Free Sweet Revenge by Andrea Penrose Page B

pride to have to admit it. She glanced around, noting the locked window latches and heavy oak door, and couldn’t keep from adding, “However gilded, it appears that this is a cage. I take it that I am to be held as a prisoner here?”
    Saybrook raised a brow. “Would you rather be in Newgate? The cells there are damp, dirty, and infested with lice that would eat you alive.”
    “I suppose this is a preferable alternative.” She took a seat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, feeling even more out of place as her work-roughened knuckles brushed against the eiderdown coverlet. “Assuming I don’t expire from boredom.”
    “There is a library at the far end of the corridor. Feel free to choose a book to occupy your mind. But be advised that the main doorway will be locked, and the servants have strict orders that you are not allowed to leave.” Saybrook let the words linger as he carefully lit a branch of candles. “And in case you are wondering, they are quite loyal to the owner of this place, so don’t bother trying to bribe them.”
    Arianna gave a bitter laugh. “Unfortunately I have nothing to barter, save myself.”
    He turned away and gestured at the massive armoire. “Feel free to place your belongings in there. If you are in need of anything else, you may ring for a maid and she will attend to it.”
    The opulence was overwhelming. Everything about the house—the look, the feel, and even the smell—exuded refinement. Delicate colors, feathery silks, the sweetness of lavender. Arianna blinked back the sting of long-ago memories, refusing to be intimidated. Be damned if the Polite World considered her naught but a verminous insect. She would show them that an insect’s bite was cause for alarm.
    “Where am I?” she demanded.
    Saybrook didn’t answer.
    “Bloody hell, Mr. De Quincy, I think I’m entitled to some answers.”
    That drew a gruff laugh. “So do I, Miss Smith,” he replied as he drew the door shut. “So do I.”

7
    From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano
    Having discovered so many interesting facts in my missionary’s journal has led me to explore other Church records, and I have just learned some new information. In 1569, chocolate became widely popular in Catholic countries because Pope Pius V ruled that drinking the beverage did not break the fast, and so it could be taken as nourishment on Holy Days. However, I doubt such news will be of any interest to Sandro. He shows little reverence for organized religion. . . .
    Spanish Hot Chocolate
    2 cups milk
2 ounces sweet chocolate
½ teaspoon cinnamon
2 beaten egg yolks
    1. Stir the milk with the chocolate and the cinnamon over low heat until the chocolate dissolves.
    2. Add the egg yolks and beat the mixture until it becomes thick, taking care not to boil.
    3. Serve in coffee mug.

    “S o that, in a nutshell, is what happened, Uncle.” Saybrook paused just long enough to chuff a mirthless laugh. “Thank you for drawing me back into the King’s service.” Raising his glass, he cocked a salute. “For God and country. Huzzah.”
    Stealing closer to the library door, Arianna crouched down and eased it open a touch wider. Minutes earlier, the sound of footsteps and the low murmur of masculine voices in the corridor had drawn her attention from the book she had borrowed. Her curiosity piqued, she had given them time to settle in before following along.
    The room was unlit, save a single argent lamp set on the sideboard next to a tray of crystal decanters. Appearing as stark silhouettes against the pale marble of the hearth, the two men were seated facing each other, their dark leather armchairs drawn close to the banked fire.
    “I considered it my duty to pass on Grentham’s request,” said the earl’s companion.
    De Quincy’s uncle? Arianna craned her neck for a better look. In contrast to her captor’s angular features and coal-black hair, the other man had a smooth patrician profile and silvery curls