumed with ambergris, musk, and jasmine. I don’t think they would be to my taste. . . .
2¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
1 stick unsalted butter, softened, plus 2 tablespoons, melted and cooled
1 cup sugar, divided
2 large eggs
1¼ cup mashed very ripe bananas (about 3 medium)
⅔ cup plain whole-milk yogurt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 (3½- to 4-ounce) bar 70% cacao bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup walnuts, toasted, cooled, and coarsely chopped
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1. Preheat oven to 375°F with rack in middle. Butter a 9-inch-square cake pan.
2. Stir together flour, baking soda, and salt.
3. Beat together softened butter (1 stick) and ¾ cup sugar in a medium bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until pale and fluffy, then beat in eggs 1 at a time until blended. Beat in bananas, yogurt, and vanilla (mixture will look curdled).
4. With mixer at low speed, add flour mixture and mix until just incorporated.
5. Toss together chocolate, nuts, cinnamon, melted butter, and remaining ¼ cup sugar in a small bowl. Spread half of banana batter in cake pan and sprinkle with half of chocolate mixture. Spread remaining batter evenly over filling and sprinkle remaining chocolate mixture on top.
6. Bake until cake is golden and a wooden pick inserted in center of cake comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool cake in pan on a rack 30 minutes, then turn out onto rack and cool completely.
Propelled by the crescendoing music, the ladies around her whirled faster and faster, their laughter echoing the capering notes of the violins.
Closing her eyes for an instant, Arianna tried to bring her skeetering emotions under control. Now that the time for snaking off to Concord’s party was drawing near, her heart was beating so loudly that it nearly drowned out the music.
“The waltz is exhilarating, is it not, Lady Wolcott?” remarked Sir Leete, dabbing a sleeve to his brow. His protruding belly and beet-red face seemed to signal that he rarely indulged in anything more strenuous than lifting a fork.
“Quite,” replied Arianna, grateful that the dance excused the breathless hitch of her voice. Beads of sweat trickled beneath the laces of her corset, teasing a flare of fire to every tiny nerve ending.
“Might I fetch you a glass of ratafia punch?”
“Yes, thank you.” She turned, angling her gaze across the crowded room. One, two, three . . . There, in the fourth arch of the colonnading, stood Concord and several of his friends. Catching her eye, he nodded ever so slightly, a signal so subtle that she would have missed it if she hadn’t been expecting it.