into pâté. However, having left a small chunk of myself on the battlefields of Spain, I would prefer to keep the rest of my body intact.”
“I—I was not really trying to hurt you,” she muttered. “I was simply—”
“Trying to escape,” he finished for her. “I don’t really blame you for trying. But I cannot permit that to happen.”
She looked away, expelling a sigh. “How did you know?”
“Like you, I try to be observant, and pay attention to the small details. You are good—very good—but there are certain subtle ways in which a woman is different from a man.”
Her mouth formed a mocking curl. “How very clever of you to have noticed, Mr. De Quincy.”
“Your hands, for one thing,” he went on pleasantly, ignoring her sarcasm. “By the by, how did you learn the art of disguise?”
“I had a friend in a theater troupe in Barbados. It seemed a useful skill to know.” She hugged her arms to her chest. “Though binding your breasts is cursedly uncomfortable. So is walking around with a wool stocking stuffed in your crotch.”
“I shall take your word for it,” replied Saybrook dryly.
She twitched a grudging smile. “You are a very odd man, Mr. De Quincy.”
“That is rather the pot calling the kettle black, Miss . . . or is it Missus?”
“Miss.” Her chin rose a fraction. “Smith.”
“Smith,” repeated Saybrook. “Ah, I should have guessed.”
She merely shrugged. “Speaking of taking my word, sir, I’ll have you know that I had nothing to do with poisoning the Prince Regent.”
“I hope, for your sake, that is true.” Reaching over with his knife, he speared a morsel of chocolate from the worktable and lifted the blade to his lips. “It would be a great pity if your sweet secrets went with you to the grave.”
“I know it looks rather suspicious, sir, but I can explain my masquerade,” said Arianna. “However, it has no relevance to your investigation. . . .” She paused.
“I’m afraid I must judge that for myself,” responded Saybrook.
“It’s a rather lengthy story.”
“Nonetheless, I must insist on hearing it,” he said.
“What if I were to tell you that I possess information that could help lead you to the real culprit?” she countered.
“Then I should suggest it would be greatly to your benefit to share it with me.”
Her jaw tightened. “Not without getting something in return from you.”
“You are hardly in a position to bargain,” pointed out Saybrook. Shifting his weight, he began to massage his thigh. “Might we sit down and negotiate over a plate of your special chocolate,” he suggested. “I am willing to listen—” His voice cut off abruptly.
Arianna followed his gaze and caught sight of a shape—more of a shadow—through the light-colored weave of the window draperies. It moved again, a blur of dark against the coarse linen.
“What—”
Reacting at the same split second, Saybrook grabbed her and flung her to the floor, just as one of the glass panes exploded and a bullet whizzed overhead.
5
From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano
Intrigued by the missionary’s journal, I have begun to search for other old papers documenting the first reactions to cacao here in Spain. So far, the earliest mention I have found occurs in 1544, when a delegation of Dominican friars returned from Guatemala and presented Prince Philip with a pot of hot, frothed chocolate. His reaction is not recorded, but I have learned that the Spanish found the Aztec preparation too bitter and spicy for their taste, and so began adding sugar from the cane plantations in the Caribbean islands, along with old-world spices like pepper instead of chiles. . . .
Cacao Shortbread
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
⅔ cup confectioner’s sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
½ teaspoon salt
1. Preheat oven to 350ºF.
2. Using an electric mixer, beat butter and
“I—I was not really trying to hurt you,” she muttered. “I was simply—”
“Trying to escape,” he finished for her. “I don’t really blame you for trying. But I cannot permit that to happen.”
She looked away, expelling a sigh. “How did you know?”
“Like you, I try to be observant, and pay attention to the small details. You are good—very good—but there are certain subtle ways in which a woman is different from a man.”
Her mouth formed a mocking curl. “How very clever of you to have noticed, Mr. De Quincy.”
“Your hands, for one thing,” he went on pleasantly, ignoring her sarcasm. “By the by, how did you learn the art of disguise?”
“I had a friend in a theater troupe in Barbados. It seemed a useful skill to know.” She hugged her arms to her chest. “Though binding your breasts is cursedly uncomfortable. So is walking around with a wool stocking stuffed in your crotch.”
“I shall take your word for it,” replied Saybrook dryly.
She twitched a grudging smile. “You are a very odd man, Mr. De Quincy.”
“That is rather the pot calling the kettle black, Miss . . . or is it Missus?”
“Miss.” Her chin rose a fraction. “Smith.”
“Smith,” repeated Saybrook. “Ah, I should have guessed.”
She merely shrugged. “Speaking of taking my word, sir, I’ll have you know that I had nothing to do with poisoning the Prince Regent.”
“I hope, for your sake, that is true.” Reaching over with his knife, he speared a morsel of chocolate from the worktable and lifted the blade to his lips. “It would be a great pity if your sweet secrets went with you to the grave.”
“I know it looks rather suspicious, sir, but I can explain my masquerade,” said Arianna. “However, it has no relevance to your investigation. . . .” She paused.
“I’m afraid I must judge that for myself,” responded Saybrook.
“It’s a rather lengthy story.”
“Nonetheless, I must insist on hearing it,” he said.
“What if I were to tell you that I possess information that could help lead you to the real culprit?” she countered.
“Then I should suggest it would be greatly to your benefit to share it with me.”
Her jaw tightened. “Not without getting something in return from you.”
“You are hardly in a position to bargain,” pointed out Saybrook. Shifting his weight, he began to massage his thigh. “Might we sit down and negotiate over a plate of your special chocolate,” he suggested. “I am willing to listen—” His voice cut off abruptly.
Arianna followed his gaze and caught sight of a shape—more of a shadow—through the light-colored weave of the window draperies. It moved again, a blur of dark against the coarse linen.
“What—”
Reacting at the same split second, Saybrook grabbed her and flung her to the floor, just as one of the glass panes exploded and a bullet whizzed overhead.
5
From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano
Intrigued by the missionary’s journal, I have begun to search for other old papers documenting the first reactions to cacao here in Spain. So far, the earliest mention I have found occurs in 1544, when a delegation of Dominican friars returned from Guatemala and presented Prince Philip with a pot of hot, frothed chocolate. His reaction is not recorded, but I have learned that the Spanish found the Aztec preparation too bitter and spicy for their taste, and so began adding sugar from the cane plantations in the Caribbean islands, along with old-world spices like pepper instead of chiles. . . .
Cacao Shortbread
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
⅔ cup confectioner’s sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
½ teaspoon salt
1. Preheat oven to 350ºF.
2. Using an electric mixer, beat butter and
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