Free The Cocoa Conspiracy by Andrea Penrose Page B

you.” Making a face, he swallowed the brandy in one gulp.
    She made him lie down and arranged a blanket over his chest. Despite his protests, the earl quickly dozed off.
    “It looks like he lost of lot of blood.” Mellon looked down at the crimson-soaked remains of Saybrook’s shirt. “Is he in danger?”
    “I know, it looks gruesome,” replied Arianna. “But Sandro was right. It’s just a flesh wound, though the bullet cut a nasty gash.” She let out a pent-up sigh, thinking how close the bullet had come to splitting open his skull. “Thank God his soldier’s instinct for survival is still sharp.”
    Mellon returned to the sideboard and poured himself a drink. “Amen to that.” He held up the decanter. “May I offer you one as well?”
    Arianna shook her head. She needed to think clearly.
    He stared meditatively into the spirits before taking a sip.
    “Charles, I . . .”
    I wish that I could coax a spark of warmth in your eyes. You are so cordial. And so cold. Is there nothing I can do to win your trust?
    “I . . . am concerned,” she finished, deciding this was not the right time to broach their uneasy relationship.
    “As am I.” Mellon sucked in his cheeks. “Grentham is a dangerous enemy to have.”
    “I know that.” Arianna hesitated. “Just as I know that I am the cause for the friction between them. I am sorry—you have every right to be upset with the situation.” And with me.
    It was several long moments before Mellon replied. “Sandro is a complex man. Most people find him hard to understand. He is intensely introspective—perhaps too much so. And prone to fits of brooding.”
    Aren’t we all, she thought.
    “But you seem to be drawing him out of himself. He seems . . . happy.”
    “Thank you,” said Arianna softly. “I imagine that was not easy for you to say.”
    His mouth quirked. “A diplomat is trained to say the correct thing, regardless of his personal feelings.”
    An oblique statement if ever there was one . Especially considering the contents of the hidden letters. But negotiating any terms of a personal truce would have to wait for a less volatile time.
    “We will need every bit of eloquence we can muster to counter whatever maliciousness Grentham has in mind,” she said in reply.
    Mellon’s expression turned grim.
    “Might I leave you to sit with Sandro for a short while?” she went on. “I have a few things I wish to arrange while he is napping.”
     
    “You sent for Henning? Blast it all, there was no need for that.” Saybrook awoke from his nap in an irritable mood. “He’s got patients who have far more need of him than I do.”
    “His friend Desmond can take care of them in his absence,” answered Arianna. Their good friend Basil Henning was an irascible Scottish surgeon who held clinics for former soldiers too poor to pay for medical care. “There is no point in arguing. I have already sent a messenger, mounted on one of the marquess’s fastest stallions.”
    She offered Saybrook a plate of cold chicken and rolls, knowing he tended to be snappish when his stomach was empty. “I’ve also dispatched our coach to wait in Andover. In order to save time, I’ve asked Mr. Henning to hire a private conveyance in London and travel with all possible haste to meet it there.”
    “Baz doesn’t have much money,” grumbled Saybrook after taking a reluctant bite of food.
    “Along with the message about your injury, I included a note for him to give our housekeeper. Bianca will supply him with funds,” replied Arianna. “I expect that he will be here by morning.”
    The earl shifted against the pillows. “You’ve already patched up the scratch. And if there is any need for further care, we could have summoned a local physician.”
    She carefully smoothed a crease from the blanket. “I would rather not trust a stranger to mix any powders or potions for you.”
    Saybrook muttered an oath.
    “It’s not simply a question of your treatment,” Arianna