She took a sip of her brandy. “You’re right. It’s superb.”
“That’s not quite sporting,” he went on, ignoring her comment.
Arianna shrugged. “I don’t believe in playing by the rules. Especially as they have been made by gentlemen—highborn hypocrites whose notion of honor is conveniently twisted to suit their own games.”
“True.”
She had expected an earl to take umbrage at the unflattering assessment, so his concession took her somewhat by surprise. Damn. Her intention was to push him off balance, not loose her own equilibrium. Lifting her glass to her lips, she let the burn of the brandy steady her thoughts.
“You have an impressive collection of books here,” she said, trying another way to goad him into a temper. “I took your advice and came here earlier to find some reading material.” Lowering her lashes, she added, “I happened to see your grandmother’s journals on your desk.”
Saybrook darted a glance to the shadowed interior and frowned.
“I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed them?”
“Would it bother you if I do?”
“Not really.”
He let out a low bark of laughter. “In that, at least, you are honest.”
“They contain some interesting material.” “Fascinating” was more the word, but she was careful to mask her enthusiasm. “Dona Maria Castellano appears to have been a singular lady.”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “She was.”
Had she succeeded in striking a sore point? Arianna probed a little deeper. “I take it she’s no longer alive?”
“No.” The reply was clipped.
“Was her death recent?”
The question stirred an odd gleam in his eyes. The amber hue seemed to brighten, as if a tiny flame had sparked to life somewhere in their depths. “Why do you ask?”
She curled a lock of her loosened hair around her finger. “Just curious.”
Saybrook rose and limped back to the sideboard.
“You know, there are better ways of controlling pain than to make your body a slave to opium,” she said without looking around.
“Thank you for your concern,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Your grandmother would be tossing in her grave if she could see you now.”
A bottle slammed down, rattling the silver tray. “Enough, Miss Smith. I’m in no mood for your needling.”
“You saved my life, so I’m simply trying to return the favor.” She gestured at the vial of laudanum. “That drug will end up killing you.”
“We’re even,” he said curtly.
“Not really.” Arianna wasn’t sure why she was pursuing the matter. Let him cross over the River Styx if that’s what he wants. Still, she found herself saying, “You’ve held off turning me over to Whitehall, which would mean a certain death. So the scales are tipped in your favor.”
He returned to his chair—empty-handed, she noted. “And you appear to be doing your damnedest to make me change the balance.”
At that, Arianna smiled. “True,” she said, echoing his earlier comment. “But actually, I’d rather you hold off until I have a chance to finish reading Dona Maria’s chocolate notes.”
“Delicious, aren’t they? Especially for someone interested in nuances of cuisine.” He steepled his fingers. “A temporary truce might be negotiated. Assuming you are willing to offer something in return.”
She took a long swallow. “I didn’t poison the Prince, for I imagine that is your first question.”
“An astute guess, Miss Smith. Yes, it makes sense to start there.” He tapped his fingertips together. “If you didn’t do it, who else might have had the opportunity?”
Arianna meditated on the question for several moments, trying to decide just how much to reveal. She would have to feed him a few tidbits—he was too sharp to be fobbed off with nothing.
“The guests had gathered early that evening, and Lady Spencer made no secret of the fact that I was preparing a special delicacy for His Royal Highness,” she replied carefully. “One of the ladies—I don’t know her name—did come to the kitchen and ask what it was, but I chased her away. For reasons that should be obvious, I did not encourage anyone to enter my bailiwick.”
“The persona of temperamental chef helped disguise your secret,” he mused.
She nodded. “My impression was that she merely wanted to tease the Prince with hints of what was coming.”
“What about the kitchen help? Could one of the girls who helped you prepare the meal have slipped some substance into the chocolate?”
She shook her head. “As you saw, Lady Spencer isn’t plump in the pocket. One of the reasons she valued me was that I didn’t complain about working alone. As for the footmen who served the guests, I handed them the platters at the door.”
Tipping back his head, Saybrook stared up at the ornate plaster ceiling, apparently lost in contemplation of the carved rosettes. As the silence stretched on for what felt like an age, she began to fidget.
“Feel free to refill your glass,” he murmured, answering her unspoken question of whether he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.
As Arianna rose, he added, “You’ve stated that no one entered the kitchen while you were there. But did you perchance leave it untended at any time during the evening?”
Truth or lies? She watched the swirling pattern of the thick Turkey carpet ripple beneath her stocking-clad toes. Could she slide by with a fib?
She looked up to find him watching her intently. “I was gone for a short while.”
“Why?”
“The reason is not relevant to your investigation, Mr. De Quincy—or, should I say, Lord Saybrook?”
“Call me whatever you wish. I’m not a stickler for propriety,” he replied. “However, as to the other matter, I’m afraid that I shall be the judge of that.”
Her jaw tightened. “All you need to know is that I was absent for maybe a quarter hour. In returning, I did see two of the gentlemen guests in the back corridor, near the door to the scullery. One I did not see well enough to recognize, but the other was Lord Concord.”
“You know his name?” It was half question, half statement.
“Yes,” she replied, but did not elaborate.
“Hmm.” Saybrook ran a hand over his thigh, kneading his palm against the injured flesh. A shock of his shoulder-length hair had fallen over his face, making it impossible to see his expression.
“You know, it would make things a good deal easier if you would tell me why you were working for Lady Spencer,” he said, easing back in his chair. “It doesn’t make sense, for a number of reasons. To begin with, you claim to have come to London in order to make a profit from its riches—and yet you sold yourself quite cheaply. A chef of your skills could have commanded far more money, not to speak of more comfortable working conditions.”
“It’s not my business to make things easier for you, Lord Saybrook. I overheard enough to know that your reasons for undertaking this investigation have nothing to do with me or my motivations.”
“Save when it comes to keeping your neck off the chopping block.”
“Why do you care about me?” challenged Arianna.
“I don’t, per se. I care about the principle of justice, even when it means defending a willful wench hell-bent on self-destruction.”
The set-down brought a faint rush of heat to her cheeks. “You are one to talk,” she countered. “And speaking of withholding information, Lord Saybrook, I heard you tell your uncle that man who attacked us was Major Crandall, a top aide to the Minister of State Security. Why was an officer of the Horse Guards trying to kill me? And you?”
The earl responded with a sardonic smile. “The reason is not relevant to your concerns. I am not at liberty to reveal any more than that.”
A chill snaked down her spine. Cupping her hands around her glass, Arianna wished that she could draw a touch of warmth from the amber spirits.