Saybrook slowly levered to his feet.
“If you live by the sword . . .” An out-of-breath Henning skittered to a stop beside him and eyed the dark pool of blood welling over the stones. “You must be prepared to die by the sword.”
“I’m afraid your favorite aphorism is falling on deaf ears,” said the earl drily.
“Sandro!” Lowering her pistol, Arianna edged around the surgeon and touched a hand to her husband’s dirt-streaked cheek.
“I suggest we all save the soulful sighs until later,” counseled Henning before she could say anything further. “In this case, discretion may be the better part of valor. The threat is over. If we leave now, the authorities will have a devil of a time ever piecing together what happened here tonight.” He shuffled his boot back from a trickle of viscous black. “Which I daresay is what our government would prefer.”
Saybrook nodded grimly. “I agree. However, there is the matter of the Champion’s Prize. Much as I respect your scientific skills, Baz, I would rather not have that infernal bomb brought anywhere near Talleyrand and Wellington. God knows, we’ve worked hard enough to keep them safe—I would hate to see all our efforts go up in a cloud of smoke.”
“Don’t worry, laddie. The eagle has had its talons removed.”
“How?” demanded the earl.
Henning took his arm. “Lady S, kindly grab yer husband’s other wing and help him fly.”
Saybrook scowled but allowed himself to be hustled through the archway.
“In answer to yer question, I heard the commotion and crept into the storeroom after you gave chase to the comte,” said the surgeon. “I removed the guts of the bomb and dumped the gunpowder in one of the fountains. The brass gears and bearings have been smashed with a farrier’s hammer. As for the acid . . .” Henning removed a vial from inside his coat. “If you don’t mind, I kept it. I’m curious to analyze the exact composition of chemicals.”
“You were told to wait out in the main courtyard, away from trouble,” muttered the earl.
Henning shot a sidelong glance at Arianna. “Yes, well, as you see, I’m not very good at obeying orders.”
A glint of starlight flashed off the fancy pistol as she waggled a return salute. “Neither am I.”
“You,” growled Saybrook. “You, too, have a good deal of explaining to do.” His eyes narrowed. “Beginning with where in the name of Hades you got that weapon. It’s one of Manton’s special models, if I’m not mistaken, and worth a bloody fortune.”
“It’s a long story . . .”
Arianna carried a glass of brandy over to where Saybrook lay stretched out on the sofa. He had listened to her account of the evening with surprisingly few interruptions. But on seeing his expression, she guessed that the silence was about to end.
“I expect that it’s time for one of our jolly little councils of war, eh?” Henning clapped his hands together in anticipation. “But we had better make it quick, before I tend to my patient’s injuries and dose him with laudanum.”
The earl made a sour face. “It’s naught but a few bruises.” He was, however, looking a little pale as he quaffed a swallow of the brandy. “So, Rochemont’s superior here was Lord Reginald Sommers?”
“You were acquainted with him?” asked Henning.
The earl pursed his lips. “Only in passing. His father is, of course, a prominent peer—and well liked, I might add—which helps explain Lord Reginald’s position on Castlereagh’s staff. But he had done nothing to distinguish himself from the crowd of other gentlemen who frequent the gaming hells and brothels.”
“You think he was Renard?”
The earl mulled over the question for a moment. “No. Something in my gut tells me that the cunning fox is still running free.”
“Call it an instinct for survival,” said the surgeon. “So, we may have guarded the henhouse on this night—”
“But a dangerous predator is still on the loose,” finished Saybrook. “However, we are beginning to pick up a scent. The government should start sniffing out the details of Lord Reginald’s life and acquaintances. Combined with the information you acquired on Rochemont’s activities in Scotland, Baz, they should be able to narrow the field of suspects.”
“Especially as we now know for sure where his loyalty lies,” said Arianna.
“Napoleon,” said Saybrook. And yet he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“You don’t agree?” she asked.
“We can’t dismiss the possibility that his—or her—only Master is money.”
The glitter of gold versus the fire of abstract ideals. It was, she mused, an age-old conflict. One that had consumed countless lives.
Arianna fetched herself a glass of port, and settled into a cross-legged seat on the carpet, close to her husband’s head. “A mercenary rather than an idealist?” She thought for a moment about David Kydd and felt a slight pang of regret at the terrible waste of passions and intelligence. “You’re right of course.”
“That’s a conundrum for the coming days,” remarked Henning. “I have a more mundane question about the present. We now have three deaths to explain. And while I don’t give a fig about leaving the Austrian authorities to chase their own tails, our government is going to have to offer some sort of explanation.” He rubbed at his jaw. “To wit, what do you propose to tell your uncle about Kydd? And what should the duke know of his son’s treason? Or Talleyrand and the émigré community in London about Rochemont’s perfidy?”
Saybrook shifted his shoulders in a cynical shrug. “Remember, I am not in a position to make the final decision. But I would advise the Powers That Be to say nothing about the conspiracy. It serves no purpose. The parties involved are dead—there is no need for anyone to know of their betrayals.”
As he lifted his wineglass, Arianna watched the candle flame refract off the cut crystal, sending shards of light winking in all directions.
“The fewer people who know the truth, the better,” went on her husband. “Let Renard wonder just how his well-laid plans went so awry.”
“Cat and mouse,” quipped Henning.
“Yes. A game that is growing far too familiar.” The earl’s gaze found hers. “As is the one of masquerades.”
Her chin rose a fraction. “I play it rather well, don’t you think?”
Saybrook met the challenge with an unblinking stare. “It’s not your skills that I’m questioning. It’s the fact that I asked you to stay out of harm’s way and you didn’t.”
“Seeing as I was dressed as a male, it could be argued that I didn’t actually ignore your request,” she murmured. “You made no mention that a London street urchin was to stay away from the action.”
He tried to look angry but a telltale twitch crept to the corners of his mouth. “For someone who claims to have little regard for formal academic training, you parse philosophical points with the skill of an Oxford don.” He eyed her snug black breeches and lifted a brow. “And by the by, those look far fancier than your original urchin rags from Petticoat Lane.”
“Yes, and they are far more comfortable,” she said. “No wonder you gentlemen are willing to pay Weston an arm and a leg for his services as a tailor.”
Saybrook’s chuckle dissolved into a cough. Grimacing, he raised himself on his elbows. “I—”
Henning quickly rose from his chair and placed a hand on the earl’s chest. “Don’t move until I get a few bandages wrapped around you, laddie. I think you have a few cracked ribs.”
“Speaking of bones, I’m going to break every last one in Grentham’s body when we get back to London,” growled the earl. “I swear that this is the last time that any of us risk life and limb to do his dirty work.”
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15 tablespoons butter, softened