Recipe for Treason: A Lady Arianna Regency Mystery (Lady Arianna Hadley Mystery) by Andrea Penrose Page B
Authors: Andrea Penrose
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better.”
* * *
“I am not sure your new lady friends in the market would approve.” Saybrook arched a brow as he eyed her snug-fitting black breeches and coat. “Scots are rather rigid in their notions of traditional propriety.”
“I’m sure that according to their rules, I’m guilty of a multitude of sins.” She checked the sharpness of her blade before sliding it into her boot. “One more won’t matter.”
The earl opened a small traveling case, revealing several more small pocket pistols. He chose a pretty pearl-handed model and after checking the action of the hammer held it out on his palm. “Manton had this in his shop. It was made by a craftsman in Italy who specializes in discreet weapons for ladies and should fit perfectly in the hidden breast pocket of your coat.”
“I prefer the Tsar’s dueling pistols,” replied Arianna. “As you pointed out, these tiny toys are only effective at very close range.”
“Take it,” he said softly. “You’ll have the other weapons as well, but I prefer that you carry a spare. One can’t be too careful, my dear.”
“You are growing cautious in your old age,” she replied, smiling slightly.
“Call it wiser.” Click, click. The well-oiled steel moved with perfect precision as he examined the priming of his own pair of firearms. “Though many people would question my sanity for allowing my wife to be part of these little adventures.”
“On the contrary. You are smart enough to know the futility of forbidding me to be involved in the action. I don’t take orders well.”
Click, click. “And yet the traditional vows of marriage include a promise to honor and obey.”
“I lied,” said Arianna without a hint of hesitation. “Which should come as no surprise to you, given my background.” Click, click. She made her own quick examination of the tiny pocket pistol and tucked it away. “If you wanted a traditional wife, alas, you made the wrong choice.”
Candlelight glinted off the polished metal, catching the spark of amusement that lit in his eyes. “Ah, well, there are benefits to being leg shackled to a lady who refuses to conform to convention. Life is rarely dull.”
She put on her hat and tugged the wide brim down low. “It’s time to go. Henning and his friend will be waiting.”
The surgeon had suggested that he ask his friend Connery to accompany them to Girton’s residence, explaining that the chemistry professor might be more forthcoming if a colleague were there to urge cooperation. Both she and the earl had agreed that it could do no harm, for Henning had sworn that his friend could be trusted to keep their secrets.
Easing the bedchamber window open, Saybrook angled a look up and down the alleyway. Signaling for her to follow, he slipped out to the ledge and slid along to the corner of the inn, where the corniced stone allowed enough of a foothold to climb up to the slated rooftop. Crouching low, he moved stealthily to the adjoining building, using the chimney shadows for cover.
The moon was naught but a thin crescent, noted Arianna as she slid her gloved hands over the rough tiles. Even if Grentham’s lackeys were spying on them, they should have no trouble evading pursuit.
At the end of the block, the earl dropped down to a deserted storage pen, and from there they emerged onto a quiet side street.
“This way,” he whispered, drawing her toward the harbor.
Henning and Connery were waiting in the lee of the cathedral’s east wall. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit,” grumbled the surgeon.
“Auch, London living has made ye soft, Baz,” whispered his friend. “It’s balmy fer this time of year.”
“Let’s hurry,” advised the earl. He did not introduce Arianna to the professor.
Yes, some things were best left unsaid, she thought, falling in step behind her husband.
Connery led the way, threading a path through a series of narrow, twisting alleyways before pausing in front of the ivy-covered back gate
* * *
“I am not sure your new lady friends in the market would approve.” Saybrook arched a brow as he eyed her snug-fitting black breeches and coat. “Scots are rather rigid in their notions of traditional propriety.”
“I’m sure that according to their rules, I’m guilty of a multitude of sins.” She checked the sharpness of her blade before sliding it into her boot. “One more won’t matter.”
The earl opened a small traveling case, revealing several more small pocket pistols. He chose a pretty pearl-handed model and after checking the action of the hammer held it out on his palm. “Manton had this in his shop. It was made by a craftsman in Italy who specializes in discreet weapons for ladies and should fit perfectly in the hidden breast pocket of your coat.”
“I prefer the Tsar’s dueling pistols,” replied Arianna. “As you pointed out, these tiny toys are only effective at very close range.”
“Take it,” he said softly. “You’ll have the other weapons as well, but I prefer that you carry a spare. One can’t be too careful, my dear.”
“You are growing cautious in your old age,” she replied, smiling slightly.
“Call it wiser.” Click, click. The well-oiled steel moved with perfect precision as he examined the priming of his own pair of firearms. “Though many people would question my sanity for allowing my wife to be part of these little adventures.”
“On the contrary. You are smart enough to know the futility of forbidding me to be involved in the action. I don’t take orders well.”
Click, click. “And yet the traditional vows of marriage include a promise to honor and obey.”
“I lied,” said Arianna without a hint of hesitation. “Which should come as no surprise to you, given my background.” Click, click. She made her own quick examination of the tiny pocket pistol and tucked it away. “If you wanted a traditional wife, alas, you made the wrong choice.”
Candlelight glinted off the polished metal, catching the spark of amusement that lit in his eyes. “Ah, well, there are benefits to being leg shackled to a lady who refuses to conform to convention. Life is rarely dull.”
She put on her hat and tugged the wide brim down low. “It’s time to go. Henning and his friend will be waiting.”
The surgeon had suggested that he ask his friend Connery to accompany them to Girton’s residence, explaining that the chemistry professor might be more forthcoming if a colleague were there to urge cooperation. Both she and the earl had agreed that it could do no harm, for Henning had sworn that his friend could be trusted to keep their secrets.
Easing the bedchamber window open, Saybrook angled a look up and down the alleyway. Signaling for her to follow, he slipped out to the ledge and slid along to the corner of the inn, where the corniced stone allowed enough of a foothold to climb up to the slated rooftop. Crouching low, he moved stealthily to the adjoining building, using the chimney shadows for cover.
The moon was naught but a thin crescent, noted Arianna as she slid her gloved hands over the rough tiles. Even if Grentham’s lackeys were spying on them, they should have no trouble evading pursuit.
At the end of the block, the earl dropped down to a deserted storage pen, and from there they emerged onto a quiet side street.
“This way,” he whispered, drawing her toward the harbor.
Henning and Connery were waiting in the lee of the cathedral’s east wall. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit,” grumbled the surgeon.
“Auch, London living has made ye soft, Baz,” whispered his friend. “It’s balmy fer this time of year.”
“Let’s hurry,” advised the earl. He did not introduce Arianna to the professor.
Yes, some things were best left unsaid, she thought, falling in step behind her husband.
Connery led the way, threading a path through a series of narrow, twisting alleyways before pausing in front of the ivy-covered back gate
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