The Cocoa Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

of matching your prodigious skills in the . . . kitchen.”
    He choked down a laugh. “Some men might be offended by that remark.”
    “But not you, for you know I adore your chocolate confections.” She placed a gloved hand on his sleeve. “Now come, we might as well go feed ourselves to the lions.”
    “You mean the carrion crows.” He looked at the flock of black-coated diplomats with distaste. “Who plan to peck away at a war-ravaged Europe, in order to feather their own nests.”
    “Try not to be so cynical, Sandro.”
    “That is rather like the pot calling the kettle black.”
    “True, but we promised your uncle to help create a mood of international camaraderie.” The reminder was as much for herself as for him. “So we must make the best of the situation while we are here.”
    “Yes, yes, you are right, of course.” And yet he looked a little unsettled. A little on edge.
    Why? Arianna considered herself very skilled at reading people, and now that she had settled into marriage, she felt that she was learning to interpret the nuances of his moods. But this one was puzzling her. She couldn’t quite put a finger on what was troubling him. A glance at his downturned face was no help. The light from the gilded sconces couldn’t penetrate the fringe of dark lashes shadowing his eyes.
    However, further reflection was interrupted by Saybrook’s uncle, who stepped out from one of the side salons.
    “Ah, there you are, Sandro.” Mellon acknowledged her presence with a small nod. “Milady.”
    She repressed an inward sigh. The fortnight was already promising to be a long and tedious affair.
    “I trust that you had a pleasant journey from London,” Mellon went on politely.
    “Quite,” she responded.
    “Excellent.” Mellon’s eyes had already shifted to Saybrook. “Might I steal your husband away for a moment? The Spanish diplomats have just arrived and I would like to make the introductions.”
    “Of course. You need not worry about me, sir. I can fend for myself.”
    Mellon’s mouth twitched slightly, but whether in annoyance or amusement, it was impossible to discern.
    Arianna guessed the former. The allusion to her less than ladylike past was not apt to elicit a chuckle.
    Saybrook shot her a look of silent apology and then gestured for his uncle to lead the way. “I shall do my best to appear simpatico .”
    As the two men moved off, Arianna turned toward one of the colonnaded alcoves and began perusing the collection of oil paintings hung on the oak-paneled walls.
    I would be happy to blend into the woodwork, she mused. The superficial pleasantries of Polite Society always seemed to stick in her throat . . .
    “Ah, the elusive Countess of Saybrook.”
    Arianna didn’t need to turn around to recognize who was speaking.
    “Why does it not surprise me to find you skulking in a dark corner?” Lord Percival Grentham asked, his voice deceptively soft as he glided a step closer to her.
    She turned slowly, refusing to flinch. The Minister of State Security, Grentham was feared by most people in London. And with good reason. He was said to be utterly ruthless and remorseless in pursuing those whom he considered a threat.
    A threat to what? King, Country, or his own overweening pride?
    He looked at her as if horse droppings had suddenly befouled his elegant evening shoes.
    She returned the stare with equal disdain. I don’t like you much either.
    A master of manipulation, Grentham liked being in control of people. To him they were pawns, insignificant pieces to be sacrificed without a second thought to serve his own purposes. And so he harbored a simmering enmity for her and Saybrook, despite their having saved him from considerable embarrassment by unmasking a dangerous conspiracy. Their refusal to play by his rules had resulted in a veiled warning that he was watching . . . and waiting to pounce if they made the slightest slip.
    As their gazes locked, a glint of malice lit in his eyes. “I trust