Free Sweet Revenge by Andrea Penrose Page A

paper.” A slow, mocking clap of applause echoed off the sherry-colored paneling. “Bravo, sir. Bravo.”
    Saybrook’s only reaction was to continue contemplating the top of his cane. This one was fashioned with a polished steel knob and a heavy bezel that rotated to release a stiletto hidden within the stout oaken shaft.
    A hush fell over the room, save for the ticking of a tall case clock in the corner. A full minute passed before Grentham added, “I am waiting with bated breath to see how you will extract yourself from this steaming pile of merde .”
    “Then I had better be on my way, before the evidence grows too cold to be of any use.”
    Grentham waited until the earl had his hand on the latch before replying, “Yes, I would hurry if I were you. But I would also tread very carefully. For be assured that if you make one more mistake, you’ll find yourself buried so deep in trouble that you’ll wish yourself dead.”
    A ghost of a smile greeted the minister’s words. “If you are trying to frighten me, you’ll have to come up with a better threat than that.”
     
    Metal rasped against metal, jarring Arianna from a troubled half sleep.
    “How kind of you to remember your prisoner,” she mumbled, rising from the bench and brushing the cobwebs from her hair. As the door swung open, she saw that the gardens were darkening with twilight shadows. No wonder her stomach was growling in protest. She hadn’t eaten since morning.
    “I—,” she began, only to be cut off by a curt order.
    “This way.” Taking her arm, Saybrook turned off the gravel path and cut across the grass.
    Arianna bristled, hating her loss of control. But after a sidelong glance at her captor, she held back further sarcasm. His skin was drawn taut over the bones of his face, and with fatigue hazing his gaze, he looked on the verge of collapse.
    Time enough later to argue against Fate. For now, she tried to concentrate on making a mental note of her surroundings.
    Tall, well-pruned plantings, set in a symmetrical pattern. . . . Leaves slapped softly against her cheeks, and through the hide-and-seek flickers of light and dark, she had only a fleeting impression of the imposing town house just beyond the privet hedge. A tiered terrace . . . classical colonnading . . . tall Palladian windows framed in pale Portland stone . . .
    She stumbled, suddenly feeling disoriented. The place exuded an aura of power and privilege. Which made absolutely no sense . . . unless he was playing some devious mental game to break down her defenses.
    “In here.”
    Stiffening her resolve, Arianna steadied her step.
    They passed through a stone-floored scullery and down a long corridor. Saybrook paused to light a branch of candles, the flare of flames illuminating a stretch of burnished mahogany wainscoting and gilt-framed paintings.
    Reflected in the glint of his amber gaze, the browns and gold began to dance in a whirling dervish blur.
    Where the devil am I?
    He opened a paneled door set into the wall and stepped aside. “After you, Miss Smith. Have a care. The stairs are rather steep.”
    At the top landing, they exited into yet another corridor and passed through a set of carved double doors. “In here, if you please.” Saybrook indicated the second door on the right.
    Arianna stepped into a large bedchamber tastefully furnished in shades of taupe and cream.
    “I imagine you’re hungry. I’ve ordered up a hot supper.”
    She unwound her shawl and draped it over the dressing table chair. The rich brocade and burled walnut wood had an understated elegance that bespoke money. Heaps of money.
    “I’m not being put on bread and water until I confess?”
    “I think you will find Bianca’s cooking palatable,” he replied. “Please make yourself comfortable. If you would like, I’ll have a bath sent up after your meal.”
    Her skin began to itch at the prospect of scrubbing away the filth of the day. “Thank you.” Arianna was grateful, but it nettled her