Read Online Sweet Revenge by Andrea Penrose - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrea Penrose
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dangerous.
Slanting a look through the grimy glass panes, Arianna reminded herself that she had survived for years by outwitting men who posed a far greater threat than her captor. It should be easy to escape his clutches—she would just have to pick the right moment. One twist, one lunge, and she could surely outrun him, leaving her free to pursue her own quarry.
Let De Quincy chase his own specters. All she cared about was the ghosts from her father’s past. Step by step, she was coming closer to the truth. So close she could almost taste it.
Sweet, sweet revenge.
“Turn here!” Rapping his knuckles on the trap, Saybrook called out a few more commands.
As Arianna watched the buildings roll by, she forced herself to quell the flutter of unease in her belly. Where was he taking her? At present, he seemed reluctant to turn her over to the authorities.
But that could change in the blink of an eye.
She had better seize her chance to run, and soon.
The wheels clattered to a halt on the cobblestones, and once again Arianna let herself be hustled down an alleyway and through a garden gate. The terraced grounds were far fancier than Lady Spencer’s haphazard layout. Formal hedges of trimmed yew flanked pristine paths of white gravel, their precise symmetry blurred by a profusion of colorful flowers.
“Where are we?” she asked abruptly.
Saybrook brushed by a trellis of climbing roses, stirring a sudden, overpowering sweetness in the air. For an instant, she was dizzy, disoriented. The lush floral fragrance seemed so insanely at odds with the metallic smell of death still lingering in her nostrils. Silk and steel. Seeing the swirl of soft pinks darken to deep red, she choked down a burble of hysterical laughter.
Don’t panic, she chided herself. Not when she could still salvage victory from the jaws of defeat.
Shaking off the strange light-headedness, Arianna tried to concentrate on memorizing the layout of the gardens. There was a second gate ahead, just past a small storage shed discreetly hidden from the main house by a screen of holly trees. The door was partly open, revealing sacks of manure and an assortment of terra-cotta pots—
Without warning, Saybrook whirled and shoved her inside.
“Sorry.” The click of the padlock punctuated the apology. “I need to arrange things inside the main house.”
“Bloody bastard,” she hissed, thumping her fists against the oak planks.
“I suggest you remain silent, Miss Smith. You’re a good deal more comfortable in there than in one of the Horse Guards interrogation chambers.”
His reply only fueled her frustration. Kicking at the clay shards underfoot, she muttered several words in Creole under her breath.
“Look, you ungrateful wench, I’ve put my neck on the chopping block for you,” he snapped. “The least you can do is refrain from insulting my manhood.”
Arianna clenched her teeth.
“And in case you are wondering, all the sharp implements are kept elsewhere. So resign yourself to spending the next little while inside. If you’ll notice, I tossed your valise inside with you, so you are not entirely stripped of creature comforts.”
“It’s dark in here,” she muttered, squinting at the thin slivers of light coming in through the cracks. “And it stinks of merde .”
“I seem to recall that you prefer the dark,” said Saybrook. “As for the odor, would you prefer the smell of death?”
“How long do you plan to keep me confined in this cesspool?”
“Hard to say,” he replied. “In the meantime, there’s a small potting bench built into the back wall. “I suggest that you sit quietly and contemplate the error of your ways.”
She ground out another oath.
“Rather than spend your time cursing me to the devil, you might want to think about this—it was you , not me , who Major Crandall was trying to kill. Would you really rather take your chances on the streets of London, with no idea of who else might be hunting for
Slanting a look through the grimy glass panes, Arianna reminded herself that she had survived for years by outwitting men who posed a far greater threat than her captor. It should be easy to escape his clutches—she would just have to pick the right moment. One twist, one lunge, and she could surely outrun him, leaving her free to pursue her own quarry.
Let De Quincy chase his own specters. All she cared about was the ghosts from her father’s past. Step by step, she was coming closer to the truth. So close she could almost taste it.
Sweet, sweet revenge.
“Turn here!” Rapping his knuckles on the trap, Saybrook called out a few more commands.
As Arianna watched the buildings roll by, she forced herself to quell the flutter of unease in her belly. Where was he taking her? At present, he seemed reluctant to turn her over to the authorities.
But that could change in the blink of an eye.
She had better seize her chance to run, and soon.
The wheels clattered to a halt on the cobblestones, and once again Arianna let herself be hustled down an alleyway and through a garden gate. The terraced grounds were far fancier than Lady Spencer’s haphazard layout. Formal hedges of trimmed yew flanked pristine paths of white gravel, their precise symmetry blurred by a profusion of colorful flowers.
“Where are we?” she asked abruptly.
Saybrook brushed by a trellis of climbing roses, stirring a sudden, overpowering sweetness in the air. For an instant, she was dizzy, disoriented. The lush floral fragrance seemed so insanely at odds with the metallic smell of death still lingering in her nostrils. Silk and steel. Seeing the swirl of soft pinks darken to deep red, she choked down a burble of hysterical laughter.
Don’t panic, she chided herself. Not when she could still salvage victory from the jaws of defeat.
Shaking off the strange light-headedness, Arianna tried to concentrate on memorizing the layout of the gardens. There was a second gate ahead, just past a small storage shed discreetly hidden from the main house by a screen of holly trees. The door was partly open, revealing sacks of manure and an assortment of terra-cotta pots—
Without warning, Saybrook whirled and shoved her inside.
“Sorry.” The click of the padlock punctuated the apology. “I need to arrange things inside the main house.”
“Bloody bastard,” she hissed, thumping her fists against the oak planks.
“I suggest you remain silent, Miss Smith. You’re a good deal more comfortable in there than in one of the Horse Guards interrogation chambers.”
His reply only fueled her frustration. Kicking at the clay shards underfoot, she muttered several words in Creole under her breath.
“Look, you ungrateful wench, I’ve put my neck on the chopping block for you,” he snapped. “The least you can do is refrain from insulting my manhood.”
Arianna clenched her teeth.
“And in case you are wondering, all the sharp implements are kept elsewhere. So resign yourself to spending the next little while inside. If you’ll notice, I tossed your valise inside with you, so you are not entirely stripped of creature comforts.”
“It’s dark in here,” she muttered, squinting at the thin slivers of light coming in through the cracks. “And it stinks of merde .”
“I seem to recall that you prefer the dark,” said Saybrook. “As for the odor, would you prefer the smell of death?”
“How long do you plan to keep me confined in this cesspool?”
“Hard to say,” he replied. “In the meantime, there’s a small potting bench built into the back wall. “I suggest that you sit quietly and contemplate the error of your ways.”
She ground out another oath.
“Rather than spend your time cursing me to the devil, you might want to think about this—it was you , not me , who Major Crandall was trying to kill. Would you really rather take your chances on the streets of London, with no idea of who else might be hunting for
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