“Sounds awfully cold-blooded to me.”
“On the contrary, Lady Arianna would likely carve out my liver if I were to interfere in her quest to bring Concord and his coconspirators to justice. As you learned from Ashmun’s revelations, she has personal reasons for wishing to see the men responsible for her father’s death locked up in Newgate.”
“I still don’t like it,” muttered the surgeon. “Ashmun—”
“Ashmun is no threat to her,” said the earl.
“How do you know that? You weren’t so certain at our last meeting.”
“Because I paid him a visit after my tête-à-tête with Lady Spencer. As you know, I’ve experience in interrogating prisoners. I’m satisfied that he is telling the truth.” His face was a mask of concentration as he methodically checked over the trigger mechanism. “Which means that, as I feared, Lady Arianna has been only partly right in her quest for revenge.”
Henning pursed his lips. “What—”
“Never mind that now. I am taking what precautions I can, and will do my best to keep her safe.” Click, click. The hammer cocked and released. “Speaking of which,” went on Saybrook, “do you have your troops assembled?”
“Aye. I’ve four laddies from the First Royal Scots Foot Regiment waiting to come with us in your coach. In addition, a half dozen of my friends from the Royal Navy are traveling by boat to the estate. They will hide themselves and wait for our signal to show themselves.”
“They will likely make better time on the water than the coach will over the rutted country roads,” observed the earl. “Which is why I’ve decided to go on by horseback while you and your foot soldiers follow in the coach. Lady Arianna has a head start, but I should be able to make up the time.”
Henning made a face but didn’t argue. “Yer leg will hold up?”
“I can ride to Hades and back if necessary.” Saybrook tucked extra bullets and a flask of powder into his pocket. “I trust that your men are in fighting trim?”
“A few fingers and toes may be missing,” admitted the surgeon. “But the men are still crack shots and handy with their fists. I’d pit them against any foe.”
“Good.” He slid the pistols into a well-worn cavalry saddle holster. “We may encounter no trouble. But if all hell breaks loose, I would like to believe that we can beat the devil at his own game.”
Despite the sugar, the liquid was sharply sour, like dried lemons, and left Arianna’s tongue feeling a bit numb.
“Odd,” she murmured, regarding Concord over the rim of the glass.
“It’s an acquired taste. But you will soon be craving more,” he assured her. Smacking his lips, he quaffed the rest of his drink in one hungry swallow and then quickly poured a refill. “Come, let us drink to the Devil.”
She drew in a mouthful before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Covering her lips with her glove, she muffled the sound. “Ooooh, it tickles.”
He gave a wolfish grin, unaware that most of the libation was now soaking into the delicate kidskin. “I can think of lots more ways to bring a tingle to your flesh, Lady Wolcott.”
“You,” she teased, “are a very naughty man.”
His gaze turned lidded. “Guilty as charged.” Placing a hand on her hip, Concord steered her to a long, low divan set near the hearth.
“Just how naughty?” she said archly, obediently taking a seat on the buttery soft leather. Bold striped pillows of black and gold accented the vivid shade of scarlet. Kicking off her slippers, she sunk her stocking-clad toes into the thick bearskin rug beneath her feet.
He merely smiled and moved away to latch the door shut.
The room, a private parlor located at the end of a long, winding corridor, reminded her of some of the fancier bordellos she had seen in her Caribbean travels. Gaudy colors, expensive decorations—her head was beginning to ache from all the gilding. Or maybe it was because of the drug. Despite all the little tricks learned in her tropical travels, she had been forced to drink more than she wished, in order not to stir his suspicions.
She tapped her nearly empty glass. “Lady Spencer says this is your own special elixir. I’ve never had anything like it.”
“That’s because it’s something very new and very costly.” Concord took a seat next to her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers. Twitch, twitch, twitch. A strange current of heat was rippling through his muscles, making it hard for him to sit still.
Smoothing at her skirts, Arianna summoned her resolve. I will sleep with Satan himself if it will bring justice for Papa. The declaration, so forcefully asserted in another time and place, was harder to hold on to now, with the devil’s hot breath tickling her cheek.
Concord had carried a slim crystal bottle of the elixir cradled in his arms from the drawing room. Holding it up to the sconce, he set the contents to turning in a slow whirl. “It’s made from an exotic plant, brought all the way from South America.”
Backlit by the flames, the tiny white flecks in the liquid swirled like snow. She widened her eyes. “Wherever did you find it?”
The elixir was spinning faster and faster and faster, a whirlpool of white. He watched, mesmerized for a moment, before emitting a low laugh. “Oh, I have my sources.”
The Earl of Cockburn?
The name was on the tip of her tongue, but Arianna caught herself. Recalling Saybrook’s gruff growl only echoed the voice in her own head.
Be careful.
Concord surely considered himself cleverer than other men—she must turn that strength into a weakness.
“Oh, I see.” Arianna deliberately added a shade of disappointment to her voice. “I thought Lady Spencer said that you had created it. But what she meant was that you merely purchased it from someone else.”
A bit of smugness drained from his face. “Don’t believe everything you hear from Lady Spencer.” He sucked in a mouthful of his drink. “She may think she knows everything . . .” He reached out and ran a thumb along the line of her jaw. “But trust me, she is not quite as smart as she thinks.”
Trust you? I should rather trust an asp.
His touch slithered down to the top of her bodice. “My partner and I will make a fortune off the Devil’s Delight. There are plenty of wealthy men willing to pay any price for pleasure.”
It took every ounce of her hard-won acting ability to repress a shudder. Up close, his fleshy good looks took on a grotesque twist—the dilated eyes, the lines of dissipation. . . .
Arianna gulped for air, hoping her reaction would be seen as desire and not disgust.
He smiled and smacked his lips. “You see, Lady Wolcott, everything I touch turns to gold.”
Or blood.
She dropped her gaze to the hand hooked in her gown, and all she could see was his fingers dripping with her father’s gore. Her pulse began to pound in her ears, and with it a whisper from the past.
Forgive me for being such a wretched parent. And for sinking you in such a sordid life.
Strange, but her father’s dying words brought a sudden sense of calm. Yes, I forgive you, Papa. Perhaps bringing his murderer to justice was more about her own redemption than anything else.
The past could finally be buried, along with all the old sins.
Summoning a smile, she gave a feline stretch and reclined against the pillows, leaving his hand hovering in midair. “So, you have a Midas touch, milord?” she said. “How very intriguing. Pray, refill our glasses and then let us put your claim to the test.”
“You won’t be disappointed, m’dear.”
Crystal clinked against crystal.