Smoke & Lies Read online

  He then let it drop back on the desk. “Again, I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

  The minister tapped his well-tended fingertips together, taking a moment to savor Saybrook’s scowl.

  “That’s because I haven’t yet told you the name of the missing officer.”

  Chapter 3

  “A pot of chocolate? Sophia tugged off her riding boots and shifted her stocking-clad toes closer to the glowing coals in the hearth as Arianna spun the molinillo to add froth to the steaming brew. “I confess, much as I adore your spiced concoctions, after what just happened, I'm tempted to pour myself a brandy.”

  “The idea has its merits,” quipped Arianna. “However, this has the same jolt of fire, as I’ve had Bianca add a dose of achiote peppers—but an hour from now you won’t feel as if someone has hammered a marlinspike through your skull.”

  She passed her friend a cup and then wriggled her shoulders a little deeper into the soft leather cushions of the facing armchair. “Salud.”

  Though their friendship was a recent one, it had been forged by the fire of a dangerous hunt for a traitor operating within the highest circles of London Society. Despite their different upbringings, they had formed an unexpectedly close bond.

  Most likely, reflected Arianna, because they both were outspoken, strong-willed, and disdained the conventional rules on what a proper lady could and could not do.

  Sophia cocked a silent salute and took a long swallow. “That definitely warms the cockles.”

  Arianna allowed a small smile. After the brutal cold of the park, the warmth of brew and the cheery crackling of the fire in her townhouse parlor felt seductively cozy. Closing her eyes, she could almost dismiss the gunshot as a bizarre hallucination.

  Almost.

  But unfortunately, attempts on her life happened more frequently than she cared to admit.

  “So . . .” Sofia finished her chocolate and let out a blissful sigh before adding, “Who do you suppose is trying to kill you?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” replied Arianna.

  Her friend frowned in thought. “Perhaps our recent adversaries have a younger sibling.”

  “God forbid.” The idea was chilling. Of all the villains she had faced over the years, they had been the most ruthlessly amoral. “I imagine Grentham and his lackeys have gone through every bit of their background with a fine-tooth comb. Despite his many other faults, the minister is ruthlessly efficient about eliminating any threats, however small, that might come back to bite him.”

  “I suppose ruthless is a fair word,” mused Sophia. “Though he did keep his word to us, even though he had nothing to gain from it.”

  “Don’t make the mistake of trusting him,” shot back Arianna. Sophia didn’t know of the minister’s role in the tangled web of the stolen letters—and a mutual promise of secrecy prevented her from revealing it. “Ever.”

  “You truly don’t like him?” It was half question, half statement.

  “I'd say the feeling is mutual.” Though perhaps the emotions on both sides were far more complicated. As the minister was so fond of pointing out, the world was rarely defined in such starkly simple terms as right and wrong. Arianna thought back to the first time she and Grentham had crossed paths. She had unwittingly been used to do his dirty work, and in return, he had been about to squash her like a bug. If not for Saybrook's intercession—

  The parlor door clicked open with a well-oiled snick of the ornate brass latch, drawing her from her musings.

  Framed by the elegant cream-colored carved moldings, Saybrook stood still for a moment, a study in black—black hair, black coat, black trousers—silhouetted against the muddled grey shadows of the corridor. She couldn't read his expression—but no doubt it, too, was black, given the tension writ plain in the rigid angles of his body.

  “I take it your meeting with the minister did not go well?” said Arianna.

  “An understatement,” he replied gruffly. “I trust the two of you had a more pleasant morning, though the weather must have made riding a bit uncomfortable.”

  Arianna had instructed the staff to say nothing about the attack in the park. She and her husband had recently been butting heads over what he termed her ‘devil-may-care disregard of danger’, so she wished to break the news to him gently. “Come, sit down with us,” she replied. “I shall ring for another pot of chocolate.”

  Saybrook didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t answered him. His gaze sharpened as he took a step into the parlor. “Are you, perchance, trying to sweeten me up?”

  “Sit,” she repeated.

  He slowly crossed the carpet and, ignoring the pillowed sofa, took a perch on the sideboard next to the tray of crystal decanters. “There, I’m off my feet. Now go on.” Stretching out his legs, he crossed one booted ankle over the other. “Or should I pour myself a brandy first?”

  “Definitely the brandy,” murmured Sophia.

  For a moment the only sounds in the room were the muted clink of crystal and the crackling of the burning coals.

  Turning away from the sideboard, he raised the glass and took a long moment to eye the dancing flames through the amber liquid before bringing it to his lips.

  Arianna waited for him to draw in a mouthful of the spirits and swallow. “There was a small incident in the park.”

  The earl took another sip before asking, “What sort of incident?”

  There was no point in trying to turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse. “Someone shot at me.”

  His hand tightened on the glass. “Were you hurt?”

  “No.” A pause. “But alas, my plumed shako suffered a mortal wound—a fact that pains me deeply. It was my second favorite hat.”

  He didn’t smile.

  Sophia cleared her throat with a low cough.

  “Sandro—” began Arianna.

  “Dio Madre.” The oath was followed by a string of Spanish curses that were best left untranslated.

  “I assure you, I’ve done nothing to stir up trouble,” she went on. Not recently. “Truly, I can think of no earthly reason why anyone would wish me harm.”

  “Unfortunately I can,” he growled. “And I’m sorely tempted to return to Grentham’s office and thrash him to a pulp.” Saybrook rose and began to pace the perimeter of the room. “Though on second thought,” he conceded, “it’s unlikely he’s behind the attack. His lackey would have been ordered to miss by a mile—an actual injury to you would have upset all his manipulations.”

  It appeared that their plans for a peaceful interlude of scholarly study had just gone up in smoke.

  “What manipulations?” demanded Arianna.

  Saybrook poured himself another drink. “The ones that have us boarding a ship sailing to the isle of Elba tomorrow evening.”

  * * *

  Elba. Pressing her fingertips to her temples, Arianna tried to still the sudden pounding in her head. “Wait—I think we need to go back and start at the beginning.”

  “With you two,” quipped Sophia, “there’s never a beginning or an end to intrigue. It all just seems to spin round and round, entangling you in a never-ending web of danger and deceit.”

  “We’ll see about that,” muttered Arianna, but the look on Saybrook’s face didn’t bode well for cocking a snoot at Grentham’s latest plans.

  Whatever they were.

  “I thought when you left here this morning you were adamant about saying no to any further involvement in his intrigues,” she added.

  “I was.” The earl took a seat on the sofa and sank back against the pillows. Candle flames from the side table caught in the facets of the cut crystal glass, sending whorl of fire-gold light dancing across dark oak bookcases on the far wall.

  “But as we all know, Grentham’s machinations know no bounds.”

  “Wait.” Sophia made a face. “There’s a difference between being ruthless and being dishonorable, isn’t there?”

  “A question of semantics,” muttered Arianna. “Not
intent.”

  “I’m not so sure,” insisted her friend. “He’s a hard man, but my sense is he does have some scruples.”

  “Define scruples,” murmured Saybrook. Closing his eyes, he took another swallow of brandy.

  A bad sign, thought Arianna. He never drank spirits at this hour of the day. “Be damned with scruples,” she snapped. “Ye God, Sandro, what sort of blackmail did he use to force you to change your mind?”

  “A relative of mine—a Spanish attaché assigned to the British military contingent stationed on Elba—is one of the senior officers in charge of keeping watch over Napoleon and the visitors he receives from the Continent. However, he has recently gone missing.”

  “Somehow Grentham is aware that Eduardo and I were close childhood friends.” He expelled a harried sigh. “So it’s not quite so crude as blackmail. It’s a more subtle Grentham-like ‘damned-if-I-do, damned-if-I-don’t’ dilemma.”

  Sophia's brows tweaked together. “I—I don't understand what you're saying.”

  Oh, but I do, thought Arianna.

  “What Sandro means is, his friend is either in great peril—if not already dead—because he’s stumbled upon some nefarious plot,” she explained. “Or he’s become part of some intrigue against British interests. Given the bickering in Vienna among Europe’s leaders and the rumors about Napoleon’s plans, either one is a real possibility. What Grentham wants is for Sandro to learn which is the truth.”

  She drew in a deep breath, feeling a surge of righteous anger at the minister’s methods. “He knows no one else can be trusted to do the job with unflinching honesty, no matter what the answer is. Just as he knows that Sandro’s loyalty to his friends would make it impossible for him to say no, lest the missing man’s name be blackened forever as a traitor.”

  Saybrook gave a curt nod, confirming her guess.

  “Surely . . .” Sophia swallowed hard, taking a moment to ponder the import of Arianna’s words. “Oh, surely Napoleon can’t be thinking of trying to reclaim his crown.”

  “He’s never been short of hubris,” said the earl. “And it would be a mistake to underestimate the emotional appeal he holds for many Frenchmen. The newly restored Bourbon king is intent on bringing back many of the ways of the ancien regime. The people won’t want to surrender their hard-won freedoms. Too much blood was spilled, too many sacrifices made to achieve them.”

  “But how—” began Sophia.

  “Never mind that right now,” interrupted Arianna. She turned and locked eyes with her husband. “What other details did Grentham give you about the mission?”

  “None as of yet.”

  She felt a momentary clench of unease. Even for Grentham, this was unusually secretive. What was he keeping from them?

  As if reading her thoughts, the earl continued, “He claimed to be rushing to a meeting with a senior military attaché from Horse Guards and several diplomats from the Foreign Ministry to receive an update on the situation. We’ve been commanded to rendezvous with him at Lady Merton’s ball this evening, where we’ll be given a more complete report.”

  He paused. “By the by, Grentham did add that any further explanations would be worthless without you being present. As he so elegantly phrased it, you would likely scream bloody murder and refuse to board the ship until you had a chance to rake him over the coals.”

  “At this moment, I'm more tempted to cut off his cods and sauté them in garlic and olive oil.”

  “I still say you are judging him overly harshly.” Sophia’s chin took on a pugnacious tilt. “He appears dedicated to working for the good of King and country.”

  “I’ve never accused him of corruption or treason,” replied Arianna. “I think he’s completely loyal to the Crown. He just doesn’t give a rat’s arse for who gets destroyed while he does his job.”

  “He did try to save Henning’s nephew,” pointed out her friend.

  Argument, decided Arianna, was a waste of breath. Grentham had helped them defeat a man who Sophia considered Evil Personified. So it was a case of ‘my enemy’s enemies are my friends.’ Let her believe Grentham had a heart . . . and hope it wouldn’t come back to bite her.

  “He did,” conceded Arianna “And if that makes him a hero in your eyes, so be it.”

  A flush rushed to Sophia’s cheeks. “I—I didn’t say. . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  Saybrook set down his empty glass and angled a glance at the mantel clock. “We had better have Maria and Raoul start packing our trunks for the journey, seeing as we have to spend the evening waltzing through god know how many spinning steps of intrigue.”

  Sophia quickly rose. “You have much to do, so I’ll take my leave. However, as I, too, am attending Lady Merton’s ball, I will have a chance to bid you a proper adieu.”

  The announcement took Arianna by surprise. “You aren’t usually interested in such entertainments,” she murmured. Which was an understatement, if ever there was one. Sophia lived a very reclusive life, and for the most part shunned the social swirl of Mayfair. A painful scandal in her past had something to do with her reluctance to mingle with the beau monde. As did her general wariness of highborn gentlemen.

  The color ridging her friend's cheekbones turned a warmer shade of red. “Constantina asked me to be part of her party.”

  Perhaps Sophia was realizing that cats, companionable as they might be, had their limitations.

  “How nice,” replied Arianna, careful to keep a smile from her lips. “We shall see you there.”

  * * *

  The candles on her dressing table cast quicksilver flickers of light over the diamond pendant at her throat. Having finished dressing for the ball, Arianna had dismissed her maid, wishing for a moment of solitude as she completed her toilette. After fastening the matching teardrop earrings through her earlobes, she sat back to regard her reflection in the looking glass.

  Upswept hair, artfully twined with silken ribbons, a fine-boned face framed with heirloom jewels . . . All the trappings of a lady born to a life of leisure and privilege.

  Oh, how deceiving appearances can be.

  During the havey-cavey wanderings of her youth, Arianna had spent time in a theater company, where she had learned the fine art of creating illusion and role-playing. It had proved useful over the years. The truth was, she had become so adept at slipping on second skins, she sometimes worried that her own true self had become unrecognizable.

  “You look bewitchingly lovely.” Saybrook’s low voice drew her back to the present.

  She turned as he entered her dressing alcove, feeling the breath catch in her throat. He was smoothing at the folds of his knotted cravat, and as he had not yet put on his evening coat, she could see the flex of his muscles through the white linen of his shirt. He radiated a quiet, controlled strength—indeed, he was an anchor to her more volatile nature. Their first involvement had been based on expediency. Even their marriage had begun as a purely practical partnership rather than a starry-eyed emotional decision.

  But it had become so much more.

  At least it has to me.

  And yet, there had been an undercurrent of tension between them for some weeks—something so subtle that at times Arianna was tempted to think she was just imagining it. However, that would merely be lying to herself. She knew the reason, but was conflicted on how to resolve it . . .

  “That seagreen hue sets off the color of your eyes to perfection,” he added.

  Roused from her doubts, Arianna managed a dry smile. “And the sparkly glitter of the Saybrook family jewels,” she replied. “As for the gown, the color is an irony of sorts, given our upcoming ocean voyage. But then, I tend to see the world through a lens of sardonic humor.”

  “In that we are well-matched.” Saybrook perched a hip on the edge of the dressing table and placed his palm on the curve of her bare shoulder.

  Arianna was intimately aware of the heat radiating from his skin. “Are we?” she murmured. “I can’t help but wonder of late whether you�
��ve been regretting your decision to—”

  “Don't.” His breath caressed her cheek as he leaned closer. “Don't wonder. There's no reason to do so.”

  There was something unsettlingly vague about the answer. Or perhaps the morning’s brush with death had affected her more than she cared to admit. “We both are guarded in expressing our feelings,” she murmured.

  “Just as we are both very good at reading the subtle messages that often go unspoken.”

  Repressing a sigh, Arianna forced herself to shake off the momentary pinch of vulnerability. She reached up and traced her fingertips along the line of his freshly-shaven jaw. “I don’t mean to upset you with my actions, Sandro. They are not meant as a deliberate taunting of the Devil. They are simply . . .”

  “They are simply part of who you are.” He caught her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. “I know that, and much as you terrify me at times, it would be unfair of me to expect you to change.”

  But that did not mean he was entirely happy about it. She tried to read his eyes. However, the shadows deepened their dark chocolate-brown hue to an opaque black.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  A low laugh rumbled in his throat, then died away. “It is I who ought to be apologizing. I’ve gone and upset our plans for peace and quiet.” He hesitated. “You know, there is no need for you to feel compelled to come—”

  “And let you have all the fun of risking your life against God only knows what devious and despicable villainy?” She arched her brows. “Sorry, not a chance.”

  His lips found hers. She held close him for several long moments, simply savoring the physical bond and the heat it stirred in her blood. That part of their relationship was uncomplicated.

  As for the rest, she decided to set aside those conundrums for now.

  The candles sputtered as a gust of wintry wind rattled the diamond-paned windows. Arianna drew back, the intimate connection giving way to the practicalities that lay ahead. “Now that we’ve settled all that, tell me more about your missing friend.”