Sophia looked as if she wished to argue, but the spark of anger quickly died away into a tight-lipped silence.

  Arianna felt a tickle of foreboding tease against the back of her neck as she parsed through the nuances of her husband’s words. “This isn’t a complete surprise to you, is it?”

  Their eyes met.

  “What have you heard?”

  “Precious little,” responded Saybrook. “I only learned about the problem around the same time as you two did. Charles sought me out at the Royal Society, and we had just withdrawn to one of the side salons for a private discussion of the situation, when I was told that my presence was urgently required here.”

  The earl’s uncle, Charles, Lord Mellon, was a senior diplomat with the Foreign Office, and was very well connected with other branches of the government.

  “And so, I heard only a few bare-bones facts,” he continued, “However, we’ve arranged to reconvene later this evening.”

  “Nonetheless, tell us what you know now,” demanded Sophia.

  Saybrook poured a glass of strong Spanish brandy and thrust it into Sophia’s hands. “Sit.” His gaze darted to Arianna. “Both of you.”

  Holding back a sigh, Arianna settled into one of the armchairs. He brought her a measure of spirits as well, and then joined Sophia on the facing sofa. She would have preferred hot chocolate, but found a sip of the fiery brandy helped warm the ice from her blood.

  “Charles was only alerted of the situation late this morning, and he’s still trying to assemble enough information to form an accurate picture of what is going on,” began the earl. “As you can imagine, rumors and speculation are rife, with one story wilder than the next.”

  “And Society accuses ladies of being flighty gossipmongers,” muttered Sophia.

  Arianna realized her grip on the glass had grown so tight that the crystal facets were pressing painfully against her flesh, However fraught her relationship with Grentham, she realized it would cut her to the quick to learn he had betrayed their trust in him.

  “From what Charles has gathered so far, it seems that a senior member of Grentham’s staff—Sir Josselyn Medford, his second-in-command—convened an emergency meeting with the Home Office, General Balfour of the Horse Guards, and the prime minister, to accuse Grentham of treason, and as proof of the perfidy, he told of how Napoleon’s Talisman had gone missing from the minister’s safe—”

  “But Sir Josselyn would have been working with Lionel Randolph, who we know was the real traitor!” exclaimed Sophia. “That means—”

  Saybrook waved her to silence. “We can conjecture on what it means later. Right now, I’m simply stating the facts of the case as we know them as of this moment.”

  Exhaling in frustration, Sophia slumped back against the pillows.

  “Which are these,” he continued. “Along with the disappearance of the talisman, Sir Josselyn recounted Grentham’s disappearance from London—as we know, Grentham didn’t tell anyone of his secret trip to Brussels, as he was concerned about possible corruption within his own office.” A pause. “Or so he told us.”

  “Since we are speaking of the facts as we know them,” said Sophia, “we all can confirm Grentham’s actions in Brussels in saving Pierson and thwarting Napoleon’s obsession with regaining his lucky charm.”

  “Can we?” asked Saybrook.

  For a choking instant, the question seemed to squeeze all the air from the room.

  “Grentham was on his own for a great deal of time,” continued the earl. “And as for his actions with us, they can be interpreted in other ways.”

  “Do either of you believe that?” Sophia looked from the earl to Arianna. “If so, I had better leave, for there’s nothing left for us to say to each other.”

  Arianna shook her head. “I don’t. But as Saybrook said, we must set our emotions aside and face what others will be saying. Otherwise, we’ll have no hope of proving Grentham innocent.”

  Assuming, of course that he was.

  “I . . .” Sophia took a gulp of brandy and then pressed the glass to her brow. “I’m sorry—I know you’re right.” She shut her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. “I’m not thinking clearly.”

  “That’s understandable,” said the earl. “But now we all must gather our wits and keep them razor-sharp. I agree with Arianna that Grentham deserves our trust until we have reason to think otherwise.”

  He re-crossed his long legs and stared down at the tips of his boots. “But I’m under no illusion as to the difficulties that lie ahead. This will test our strength and resolve.” His expression turned somber. “And perhaps our friendship, Miss Kirtland.”

  “I’m aware of that, milord.” Sophia drew in a shaky breath. “Just as I’m aware that my heart will likely battle fiercely with my head. I know your commitment to unflinching honesty, both to yourself and to others. I will do my best to emulate your example.”

  “That is all we can ask of ourselves,” murmured Arianna. “Now, you had better tell us what else you know.” She made a face. “Preferably starting with where the devil Grentham is.”

  “That,” said Saybrook, “is a question a great many people are asking at the moment. However, nobody seems to know the answer.” He shrugged. “Though I suppose that’s hardly surprising. A flea can’t fart in this city without the minister getting wind of it, so I assume he had enough warning to elude the soldiers sent to place him under house arrest.”

  “An inelegant analogy,” observed Arianna with a wry smile. Humor, however crass, always helped to unknot one’s nerves. “But no less true.”

  “Surely Sir Josselyn had to offer more than a story about a missing magical object to be taken seriously,” mused Sophia.

  “Charles is pursuing that question. However, the allegation cuts right to the heart of the country’s security. The government can’t take any chances that the man who knows all its most intimate secrets might be a traitor. My guess is, the order for arrest was a precautionary measure, so that the matter could be fully investigated.”

  “Doesn’t Grentham’s flight make him look guilty?” asked Sophia.

  Saybrook didn’t answer right away.

  The rain, noted Arianna, was now pelting against the window glass. From somewhere in the distance came a rumble of thunder.

  “It’s hard to say.” The earl tapped his fingertips together. “We know Lionel Randolph was diabolically clever. If Sir Josselyn was working with him, then I imagine he wouldn’t make the accusation without having fabricated compelling evidence against Grentham.”

  “So Grentham might have felt his best move was to flee, in order to give himself time to decide on how to counterattack,” cut in Arianna.

  “Conjectures, conjectures—which only send us spinning in circles.” Saybrook rose abruptly. “I’m going to stop by White’s and see what I can learn there before meeting with Charles. Keep the door bolted, and don’t answer any knocks.”

  He took a quick step toward the door, and then turned. “If perchance Grentham makes an appearance, keep him here until I return—even if it means trussing him to the newel post.”

  Arianna waited for the click of the latch falling shut before releasing a pent-up breath. “What a tangle of serpents.” Deadly vipers twisting and coiling to strike with poisonous fangs. “God only knows from what dark hellhole they’ve slithered.”

  “And for what reason,” added Sophia.

  “Indeed. Why?” Arianna frowned in thought. “That is, why now? There has to be a reason.”

  They both pondered the conundrum as the rain continued to fall.

  “The enemy must have spotted a weakness,” mused Sophia.

  “Or an opportunity,” responded Arianna.

  “But the war is finally over, and the Continent is at peace.”

  “The armies may have stopped shooting at each other, but the real battle—the one for power and influence—is just beginning.” Arianna recalled her visit to Europe the previous autumn. “Saybrook and I spent several weeks at the Peace Conference in Vienna after Napoleon’s exile to Elba. The sumptuous balls and extravagant parties masked ruthless negotiations and backstabbing squabbles as the leaders of Europe, including Britain, sought to grab strategic territory and other advantages from the defeated French empire for themselves.”

  She paused. “I imagine the intrigue will be even greater this second time around.” The Allied armies had recently beaten back the last remnants of resistance from Napoleon’s Grande Armée, and entered Paris just two weeks after the victory at Waterloo. “Napoleon is on the run, and with the French King once again seated on the throne, Paris will become a city seething in intrigue.”

  Intrigue. The word sent an unwelcome frisson skating down her spine. For Grentham, intrigue was a second skin, one that he had worn for so long that perhaps it was . . .

  “Y-you think he might have gone there?”

  “It’s possible. But it’s pointless to speculate on where when we don’t know why.”

  “Why. Why. Why. I am coming to loathe that damnable word.” Sophia looked down at her hands, which were fisted in her lap. “Why wouldn’t he send word if he was in trouble?”

  Arianna didn’t answer right away. She had inadvertently witnessed a passionate kiss between her friend and the minister during the recent mission to Brussels. But a close brush with death often provoked fiery emotions, and while a spark of attraction clearly crackled between them, they both kept their true feelings guarded behind a wall of wary reserve.

  She, of all people, knew how terrifying it was to allow another person to pierce one’s defenses.

  And so Arianna chose her words carefully. “I assume that’s a rhetorical question. Nonetheless, I shall try to address it.”

  Sophia shifted, the clash of hope and dread warring across her face.

  “I imagine that whatever the threat—and the accusation of treason is a rather grave one—he didn’t wish to draw you into danger.”

  “A simple note would hardly draw me into danger,” muttered Sophia.

  Arianna arched her brows. “Oh, fie—would you really have me believe you wouldn’t have girded on your proverbial sword in an instant and sought to rush to his rescue? Or that he doesn’t know it?”

  Her friend surrendered a reluctant laugh. “Actually, I would have chosen a pistol. I’ve not yet mastered the fine points of a saber.”

  “Trust me, Grentham is just as aware as I am of your courage and your fierce loyalty to your friends.”

  “Then what do you suggest—”

  Yet another knock on the door cut short the question. Arianna was out of her chair in a flash, and clicked open the latch.

  “Your pardon, milady, but Tomas intercepted a street urchin trying to deliver this note to the house.” The butler passed over a grimy scrap of paper, folded over several times to form a small square. “We thought you would want to see it.”

  At first glance, Arianna saw that no recipient was marked anywhere. “Gracias.”

  “De nada, milady,” came the discreet murmur as he quietly retreated.

  “Ye gods—aren’t you going to open it?” demanded Sophia as Arianna returned to her seat, still examining the unfolded missive.

  “In a moment,” she answered. Experience had taught her that overlooking a tiny detail could have unpleasant consequences. However, no mark other than the smudges of dirt caught her eye.

  At the whispery crackle of paper, Sophia leaned forward expectantly.

  “Hmmph.”

  “What?” demanded her friend.

  Arianna considered the message for a moment longer before reading it aloud.

  There is evil afoot within the government, and I have reason to think you’re the only ones cable of rooting it out. But I dare not come to you—it’s too dangerous. Meet me tonight at midnight—in Hyde Park, at the powder magazine north of the Serpentine—and I shall explain.

  She looked up. “Whoever penned this appears to have an affinity for melodrama.” Perhaps deliberately so. “Add clanking chains and a dark, damp dungeon, and the lines could have been lifted straight out of an Ann Radcliffe novel.”

  “It could be from Grentham,” suggested Sophia. “It suits his sardonic sense of humor.”

  “A possibility, but my sense is that if Grentham wished to meet with us, he would take the bull by the horns, not risk something going awry with a rendezvous,” replied Arianna.

  “Then who sent it?”

  “Someone who wishes to lure Saybrook and me to a secluded spot in the dead of night.”

  “A trap?” said Sophia. “But why?”

  A good question. “I suppose that depends on whether Grentham is guilty or innocent. If he’s betrayed his country, I think he knows we’ll feel compelled to bring him to justice. And if he’s the victim of a nefarious plot, the perpetrators will likely know we’ve been the minister’s allies in several missions and thus see us as dangerous. Either way, we’re an impediment to their plans.”

  Silk rustled, soft as a sigh. “I see,” murmured Sophia. “Which means the prudent course of action is to ignore the note.”

  “Prudent, yes.” A pause. “Alas, prudence is not one of my strengths.”

  A spark of hope dispelled the look of disappointment in her friend’s eyes. “It is a much overrated quality. But Saybrook—”

  “Sandro won’t like it, but I daresay it won’t surprise him.” A grim smile flitted over her lips. “Besides, he can hardly object when he knows you’re as good a shot as he is.” She glanced at the case clock in the corner of the room “Come, let us change into men’s clothing. As you know, I have an ample assortment for the two of us.”

  The rainclouds had blown off, the chill night air turning the lingering dampness into thick swirls of silvery mist.

  Arianna threaded a path through the back alleyways of Mayfair, treading with light-footed stealth through muck, with Sophia shadowing her steps. A pair of urchins, just two of the countless nocturnal nomads flitting through the city. Darting across Park Lane, they entered Hyde Park through the Stanhope Gate and left the footpath to approach the rendezvous spot through the shadows of the wooded area surrounding the Ring.

  The fog was thicker here, floating over the rough ground like a shimmering sea. Swoosh-swoosh—it spun around their legs, muffling the sound of their steps as they crept closer to the squat stone building looming up from ghostly swirls of mist.

  Arianna signaled for a halt, and peered into the gloom. No sign of movement up ahead. But then, few people ventured into the wilds of the park at this time of night—unless they were up to no good.

  “I’ll approach from the right,” she whispered to Sophia. “You take cover in those trees, which gives the optimum angle to keep me guarded.” A gesture indicated a cluster of leafy oaks. “Stay hidden until I summon you.”

  Her friend nodded and checked the priming of her pistols before moving quietly to take up her position.

  She waited another moment, aware of a prickling between her shoulder blades. The stirring of her sixth sense for trouble? Or merely the crusty tickle of her filthy urchin’s disguise . . .

  Steady, steady—Arianna forced herself to draw a deep breath. That That Grentham’s honor was in question had her nerves on edge.

  Drawing her weapon, she sidled through the flitting fog and shadows, alert for any sign of movement. The breeze gusted, stirring a crackling of branches and hiss of wet leaves. A last few quick strides brought her to the building. Pressing close to the mortised stone, she edged around the corner . . .

  Nothing.

  “Halloo?” she called softly.

  Naught but the flutter of the long grasses came in reply.

  Damnation. Arianna hesitated, the silence taking on a more ominous thrum. But there were, she told herself, any number of reasons why their informant might have been delayed. In the meantime, she decided to make a full circle of the building before retreating to rejoin Sophia.

  Another quarter hour—she would give it that before abandoning the rendezvous and heading home.

  A low stone retaining wall, barely knee-high, flanked the cart track that led to the loading bay. A wooden portico jutted out over the double doors to protect the opening from the elements. The area beneath the shingled roof was shrouded in darkness.

  Hunching low, Arianna hurried to the wall. A quick hop and she was atop it, then dropped down into the shadows. From there, she could move unseen to the far corner—

  “Bloody hell.” The whispered oath slipped out as her boot hit up against a long and low mass lying in her path. She stumbled and managed to right herself, then dropped to a crouch and reached out a hand to explore.

  A face. She could feel the chill of death as she traced over the fleshy contours.

  Aquiline nose, sharp cheekbones, high forehead with a receding hairline . . . It took only a moment longer to discover the mortal wound. The back of the man’s skull had been crushed by a violent blow.

  Leaning low, Arianna shifted her position just enough to angle the fitful glimmers of moonlight over the victim’s features. But the faint illumination revealed a stranger.

  Which begged the question . . .

  “Damnation.” She scrambled to her feet. Now was not the time to search for answers. They would only be stumbling around in the dark—and taking reckless risks.

  She quickly retraced her steps and darted into the trees to rejoin Sophia.

  “Is that blood?” asked her friend, staring at the dark stains on Arianna’s hands.

  “Yes—I’ll explain later. We can’t linger here. Follow me.”

  Chapter 3

  “A dead body?” Saybrook shrugged out of his overcoat and tossed it over one of the side chairs. “Ye gods, it didn’t take the two of you long to stir up mayhem and murder.”