“Ye know, in all our battles together, I’ve never seen ye this on edge.” A pause. “May I ask you a personal question, laddie?”
The earl’s growl was nearly lost in the scuff of his boots.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” said the surgeon. “I was just wondering—have ye told Lady S that you love her?”
“I . . .”
Henning waited.
“I . . . she . . . Bloody hell, Baz,” groused Saybrook. “She knows that.”
A brow winged up in blatant skepticism. “Women are odd creatures. Unlike some of Nature’s other creations, they do not always absorb things through osmosis.”
“Since when have you become such an expert on the female sex?” snapped the earl.
“Don’t bite my head off. I am merely offering an observation. And in fact, I’ll add another one. Sometimes people feel compelled to take risks in order to win the regard of those they admire. Especially if they perceive that regard to be uncertain in the first place.”
The earl’s jaw clenched, drawing the skin tight over the sharp edges of his cheekbones. Candlelight dipped and danced over the angular planes, the fire-gold skitter not quite strong enough to penetrate the shadows.
Bowing his head, he resumed his silent marching.
After several long minutes of listening to the same thump, thump, thump cross over the carpet, the surgeon chuffed an exasperated grunt. “Auch, you are more twitchy than a cat crossing a hot griddle.”
The steps halted.
“If you can’t sit still, perhaps we ought to take a stroll toward the Prince’s palace. I’ve heard that Vienna is a dazzling sight at night, so I might as well take a peek through the windows at all the fancy people at play.” Henning crinkled his nose in disgust. “Along with the rest of the Great Unwashed, I won’t likely be invited to be on the inside looking out.”
After a moment of thought, Saybrook asked, “Have you packed a decent coat?”
“One without acid burns or blood stains?” Henning made a face. “I believe the charcoal gray will pass muster.”
“I’ll have my valet bring you a starched cravat. And he’ll have orders to brush the worst of the wrinkles from your noxious garments, so don’t kick up a dust.”
“Why?” demanded the surgeon.
“You just reminded me that there is a soiree going on tonight at the Duchess of Sagan’s residence, and Talleyrand is said to be attending. Rather than sit here and stew over what Arianna is up to, we might as well pay a visit so you can get a firsthand look at the Master of Manipulation yourself and give me your impressions.”
“You think he’s secretly working for Napoleon instead of the newly restored king?” asked Henning.
“It wouldn’t be the first time he has betrayed his employer,” Saybrook pointed out grimly. “So it’s only logical to assume that he and Rochemont are in league to destroy the balance of power here with their assassination plot. But who and how is proving perversely difficult to decipher.”
“Patience, Sandro. And perseverance,” counseled his friend. “All it takes is one small piece of the puzzle to fall into place for the picture to become strikingly clear.”
“Then let us go look for that elusive clue,” snapped the earl. “Before yet another body ends up in the grave.”
18
1 cup long-grain white rice
½ cup blanched almonds
½ cup pepitas (pumpkin seeds)
1 vanilla bean
1 2-inch piece cinnamon bark
2 oz. dark brown sugar
1½ oz. very dark chocolate
5½ cups water
Additional ground cinnamon and sugar, to taste
1. Grind the rice, almonds and pepitas to a coarse powder (a coffee grinder works well here) and pour into a large bowl. To the powder, add the seeds from 1 vanilla bean and cinnamon bark. Pour in 3½ cups water, stir, and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Let sit overnight.
2. The next day, pour the watery rice and nut mixture into a medium saucepan and warm it over a low flame. Stir in 2 oz. dark brown sugar, 1½ oz. chopped very dark chocolate, and 2 cups water, mixing until all is well combined. (You may wish to add more cinnamon and sugar.) Once the liquid is even in color and just barely simmering, remove the saucepan from heat and let it come to room temperature. Then pour the contents into a large bowl, cover, and let chill for at least 3 hours.
3. Once it has cooled, strain the horchata—which should be a milky, dappled brown—through a fine-mesh sieve and into a pitcher, taking care to press the last bits of liquid from the rice and seed solids. If some nutty kernels make their way into the pitcher, don’t worry; they will only enhance the drink’s wonderfully thick texture. To serve, pour over ice cubes and garnish with a piece of cinnamon bark.
The narrow alley twisted through a tight turn and plunged down a steep incline, the looming press of dark buildings making it impossible to get her bearings. Left, right—which way was home? She was now on unfamiliar ground, running blindly in a cat-and-mouse race to elude her pursuers.
A slip on the cold cobbles sent her careening into a stretch of wall, the force of the blow momentarily knocking the wind from her lungs. Bracing her bruised hands on rough brick, she sucked in a gasp of searing air. Pain lanced through her side, sharp as a stiletto, and her heart was hammering so hard against her ribs that she feared the bones might crack.
Life as an indolent aristocrat has left me soft as Chantilly cream, she thought wryly. In the past, she had often outrun angry men, laughing all the way as she left them choking on her dust.
At the moment, however, the situation wasn’t remotely amusing.
A shout—far too close for comfort—echoed through the blackness. Shoving away from the wall, she turned away from the sound and set off again at a dead run.
“What’s the commotion?” asked Henning, pausing as a well-dressed man burst out of an alleyway up ahead and skidded to a halt.
“Footpads, perhaps,” said Saybrook. He didn’t sound overly sympathetic. “With all the drunken revelries, the rich make an easy target for thieves at this hour of night.”
“Have you seen anyone on the run?” demanded the stranger as they approached.
“Not a soul,” answered the earl. “What’s the trouble?”
“A robbery,” answered the man curtly.
“Your purse?” inquired the surgeon.
“A slimy little slug from the kitchens has stolen jewelry from the Kaunitz Palace. But never fear . . .” The man’s expression stretched to an ugly smile. “If he hasn’t escaped this way, it means we have him cornered. The only place he can run is into the Burg’s royal gardens, and once he’s there . . .” His fist smacked into his gloved palm. “He’s trapped like a rat.”
Saybrook and Henning locked eyes for an instant before the earl asked, “What’s the miscreant look like, in case we spot a suspicious person.”
“Plump, with straggly brown hair and moustache,” came the clipped reply. “And the fat bastard is faster than he looks.”
“We’ll keep our eyes peeled,” promised the surgeon.
The man was already hurrying away.
“Merde,” added Henning under his breath. “We—”
Saybrook cut him off with a sharp shove. “Stubble the noise, Baz, and follow me.”
From behind the dark, ivy-twined garden wall, the Hofburg Palace rose in fairy tale splendor, the soaring, stately archways and fanciful domes painted with a pale pearlescent glow in the soft moonlight. Silvery mist from the nearby river swirled over the dark foliage, the ghostly tendrils dancing in time to the orchestral music drifting out from the ballroom of the Amalienburg wing.