“Discussing business—and pleasure,” replied Arianna. “I knew of him because of the connection with my father. I came to England six months ago, and as I’m not exactly welcome by the respectable members of my family, I decided to make myself known to him. He immediately saw the value of joining our talents.” She gave an impatient wave. “But enough of the past. Tell me about your present plan.”
“Yes,” agreed Cockburn.
“And yet, Concord didn’t look very amorous this evening,” said Gavin slowly.
“He thought I was cheating on him in business,” replied Arianna, quickly composing a lie. “I wasn’t.”
Like his exotic blades, Gavin’s laugh had a nasty edge. “No, it was Kellton who was diddling him. They had partnered on a military contract, but it was a small deal. Kellton was going to pull out of it in several months after skimming off some of the advance money, and leave Concord in the lurch. Selling his services to us was far more profitable, and his expertise in shipping and bills of lading was useful to us in creating a model for false templates to be used on a far larger scale.”
So that was the connection. Saybrook would find the information a key part to the puzzle of his own investigation, she thought.
Assuming, of course, that she lived to tell him about it.
Forcing her concentration back to the cat-and-mouse game with her captors, Arianna accepted the set of papers offered by Cockburn. “It’s a moot point,” she said, “seeing as Kellton had the bad luck to shuffle off his mortal coil in the middle of the deal.”
“His Indian friends would call it bad karma.” Gavin had backed off, but the scalpel was still in his hands, the sharpened steel tapping lightly against the pad of his thumb. “He panicked over a minor problem that occurred at Lady Spencer’s residence, and was threatening to upset all our plans.”
“Study the numbers, Lady Arianna,” interjected Cockburn, who appeared eager to gloss over the topic of murder. As if keeping his own hands lily white absolved him of any responsibility. “Between the projected trade revenue and sale of company stock,” he went on, “I assure you, our new venture will rival the East India Company.”
She spread the first few pages out on the table and took a few moments to study the equations. To her grim satisfaction, it appeared that all her earlier conjectures were essentially correct.
“Profits are easy to put down on paper. But for me to work with these numbers, I need to have a clearer idea what you are actually doing.” She paused, carefully choosing her next words. “Frankly, I can’t conceive of any trading scheme that matches the scale of the East India Company.”
“Perhaps it’s because you have no imagination,” answered Cockburn smugly.
She choked down a laugh.
“The Spanish colonies in the New World possess far grander riches than India,” he went on. “There is Mexico, and a whole continent below it to exploit.”
“Think of the ancient Aztec treasures brought back by the first Conquistadors.” Gavin’s eyes lit up. “Gold, silver, emeralds, spices. Not to speak of the potent coca leaf narcotic. And that’s just the beginning.”
“Yes, but the Spanish colonies are controlled by Spain,” pointed out Arianna. “And Spain is controlled by France. Which in turn is ruled by Napoleon. Doesn’t that present a slight problem for an English company?”
A smile blossomed on Cockburn’s lips. “Not for us.”
Gavin chuckled. “Vivre l’emperor.”
Et voilà. With that simple French phrase, the whole puzzle fell neatly into place. Saybrook had been essentially right in his speculations. Granted, the people who made up the pieces were slightly different, but the overall picture was the same—a group of English aristocrats had conspired with the French to betray their country’s interest for their own economic gain.
“Lady Spencer told me about the Prince Regent’s poisoning,” said Arianna slowly.
“Lady Spencer ought to confine her activities to the bedchamber. Else she is going to end up like the others,” said Gavin darkly.
Arianna ignored him. “She thought it was Concord who bribed her chef. But it wasn’t, was it?” The words came tumbling off her tongue as she sought to clarify one last bit of information. “It was you who poisoned the Prince. By throwing the government into turmoil, you hoped to ensure that the meeting of Eastern allies would fail, allowing Napoleon to conquer all of Europe and then force England to sue for peace.”
“Clever girl,” murmured Cockburn.
“There’s just one thing that I can’t quite figure out—how did Major Crandall tie in?” she asked. “Is Grentham involved in your group? If I am to be part of this, I would like to know who else is involved. It’s all part of assessing the risk of a venture as well as its reward.”
“Clever girl,” echoed Gavin. A pause. “Too clever, in fact.” With one hand, he slowly loosened the knot of his cravat. “Lady Spencer didn’t know that Crandall was killed in her kitchen. Outside of a very select circle of Whitehall officials, only Lord Saybrook is privy to the knowledge of how the Major really died.”
Arianna clenched her teeth, realizing her mistake a heartbeat too late.
“And if he shared it with you . . .”
I’m so sorry, Papa. I thought I was smarter than this.
Gavin tossed the length of linen to Cockburn. “Tie the she-bitch to the chair. I think it’s time we cut through Lady Arianna’s lies and extract the truth from her.”
Not without a fight, you bastards, vowed Arianna.
She jerked up a knee, catching the marquess flush in the groin.
A yowl reverberated off the rocks as he dropped like a sack of stones.
Hurling herself sideways, she scrabbled to her feet from the overturned chair and darted for the dark opening of the passageway. Just a few quick steps and—
“Not so fast,” snarled Gavin, snaring a handful of her hair. Pain sizzled through her scalp as he yanked her back and punched a fist to her temple.
The shadows began to spin and blur.
Still moaning, Cockburn crawled to his knees.
“Right the chair,” ordered Gavin. He drew his pocket pistol from his coat and passed it over. “Use this to keep her under control.”
“By God, I’ll blow her brains out,” gasped the marquess.
“No! Not yet,” exclaimed Gavin.
Arianna felt herself shoved back against the wooden slats. Fear lanced through the fuzziness in her head. She knew she was going to die—and quite horribly. Sweat began to bead on her brow, and strangely enough, she could hear as well as feel the salty drops drip onto her lashes.
Click, click. The sound was unnaturally loud. Like metal against metal.
Clucking in impatience, Cockburn set the pistol down for a moment to finish knotting the linen looped around her chest and arms.
“First, we need to find out just how much the earl knows,” finished Gavin.
A boot scuffed, sending a few pebbles skittering across the rough-hewn rocks.
“Then why don’t you ask him yourself?”
Cockburn lunged for his weapon, but a blast erupted from the darkness, and an instant later a round of molten lead kicked it out of reach in an explosion of shards and sparks.
The marquess screamed and stared down in dazed shock at the blood spurting up from the stump of a finger.
“Drop the knife, Gavin.” Saybrook calmly jammed the still-smoking barrel into his pocket and took aim with his second pistol. “Blades make me very twitchy.”
Gavin hesitated, and then lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “No need to get nervous.” He moved a step closer to the table. “See, I’m just setting it down here.”
“Are you hurt?” The earl’s gaze flicked to Arianna . . .
In that split second, Gavin grabbed the lamp and hurled it at Saybrook’s head.