Sweet Revenge Read Free Page B

feather padding. With the right touch, a skillful hand could alter one’s appearance beyond recognition. It helped that most people were easy to fool. They saw only what they expected to see and rarely noticed what lay beneath the surface.
    “Mr. Alphonse!” The shout cut through the quiet of the kitchen. “Captain Mercer will see you. Now!”
    “Oui, oui, I am coming,” she called. Thank god her voice was naturally husky—a slight roughening of the edges was all it required to mimic a masculine growl.
    Making no effort to hurry, Arianna paused to make one last check of her reflection in one of the hanging pots. She would have preferred to be interrogated here in the kitchen, where she was master of her own little Underworld. The light was kept deliberately murky, while the crowded racks of cookware and herbs created added distraction. However, if there was one thing she had learned over the years of fending for herself, it was how to improvise.
    “Step lively,” snapped the guard, punctuating the command with a rap of his pistol against the door. Though dressed as a footman, there was no mistaking his military bearing. “The likes o’ you ought not keep your betters waiting.”
    She took her time mounting the stairs.
    “Bloody frog,” he muttered, shoving the gun barrel between her shoulder blades to hurry her up the last few treads.
    The guard escorted her into the breakfast room, where a big, beefy army officer sat perfectly centered on the far side of the dark mahogany table. All the other seating had been cleared away, save for a single straight-back chair set directly opposite him. It looked rather forlorn in the wide stretch of empty space.
    “Sit down,” he barked.
    For an instant, Arianna debated whether to remain on her feet. Goading him to anger might distract him from his intended line of questioning. But she quickly decided against the strategy. However cleverly padded, her body was best not put on prominent display.
    “Merci,” she mumbled, slouching down in her seat. It was only then that she noticed a second figure standing by the bank of mullioned windows. He, too, was dressed in scarlet regimentals, but the color blended neatly into thick damask draperies of the same hue. The slanted shadows and angled sunlight made his features hard to discern. It was his carefully groomed side whiskers that caught her attention. Sparks seemed to dance through the ginger hair as if it were on fire.
    “Well, what have you to say to defend yourself, Mr. Alphonse?” went on the officer seated at the table.
    Shifting her gaze to the papers piled in front of the pompous prig, Arianna replied with exaggerated surprise, “Am I being accused of something, mon General ?”
    “Oh, so you think yourself a clever little bastard, eh, to make light of an assassination attempt on the Prince Regent of England?” The captain, whose rank was clearly denoted by the stripes on his sleeve, thinned his lips. “I promise that you will soon comprehend it is no laughing matter.”
    “ Non , iz not amusing. Not in ze least,” she agreed, deliberately drawing out her French accent. “Iz grave , very grave .”
    The captain glared, uncertain as to whether he was being played for a fool. Snapping open a leather-bound ledger, he scanned over several pages of notes before speaking again. “I have sworn statements that you were the only one working in the kitchen the night the Prince was poisoned. Is that true?”
    “Ça dépend —that depends,” answered Arianna calmly. “The servants who carried the dishes up to the dining room were in and out all evening.” She paused. “I’m sure you have been told that the supper was a lengthy affair, with numerous courses.”
    “Did you see anyone tampering with the food?” he asked quickly.
    “Non.”
    “Nor anyone lingering below stairs?” It was the officer by the window who asked the question.
    “Non,” replied Arianna, not looking his way. While her first response had