A furrow had formed between Mellon’s brows. “Assuming she has a rightful place.”
“Yes, that is certainly part of the problem.” Arianna paused. “As is the fact that I am just as much a foreigner to the Polite World as Antonia. I should like to see her accepted by the ton regardless of her birth, but I have little idea of how to go about it. Aunt Constantina, of course, will be a great asset, for I am sure she will relish the idea of orchestrating a debut Season. I—I am hoping you might consent to give me advice as well. Things like whose favor it is important to curry, which hostess has the most influence.”
“Forgive me, but aren’t these the sort of activities you loathe?”
“I have done a great many things in my life that I did not wish to do, sir,” she replied. “That did not prevent me from doing them very well. When I set my mind to something, I can be very stubborn.” Her lips quirked. “As you have no doubt noticed.”
He acknowledged the quip with a tiny nod.
“It would mean a great deal to Sandro. Though he keeps his feelings well hidden, I know that the matter is eating at his insides.” Though she considered herself good at reading people, she was having trouble trying to gauge Mellon’s reaction. For a skilled diplomat, masks were like a second skin.
A fact that she must not forget during the coming weeks.
“So, I was also wondering if, given your connections in the government, you might also consent to make a few discreet inquiries into your brother’s affairs while we are away in Vienna,” she went on. “It would be of enormous help to know whether there was indeed a marriage to Antonia’s mother, and whether England would recognize it as legal.” Arianna kept her eyes on his face. “I would like to surprise Sandro by making it possible for Antonia to come live with us when her school term is over next spring.”
Mellon gave a rueful grimace, the first overt show of emotion he had allowed. “You know, I couldn’t in my wildest dreams have imagined any greater shock than this news.”
I am afraid that you will soon have to confront an even worse nightmare, she thought to herself.
“But yes, of course I can make some inquiries.”
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m very grateful.”
“And I, in turn, am happy that you took me into your confidences.” He stared meditatively into his port. “I assume that for now, you wish to keep this a secret from Sandro.”
Secrets.
She nodded. “I think it would be best.”
“You may count on my discretion.”
A short while later, Arianna stepped into the night and walked the short distance to where her carriage was waiting. Shadows flickered over the pavement as the mist-dampened darkness dueled with the bright blaze of the town house torchieres, mirroring her unsettled thoughts.
There was much to think about. Kydd, Rochemont, Mellon . . . How ironic, she mused. Only a short time ago life had seemed a bit flat.
If it was a spark of danger that she craved—that frisson of liquid fire pulsing through the blood—the coming few weeks promised to leave every nerve ending tingling with its burn.
Lifting her face to the breeze, she inhaled and held the cool air in her lungs for a moment, waiting for the sudden pounding in her ears to subside. Ahead lay the unknown, and that should be frightening to any proper lady of the ton.
A tiny gust tugged the corners of her mouth upward. Ah, but I’m not a proper lady, am I?
“I trust your evening went well?” Saybrook stepped out of the shadows and opened the carriage door for her.
“Very well. And yours?”
“Baz and I made some interesting discoveries.” He offered her a hand. “Come, let us return home without delay, and I’ll explain it all over a cup of late-night chocolate.”
The pale stone of the Horse Guards rose up like a square-shouldered ghost from the tendrils of morning mist. Despite the earliness of the hour, a troop of mounted soldiers emerged from the stables and wheeled into formation for their parade ground drills.
His boot steps melding with the muffled beat of hooves and jangling of metal, Saybrook mounted the side stairs and made his way through the warren of corridors to Grentham’s office. He had spent the previous day and half the night following up on the information found in Kydd’s rooms, so the urgent summons from the minister had not been a welcome sight at the breakfast table.
“How kind of you to respond so quickly,” said Grentham, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I would offer you coffee, but I assume you only drink the mouth-fouling sludge that you and your wife find so fascinating.”
“You mean spiced chocolate?” replied the earl. He sat down without invitation. “Try adding sugar. Perhaps it would sweeten that sour phiz of yours.”
“You’re awfully generous with your bon mots, Lord Saybrook. Would that you were half as forthcoming with information,” snapped the minister. “You were supposed to come by yesterday with an update on your visit to Kydd’s rooms.” He tapped his fingertips together. “I am tiring of giving you everything that you want and getting nothing in return.”
“You wish a bon-bon?” Saybrook arched a brow. “Very well. I’ve discovered an interesting lead on how to learn more about Kydd’s clandestine political activities. Which in turn may lead me to whoever recruited him.”
Grentham waited.
The earl began buffing the chased silver knob of his walking stick on his sleeve.
“I don’t find you amusing, Saybrook.”
“I didn’t come here to entertain you by jumping through hoops.”
The locking of their eyes produced a near-audible click. Both men tensed, as if they had heard the hammer of a pistol being drawn to half cock.
“In all honesty, Grentham, can you blame me for being less than eager to reveal my plans or my sources? Based on our previous investigation, I have good reason to have little confidence in you and your lackeys. It would seem that Renard, a French fox of a traitor, is still running tame in your own department. Until he is trapped, it would be foolhardy to be too forthcoming.” Saybrook crossed his legs. “I’m pursuing the matter. What more do you need to know?”
Thinning his lips, Grentham countered with his own question. “That is all you intend to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“The information will not be shared with—as you so delicately put it—my lackeys.” A pause. “Or is it that you still suspect me?”
Saybrook’s cool smile grew a touch more pronounced.
“You are balanced on a razor’s edge, you know,” said Grentham. “Teetering between triumph and disaster.”
“So are you,” retorted the earl. “Don’t waste your breath trying to blow me over the edge. I did not come here to waste time in bluster or bravado.” He stared for a moment through the tall windows overlooking the blue-coated riders, watching the raindrops form into sinuous snakes of water that slid down the glass. “I have been thinking over strategy, and I am concerned about a fundamental weakness in our plan.”
Grentham leaned back in his chair and steepled his well-tended hands.
“It has to do with Davilenko,” Saybrook continued. “Replacing the documents in the book may have fooled him into thinking that the treason is as of yet undetected. But he’s not stupid, and our appearance in Vienna might appear too much of a coincidence. I am not sure—”
“I’ve already anticipated that problem, Lord Saybrook.” The minister allowed a self-satisfied smile. “Davilenko has been dealt with. He won’t be making any waves, so to speak, in Vienna.”
“Might I inquire how you are so certain?” asked the earl.
Grentham’s expression pinched to a smirk. “Unlike you, I shall not indulge in childish hide-and-seek games. Davilenko met with an unfortunate accident on his crossing to Calais on the way to the Conference. The ship encountered a patch of rough weather, causing him to lose his footing on deck and fall overboard.”