Recipe for Treason Part 14

Arianna squinted through the early-morning shadows and couldn't help admiring the effortless grace of the rider. "Yes, I believe so," she answered as the big gray stallion came closer.

"Good morning." With a casual flick of her wrist, Sophia reined her mount to a walk.

Not a hair out of place, not a fold in a twist. Arianna slanted a baleful look at the other lady's stylish attire and suddenly regretted agreeing to a mounted rendezvous. From the pert little military shako framing the wheaten curls to the frogged jacket and tailored skirt, Sophia presented a picture of elegant refinement.

Despite her eccentricities, Miss Kirtland is at home in the English world of privilege, while I . . .

"Good morning," she replied rather curtly. "I trust that I haven't kept you waiting."

"I came early," replied Sophia, patting her horse's lathered neck. "Early morning is the only time a lady may indulge in a good gallop without setting Society's tongues to clucking."

"I see." Arianna turned to her groom. "You may stay here, Jorge. Miss Kirtland and I will just circle through the nearby bridle paths and return shortly." The rules of propriety demanded the presence of a servant, but now that they were in the park, it was permissible to take a short interlude of privacy. "Perhaps you would care to lead the way, Miss Kirtland. I am not as familiar with the terrain as you appear to be."

They rode on for several minutes, the rhythmic thud of the hooves and the whisper of leather and bra.s.s the only sounds between them. Arianna felt her mouth thin to a wry grimace. Mouthing polite pleasantries was not something she was very good at either.

"You don't ride very well," observed Sophia critically as they turned into a copse of trees. "It's odd-you carry yourself with confidence on the ground, and yet sit in the saddle like a sack of grain." She took another long look. "Square your shoulders, lift your chin . . . don't stare down at the reins, but ahead, at where you are going."

"d.a.m.nation," muttered Arianna, trying to do as she was told. "I grew up around water and ships, not meadows and large, sweaty animals-at least not the four-footed kind."

Sophia stifled a sn.i.g.g.e.r.

"So I haven't had much practice."

"Why didn't you say so? We could have walked instead," said Sophia.

"Because," she answered through gritted teeth, "I should like to practice my riding. I . . ." Should I admit the real reason? After all, if they were to get to know each other, they both must be willing to let down their guard.

"If you must know, I should like to surprise Sandro. He is, of course, a superb horseman, and it would be nice to be able to join him on occasion without embarra.s.sing myself."

"Ah." They continued on for a moment as before, and then Sophia suddenly swung her stallion around and came up on Arianna's other side. "Hold your hands a little lower." She reached out and adjusted the angle of Arianna's fists. "And for G.o.d's sake, unclench your fingers. You're not about to throw a punch."

"Right," muttered Arianna.

"Now, drop your leg just a touch, so it hooks more firmly around the pommel. And sit up straighter-correct posture is very important."

"But it feels so awkward."

"I know it feels odd at first," replied Sophia. "But trust me, you will be far better balanced."

Drawing a deep breath, Arianna tried to do as she was told.

"And lastly, try to move in rhythm with your horse's gait. Fighting against the natural motion is what makes you bounce around like a rag doll."

The path suddenly seemed to smooth out beneath her horse's hooves.

"Better?" asked Sophia.

"Much." Arianna no longer felt in danger of tumbling from the saddle. "Thank you."

A hint of wintry sunlight peeked through the clouds, setting off sparkles in the lingering frost.

"Once you become comfortable, we can progress to a trot." Sophia watched a little longer and then gave a nod of approval. "You learn fast. Most females are helpless when it comes to physical skills."

"I had little choice-it was either sink or swim."

"Right-you did mention water and ships." Sophia's expression turned curious. "I take it you did not grow up along the English coast. Otherwise horses wouldn't seem so foreign to you."

"Correct. I was raised in the West Indies."

"Oh? Was your father a plantation owner?"

"No, he was a scoundrel." Arianna made a wry face. "A charming scoundrel, but his partners in crime did not find some of his other qualities very endearing, so like many wayward sons of the aristocracy, he was forced to flee England and take refuge in the New World."

"I-I am sorry. I did not mean to pry," said Sophia a little stiffly.

"No apologies are necessary. As I mentioned the other day, we must get to know each other." Arianna paused. "Did Sandro really tell you nothing about my background?"

Sophia shook her head. "Lord Saybrook is rather reticent about personal matters."

A burble of laughter escaped Arianna's lips. "That is a bit of an understatement."

For an instant, Sophia appeared offended, but then her pinched expression curled into a grudging smile. "I am not sure who is more stone-faced-the Sphinx or the earl."

"He is not easy to read," Arianna agreed.

The air was growing warmer and a light breeze ruffled through the fallen leaves, slowly dispelling the mist. Snorting, the stallion tossed its head and tugged at the reins, impatient to pick up the pace.

Steadying the animal with an expert hand, Sophia cleared her throat with a brusque cough. "Might I ask how you came to return to England and met Lord Saybrook?"

"That, I fear, is a very long story. However, I won't bore you with all the gory details. Suffice it to say, my father was murdered by his former partners, leaving me orphaned at the age of fourteen. I did not care to accept the innkeeper's offer of trading my body for his protection, so I decided to fend for myself."

Arianna closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the years spent drifting through countless h.e.l.lhole harbors and rum-drenched taverns. "I learned a number of very useful skills, like picking pockets, cheating at cards, acting in a traveling theatre troupe, and cooking."

"The one thing Lord Saybrook did tell me was that you were very knowledgeable about chocolate," said Sophia.

"Our local housekeeper was not only a cook but also a renowned healer, so I gleaned a lot from her about esoteric plants and herbs-as well as how to use knives and cleavers." A pause. "Just ask Sandro."

Sophia's eyes widened.

"In any case," went on Arianna. "Along with learning the fine points about cuisine, I was also cooking up a plan to punish my father's killers. Working as a cook for the crew of a merchant ship, I earned my pa.s.sage back to England and embarked on my quest for revenge. But to quote my father's favorite poet, 'the best laid plans of mice and men'. . ."

"Which is to say, things did not go as planned?"

"Indeed, they did not. I was soon jumping from the frying pan into the fire. If not for a fortuitous encounter with Saybrook, I might have been burned to a crisp."

"And?"

"And as the earl had his own reasons for wanting to pursue the men I was after, we decided to join forces, so to speak. The rest is . . . Well, I'm afraid that I'm not at liberty to divulge the details, other than to say we both were satisfied that justice was done."

"Good heavens, have you considered writing a novel?" quipped Sophia.

"Unlike you, I have no formal education, no fancy bookish learning," answered Arianna. "My literary skills are completely unpolished."

"Yet your story is far more interesting than mine." Sophia bit back a sigh. "I've led a very staid life. It won't take but a minute to tell you about my background."

"Nonetheless, it will have to wait until next time." They had reached the end of the path and Sophia was already turning her stallion to return to the waiting groom. "I need to tell you about Sandro's latest discovery." She quickly went on to explain about Cayley and his secret work with Sir Humphry Davy.

Sophia let out a low hiss of air. "A flying machine? If it's not a balloon, what does the thing look like?"

"I have no idea," answered Arianna. "I haven't seen a sketch."

"Mmmph." Gazing up at the clouds, Sophia said, "I know that a number of chemists were experimenting with different gases to provide lift for balloons, for at one point it was thought that altering pressures during flight could help control direction. But the efforts seemed to fizzle out. As intriguing as the idea of air travel was, the potential seemed impossible to harness." A gust of air set the feather in her shako to dancing in the pale light. "If Cayley has indeed come up with a new type of flying machine, the invention would be revolutionary."

"Earth-shattering," said Arianna. "Quite literally."

The dreamy expression disappeared from Sophia's face. "Yes, of course. The application of such an invention to warfare would be terrible. I was thinking of the theory, not the reality."

"The reality is, the plans for this flying machine, combined with a powerful new chemical explosive, could be used to wreak unimaginable destruction both here and abroad. An army possessing both would be unstoppable."

"So how do you plan to stop the enemy before he gets off the ground?"

"Attending Chittenden's soiree takes on an even greater importance. I need to work myself into the good graces of the inst.i.tution's inner circle as quickly as possible."

"How can I help-"

"You can't," said Arianna. "Not there, that is. We need your help in another way." Knowing full well how dangerous desperate men could be, she was loath to draw an inexperienced person into the heart of the fray. "We must not forget to explore the other clues we have concerning Renard. Lord Reginald Sommers was heading his network in Vienna, so we must take a closer look at his friends and family."

A twitch tugged at the corners of Sophia's mouth. "I-I don't move in those circles."

"But you could, given your family connections," said Arianna softly. "You've known many members of the ton since childhood. I haven't, which is a distinct drawback. I've enlisted Sandro's great-aunt to help me. But it would be a great a.s.set to have you as well. You are close in age to Lord Reginald and his friends, so I imagine that you have some idea of their character."

It might have been a quirk of the clouds, but her face seemed to darken for an instant. "You mean that you want me to dance through the mansions of Mayfair, attending frivolous b.a.l.l.s and soirees given by shallow, superficial aristocrats?"

"Yes," answered Arianna. "I know it's a lot to ask."

Sophia turned to watch another early-morning rider galloping toward the Serpentine.

"So if you would rather remain in your laboratory and serve as a technical consultant, Sandro and I will certainly understand."

Though fashioned of velvet rather than chain mail and leather, a gauntlet had been tossed at the other lady's feet.

Would she accept the challenge?

Sophia stiffened her spine and squared her shoulders. "You and the earl are certainly doing your fair share of distasteful tasks. Seeing as I have agreed to be a partner in this, I can hardly refuse to do my part."

"Thank you," said Arianna, grateful that she had won a quick surrender.

It was her hope that keeping Sophia and Constantina engaged with Society would remove them from the direct line of fire.

"This monster must be stopped before he murders more innocent people."

Arianna eyed her husband's friend, taking in the strong, sculpted lines of her profile and the resolute jut of her jaw. "I hope you aren't regretting your involvement. This investigation may be even more dangerous than we feared."

Sophia expelled a rueful laugh. "My life has been a bit boring of late. I could use a spark of excitement."

Muttering yet another curse-this one in Spanish-Saybrook shuffled the pile of papers into order and began rereading his notes. "Something is eluding me, though I am not sure what is it is."

He reached for the chocolate pot and slowly spun the molinillo between his palms. The liquid, now lukewarm, swirled inside the porcelain, its whisper teasing, taunting . . .

The sound was suddenly drowned out by the thumping of steps in the corridor.

Frowning, the earl released his hold on the polished ebony handle. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Sebastian knows better than to admit visitors at this hour."

Unless . . .

The door flew open. "Auch, I hope ye have some decent malt close at hand, laddie," rasped Henning. "My throat is dry as a bone after traveling all night."

Saybrook regarded his friend for a long moment before allowing a tiny smile. "I may be able to rattle up a bottle. Have a seat by the fire while I have a look."

"Make it more than a wee dram," said Henning. Heaving a sigh, he dropped into the leather armchair and propped his scuffed boots on the fender. "Much as I hate to admit it, it's good to be back in London-despite all the Sa.s.senachs crowding the streets."

"I thought you were under orders to keep your mangy carca.s.s in Scotland for the next few weeks," said Saybrook as he handed the surgeon a generous measure of whisky.

"Since when have I ever obeyed orders?" Henning took a long swallow. "Ahhh, that tastes nearly as good as yer wife's chocolate." He looked around the room. "By the by, where is Lady S?"

"Out," replied the earl.

"Not getting into trouble, I hope."

"Hope springs eternal," quipped Saybrook.

"I trust that yer bottle does the same." The surgeon held out his gla.s.s for a refill. "Any further progress in the investigation?"

"We'll talk about that in a moment. But first, I want to hear your news." His gaze slowly traversed Henning's rumpled figure. His clothes were in worse disarray than usual, the wrinkled wool and frayed linen hanging off his gaunt body like rags on a scarecrow. "You look like something the Devil dragged out of the deepest pit of h.e.l.l."

The surgeon raised his gla.s.s in mock salute. "It's lovely te see you too, laddie."

Pinching back a smile, Saybrook crossed his arms and a.s.sumed a stern scowl. "Have you had your head up your a.r.s.e? As a medical man, you know that a patient has to keep up his strength in order to recover quickly. And yet you look like you haven't had a decent meal in weeks."

The surgeon dropped his eyes and stared into the glowing coals. "I didna have much of an appet.i.te fer food. Or fer life." His mouth thinned to a grim line. "But then my sister decided to visit relatives in Skye, to get away from home during the painful holiday season, and I got to feeling useless, just sitting and brooding. So I decided I might as well come back to London and help you trap a fox. But make no mistake, it's fer you and Lady S, not for that b.l.o.o.d.y English b.a.s.t.a.r.d Grentham and his Whitehall coterie."

"d.a.m.nation, Baz, I know how hard it must have been for you, having to break the news to your sister. But if there is any blame to be shouldered, it's me who should bear the brunt. Bringing you into my investigation put your family at risk."

Henning answered the statement with a rude sound. "We both know that Angus was involved with the Dragons of St. Andrews long before that." He blew out his cheeks. "I thought I could be clever enough to save him, but I failed."

"If it's any consolation, I don't think Grentham double-crossed us. He appeared surprised to hear of the shooting."