The Cocoa Conspiracy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 2 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 3 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 4 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 5 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 6 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 7 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 8 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 9 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 10 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 11 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 12 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 13 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 14 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 15 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 16 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 17 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 18 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 19 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 20 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 21 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 22 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 23 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 24 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Chapter 25 - From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for the Lady Arianna Regency Mysteries by Andrea Penrose

  Sweet Revenge

  “Andrea Penrose bursts into the world of historical mysteries with a book that will delight readers. Sweet Revenge is replete with swashbuckling action, taut suspense, and a heroine feisty enough to give the most rakish Regency cad a run for his money. I can’t wait to get my hands on the next installment!”

  —Tasha Alexander, author of the Lady Emily series

  “A mouthwatering combination of suspense and chocolate!”

  —Lauren Willig, author of The Orchid Affair

  “A mysterious lady, bent on revenge, and a mystery-solving lord will take you on a thrilling ride through Regency England in this smashing debut novel.”

  —Victoria Thompson, author of Murder on Sisters’ Row

  “Penrose deftly combines a cleverly concocted mystery with a generous dash of romance in this historical mystery.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Sweet Revenge is an absolute delight for lovers of mysteries, Regency romances, and chocolate. . . . The recipes look mouthwateringly delicious. . . . The history is fascinating as well. . . . I am looking forward to more adventures of Arianna and Saybrook.”

  —The Historical Novels Review

  “This Regency mystery is an exciting historical. . . . Andrea Penrose has written a super early-nineteenth-century whodunit that fans will appreciate and [they’ll] want a second helping.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Andrea Penrose whips up a scrumptious chocolaty treat for her debut historical mystery. . . . Sweet Revenge spoons out a potent cocktail laced heavily with sordid intrigue and unconventional characters that will have you savoring every last drop. This was a terrific tale that will definitely have a spot on my keeper shelf.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “The plot is tightly constructed. . . . The characters are well drawn and the interactions between some of them were interesting and thought-provoking.”

  —Rakehell

  “A ripping good yarn.”

  —I Love a Mystery

  Other Books in the

  Lady Arianna Regency Mystery Series

  Sweet Revenge

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, December 2011

  Copyright © Andrea DaRif, 2011

  All rights reserved

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  ISBN : 978-1-101-55912-3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Saybrook College,

  a fabulous community of students, scholars, and Fellows

  whose camaraderie and intellectual curiosity is a source of

  constant inspiration

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  While writing a story is a very solitary endeavor, the making of a finished book requires the hard work and dedication of a number of people. I’m very lucky to have an amazing support group who listen patiently to my questions, endure my querulous whining, offer sage advice . . . and help me keep the Muse well supplied with chocolate!

  As always, I’m profoundly grateful to Gail Fortune, my agent, for all the brainstorming chats, and to Sandy Harding, my editor, for all her incredibly thought
ful suggestions and criticisms.

  And no author could wish for more wonderful—and brilliant—friends! That they are willing to sit up into the wee hours of the night parsing the arcane little details of history and sharing their expertise is not only amazingly enlightening, but also provides a modicum of reassurance that I am not the only one who finds the past fascinating. So I raise a glass of wine (well, maybe two) to offer special thanks to Ammanda McCabe, Lauren Willig, Tracy Grant, and John Ettinger. You guys are the best!

  “Where there is mystery, it is generally suspected there must also be evil.”

  —George Gordon Byron

  1

  From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks

  Spanish Colonial Brownies

  ¾ cup olive oil, plus more to grease pan

  ⅓ cup cocoa powder

  ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons boiling water

  2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, finely chopped

  2 large eggs

  2 large egg yolks

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  2½ cups sugar

  1¾ cups all-purpose flour

  ¾ teaspoon kosher salt

  2½ ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

  2 cups shredded sweetened coconut

  Fleur de sel, for sprinkling

  1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly grease a 9-by-13-inch baking pan.

  2. In a large bowl, whisk together the cocoa powder and ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons boiling water until smooth. Add the unsweetened chocolate and whisk until the chocolate has melted. Whisk in the olive oil. Add the eggs, yolks and vanilla, and continue to whisk until combined. Add the sugar, whisking until fully incorporated. Using a spatula, fold in the flour and salt until just combined. Fold in the bittersweet chocolate pieces.

  3. Pour half the batter into the prepared pan and smooth with a spatula. Sprinkle 1 cup of the shredded coconut on top of the batter. Pour in the remaining batter and smooth. Top with remaining coconut. Sprinkle with fleur de sel and bake until just set and firm to the touch, about 25 to 30 minutes. (These brownies solidify as they cool, so inserting a toothpick to check for doneness will not work; it will not come out clean.) Transfer the pan to a wire rack and allow to cool completely before cutting into 2-inch squares.

  The book’s binding was crafted out of dark, fine-grained calfskin, its richly tooled embossings age-mellowed to the color of . . .

  “Chocolate,” murmured Arianna Hadley. Removing her gloves, which were still sticky from foraging through the food stalls at Covent Garden, she traced the delicate leaf design centered beneath the gilded title. “How lovely,” she added, and then carefully opened the cover.

  Dust motes danced up into the air, tiny sparkles of sunlight in the shadowed corner of the alcove. As she shifted a step closer to the diamond-paned window, the scrape of her sturdy half-boots on the Aubusson carpet momentarily disturbed the hush that hung over the ornate bookcases.

  Her heel snagged, and to her dismay she realized that a streak of mud—and something that looked suspiciously like squashed pumpkin—now marred the stately pattern.

  Hell and damnation.

  Arianna gave a guilty glance around, but the room appeared deserted. The only stirring was a small flutter of breeze wafting in through the casement. It teased over the polished oak, mingling the scents of beeswax, ink, paper and leather.

  The smell of money.

  A wry smile twitched on her lips as she turned her attention back to the book. Set discreetly within the marbled endpapers was a small slip of paper that noted the price. It was expensive. Very expensive—as was every volume and manuscript offered for sale by Messrs. Harvey & Watkins Rare Book Emporium.

  But then, Arianna could now afford such luxuries.

  She slowly turned the pages, savoring the feel of the creamy, deckle-edged paper and the subtle colors of the illustrations. With her new husband’s birthday fast approaching, she was looking for a special gift. And the intricate engravings of Theobroma cacao were, to her eye, exquisite.

  “Chocolate,” repeated Arianna, pausing to study the details of a criolla tree and its fruit. Her husband was, among other things, a serious scholar of botany, and cacao—or chocolate—was his particular field of expertise. The text was Spanish, and the date looked to be—

  A sudden nudge from behind nearly knocked the book from her grasp.

  “I beg your pardon.” The deep voice was edged with a foreign accent.

  Arianna turned, about to acknowledge the apology with a polite smile, when the man gave her another little shove.

  “I beg your pardon, but that book is mine,” he growled. “Hand it over at once.”

  Sliding back a step, she instinctively threw up a forearm to parry his grab. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, sir. It was lying on the display table, free for anyone to choose.”

  “I assure you, there is no mistake,” he replied. “I must have it.”

  Turn over her treasure to a lout who thought to frighten her with physical force? Her pulse kicked up a notch, its hot surge thrumming angrily in her ears.

  “Sorry, but I saw it first.”

  Her husband had jestingly warned her that serious book collectors were an odd, obsessive lot, and this one in particular sounded slightly deranged. Or demented. But, be that as it may, Arianna was not about to be intimidated by his bullying tactics.

  “You will have to look around for something else, for I intend to purchase it,” she added, and not just for spite. She had already decided that the engravings were the perfect present for her husband.

  “You can’t!” he exclaimed in a taut whisper.

  Oh, but I can.

  Closing the covers, Arianna hugged the book to her chest.

  As the man edged closer, a blade of light cut across his pale face. Sweat was beading his forehead, and several drops hung on his russet lashes. “I tell you, that book is meant for me.”

  “Then you should have asked the clerk to put it aside.” She gestured at the other volumes arrayed on the square of dark velvet. “Come, there is no need to squabble like savages. You have plenty of other lovely choices.”

  He snarled an obscenity.

  “Be advised, sir, I know plenty of worse words than that,” responded Arianna with a grim smile, and she added a very unladylike curse to prove it.

  His eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed to a slitted stare. “Give me that book,” he repeated. “Or you will be sorry.”

  His strike was quick—but not quick enough.

  Her reactions honed by half a lifetime of fighting off drunks and pimps, Arianna caught his wrist and pivoted, twisting hard enough to draw a grunt of pain. “I wouldn’t wager on that.”

  “Poxy slut.” Breaking away, the man clenched a fist and threw a wild punch at her head.

  She ducked the blow and countered with a kick that buckled his knee. “True—if I were a real lady, I would be falling into a dead swoon.” Her jab clipped him flush on the chin. “But as you see, I’m not. Not a lady, that is.”

  Staggered, the man fell against the display table, knocking several books to the floor. His curses were now coming in a language she didn’t recognize, but the edge of panic was unmistakable.

  What madness possessed him? It was only a book, albeit a lovely one.

  Arianna glanced at the archway, intent on making a strategic retreat. The last thing she wanted to do was to ruffle the rarified feathers of Messrs. Harvey & Watkins by brawling among their rare books. Such a scene would only embarrass her husband, who, ye Gods, had suffered enough gossip on her account . . .

  Bloody hell. A glint of steel drew her eye back to her assailant.

  His fumblings inside his coat revealed not only a book hidden in the waistband of his trousers but a slim-bladed knife.

  “Try to use that on me, and you’ll find your cods cut off,” she warned softly.

  He blinked, looking torn between anger and fear.

  The sliver of silence was broken by the sound of
hurried steps in the adjoining room. “Is someone in need of assistance ?” called a shop clerk loudly.

  Her assailant hesitated for an instant, then whirled and darted for the archway, bumping into the other man as they crossed paths.

  Smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeve, the clerk frowned at Arianna. “This is not a place for sordid assignations, miss,” he chided, looking down his long nose at her chipped straw bonnet and drab serge gown. As his gaze slid to the fallen books, he added a sharp sniff. “I must ask you to leave—immediately. We cater to a very dignified clientele who expect an atmosphere of decorum when they visit us.”

  Ah, no good deed goes unpunished, thought Arianna sardonically. On her way home from the rough-and-tumble markets, she had stopped her carriage on impulse to browse through the fancy books. Better to have waited until she had swathed herself in silk and satin for the requisite morning calls in Mayfair.

  “First of all, it is madam,” she corrected. “And secondly, I am quite aware of what sort of patrons frequent your shop.”

  The clerk winced at the word “shop.”

  “However, you might want to take a closer look at the so-called Quality you allow through your door,” Arianna continued, assuming an air of icy hauteur. “That man was certainly no gentleman. He had a knife, and was probably cutting prints out of your precious volumes.” Her husband had explained how some unscrupulous collectors sliced up rare books for the maps or prints, which were sold individually to art dealers for a much higher profit.

  The clerk’s look of disdain now pinched into one of horror.