Sweet Revenge Part 4

"I'm Saybrook," he said softly. "The-"

"The new earl?" exclaimed Lady Spencer.

His nod drew another peal of laughter. "How delicious-that is, once we put some meat on your bones." She winked. "I would recommend my chef, who really does create the most divine delicacies, but I dare-say you might not find the suggestion a tasty one, given the circ.u.mstances."

"I appreciate the offer, but perhaps some other time," he answered. "For now, I will settle for having a few words with the man."

Lady Spencer's gaze lingered for an instant on his cane. "Please make yourself comfortable on the sofa, Lord Saybrook. I shall send someone to fetch Chef from his quarters."

"No need," replied Saybrook, though a sudden spasm of his leg seemed to say otherwise. "I would, in fact, prefer to go to him."

"Unfortunately, that will entail a trip down a rather steep set of stairs, sir. You see, Chef resides in a small room off the kitchen."

"Indeed? It's a bit odd that he would choose to live with the likes of the boot boy or coal monkey."

"Oh, he doesn't permit anyone else to live downstairs with him." Seeing Saybrook arch a brow, she explained, "He's a trifle eccentric-or perhaps temperamental is a better word. But then, most great artists are."

"Ah."

"Truly he is-an artist, that is," she a.s.sured him. "I do hope you haven't come to arrest him. Even the Prince expressed hope that Monsieur Alphonse doesn't end up on the chopping block. Prinny is very fond of the man's boeuf en croute and creme brulee." Her lips twitched. "And, entre nous, he is heartily sick of the beef tea and broths that Whitehall insists on sending."

"England does not employ the guillotine, Lady Spencer," the earl replied dryly. "If your Cook is innocent, he has nothing to fear from me."

"Chef," she corrected. "He is very particular about all the little details." Her skirts fluttering with a silky swoosh, she turned for the door. "Come this, way, sir."

4.

From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano Legend has it that Quetzalcoatl, the G.o.d of civilization and learning, was banished from Earth for bringing the gift of chocolate to mankind. The Aztecs believed that he would one day return in glory-and when Hernan Cortez and his fleet of galleons sailed over the horizon in 1519, he was thought to be the ancient G.o.d. Alas, poor Montezuma! Though it is recorded that he drank fifty cups of chocolate a day, his magical military elixir proved no match for the Spanish guns and horses. Cortez plundered Tenocht.i.tlan and carried back a wealth of treasures to Spain, including gold, silver, and cacao. . . .

Guatemalan Cacao-Chile b.a.l.l.s 3 ounces (about cup) cacao nibs

3 ounces (about 1 cup) piquin chiles

1 1-inch stick soft Ceylon cinnamon, coa.r.s.ely chopped

teaspoon allspice berries

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon Spanish smoked paprika

1. Heat griddle or medium cast-iron skillet over medium heat. Add cacao nibs and dry-roast for 2 minutes, until fragrant, stirring constantly with wooden spoon. Turn into separate container and set aside.

2. Add chiles, cinnamon, and allspice berries to the griddle and roast the same way, stirring, for 2 minutes. Sc.r.a.pe into electric spice mill or coffee grinder with salt and paprika and grind to a fine powder.

3. Combine spice mixture and roasted cacao nibs in a mini food processor and process into a sticky paste, 3-4 minutes, stopping to sc.r.a.pe down sides of bowl. Turn onto a work surface and shape into 12 small b.a.l.l.s. Let sit until thoroughly dried.

4. Store in tightly sealed jar. When ready to use, grate over any dish to add a piquant seasoning.

Thump, thump, thump. The sound of the graceless descent gave Arianna ample warning that her bailiwick was about to be invaded.

Sure enough, several moments later a man appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He was tall and broad-shouldered, though at present his big body was slightly hunched in pain. Taking in the cane and the awkward s.h.i.+ft of his weight, she guessed that his stiff left leg was its source.

She looked up. His face might once have been called handsome, but its chiseled planes had sharpened to the point of gauntness. Black lashes framed eyes dark as volcanic ash. Yet as his gaze met hers, she was almost certain that she saw a burnt-gold spark smoldering in their depths.

She had expected another soldier. Instead they had sent . . . Satan incarnate.

No need to let my imagination run wild, she chided herself. Not when an all too real h.e.l.l was already erupting around her.

Shaking off her flight of fancy, Arianna quickly slipped into her role of aggrieved Frenchman.

"Sacre bleu, not another attack on my integrity," she muttered, cutting an angry little swish through the air with her fillet blade. "I am fast losing my taste for London. It is clear zat my talents are not appreciated here."

"I shall try not to take up too much of your time with my questions," said the intruder, his ash-black eyes following the flight of her hands.

"Hmmph!" Scowling, she waved him on. "Come, if you wish to talk, you will have to do it while I prepare ze stew for supper, Monsieur . . ."

Who the devil was he?

"De Quincy," he answered. After a fraction of a pause, he added, "Or Saybrook, if that comes easier to your tongue."

"Given a preference, sir, the only word I would be saying is adieu," she shot back.

"Unfortunately, that is not possible quite yet. But as I said, I will endeavor to keep our talk brief." Strangely enough, his gaze remained focused on her hands. "And to the point."

Her grip tightened on the hilt. "Ze household must eat, n'est-ce pas, Monsieur De Quincy?"

"But of course," murmured Saybrook.

Arianna led the way to a ma.s.sive worktable set in the center of the s.p.a.ce. "Have a seat, monsieur," snapped Arianna, indicating the lone stool at one end of the steel-scarred length of maple. She set aside the fillet blade and took up a paring knife. "While I peel and dice the carrots."

"No amanita mushrooms?" he said softly.

The reference to the deadly poisonous species took her aback. Good G.o.d, did the man actually have a sense of humor?

Arianna grunted in reply. "Zees may be a joke to you, sir, but it eez my reputation at stake."

"Not to speak of your life."

She felt herself blanch, but remained silent.

Perching a hip on the stool, Saybrook watched her scoop up a handful of the vegetables and begin tr.i.m.m.i.n.g off the tops. "You have the hands of an artist, Monsieur Alphonse," he remarked, s.h.i.+fting his gaze to the heavy steel blades and graters arrayed around him and then back again. "One would not expect those fine-boned fingers to wield the tools of your trade with quite so much skill."

Her throat seized and Arianna didn't dare try to speak, fearing a feminine squeak would give her away. At this distance, the darkness of his eyes appeared due to the telltale dilation of his pupils-Mr. De Quincy clearly imbibed a goodly amount of laudanum to ease his pain. But apparently the drug had not dulled the sharpness of his wits.

She must not make the mistake of underestimating him. She had made too many errors already.

Willing herself to remain calm, Arianna took up a butcher's knife. Chop, chop, chop. The familiar rhythm steadied her nerves, and in a matter of seconds, the carrots were reduced to a pile of uniform slices.

"If Prinny had been gutted and quartered instead of poisoned, you would be an even more obvious suspect," he added conversationally.

"Does that mean that you have come to arrest me for attempted murder?" she demanded.

Instead of answering, he asked, "Have you always been interested in cooking?"

She lifted her shoulders. "From an early age I had to learn how to fend for myself, and at times I had to be creative in order to keep from starving. I discovered that I had a knack for working with food, and I find it interesting." A sweep of the blade pushed the vegetable aside. "But you-you look like one of zose monkish men who subsist on bread and water-and ze thrill of hunting down dangerous criminals and eliminating them from society."

"I've been recovering from an injury," he answered brusquely.

Had she touched a sore spot? If so, Mr. De Quincy was quick to cover his discomfort. "As it happens," he went on calmly, "I do have an interest in cuisine. And from what I have heard, you are very good at what you do."

Another shrug.

"Did you learn your art in France? I am trying to place your accent. . . ."

"Non, in ze islands of the Caribbean," she growled. A head of garlic, finely diced, joined the carrots in a large copper pot. "Martinique, Guadeloupe, St. Barthelemy. Then I drifted to Jamaica for a time." Arianna reached for a bowl of small white onions. "Do you require references?" she added with a sarcastic laugh.

"Not at present," replied Saybrook politely. "So, what brought you to London?"

"I was bored and wished to expand my horizons."

His dark brow notched up a fraction.

"Zhis is a city of great wealth and opportunity," she went on. "People hunger for fine things, and I saw a chance to profit from it."

"A very pragmatic a.s.sessment, Monsieur Alphonse," murmured Saybrook.

"Unlike you fancy Ingleeze gentlemen, I did not grow up in a cosseted world of pampered privilege. I had to survive on my own wits, so yes, I am pragmatic. Is zat a crime in this country?"

"Not that I am aware of." Saybrook s.h.i.+fted slightly, and Arianna guessed that he was trying to ease the pressure on his injured leg. "What makes you think I am a gentleman?"

"Your coat is tailored by Weston. He only caters to a wealthy, t.i.tled clientele."

"You have a discerning eye, Monsieur Alphonse."

"Cooking requires one to pay attention to the small details."

Saybrook remained silent as he watched her pluck a bouquet of fresh herbs from the overhanging rack and methodically mince a handful of the leaves.

"Rosemary." Saybrook sniffed the air. "As well as thyme and savory."

She looked up in surprise.

"I spent time in my grandmother's kitchen when I was a boy."

"You are an odd agent of the government-a member of the upper cla.s.s who chooses to get his hands dirty"-the chopping grew louder-"with desperate criminals, like moi."

"Perhaps, like you, I am bored," said Saybrook pleasantly. "By the by, are you a desperate criminal?"

"Ha! You don't care about ze answer." She flashed him a sardonic smile. "All you and your government care about is making an arrest. Voila-the problem is solved, and be d.a.m.ned with the inconvenience of ze truth. N'est pas?"

Saybrook turned slightly, a pensive look shading his profile. The window draperies were drawn almost shut, and in the low light, shadows danced over the taut skin and harsh bones. The air was growing heavy with the warmth of the simmering pots on the stove, and Arianna saw a beading of sweat break out on his forehead.

h.e.l.l, what madness had possessed Whitehall to send a cadaver to confront her? Or was the government playing some diabolical game with her? Perhaps in some hideous twist of logic they had poisoned the man in order to confront her with her own supposed crime. . . .

Don't panic, she told herself. The idea was insane . . . and yet, the man looked on the verge of dropping dead on the spot. Which would only lay another sin at her feet.

"Are you ill, sir?"

His lids flew open.

"You look pale. Here, have a morsel of my chocolate." Arianna shoved a plate toward him. "It works wonders at reviving both body and spirit-a.s.suming you are brave enough to try it." A bitter laugh. "But of course, I may simply be seeking yet another victim for my poison."

"Thank you." Saybrook took a small chunk of the nut-brown confection. "I confess, I have been very curious to sample chocolate in an edible form. The Aztecs issued wafers of solid chocolate to their soldiers on long marches. It was believed to increase stamina."

"How-how is it that an Ingleeze gentleman knows about such things?" asked Arianna. She was usually very good about reading a person's strengths and weaknesses. But Mr. De Quincy was proving difficult to decipher. He was too . . . unpredictable. A strange mix of odd angles and unexpected contrasts. Now that she had had a chance to study him more closely, she saw that his eyes were not as black as she had first supposed. They were more of a toffee-gold amber, sparking the unsettling feeling of being trapped like a fly in their depths.

Arianna s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably, angry at herself for letting him put her off balance.