“Impressive,” murmured Arianna, eyeing a series of black jade sculptures, which depicted men and women engaged in a variety of explicit—and exotic—sexual positions. “Imaginative.”
“Yes, aren’t they?” A sly smile spread across her companion’s face. “It takes a special individual to appreciate imagination and creativity. Alas, most people are so . . . ordinary. Their minds are constrained by such rigid notions of morality.”
“True,” replied Arianna. Recalling some of the comments she had heard her erstwhile employer make on the subject, she carefully paraphrased the same sentiments. “They have little curiosity to experience all that life has to offer.”
The smile stretched wider, and as Lady Spencer edged closer, the undulating candle flames made it appear as if the snakes had come alive. Medusa. Arianna quickly averted her eyes. According to ancient legend, any onlooker who dared to look directly at the gorgon’s terrifying beauty would turn to stone.
“Oh, I see that you do understand, Lady Wolcott.” A whisper of breath teased against her cheek. “You know, we are very selective about whom we invite into our inner sanctum.”
“I am honored.” Lady Spencer was now a little too close for comfort. Under the guise of examining one of the woodcuts, Arianna slid a step to her left. “I look forward to learning more about the nuances of art from such experts.”
She could sense that Lady Spencer was watching her intently. Push and pull. They were engaged in a complex dance of manipulation, and her companion must not guess at who was really seducing whom.
“Have we met before, Lady Wolcott?” asked Lady Spencer suddenly. “You look . . . familiar, though I can’t quite place your face.”
Arianna gave a little laugh. “I’m afraid that you must be confusing me with someone else.”
A tiny frown furrowed Lady Spencer’s brow, then just as quickly relaxed. “Oh, I daresay it’s your eyes. They are the exact shade of green as those of the Marchioness of Quinley.”
“Actually, I would say our guest’s eyes are a darker, more complex hue.” Lord Concord moved out of the shadow of the curio cabinet. “Like melted emeralds swirled with smoke.”
“I am flattered that you noticed the color of my eyes, sir,” said Arianna, fluttering her lashes.
He flicked a gesture at the erotic art. “I consider myself an expert on the human form, so I make it a point to study such nuances.”
“Have you a specialty?” she murmured.
His laugh was low, like distant thunder. “Oh, the female body is a particular interest.”
Rather than answer, Arianna turned her gaze back to the carved figures.
“My dear Catherine, why don’t you return to the drawing room? I believe Hastings and his party will be arriving at any moment, and I don’t trust Tipton or Gavin to make them feel welcome.”
Lady Spencer drew in a breath, the light catching the flare of her nostrils. However, she quickly covered the look of annoyance with a dimpled smile. “Of course, Robert. I’m always happy to play mistress of the house for you.” Sauntering off with a slow, provocative sway of her hips, she quit the room.
Leaving the door wide open, observed Arianna with inward amusement. Her former employer did not like being asked to play a secondary role in the proceedings, but was too shrewd to voice any open displeasure.
“Be careful of Cat. Beneath the soft purrs, she has very sharp claws.” Concord had a very sensuous mouth, in contrast to the obsidian hardness of his eyes. There was a flat blackness there that reminded her of a cold-blooded reptile. “And often takes pleasure using them on other females.”
All those chats over chocolate with Lady Spencer were now bearing fruit. Arianna knew that Concord and his friends were hunters at heart and liked the excitement of a chase. Lifting her chin, she fixed him with a challenging look. “She said much the same thing about you.”
“Did she?” He opened a small box on the shelf and took out a slim cheroot. “Does that alarm you, Lady Wolcott?”
“Should it?” she countered.
“You intrigue me.”
Arianna felt her chest tighten in anticipation. Slowly, slowly, she warned herself. One false move would ruin everything.
“Indeed?” she responded, keeping her voice cool.
“I look forward to—”
Before he could go on, an agitated call sounded from the corridor. “Damnation, Concord, I must have a word with you.”
“I’m occupied at the moment,” he answered.
“I don’t care if you are swiving the Queen of Sheba, we need to talk!” A fair-haired gentleman of medium height hurried in, his bootheels beating a staccato tattoo on the parquet floor. His face was ruddy, but whether it was from anger or prolonged exposure to the sun was hard to discern.
“Calm yourself, Kellton,” warned Concord. “As you see, I am entertaining guests.”
“Let them wait,” growled the other man. He gave Arianna a cursory look, then turned his attention back to Concord. “The devil take it, we had a deal.”
“Let us not bore the lady with our personal business.” The words were said softly but there was no mistaking the note of command. Flicking a bit of ash from the tip of his cheroot, Concord offered her an apologetic shrug. “If you will excuse me, I must take a moment to deal with a business matter.”
“But of course.”
“Feel free to stay here and admire the art for as long as you like. There are some books on the side table that you might also enjoy.”
“Thank you,” said Arianna. “I think I shall—stay here for a bit, that is.” Taking up a thin volume bound in snakeskin, she perched herself on a settee upholstered in plum-colored velvet. “So please, don’t trouble yourself about me.”
“You’ve chosen the most interesting work,” he observed with a lascivious wink. “I believe you’ll be here for some time.” Taking the other man’s arm, Concord ushered him back the way he had come. “We’ll discuss this in my study.”
Arianna waited for several minutes, then tossed aside the book and hurried to the door. There were no wall sconces lit in this stretch of the corridor. Standing very still, she thought she could detect a faint buzz of voices from the right. In the opposite direction lay only deep shadows, heavy with silence.
And a fleeting whiff of smoke.
It was a risk, but she could always feign confusion and claim she had become disoriented in the darkness. . . .
The scent of spiced tobacco led her through an archway and down another passage. Up ahead, a narrow sliver of light at floor level alerted her to the presence of a door set in the paneling.
She pressed a palm to the polished oak. Damn. It was firmly shut and she didn’t dare fiddle with the latch.
Looking around, she spotted a set of glass-paned doors leading out to the back garden. Easing the lock open, she slipped outside and picked her way through the shrubbery. As the evening was pleasant, the study windows might well be open to the evening breeze.
Had the gentlemen been conversing in normal tones, her efforts would have gone for naught. At that moment, however, Concord’s visitor was expressing his displeasure in a near shout.
“Don’t try to fob me off with some farrididdle, Concord! My source at Whitehall informs me that Grentham plans to exhume the body. What the devil is he looking for?”
The slight silence was amplified by the stillness of the garden. And then, “What body?”
The question triggered another explosion. “Damn you! Are you pretending not to know that the minister’s top military lackey was stabbed to death by Lady Spencer’s chef, who has so far eluded capture despite the princely ransom on his head?”
“Ah.” The word was punctuated by another pause. “So you, too, have access to sensitive information within the department of security. I wasn’t aware of that. The public announcement was that Crandall choked to death on a piece of beefsteak.”
“Of course I have ears within Whitehall. Like you, I have my interests to protect.” Concord’s visitor sounded a little shaken. “I don’t appreciate being played for a fool.” Arianna shrunk back into the bushes as he approached the windows. “I take it you have the chef well hidden somewhere safe.”