Saybrook lifted a brow.
“Alas, the poor fellow drowned before the crew could fish him out of the water—and even the meticulous Mr. Henning, had he been there, could not have found evidence to the contrary.” The minister lowered his voice to a deceptively soft murmur. “Water in the lungs leaves no telltale bruising, you know.”
“Ah. Thank you for the warning,” drawled the earl. “I’ve assumed that travel abroad is fraught with peril, but I shall be extra vigilant.”
“It’s always wise to be on guard,” replied Grentham. “One never knows when Fate will strike, eh?”
“Indeed. I will take care, especially on the journey home,” muttered the earl. “For some reason I have a feeling that getting to Vienna will not be as difficult as returning.”
“Prevailing weather patterns in the Alps,” said the minister with a perfectly straight face.
“That would explain it.” He spun his stick between his palms. “Anything else, milord? Much as I enjoy exchanging social pleasantries with you, I’ve better ways to spend my time.”
Grentham’s nostrils flared, but he covered his annoyance with a sarcastic smile. “Let us hope so. It would be a pity to see your uncle’s reputation sunk into a stinking cesspool after all his years of stalwart service.”
The only answer was a whisper of wool as the earl brushed a wrinkle from his trousers.
“One last thing,” added the minister. “Before he fell overboard, Davilenko did confess to the ship’s captain that he had made no mention to his superiors of his temporary loss of the hidden documents. So as of yet, the conspirators have no reason to suspect that anything is amiss. Until, of course, you or your wife muck things up.”
“Anything else?” repeated the earl
Grentham took a moment to inspect his pristine white cuff before answering. “It was Davilenko who you spotted sneaking into the woods. He had arranged through a local contact to have the French Guard take a shot at you, but he confessed that the man threatened to expose him unless he paid more money. So he slit the fellow’s throat when your pursuit caused a moment of distraction.”
“Who was the local contact?” demanded Saybrook.
“Davilenko claimed not to know—it was arranged by leaving a letter at a prearranged spot.” A nasty smile. “And I believe him. Captain Leete is quite proficient at carrying out his duties.”
“I thought your man left no evidence of trauma,” remarked the earl.
“Oh, come—surely you know there are far more sophisticated ways of drawing out information than resorting to physical violence.”
“Thank you for the enlightenment. It quite brightens my day.” Saybrook rose. “I do have another request of my own. I take it you have routine dossiers compiled on Talleyrand, Tsar Alexander and Metternich. I would like to read them before I leave for the Continent.”
Grentham gave a brusque nod. “Come back this afternoon. You’ll find that their reputation as rapacious rakes is well deserved. So I should keep an eye on your wife, if I were you.” He opened one of the document cases on his desk and began reading through some papers. “She seems to enjoy the company of dissolute men.”
“Unlike most of the pompous prigs of the ton, I don’t find an intelligent, clever female intimidating.” Saybrook curled a mocking smile. “Indeed, I find it quite attractive.”
The minister didn’t look up. “If I want a sonnet on sex, I’ll visit a brothel.”
“Which one do you prefer? I hear the Grotto of Venus is much favored by gentlemen who need help in rising to the occasion of having a spot of fun in life.”
“I suggest you remove yourself from my office, Lord Saybrook.” Grentham picked up a pen and made a notation in the margin of the document. “While your pego is still attached to your person.”
Arianna crossed off another item from her list as two footmen carried a large brass-latched case down to the entrance foyer. “Good God, you would think we were moving home and hearth to Cathay,” she muttered, surveying the growing mound of baggage with a baleful grimace. Saybrook had warned her that they might be away from home for as many as three months—and maybe longer. It was now the middle of September, so that meant they might not be home before the new year . . . which suddenly seemed very far away.
“How many trunks are still upstairs, Juan?”
“A half dozen more, madam.”
She let out a sigh. “I fear that come tomorrow, we shall need a camel caravan.”
“The baggage coach is designed to handle a heavy load,” said the footman tactfully.
Yes, but I am used to traveling light.
“There is a chest of books to be fetched down from the library,” called Saybrook as he came down the stairs.
“Is all of this really necessary?” Arianna arched a skeptical brow as she read the first page of her list aloud to him.
“We have a role to play,” Saybrook reminded her. “Several, in fact.”
“You have a point,” she said, surrendering her protests with a rueful smile. Among the trunks of fancy clothing and fine furnishings was one that contained theatrical face paints and false hairpieces, along with a variety of disguises. “Maybe more than several.”
When she and the earl had first met, she had been masquerading as a French chef. A male French chef who had ended up being the prime suspect in the poisoning of the Prince Regent. “Monsieur Alphonse” had disappeared into thin air. But the situation in Vienna might very well require a new persona to come to life.
“It’s best to be prepared,” her husband said, as the footmen headed off for another load. “Mixed among my botanical books are a number of volumes on cryptology.”
“I look forward to more lessons during the journey,” she replied.
“There will be plenty of hours.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “My uncle has invited us for a farewell supper. In the morning, we shall leave at first light to catch the tide at Dover.”
“So, the wheels are finally spinning into motion.”
“Yes.” He fixed her with a searching stare. “No regrets?”
Arianna shook her head. “I confess, I am probably anticipating the challenge more than I should be.”
The subtle shift of his mouth was nearly lost in the soft light of the wall sconces. “As am I.” His lips suddenly possessed hers in a swift kiss. “Though I hate dragging you into danger.”
“I would be kicking and screaming if you tried to leave me behind.”
“I know. Not that it makes me feel any less guilty.”
“Grentham has a grudge against me too,” Arianna pointed out. “I’m probably safer with you than I am staying here in London on my own. You know my ungovernable temper—I can’t seem to resist needling him whenever we meet.”
“ Arianna . . .”
She turned away before he could go on. “Ah, look! Bianca has sent up a sample of the new confection I found in your grandmother’s notebooks.” Taking the tray from the maid, she added, “There is a pot of chocolate as well. Let us retreat to the parlor and enjoy a respite from the chaos.”
“Speaking of Grentham,” said Saybrook, toying with his spoon as a plume of steam wafted up from his cup.
“I hope that duplicitous bastard hasn’t turned you up sweet,” growled a voice from the doorway.
Arianna looked around, a smile wreathing her face. “Mr. Henning! Do come join us.” She offered him a plate. “The praline is made with Marcona almonds, a specialty from Spain.”
The surgeon bit into one with an audible crunch. “I shall miss your treats while you are away.”
“We shall hurry back,” she said drily. “And with any luck, we will bring some new recipes back with us.”
“Assuming Grentham doesn’t sink your ship,” said Henning darkly. He had been told the previous evening about Davilenko’s demise. “Watch your arse, laddie.”