“Perhaps if I were not distracted with pointless meetings, I would have time to pursue my investigations more effectively.” He paused. “By the by, what has the death to do with the Prince and his poisoner? Was it perchance the missing chef? How convenient if he were to have imbibed a surfeit of his own creations.”
Grentham narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play games with me.”
“That would be foolhardy,” replied the earl. “And I’m not a fool.”
“So I have heard.” Leaning back, the minister contemplated the stack of gold-stamped document cases arranged on his desk. The dark green grained leather mirrored the exact shade of his well-tailored coat. Both appeared nearly black in the subdued light. “The dead man is Gideon Kellton. Were you acquainted with him?”
“He was a director of the East India Company, was he not?” answered Saybrook.
“Yes.”
“How was he killed?” inquired the earl. “Stabbed? Shot? Strangled?”
Grentham stiffened, his nose lifting slightly, like a bird dog catching a scent. “What makes you think he was murdered?”
A ghost of a smile flitted across the earl’s face. “You would hardly be summoning me here to say that the fellow had died peacefully in his sleep.”
“The cause of his death is not clear,” said Grentham tightly, clearly unhappy at having to make the admission. “It’s possible that it was a natural one. But certain things appear, shall we say . . . suspicious.”
The earl lifted a brow. “Indeed? And is that the opinion of your medical experts? For I would imagine that you employ some very highly skilled men.”
The comment drew an unblinking stare. “Unfortunately, the local physician who was summoned made a complete muck of matters. The body was moved, the clothing pulled in disarray, and the desk where he was sitting cleared of his work.”
“A pity,” murmured Saybrook. “I know of someone who is very good at discovering the secrets that lie beneath the skin. I am sure he would be happy to offer his services.”
“Ah, yes, your erstwhile army comrade, Basil Henning. Who, interestingly enough, was a visitor at your town house this morning.”
“Things must be dreadfully dull around here if a routine visit from the surgeon who treats my war wound draws the attention of your spies.” Saybrook stood without the aid of his cane. “As you can see I am making great progress in my recovery.”
Grentham ignored the barb. “How fortunate for you. Do try to make headway in other matters as well, Lord Saybrook. A clever man like you should not be finding the way so difficult.”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“Not for me.” The minister rose and moved around his desk. “So save your platitudes for those dull-witted enough to believe that the meek shall inherit the earth. We both recognize a bald-faced lie when we see one.”
“I defer to your greater experience with lies and deception.”
“Oh, I seem to recall from our previous conversation that you and your family are not quite so virtuous as you wish to appear.” The hazy gray light from the windows was just bright enough to catch the glimmer of malice in Grentham’s gaze. “I trust you remember what we discussed.”
“Every word.” Saybrook’s reply was almost lost in the sudden pelter of rain against the glass panes.
“Good. Then we understand each other.” He dismissed the earl with a flick of his wrist. “I repeat, I am not a patient man.”
16
By 1700, there were over two thousand chocolate houses open in London. They served as social clubs—for men, of course—and became known as places of political intrigue. I think Sandro would appreciate the fact that chocolate helped foment revolutionary ideas. Even as a young boy, he had very egalitarian views for a titled peer; I am proud of his principles, but I fear such they will lead him into trouble. . . .
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch-processed), plus 3 tablespoons for dusting pan
1½ cups brewed coffee
½ cup American whiskey
2 sticks unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 cups sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
1¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 325ºF. Butter 3-quart (10-inch) Bundt pan well, then dust with 3 tablespoons cocoa powder, knocking out excess.
2. Heat coffee, whiskey, butter, and remaining cocoa powder in a 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, whisking, until butter is melted. Remove from heat, then add sugar and whisk until dissolved, about 1 minute. Transfer mixture to a large bowl and cool 5 minutes.
3. While chocolate mixture cools, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Whisk together eggs and vanilla in a small bowl, then whisk into cooled chocolate mixture until combined well. Add flour mixture and whisk until just combined (batter will be thin and bubbly). Pour batter into Bundt pan and bake until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 40 to 50 minutes.
4. Cool cake completely in pan on a rack, about 2 hours. Loosen cake from pan using tip of a dinner knife, then invert rack over pan and turn cake out onto rack.
The blaze of lights, brilliant in its fire . . . the thrum of voices, edged with anticipation . . . the feel of a costume, disguising her real self. . .
Quelling a last little flutter of nerves, Arianna glided into the crowded ballroom, reminding herself of the ragtag theater in Barbados and how many times she had acted out a part in a play. This was just a more sumptuous stage, and the audience, despite their wealth and veneer of worldly sophistication, was just as willing to be deceived.
“You are looking deliciously lovely tonight, Lady Wolcott.” Gavin bowed low over her hand. When he lifted his head, it was to reveal a wolfish smile.
“Good enough to eat?” she teased in a throaty murmur.
“Oh, I imagine the taste would be sublimely sweet.” It was Concord who replied. He sidled closer, forcing his friend to step back, and took hold of her gloved palm. “Allow me to claim the first dance.”
Gavin looked a little miffed but didn’t protest.
“How can I resist such a charming invitation?” said Arianna with a coy flick of her fan.
He offered his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.
“Thank you for the flowers this morning, sir,” she said, stepping just a touch closer than was proper. “How very kind of you.”
“I regret that I was unable to be as attentive as I wished last night.”
“Oh, you gentlemen and your boring matters of business.” She made a little pout. “It’s quite naughty of you to let it interfere with pleasure. But I shall allow you to make up for your neglect.”
“I was hoping you would.” His palm flattened on the small of her back, the slight friction raising an involuntary shiver. He smiled, interpreting her reaction as something other than loathing. “Tomorrow night we are having another party. Will you come?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, looking up through her lashes. “It’s a pleasure to be part of such an interesting group.”
“Just as it’s a pleasure to discover someone who has an appetite for enjoying all that life has to offer,” said Concord in a low whisper. “If you truly find our gatherings to your taste, we may invite you to become a member of an even more select group. A club, if you will. One that meets on occasion to partake of very special treats.”