By 1700, there were over two thousand chocolate houses open in London. They served as social clubs—for men, of course—and became known as places of political intrigue. I think Sandro would appreciate the fact that chocolate helped foment revolutionary ideas. Even as a young boy, he had very egalitarian views for a titled peer; I am proud of his principles, but I fear such they will lead him into trouble. . . .
1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch-processed), plus 3 tablespoons for dusting pan
1½ cups brewed coffee
½ cup American whiskey
2 sticks unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 cups sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
1¼ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1. Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 325ºF. Butter 3-quart (10-inch) Bundt pan well, then dust with 3 tablespoons cocoa powder, knocking out excess.
2. Heat coffee, whiskey, butter, and remaining cocoa powder in a 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat, whisking, until butter is melted. Remove from heat, then add sugar and whisk until dissolved, about 1 minute. Transfer mixture to a large bowl and cool 5 minutes.
3. While chocolate mixture cools, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt in a bowl. Whisk together eggs and vanilla in a small bowl, then whisk into cooled chocolate mixture until combined well. Add flour mixture and whisk until just combined (batter will be thin and bubbly). Pour batter into Bundt pan and bake until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 40 to 50 minutes.
4. Cool cake completely in pan on a rack, about 2 hours. Loosen cake from pan using tip of a dinner knife, then invert rack over pan and turn cake out onto rack.
The blaze of lights, brilliant in its fire . . . the thrum of voices, edged with anticipation . . . the feel of a costume, disguising her real self. . .
Quelling a last little flutter of nerves, Arianna glided into the crowded ballroom, reminding herself of the ragtag theater in Barbados and how many times she had acted out a part in a play. This was just a more sumptuous stage, and the audience, despite their wealth and veneer of worldly sophistication, was just as willing to be deceived.
“You are looking deliciously lovely tonight, Lady Wolcott.” Gavin bowed low over her hand. When he lifted his head, it was to reveal a wolfish smile.
“Good enough to eat?” she teased in a throaty murmur.
“Oh, I imagine the taste would be sublimely sweet.” It was Concord who replied. He sidled closer, forcing his friend to step back, and took hold of her gloved palm. “Allow me to claim the first dance.”
Gavin looked a little miffed but didn’t protest.
“How can I resist such a charming invitation?” said Arianna with a coy flick of her fan.
He offered his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.
“Thank you for the flowers this morning, sir,” she said, stepping just a touch closer than was proper. “How very kind of you.”
“I regret that I was unable to be as attentive as I wished last night.”
“Oh, you gentlemen and your boring matters of business.” She made a little pout. “It’s quite naughty of you to let it interfere with pleasure. But I shall allow you to make up for your neglect.”
“I was hoping you would.” His palm flattened on the small of her back, the slight friction raising an involuntary shiver. He smiled, interpreting her reaction as something other than loathing. “Tomorrow night we are having another party. Will you come?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, looking up through her lashes. “It’s a pleasure to be part of such an interesting group.”
“Just as it’s a pleasure to discover someone who has an appetite for enjoying all that life has to offer,” said Concord in a low whisper. “If you truly find our gatherings to your taste, we may invite you to become a member of an even more select group. A club, if you will. One that meets on occasion to partake of very special treats.”
Arianna hid her excitement with a breathy laugh. “I assure you, I’m very interested.”
“I thought you might be.” The steps of the waltz drew them back among the other twirling couples, and for the rest of the melody they exchanged naught but light pleasantries. When the music ended, he bowed low over her hand. “Alas, I shall not be able to request another dance, Lady Wolcott, for I fear that another engagement demands my presence.”
“I do hope you won’t be distracted tomorrow,” she murmured.
“I shall take care that no more unwanted interruptions occur.”
Gavin’s approach to claim the next set ended the exchange. Tapping her fan to Concord’s shoulder, she flashed him a wink. “I shall hold you to your word, sir.”
For the next hour, Arianna spun across the polished parquet, one partner blurring into another. Several of Concord’s cronies were among them, as well as a number of gentlemen introduced to her by Mellon. She seemed to be treading a fine line between good and bad. Light and dark. Glancing around the glittering ballroom, Arianna reminded herself that she couldn’t afford the slightest stumble.
A second look did not reveal Saybrook among the guests. He might be in one of the side rooms, she mused. Or he might have decided to change his plans. Regardless, he could find no fault with her actions this evening—she had performed her assigned duty of distraction.
Suddenly thirsty, she requested that her next partner, a captain in the Coldstream Guards, fetch a glass of punch in the short interlude between sets.
Her drink, however, was brought back by a different gentleman, who explained that the captain had been called away on a different duty.
“Oh?” Arianna eyed the stranger over the rim of the glass. A thin visage, tapering to a pointed chin, a straight nose, pointing to a pair of narrow lips—his face would have been unremarkable, save the intensity of his gunmetal-gray eyes. Something about them stirred a sense of unease.
Dropping her gaze, she asked, “I do hope it’s nothing serious.”
He responded with a razor-thin smile. “That remains to be seen, Lady Wolcott.”
Perhaps it was just her imagination, but he seemed to be trying to frighten her. “Dear me, that sounds rather ominous,” said Arianna lightly before pausing for a long sip of her drink. “Have we met, sir?” she challenged, deciding to match his slightly aggressive tone.
“I’ve not yet had the pleasure of a formal introduction, but having heard so much about you, madam, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to make your acquaintance.” His bow was barely more than a dip of his head. “I am Lord Grentham.”
The announcement turned her insides to ice.
“Allow me to take the captain’s place,” he said as the musicians struck up the first notes of a waltz. It was more of an order than a request.
Somehow, she forced her lips to bend in a smile. There was nothing to do but brazen it out and slide into a second—or was it third?—skin.
I am not quite sure who I am anymore.
“But of course.” Setting aside her glass, Arianna let him lead her out onto the dance floor. “Your name is familiar, sir—I must have heard it mentioned by Mr. Mellon. Are the two of you friends?”
“I am well acquainted with all of your relatives, including the Earl of Saybrook.” Grentham spun them through the first turn. “Indeed, I am well acquainted with most everyone in London Society. Save for you.”
“Alas, you won’t find me very interesting, sir. I’ve lived far removed from the glitter and glamour of city life.”
“On the contrary, Lady Wolcott. You fascinate me.”
Fighting down a feeling of vertigo, Arianna moved through another twirl. Steady, steady. There was no reason to panic—she had been in slippery situations before.
“Then it seems you are easily amused, sir.”
In another man, the rumble in his throat might have been mistaken for a laugh. “Ask anyone and you will be assured that I have no sense of humor.”
“And why is that?” she asked.
“Because I am in charge of state security, Lady Wolcott, and as such, it is my duty to keep the country safe from those nefarious persons who would do it harm.”
“I can see that is no laughing matter, sir.”
Grentham subjected her to a piercing stare. Up close, his eyes appeared even more steely. Sharp. Merciless. They bore into her with unrelenting intensity.
“No, it is not. I take my responsibilities very seriously.”
Arianna had long ago learned that any show of fear encouraged a predator to go for the jugular. Lifting her chin, she regarded him with a show of sangfroid. “Then I wonder why you choose to indulge in such frivolous activities as dancing, Lord Grentham. Especially with a provincial nobody.”
“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself, Lady Wolcott.” His voice dropped a notch. “Be assured I don’t.”
She assumed an expression of polite puzzlement. “I confess, sir, I’m not sure that I follow your meaning.”
A quick sidestep and intricate twirl seemed deliberately designed to throw her off balance. “And yet your footwork seems extraordinarily adroit,” he remarked after she had come through the moves without missing a step.
“Dancing is a skill that all proper young ladies are expected to master.”
The minister’s gaze shifted for an instant, as if distracted by a movement across the crowded room.
“Along with a number of other feminine wiles,” murmured Grentham.
“La, you appear to have a harsh opinion of the opposite sex, sir.” Arianna batted her lashes, hoping her nonchalance didn’t ring too false. Given his interest in her, the minister must be aware of her attraction to Concord and his crowd, so a bit of boldness was in character. “Is there nothing I can do to win your regard?”
His flash of teeth was clearly not meant to be a smile. “We shall see, Lady Wolcott, we shall see.”
They danced through the next few figures in silence. Then, much to her relief, the music rose to a sweeping crescendo and came to a flourishing end.
“Thank you for such a delightful interlude,” said the minister as he escorted her to the perimeter of the room. An undertone of mockery gave an ominous edge to his words. “I enjoyed myself immensely.”
Yes, I imagine that you did, thought Arianna.
He kept hold of her hand for just a fraction longer. “By the by, I won’t find any record of a William Wolcott in Yorkshire, will I?”
“Of course you will,” she replied without hesitation. “Why would I lie, sir?”
“I don’t know, Lady Wolcott. But I intend to find out.”
Inwardly shaken by the encounter, Arianna signaled to a passing footman for a glass of champagne. Being adrift in a sea of strangers only heightened her awareness of all the hidden shoals beneath the surface of London Society. The myriad faces, alight with . . .
Spotting the earl across the room, she suddenly veered away from the secluded spot behind the potted palms.
“Any shelter in a storm,” she whispered under her breath. Saybrook was standing apart from the crowd with an elderly lady who, despite her advanced age, still possessed a regal beauty. It appeared that they were engaged in a private conversation.
Ah, but I am family, she thought wryly.
It would appear odd, too, if she did not pay her respects to him.
The earl looked up as she approached, his expression hovering somewhere between wariness and welcome. “You see, Aunt Constantina, I told you that our newly arrived relative would be anxious to make your acquaintance,” he said dryly. “Lady Wolcott, I’m sure the dowager Marchioness of Sterling needs no introduction.”
“None whatsoever,” responded Arianna, picking up her cue. “It is, of course, a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Sterling.”
The dowager raised her quizzing glass to one eye, the thick lens magnifying its speculative gleam. After a long moment of scrutiny, she let the beribboned handle fall back against her bosom. “What side of the family are you from?” she inquired brusquely.
“Lady Wolcott’s mother was a Peabody,” interceded Saybrook smoothly.
“Hmmph.” Another look, this one unaided by special optics. “I can’t say that I see the resemblance.”
“Such things are not always so apparent,” replied the earl. Before his aunt could respond, he quickly changed the subject. “I see you have met Lord Percival Grentham, Lady Wolcott.”
“Yes, and I cannot say that the experience is one I care to repeat.”
“And no wonder.” The dowager gave a small sniff. “These days I hear he is better known as ‘Persecute’ Grentham. He was not, however, such an odious man in his youth. His mother would be greatly disappointed at what a stick in the mud he has become.”
“Yes, but like most of London’s citizens, she would be terrified to say it aloud, for fear of being hauled off to prison on charges of sedition,” quipped the earl.
Repressing a shudder, Arianna tried not to recall his cold-blooded touch. “I admit, his manner was intimidating. I shall take care to avoid him in the future.”
“A wise choice,” murmured Saybrook. His gaze held hers for a moment, and for some reason, the fleeting connection helped settle her nerves. There was, she admitted, something to be said for not feeling utterly alone.
“Ha, let him try to breathe fire and brimstone at me, and he will end up with his own bum burned,” remarked Lady Sterling.
Arianna ducked her head to hide a smile. Strange, but she felt an immediate kinship with the outspoken dowager. Which was ludicrous, considering that the only thing that had drawn them together was a web of lies.
“I don’t doubt it,” said the earl. “You can be quite a dragon when you so choose.”
“Ungrateful boy.” Lady Sterling rapped his shoulder with her fan. “You will have the poor gel more frightened of me than of Grentham.”
Saybrook’s jaw gave a tiny little tic, as if he were trying not to laugh. “I would guess that any relative of ours is made of sterner stuff than that.”
The dowager turned her attention to Arianna. “Ignore my nephew’s teasings. He can be impossibly annoying at times.” She cleared her throat. “Be that as it may, he tells me you have only recently arrived in Town.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Well, you must come pay me a visit if you wish any advice for how to get along in Society. Sandro will tell you that there is not a soul who knows more about the ton and its secrets than I do.”
Secrets. Keeping a smile pasted in place, Arianna acknowledged the invitation. “How very kind.”
“Oh, pish.” Lady Sterling waved a bejeweled hand. “We are, after all, family, my dear, and family must look out for each other.”
For a fleeting instant, the cacophony of the crowded ballroom was drowned out by a strange keening sound in her ears. Like the weeping of the wind on a stormtossed night.
“May I get you more champagne, Lady Wolcott?” asked the earl softly.
Arianna realized that she was gripping her glass so tightly its stem was in danger of breaking in two. “No. Thank you.” All at once, the heat and noise seemed unbearable, but before she could excuse herself, Lady Sterling suddenly narrowed her gaze.
“Well, well, well. I see that Persecute isn’t the only odd guest here.” The dowager’s attention seemed riveted on a spot to the right of the refreshment table. “Hortense is such a high stickler. I am surprised that she would invite Lady Spencer.”
Sure enough, Arianna spotted her erstwhile employer deep in conversation with Gavin.
“Why do you say that?” inquired Saybrook. His tone was deceptively casual, yet his body had become more alert.
“To begin with, she is the Prince’s current mistress,” answered the dowager. “Or one of them. It’s hard to keep a precise tally.”
“If Lady Ravenell chose not to invite all the ladies who have slept with Prinny, the ballroom would be half empty,” murmured the earl.
“True.” Lady Sterling toyed with the ribbon of her quizzing glass. “Still, given the position that Hortense’s husband holds at the Bank of England, I find it strange that she would overlook the other scandal.”
Arianna noted the subtle sharpening of Saybrook’s features. “What other scandal, Aunt Constantina?” he inquired softly.
“Oh, that unpleasant mess from the last century. Lady Spencer’s maternal grandfather was Mr. George Carsall.” The dowager waited expectantly for the earl to respond. When his only reaction was a raised brow, she heaved an impatient sigh. “For God’s sake, don’t they teach English history at Oxford anymore?”
He gave an apologetic shrug. “As you know, my interests lay in other studies.”
“Well, much as I adore your chocolate creations, Sandro, all peers ought to pay attention to that particular subject in order to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.”
“I stand duly chastised,” replied Saybrook. “Perhaps you would care to fill the hole in my knowledge?”
The dowager slanted another owlish squint at Lady Spencer. “My dear boy, Carsall was a governor of the Sword Blade Bank. Now, please don’t tell me that you haven’t heard of them and the South Sea Company, else I may have to resort to my smelling salts.”