Sweet Revenge by Andrea Penrose Page B

distance yourself,” pressed Mellon. “Turn the woman over to Grentham and be done with it.”
    Arianna shot an involuntary glance down the darkened corridor. How many guards did he have posted beyond the door? And were they armed? Her skill at picking locks was quite good, but dexterous hands—and quick feet—would be no match for loaded pistols.
    Looking back, she saw Saybrook press his fingertips to his temples and begin a slow massaging. “Good God, you can imagine what they’ll do to her, knowing she stabbed the Major.”
    Mellon stared into his brandy.
    “She did it to save my life. I can hardly in good conscience hand her over to suffer for my own ineptitude.”
    His uncle’s lips thinned. “What the devil is your alternative?”
    There was a long silence. “I haven’t decided,” he admitted. “I will think about it tonight. And in the morning, I will have another talk with Miss Smith. Perhaps she will be more forthcoming after sleeping on the fact that right now she’s the most hunted criminal in England.”
    “I wouldn’t count on it. From what you described, I’d say the woman has brass balls.”
    A chuckle rumbled in Saybrook’s throat. “Actually, brass is far too soft a metal. I would say that her cojones are made of Toledo steel.”
    “It’s nothing to laugh about.” Mellon rose. “Try to get some rest yourself, Sandro. You look like hell.”
    Lost in thought, Arianna was slow to react.
    “I’ll see myself out,” he added, seeing the earl awkwardly lever to his feet.
    “I’m not so crippled that I can’t walk you to the door, Uncle,” muttered Saybrook.
    Gathering her skirts, Arianna spun around and, after gauging the distance to her room, ran for the closest door.
    The closing thud of the oak doors was echoed by the sharp metallic snick of a key turning in the lock. Arianna held her breath, waiting for the sound of the earl’s shuffling steps to recede. Surely he would lose no time in returning to the library. She had seen the hungry look in his eye as he had glanced at the sideboard. Pain must be gnawing at his leg—
    He stopped, mere inches away from her hiding place, and in the stifling silence she could hear the soft whisper of wool as he shifted his stance.
    “You can come out now.”
    Arianna slipped out of the linen closet. “Whatever else is ailing you, it appears there is nothing wrong with your ears,” she muttered.
    “Nor with yours,” he replied. “I assume you heard everything.”
    She nodded.
    Saybrook closed his eyes for an instant as a spasm of pain pinched at his mouth. Arianna felt a clench of guilt—then quickly shook it off.
    Sympathy was a weakness she couldn’t afford.
    Averting her gaze, she reminded herself to remain detached. Don’t allow it to get personal . The earl was just another obstacle blocking her road to redemption.
    Or was it the path to perdition? She had been traveling for so long that perhaps she could no longer discern the difference.
    “Come along,” he finally said. “We may as well have a talk now.”
    “It can wait until morning, if you wish,” replied Arianna. “You look to be dead on your feet. And I daresay your uncle would have no qualms about handing me over to the government if you shuffle off this mortal coil.”
    “Are you intending to sleep?” he demanded.
    “No,” she admitted.
    “Nerves still on edge? It’s a common reaction after the heat of battle. A drink can help dull the memory.” He turned away. “I intend to have another glass of port before I retire. . . .”
    Liberally doused with opium, no doubt.
    “Whether you choose to join me is entirely up to you.”
    After a slight hesitation, she followed along. Why refuse when the drug might further weaken his defenses?
    “Sherry?” His voice was muffled by the clink of the crystal.
    “I would prefer brandy, assuming it’s a decent vintage.”
    “It is.” More sharp-edged sounds seemed to betray an unsteady hand. Yet somehow he managed to cross