Free The Cocoa Conspiracy by Andrea Penrose

You’re getting a little careless, Saybrook,” mocked the minister. “The last two times a man ended up dead from a knife wound, you made sure that no witnesses caught you at the scene red-handed.”
    The earl’s expression remained impassive.
    “If you recall, I did warn you to watch your step.” Grentham dropped his voice to a whisper as he brushed by. “But it seems you have slipped. And now you and your sharp-tongued wife have nothing to barter. You are on your own.”

6
    From Lady Arianna’s Chocolate Notebooks
    Chocolate Date Pudding Cake
    6 ounces pitted dates, about 2 cups
¾ cup water
1¼ cups sugar
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
6 large egg whites
½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
½ cup all-purpose flour
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting
    1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Spray a 1½ quart soufflé dish with nonstick spray.
    2. Put the dates and water in a pot over medium-low heat. Cook and stir for 10 minutes until the dates are very soft. Transfer the softened dates to a food processor and puree until smooth. Add the sugar and vanilla, puree again until well blended. Scoop out the puree into a mixing bowl. Sift together the cocoa powder and flour and add to the date mixture. Fold using a rubber spatula; combine gently until well mixed.
    3. In a mixing bowl, whip the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Fold the egg whites into the date mixture.
    4. Pour the batter into the coated soufflé dish, spreading it evenly with a spatula. Bake on the middle rack for 25 minutes until the outside is just set. Cool to room temperature. Shake some confectioners’ sugar on top and serve.

    T he flames licked up from the burning log, teasing, taunting little tongues of fire. Do it. Do it. The smoky crackle of the red-gold coals added their own siren song.
    Do it. Do it.
    Arianna stared into the hearth, mesmerized by the seductive light and heat. It would be oh, so easy . . .
    Whirling away from the burning logs, she rushed to the window, and pressed her palms to the glass panes, willing the chill to cool temptation.
    “No,” she whispered.
    But who would know? countered a devilish voice inside her head. She could consign the letters to the fire and nobody would know. Poof —the evidence would simply crumble to ashes.
    The danger would disappear in a pale plume of smoke.
    A papery sigh whispered as she unfolded the sheets yet again and read over the writing. Two of them contained naught but gibberish. It was the other one that raised a pebbling of gooseflesh up and down her arms.
    There was—there had to be—a plausible explanation. However, in the wrong hands, the document could do great damage.
    She drew in a measured breath, willing her heart to stop thudding against her ribs. In the past, the choice would have been a simple one for her. Concepts like right and wrong were mere abstractions when one was scrabbling hand over fist to survive. She would have done what was practical and pragmatic without a second thought.
    But Saybrook was a man of unyielding honor, of unbending principle, she thought with a harried sigh. And strangely enough, she had come to believe in such platitudes.
    Though how and why, I can’t explain—even to myself.
    The damnable documents posed more than a personal dilemma. Their existence indicated a far more insidious danger. Saybrook would say it was their moral duty to show the evidence to the proper authorities, no matter the consequences.
    Arianna bit her lip. She was very good at hand-to-hand combat—but she hated wrestling with her conscience.
    “I much preferred it when I didn’t have one,” she whispered wryly.
    The sudden clattering of a horse cart rolling into the courtyard interrupted any further philosophical musings.
    Her breath had fogged the windowpanes, so it took a moment to wipe away the vapor. Through the blurred glass she saw that a length of canvas was covering something in the back of the cart. Two ghillies jumped down from the backboard and the