“Hurt you?” Saybrook’s eyes clouded. “The carriage explosion should have convinced all of us that whatever camaraderie we imagined in the past has gone up in smoke.”

  Arianna took another sip of chocolate, only to find it tasted like ashes on her tongue.

  Before she could respond, her maid appeared in the doorway. “I beg your pardon, Signora, but Miss Kirtland wishes to assure herself that you are still among the living.” As Sophia darted past her, the maid added. “And refused to take no for an answer.”

  “Good Lord!” Her friend’s eyes widened in shock. Henning had insisted on wrapping a bandage around her brow to cover the noxious ointment he had smeared over the lacerations on her scalp. “I swear, I’ll murder the swine, with my bare hands if necessary.”

  “You will have to join the rest of us in drawing straws for the honor,” said Henning in between noisy slurps of coffee.

  “How did you know?” asked Arianna.

  “I took the liberty of sending a note,” answered the earl. “With Grentham on the loose, a warning to be on guard seemed prudent.”

  Sophia flashed a dismissive wave. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Don’t allow hubris to get the better of you,” counseled Saybrook. “We are seeing a different facet of Grentham, and while we may wish to imagine that the man we worked with in Brussels is his true self, we must be willing to admit that it may not be.”

  Her friend looked away. “Tell me what happened.”

  Arianna gave a terse recount of her confrontation with the minister, surprised by how the memory of the raised fist and steel cudgel hurt even more than the actual blow.

  How could he? she thought as she finished and slumped deeper into the pillows, expecting Sophia to let loose with a rant about Grentham’s perfidy. However, her friend’s reaction took her by surprise.

  “Well, that’s actually quite heartening.” A grimace. “Not the fact that he hit you, of course, but that the blow was clearly meant to stun, rather than do real harm.”

  “Wishful thinking,” muttered Henning. “The difference between a mere egg-sized bump on the lassie’s head and a smashed skull was an awfully fine line.”

  “And one that Grentham can hit on either side with frightening precision,” replied Sophia.

  Saybrook’s skepticism was writ plain on his face. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I asked him to teach me a few ways in which I might defend myself in a mano-a-mano struggle with an assailant. In the course of the instruction, he demonstrated some of his advanced methods.”

  “I still say—” began Henning, only to be interrupted by a second appearance of Arianna’s maid.

  “Your pardon, Signora, but you have yet another visitor,” murmured Maria. “Lady Sterling—”

  “Good Heavens!” The sight of Henning and his medical bag caused the dowager’s face to pinch in fear. “Is Arianna in danger—”

  “The only danger is of having a fierce headache for the next day or two,” she interjected. “Sandro, fetch Constantina a chair. And Maria, kindly have the kitchen send up fresh pots of chocolate and coffee, along with a platter of pastries. Since we appear to be entertaining friends, we ought to offer refreshments.”

  “Don’t jest,” chided the dowager. “Maria mentioned an accident, but—”

  “It was no accident,” cut in Saybrook, as he carried in an armchair from the sitting room. “Arianna encountered Grentham last night . . .”

  Constantina paled as she listened to what had happened.

  “And before you join the others in exclaiming that he couldn’t possibly be so cold-blooded as to wish any of us real harm,” finished the earl, “allow me to point out that the facts seem to outweigh fem—, that is, fantasy.”

  “Thank you for not saying feminine fantasy,” said Arianna. “Else you, too, would be nursing a sore head.”

  “As you see, I’m more pragmatic than you,” he shot back. “I don’t wave a scarlet cape in front of a maddened bull.”

  “Touché,” murmured Henning.

  Stepping away from the window, Sophia silenced the barbs with a brusque wave. “Come, let us not descend into petty bickering. We’ve more important things to discuss.”

  Constantina leaned forward in her chair. “Are we going to apprehend Percival?”

  As a sudden silence thrummed through the room, Arianna closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could slip back into the oblivion of sleep. A cowardly reaction, she knew, but to her dismay, Grentham’s betrayal had cut to the quick. It was odd—her life until meeting Saybrook had been a rough and tumble journey. She had learned to harden her heart and trust nobody.

  Love and friendships were dangerous. They made one vulnerable . . .

  “Ay, there’s the rub.” Sophia’s wry response to the question brought Arianna back to the moment.

  “If we are going to quote Shakespeare, perhaps ‘Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war’ is a more apt choice,” said Saybrook.

  “Please, just hear me out,” asked her friend. At the earl’s gruff nod, she continued. “I would venture to say that we, of all people, know Grentham and his methods better than anyone. If he’s guilty, he needs to be apprehended for the good of the country. And if he’s innocent, he needs our help in fighting the true villain.”

  She paused to fix Saybrook with a challenging stare. “So either way, it seems imperative that we accept the gauntlet that’s been tossed at our feet.”

  Henning grunted. Arianna wasn’t sure whether it was meant as a yea or nay.

  “I concede that what you say has a certain logic, Miss Kirtland,” responded the earl. “But emotions make bad bedfellows for a mission like this. When you allow things to become personal, it’s dangerous. Not just for you, but for everyone involved.”

  “I’m aware of that, sir. It’s not personal—”

  “Don’t delude yourself, Miss Kirtland,” he snapped. “Both you and Arianna have too much passion bubbling through your veins to ever manage a cold-blooded detachment.” A grudging smile softened his words. “It’s not a criticism, merely an observation. I’m aware that passion gives color and sparks to abstract ideals. It’s what makes one truly care about concepts like truth and justice.”

  Arianna held her tongue.

  “Sounds like the ladies aren’t the only ones with fire in their bellies,” murmured Henning. He lifted his mug of coffee in salute, then brought it to his lips. “Here’s to the flames burning brightly.” A noisy slurp. “Just as long as we all don’t get singed to a crisp.”

  Saybrook chuffed a sigh. “Might I remind all of you that the government has a cadre of operatives trained to handle sensitive missions like these.”

  “Pfftt!” Henning pulled a flask from his medical bag and added a generous splash of brandy to his coffee. “None of them can hold a candle to us.”

  “And here I was depending on you to react with your usual sardonic detachment.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, laddie. You know my past sentiments concerning Grentham. I loathed him as a scheming, duplicitous bastard with not a flicker of humanity to his black-as-Hades soul.” The surgeon gave a meditative swirl of his drink. “And then the damn fellow goes and saves my nephew. It was very upsetting to have to revise my thinking.”

  Sophia took pains to smother a smile.

  “Sandro,” began Arianna, “I know you don’t wish to be drawn into another web of international intrigue. Ye gods, I, too, would welcome a summer of peace and quiet. But . . .”

  But not at the cost of leaving a friend to be torn limb from limb by a pack of wolves.

  He looked about to reply when a soft tap-tap on the door provoked a gruff chuckle from Henning. “Had I known we were having a breakfast party, I would have dressed more elegantly.”

  The surgeon usually looked as though he had been dragged backwards through a gorse bush. And today, noted Arianna, was no exception. Indeed, she didn’t care to contemplate what had caused the very unappetizing stains on his cuffs.

  “Stubble the witticisms, Baz,” growled Saybrook, as he clicked open the latch.

  “Your pardon, milord,” apologized the butler. “But this note just arrived for you, and the messenger said it was important.”

  The earl glanced at the seal and his expression stirred a tickle of foreboding between Arianna’s shoulder blades. “It’s from my friend in military intelligence.”

  His fingers slipped beneath the folds of paper. She winced, the crack of the wax wafer sounding loud as a pistol shot.

  Sofia held her breath . . . Constantina regripped her cane . . . Henning added another dollop of brandy to his empty mug.

  “Orlov.”

  The name was barely more than a whisper, and yet Arianna felt her innards clench.

  Saybrook looked up. “It seems our old friend Prince Orlov has come back to haunt us.”

  Chapter 9

  “According to my friend,” explained the earl, “the Russian Tsar has just named Orlov as the leader of the Russian delegation in charge of negotiating the terms of France’s future with the other Allies. He and his fellow diplomats will be arriving in Paris within the next few days.”

  “Oh, dear,” murmured the dowager. “That is not good news.”

  Indeed not, thought Arianna. She had a long and fraught relationship with Prince Orlov—as did Constantina and Sophia. An arrogant, bullying bear of a man, he had not taken kindly to being outfoxed—and outfought—by the ladies on several occasions. To say he considered them mortal enemies was putting it politely.

  “I don’t suppose he’s forgiven me for shooting him in the hand during our stay in Brussels,” mused Sophia. “Much as it galled me, I did apologize for mistaking his motives.”

  “That’s assuming you were mistaken,” pointed out Arianna. “Though I wouldn’t wager on it. I still think he was conspiring with Napoleon, and had been doing so for some time.”

  Looking grim, Saybrook folded the note and put it in his pocket. “Grentham was of the same opinion.”

  “If he was—if he is—right, then Orlov is very dangerous,” said Sophia. “All the more so because Russia is seen as an ally by the other members of the Allied Coalition. As the leader of their delegation, he’ll be perceived as loyal to his Tsar.”

  Britain, Austria and Prussia had united with Russia to defeat Napoleon and send him into exile on Elba. And when the Emperor had escaped from the island and re-seized the throne, they had reunited to keep him from plunging all of Europe back into war. The recent battle at Waterloo had broken Napoleon’s military might, and the Allied armies had marched into France and captured Paris.

  “If the prince is a traitor to the Allied Coalition,” continued Sophia, “he can foment dissent and ignite confrontations between its members with lies and innuendo. He may be a brute, but he’s clever and cunning.”

  “But Napoleon’s armies have surrendered, and he has fled to the west of France, where he is said to be seeking to sail to America,” said Constantina. “So surely, he’s no longer a threat to peace.”

  “I think we’ve all learned not to underestimate the Emperor,” said Saybrook. “But I agree it’s unlikely that he lies at the heart of any conspiracy to upset the current balance of power.”

  “Then who?” queried Henning.

  The earl didn’t answer.

  “I know you don’t wish for me to say it,” murmured Sophia, after giving him ample time to ponder the question. “But that conundrum might very well lie at the heart of the mystery surrounding Grentham. My guess is that he’s trying to find the same answer as you are.”

  “I’d be more inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt,” replied the earl, “if he hadn’t tried to kill you and Arianna.”

  Despite his disdain for a great many of the traditional rules governing Polite Society, thought Arianna, Saybrook was surprisingly old-fashioned in his notions of chivalry.

  As for the minister . . .

  “Come, we all know Grentham,” she pointed out. “If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have made a mull of it twice.”

  “The ladies have a point,” muttered Henning. “We must give the devil his due.”

  The shadows beneath the earl’s lashes deepened as he shifted his stance to stare out the windows.

  Arianna followed his gaze. “Given the gathering of military leaders and the diplomatic negotiations taking place there, Paris will be the center of intrigue for the next several months.”

  His shoulders stiffened. He knew what was coming . . .

  “It’s my understanding that the Allies intend to soften the indignity of their armies occupying the city by creating a number of scientific and cultural symposiums to promote intellectual and artistic harmony between France and the rest of Europe,” she continued. “If you were to be part of the Royal Society’s delegation on Botany . . .”

  “Oh, what an excellent idea!” exclaimed Constantina.

  “Indeed,” chimed in Sophia.

  “And how fortuitous that Sophia speaks perfect French,” added the dowager.

  “You might as well concede defeat gracefully, laddie,” suggested Henning. “This is a battle you won’t win.”

  “No thanks to you,” shot back Saybrook. But as he locked eyes with Arianna, she saw his clouded look give way to a brighter gleam. Much as he wished to appear the jaded cynic, at heart he was quite the opposite. The idea that Grentham had deceived them all and was a traitor stuck in his craw. Like the others, he wouldn’t rest easy until he knew the truth.

  “Might I ask how you know that the Royal Society was sending a delegation?”

  Sophia chose that moment to turn her full attention to choosing a muffin from the platter of pastries.

  “Word travels through the grapevine,” answered Arianna. “Am I right to assume it leaves in three days?”

  His mouth quirked. “I imagine you already know the answer to that.”

  “Well, that doesn’t give us much time to pack and get the logistics organized,” announced Constantina. “I happen to know of a very charming mansion we can rent on the rue de Rivoli . . .”

  “I shall leave all of that to you ladies,” said the earl. “While I had better head to the Somerset House and see if I can wheedle my way onto the Botanical delegation. Most of the gentlemen are experts on medical plants from the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew, while my research is—”

  Constantina gave an airy wave. “That won’t be a problem. I’ll send a note to my dear friend, Sir Joseph Banks.” The elderly baronet, a noted scientific scholar and adventurer, was one of the most famous men in Great Britain and had served as president of the Royal Society for many years. “He’ll have a word with the organizers.”

  “In that case, I shall use the time to pay a visit to Manton’s shooting gallery and sharpen my skills with a pistol,” replied the earl. “Along with the very Parisian pleasures of shopping, dining and dancing, we had better be prepared to waltz through a dizzying spin of intrigue.”

  Thank Heavens for a staff that runs with the steely precision of a nautical chronometer, thought Arianna as she gazed at the packed trunks and valises stacked neatly in the entrance hall, awaiting transport to Dover first thing in the morning.

  But tonight . . .

  “Is there anything you wish to add to the luggage, Señora?” Her maid appeared from the corridor, with a freshly pressed evening gown cradled in her arms.

  “I can’t imagine you have forgotten anything, Maria,” she answered with an appreciative smile. “And besides, the dowager would be very disappointed if I don’t accompany her to one of the new shopping arcades that have become all the vogue in Paris.”

  “Si, I have heard they are quite impressive. A number of them are said to include chocolate shops.”

  “I confess, visiting them holds far more allure for me than perusing a room full of frilly bonnets with the dowager.” Arianna thought about her studies concerning the history of edible chocolate. “I’m particularly looking forward to visiting the first chocolate emporium established by Sulpice Debauve on the Faubourg Saint-Germain.”

  Debauve, who had served as personal physician to Marie Antoinette, was credited with creating the first edible chocolate confections—legend had it that he made chocolate pastilles flavored with exotic extracts in order to get the Queen to take her medicines, which he mixed into the delicate wafers.

  “Perhaps I’ll even have a chance to chat with him,” she mused. “There is much I would like to ask him about his discovery.”

  “That promises to be a fascinating discussion, Signora.” Silk rustled as Maria smoothed a hand over the shimmering skirts of the gown. “But as for this evening . . .”

  “Yes, yes.” Though it was far sweeter to think sugar and spices rather than intrigue and innuendo, Arianna forced her thoughts back to the present. “We had better go and start dressing for this evening’s soirée.”

  Saybrook’s uncle had arranged to hold a gathering for the scientific delegations heading to France, as well as diplomats from Austria, Prussia and Russia who were meeting with the British Foreign Office before heading across the Channel.

  “Lord Mellon has invited a great many people who will also be traveling to Paris, so it behooves us to become acquainted with them,” she added.

  And begin the cat-and-mouse game of discerning who might be friend and who might be foe.

  Arianna had chosen a dark blue gown, its azure hue muted by a hint of smoke. Elegant, yet understated. Taking a seat at her dressing table, she fluffed the fine-spun silk, watching the fabric’s sinuous ripple. The color would allow her to move through the crowd of gentlemen in evening clothes without drawing the eye.

  “I can’t decide whether you are a metaphor for a storm cloud or merely a night shadow,” said Saybrook as he stepped into her dressing room, tweaking the crisp folds of his cravat into place.

  “Perhaps a little of both.” She reached for a pot of kohl and added a dark smudge to her eyelids. “I plan on flitting among the guests, soft and silent as vapor, in hopes of hearing something of interest.” After considering her reflection in the looking glass for a moment, she thought, Or perhaps I am more like the ocean water, intent on rippling through the hidden shallows and shoals of a dangerous coastline.