The powdery snow stirred softly beneath their boots, the fluttery sound quickly lost in the slumbering quietude of the night. Save for the rhythmic ebb and flow of the sea against the nearby shore, all was still—
Saybrook suddenly came to a halt just before turning the corner of the building facing the water and held up a hand in warning.
Arianna saw it, too—a telltale glimmer of light from one of the windows falling across the snow.
Crouching low, he crept closer, using the ornamental bushes as cover. She followed, as did Sophia.
The velvet draperies were open, showing a glass-globed lamp set atop a gilt side table, its flame undulating in a slow, sinuous dance. It was the scene behind it that made Arianna’s breath catch in her throat.
Sophia exhaled sharply, as if she had been punched in the gut. A harried sidelong glance showed that despite the yawing shadows, her friend looked pale as death.
Before Arianna could react, Saybrook waved for them to retreat. They quickly retraced their steps, moving halfway down the darkened side wall before the earl allowed them to stop.
“Y-You must believe me—I said nothing to give away our plans,” whispered Sophia before the earl could speak.
“Of course we believe you,” said Arianna without hesitation. Not for an instant did she think that her friend would knowingly betray them. But as to an inadvertent slip . . .
She didn’t doubt that the major was an expert at extracting information from women—and had a finely honed sixth sense for discerning those who were emotionally vulnerable.
“As I’ve suspected, Prescott has been playing his evil games with us since the moment we met. But this time, the predator has misjudged his prey.” Arianna slipped off her sheepskin mitten and drew her pistol from her coat pocket. “His hubris is about to come back and bite him.”
“There’s no sign of any henchmen,” said Saybrook, “but let us circle back and warn José and Tomás of the situation. Then we’ll slip in through the main entrance and take them by surprise.”
He wasted no time in waiting for a reply. Sophia was quick to follow, leaving Arianna to bring up the rear. She kept an eye on the flitting shadows, alert for trouble. Something felt wrong. She just couldn’t put a finger on what it was.
The earl paused for a moment to confer with the footmen, then headed for the front entrance. It was locked, but he made quick work of releasing the mechanism and eased the door open without making a sound.
Tightening her grip on her weapon, Arianna stepped inside.
The voices echoing in the drawing room grew louder as the three of them moved stealthily from the entrance foyer to the adjoining corridor. An argument by the sound of it—Mrs. Schuyler’s tone was turning increasingly shrill as it escalated.
“I’m willing to help you, Katya . . .”
It was Prescott.
“But in return, you’ll have to help me.”
“Ye gods, Andrei—what you ask is impossible!” protested Mrs. Schuyler. “How in the name of Lucifer do you expect me to accomplish such a thing?”
“You’re clever and resourceful,” responded the major. “Given the stakes, I’m sure you’ll think of a way.”
Saybrook had halted for a moment, but clearly he had heard enough. A pistol in each hand, he kicked open the drawing room door and took dead aim at the two conspirators.
“Actually there’s no need for further thought, Mrs. Schuyler.” The metallicclickof his weapons being cocked punctuated his words. “Whatever your dastardly plans, they are now at an end.”
Chapter17
“Bloody hell.”Prescott expelled a harried breath. “Point those damn things elsewhere, if you please. Joe Manton puts a hair trigger on his dueling pistols, and I don’t like the look on your face.”
“The look on my face is the least of your worries,” snapped the earl. “Step apart from Mrs. Schuyler,” he ordered, “and both of you—put your hands on your head.”
A gesture signaled for Arianna to approach the prisoners. “Search them for weapons.”
Keeping her gaze lowered, she circled around them, and with practiced ease patted them down, quickly removing a dueling pistol from Prescott’s coat pocket and a smaller short-barreled weapon tucked in the waistband of his trousers.
The American proved to be unarmed.
“How did you know where I was . . .” began Mrs. Schuyler and then heaved a sigh. “The Tsar—of course. It seems that he can’t resist your wife’s charms.”
