A moment later, the men were gone, leaving naught but a smudge of shadows between the white marble columns.
Dark and light. Despite what she had said to Saybrook, Arianna felt a frisson of fear.
“May I take the liberty of inquiring as to how you are enjoying London, Lady Wolcott?”
A voice, uncomfortably close, jerked her thoughts back to the present moment.
“We were introduced at the Averills’ soiree,” continued the gentleman, who was now standing by her side. “Though I daresay you don’t remember.”
“Yes, of course I do,” said Arianna, covering her flinch with a polite smile. He looked vaguely familiar.
“You are too kind—I imagine you’ve met far too many strangers to keep all the names straight,” he murmured. “I am Lord Ashmun.”
“Thank you for your inquiry, Lord Ashmun. I am enjoying the city and its activities immensely,” she answered. Now go away, she added to herself.
“I can’t help but wonder,” he went on. “Are you perchance related to the Wolcotts from Somerset?”
“No,” responded Arianna, hoping the curt reply would discourage any further questions.
Ashmun didn’t take the hint. “No?” he echoed. “Then are you from farther north?”
Something in his tone stirred a sense of unease. “My husband’s family is from Yorkshire, sir. The village is too small for anyone to recognize its name.”
His hazel eyes narrowed, and his long nose seemed to quiver, like a bird dog looking to pick up a scent. “Oh, but having hunted in Yorkshire, I am very well acquainted with the countryside.”
“I doubt you are familiar with this particular place.” She looked away, anxious to escape further interrogation. “Ah, there is Lord Leete with my drink. If you will excuse me . . .”
To her dismay, Ashmun followed. “Might I have the pleasure of taking you in to supper, Lady Wolcott? I should very much like the chance to converse with you—I believe we may have . . . mutual acquaintances.”
“I think you must have me confused with someone else,” said Arianna coolly, though her insides were starting to clench in alarm.
He sidled closer. “I—”
“My apologies for the delay, Lady Wolcott!” exclaimed Leete. “There was quite a crowd around the punch bowl.”
Arianna heaved an inward sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass and quickly raising it to her lips.
“Our hostess is renowned for her lobster patties and creamed quail.” Ashmun was proving relentless in his pursuit. “Allow me to escort you to a table.”
“Tempting,” she replied. “But the last week has been awfully fatiguing, so I’m going to take my leave early. Good evening, gentlemen.” Before either of them could reply, she turned and took her leave from the ballroom.
It was foolish to let her imagination run wild, she reminded herself. Her nerves were on edge, that was all. Lord Ashmun was simply a nosy old man, not a specter of impending danger.
Still, try as she might, Arianna couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen him somewhere other than last week’s soiree. Had he been a guest at one of Lady Spencer’s parties? He didn’t seem the type.
But appearances could be deceiving.
Reminded of her own charade, Arianna forced her thoughts to the coming encounter.
Turning up the hood of her cloak, she stepped out into the night shadows and hurried to her waiting carriage. She must hide her jitters, mask her doubts . . .
Play her role.
“How delightful that you decided to join us, Lady Wolcott,” called Gavin as she entered the drawing room of Concord’s town house. “May I offer you a welcoming libation?” Detaching himself from a group of men by the hearth, he glided over to greet her. “It’s a unique concoction, a specialty of the house, if you will.”
“How can I resist?” The ornate goblet, made of spangled Murano glass, was filled with a dark garnet-red liquid. “I trust that it’s more potent than the watery punch that was served at the earlier party.”
“Much,” assured Gavin. “Can you guess at some of the ingredients?”
“Something very sweet,” she answered with a throaty purr. “Whatever it is, I like it.”
“Ah, I see you have a palette for pleasure,” he said. “The ingredients come from the Caribbean tropics.”
“A world which is unfamiliar to me,” said Arianna. “But I am looking to expand my horizons.”
“You have chosen a good place to start,” said Gavin smoothly.
Before she could reply, a voice interrupted their tête-à-tête.
“Now, now, Gav, don’t be a naughty boy and try to keep our new guest all to yourself.”
Arianna didn’t need to turn around to recognize the chiding laugh.
“Do introduce us.”
“But of course, my sweet.” Gavin pulled back a touch, allowing Lady Spencer to come closer. “Allow me to present Lady Wolcott, who has just arrived in Town from—”
“A dreadfully dull little town in Yorkshire.” Arianna lowered her gaze. A liberal application of kohl had altered the shape of her eyes and darkened her lashes. And as a false mustache had always disguised the shape of her mouth and chin, she had no reason to fear that the other lady might see shades of the fugitive Monsieur Alphonse in her face.
“Oh, I assure you that London is never, ever dull,” said Lady Spencer. “Especially if you know the right people.”
“I am counting on that,” replied Arianna.
“I have a feeling we are going to become very good friends.” Her erstwhile employer flashed a conspiratorial wink and looped an arm through hers. “Come, let me show you some of our host’s Eastern art collection while we get better acquainted.”
Better acquainted? Arianna repressed the urge to laugh.
Waving off Gavin’s offer to accompany them, Lady Spencer pursed her carefully colored lips. “No, no, no, I must insist on having a private interlude with Lady Wolcott. It’s only fair that she be warned about the dangers of consorting with rogues like you.”
Gavin smiled, showing a brief flash of teeth.
“I hope I am not frightening you with such talk, my dear.”
“Not at all,” murmured Arianna, knowing exactly what words and tone would pique the other lady’s interest. “After all, they say that danger adds a certain spice to life.”
The reflection of the candle flames glittered off the gilt scrollwork of the wall sconces, tantalizing flickers of gold on gold. A mere illusion, Arianna reminded herself. And a reminder that here she was surrounded by gleaming lies.
“My diet has been bland for so long,” added Arianna, “that I find myself craving something bold, something unexpected.” She cocked her head. “That is, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I understand you,” assured Lady Spencer, drawing her into the oak-paneled corridor. “La, what a pity my cook has disappeared. You would have adored his creative confections.”
“Disappeared?” she repeated, taking care to sound surprised. “You mean he left your employment?”
“Yes.” Lady Spencer seemed to regret her slip of the tongue. “Rather abruptly. It was quite inconvenient. . . .” She looked away and pressed her palm to a door, which swung noiselessly open. “Come, I think you will find this interesting.”
Two ornate brass candelabras, their curling arms made up of arched cobras, flanked an arrangement of display shelves and art on the far wall. “Lord Concord is a connoisseur of Indian art,” said Lady Spencer, leading the way across the room. Flickers of light danced over carved wood and polished metal set with semiprecious stones. “His connections in the country allow him access to some very special treasures.”