Sweet Revenge Part 10

8.

From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano We Spaniards were quick to make our own variations on the New World preparations of chocolate. Instead of frothing the drink by pouring it back and forth between two cups, as was the Aztec method, we created the molinillo, a type of wooden whisk that is submersed in the hot liquid and spun between the palms. It creates a lovely frothy foam, and I remember how Sandro loved to watch me in the kitchen, his tiny hands mimicking the rhythm of the whirling wood. . . .

Mexican Chocolate Cookies 1 cup all-purpose flour

cup plus 1 tablespoon unsweetened Dutch-processed

cocoa powder

teaspoon baking soda

teaspoon salt

cup plus 1 tablespoon brown sugar

cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

3 tablespoons sweet b.u.t.ter, slightly softened

3 tablespoons stick margarine

teaspoon ground cinnamon

generous pinch of ground black pepper

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 egg white

1. Combine the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. Mix thoroughly with a whisk. Set aside.

2. Combine the sugars in a small bowl.

3. In a medium mixing bowl, beat b.u.t.ter and margarine until creamy. Add sugar mixture, cinnamon, pepper, and vanilla. Beat on high speed for about one minute. Beat in egg white. Stop the mixer.

4. Add the flour mixture. Beat on low speed just until incorporated.

5. Gather the dough together with your hands and form it into a neat 9-to-10-inch log. Wrap in waxed paper. Fold or twist ends of paper without pinching or flattening the log. Chill at least 45 minutes, or until needed.

6. Place oven racks in the upper and lower third of the oven and preheat to 350F. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper or aluminum foil.

7. Use a sharp knife to slice rounds of chilled dough inch thick. Place 1 inch apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake 12 to 14 minutes. Rotate baking sheets from top to bottom and front to back about halfway through. Use a metal spatula to transfer cookies to a wire rack to cool.

It must have been the brandy, for despite feeling sure that Morpheus would not be her bedfellow, Arianna was drawn out of a deep sleep by a discreet knock on the door.

Sitting up, she winced as a blade of sunlight cut across her face. No rest for the wicked, she thought wryly, squinting through the diamond-paned windows. She usually rose with the dawn, but the previous day must have . . .

The previous day.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Arianna pressed her palms to her brow. Was this living, breathing nightmare really less than twenty-four hours old? Burnt powder. Twisted screams. Spattered blood. The smell of death. A churning vortex of spinning, swirling memories stirred a sudden nausea.

No, no, no, it was hunger that had her feeling light-headed, not fear.

"Signorita?" The knock came again.

"Si." Throwing back the covers, Arianna reached for her wrapper. The maid had brought her nightclothes the previous evening, gorgeous silken garments that slid over the skin like a whisper of tropical air. And certainly far more costly than any clothing she had ever possessed, she reflected, catching sight of herself in the cheval gla.s.s.

Dear G.o.d, in such borrowed finery, I actually look like a real lady.

A wink of light. A mere illusion. From her father she had learned how easily perceptions could be manipulated.

Turning abruptly, Arianna called, "Come in," then added in Spanish, "Pase, por favor."

The door nudged open and a middle-aged woman entered, carrying a silver tray nearly as wide as her own ample girth. It was loaded with food, the aroma of fresh-baked rolls and fried York ham mingling with the sugared scent of steaming hot chocolate.

Despite her earlier queasiness, Arianna suddenly felt ravenous. "Thank you-Gracias," she said as the woman set it down on a small table by the windows.

"De nada." After carefully arranging a fork and knife atop a starched white napkin, the woman gestured for Arianna to sit.

Pausing only to pick up a folded sheet of paper from the dressing table, she hurried to comply. A full cup was already waiting, and as the first swallow swirled down her throat, she let out a little sigh.

"Ambrosial," she murmured, savoring the rich taste of the cacao mingling with hot and sweet spices.

"Good?" asked woman in tentative English, her dark eyes watchful.

"Very good," replied Arianna. "Cinnamon, anchiote, vanilla . . ." She took another sip. "And some spice I can't quite place."

The woman tapped a finger to a tiny dish beside the chocolate pot and mimed a sprinkling motion. "Nuez moscada."

"Ah. Nutmeg."

Nodding, the woman turned to leave, but Arianna placed a hand on her arm. "A moment, por favor." Handing over a recipe that she had scribbled out earlier, Arianna managed, through a mixture of English, Spanish, and hand language, to communicate what she wanted.

The woman's solemn expression gave way to a tiny smile. "Si, si. I understand, signorita. I will take this to Bianca."

"Tell your cook that if she doesn't have the ingredients in her pantries, they are all easily obtainable in London," said Arianna. "I will be happy to come down to the kitchen if she has any questions."

Tucking the paper in her ap.r.o.n, the woman bobbed her head and hurried away.

"A lost cause," she muttered to herself. "But then, who am I to talk?" Her stomach growled in answer. "Right-let the condemned eat a hearty meal."

After the first few bites, Arianna felt her mood brighten. The warmth of the chocolate, the dappling of the sun, the twittering of birds . . . a new day, and with it, she must look at her situation with a new perspective.

During the night, she had already decided on a change of plan. Her first impulse had been to escape, but on further reflection that seemed a bad choice. Flee now, and she would likely never get another chance at revenge.

Revenge. Her knife hovered for a moment over the plate. Strangely enough, she hadn't yet decided what she wanted. Was it to coax a confession from him and then slide a blade between his ribs? Or somehow see him brought to justice for his crime?

Either way, what mattered was that when the time came, Concord would know that a Hadley had not allowed the truth to die along with her father. But to do that, I must get close. The trouble was, the earl had seen her as a woman, and whatever his other faults, he was not a man who would be fooled twice by any disguise.

No, if she wanted to pursue her quarry, she would have to improvise. And after careful consideration, a plan had started to take shape. . . .

Another tap on the oak interrupted her thoughts, but this time it was Saybrook, not a servant, who entered.

"I see you have broken your fast." His expression conveyed an edge of irony as he surveyed the heaping platters.

"There is more than enough to share," said Arianna.

The earl pulled up a chair. A night had done little to improve his appearance. He had shaved, and brushed his long locks into some semblance of order, but the burnished blackness only accentuated the sickly pallor of his gaunt face.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, she hoped he wasn't about to expire. She needed him alive, at least for a little longer.

"I'm not hungry," he murmured.

"No wonder you look like you should be knocking on death's door, not mine." Arianna forked a piece of pineapple onto her plate. "By the by, isn't it highly improper for you to be visiting me in my bedchamber? My reputation would be in tatters if word got out." She met his grim gaze and grinned. "As would yours, milord."

"I think we can dispense with formalities, Miss Smith," said Saybrook dryly. "Our secret should be safe enough. For now, that is. However-"

"However, we must decide how to deal with this situation," she interrupted. "I agree, sir. I have been thinking . . . and I have a proposition."

The earl crossed one booted foot over the other. "Indeed?"

"Yes, and I shall cut to the chase, sir," said Arianna, deciding that coyness was a waste of time. "You need me. I have seen and heard certain things at Lady Spencer's establishment that may be of utmost importance in unraveling your mystery. So I'll help you-but only on certain conditions."

"Which are?"

"I'll tell you all I know, and I'll help you pursue certain leads-as to how is a detail that I will get to in a moment."

His face remained expressionless.

"But in return," she went on, "you must allow me the freedom to follow up on my own concerns. I a.s.sure you, they do not conflict with yours." Arianna paused for a fraction, giving him time to digest what she had said. "That is my offer. Take it or leave it."

"But you won't reveal what those concerns of yours are?"

She shook her head.

"You don't trust me?"

"Good G.o.d, no," she replied. "I've learned not to trust anyone." She slanted a challenging look at him. "Why should I? You aren't going to claim that you trust me, are you?"

"Good G.o.d, no," he said with a sardonic smile.