A Christmas Code (The Code Breakers Series Book 2) (5 page)

“I knew you cared, but you’ve never said.” Her voice came out winded, breathless. “Why haven’t you? I’ve been waiting.”

“I wanted to finish this damn business before I declared myself. I didn’t want the danger close to you, but now that’s impossible.”

“Not impossible.” She stepped closer, her dress covering his pant legs. She wanted to crush herself against him and never let him go. “As long as I know you’re mine. I can wait until this mission is over.”

“I’m yours, Gwyneth.” He wrapped her in his arms and brought her against his hot, hard body. His kiss wasn’t demanding like their first. He gently pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. He kissed her, light and easy, using his tongue, his teeth until they were both panting. “I need you, Gwyneth Beaumont, now and forever.”

They lingered against each other in the hallway. She didn’t want his kisses to stop.

“You need to go to the drawing room. And act as if nothing has occurred. Can you do that?”

She touched her shaking fingertips to her lips, her wide-eyed gaze locked on his. “I’m not sure I can hide my delight at finally sharing kisses with you, not after waiting for ten years.”

Ash took her fingers and kissed each one. “Darling, I don’t mean our kisses. I meant the conservatory.”

“The conservatory?” She straightened the braid at her temple that had become loose when Ash had held the back of her head. She giggled. “I’m teasing. Of course I can focus on our job.”

“Can you just be a guest? Not call attention to yourself by asking indiscreet questions.”

“You know I can. I’m very observant and I’ll inform you immediately of anything I notice that is suspicious. I won’t put myself in any danger.”

“Gwyneth, I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you.”

“I feel the same about you.”

She kissed him. It was the first time she had ever initiated a kiss. She imitated the way Ash had traced his tongue on her lips and then thrust his tongue into her mouth.

“Desist. Don’t torture me.” Ash sounded like a winded racehorse. “We’ve got to get to work.”

“I know, but I want you to remember that kiss while you’re pursuing the tempting Lady Charolois. Remember, you belong to me.”

“She isn’t a temptation to me. No other woman can be. Only you.”

* * *

Ismay waited in the shadow of the kitchen garden, twisting her hands into a tight knot. She heard her husband’s heavy footsteps before she saw him in the dim light.

“Where are the flowers?” Her French accent was stronger whenever she got stressed, but she needed the Trumpet flowers to make the deadly potion. It was time.

“Lady Gwyneth Beaumont was in the conservatory. She almost caught me picking the flowers.”

“Mon Dieu.” Her hands went to her chest. “Did she see you, Francois?”

“No, I shoved her and ran out the garden door. I didn’t see who she was meeting.”

Her mind whirled with the possible difficulties in executing their plan. “Why would the lady be in the conservatory? Tryst? Or do you think she’s the British agent we were warned about?”

Francois nervously ran his hands through his remaining hair. “I’m not sure, but remember her older brother is an agent. He has spent the last years in France.”

“It was fortunate that we were privy to Fouche’s private communications. How else would we’ve learned of the British infamy?”

“I don’t believe this woman is an agent.” He flicked his hand in the Gallic fashion and shook his head. “She’s squeamish like all the British women.”

Her husband shared her disgust of the British.

She stepped closer and whispered, “I can get the flowers later tonight when the house is asleep.”

Francois loomed over her, his tone firm. “No. With suspicions aroused, I think we should wait. You need ten Trumpet flowers to prepare the poison and someone might notice if that many flowers are missing.”

Cautious, Francois never acted on impulse. She tried to control the impatience in her voice. “But we’ve been planning this for a year. No one will suspect poison when the Prince becomes ill. They will think he is having the same symptoms as his father, crazy as his father is.”

He took her into his arms. Her husband wasn’t fooled by her attempts to appear calm. “Our son will be revenged on Christmas, as you wish. You will be able to rest easy after the deed is done.”

“I will never rest, but I’ll have fulfilled my mother’s duty to Andre.”

He held her tightly against his chest. “We’ll stay away from the conservatory for the next days. The Prince doesn’t arrive until the end of the week.”

She pushed out of his arms. Tired of waiting, she needed to finish—for Andre. “Did Lady Gwyneth report what happened in the conservatory to Lord Edworth?”

“No. She came to the drawing room and acted as if nothing untoward had happened.” He studied her as he spoke. Francois was always watching and gauging her emotional state.

“Suspicious, don’t you think? A proper lady would’ve fainted and had the entire house searching.” She could barely contain her fervor as the day drew nearer, but she had to remain cautious and careful. “What about the other guests? Are there any who’ve spent a great deal of time in France?”

“Yes, Lord Ashworth. He also visited Lord Edworth last week,” he said.

“Have Thomas watch him carefully. But we mustn’t cause him to become guarded. If he becomes a problem, we’ll deal with him. Holly berries are quite toxic and the same color as the Port that the gentlemen love to imbibe. Wouldn’t that be a touching Christmas gift for our British spy?”

“Ismay, if the agent dies, the Prince of Wales will never come.”

“You’re right, as always.” She smiled at him, trying hard to keep the eagerness out of her voice. Francois worried if she got too excited. “I’ll concoct the dose to make him sick enough to take him out of the spy game, but not enough to kill him.”

Chapter Six

Ash, with Lady Charolois on his arm, walked with the other houseguests down the winding path toward the woods. Today the house party would gather the greenery to decorate the manor in preparation for Christmas. The rain had finally stopped after two days, and everyone was relieved to be outside.

Dressed in a bright blue pelisse that matched her blue eyes, the lady leaned on him. Lady Charolois was quite a fetching little thing. She definitely didn’t look the part of an assassination mastermind. His skills in threat assessment, honed by his years abroad, registered mixed messages about the lady’s involvement.

Meanwhile, another lady caused his whole being to tighten into dangerous readiness, not due to clandestine plots, but due to male need and possession. Gwyneth, on Henley’s arm, walked blithely along, smiling and chatting. Clearly, she was everyone’s favorite. She played her part superbly, never showing any clue of her feelings for him or her role as an observer.

The crisp fresh air had added an attractive pink to her soft, smooth cheeks. Her pleasure in the event shone brightly on her animated face. Her dark eyes glowed with enthusiasm as her hearty laughter danced on the wind. His need and admiration for her had grown to ridiculous proportions. He wanted to meet her in a dark hallway, not to exchange information, but to fulfill his driving need to claim her as his own.

He suppressed his frustration and lust. This mission was simply torture, the worst he had ever encountered in his three years abroad. The love of his life acted available to every randy man in her vicinity, and didn’t every man know it. Her joy, her light, seemed to shine on all of them. He wanted to claim her exuberance for himself.

And to make matters worse, he was no further in solving the mystery of what possible threat awaited Prinny. He had no news from Cord on Aunt Euphemia’s possible lead. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred since Gwyneth had been knocked down. He had his footmen in the house watching Gwyneth, but with no clue to the threat, he didn’t know how to intervene.

He would be relieved when Aunt Euphemia arrived. He definitely wanted the old girl on site when the prince arrived. With her years in France during the Reign of Terror, Aunt Euphemia could protect Gwyneth. He had to remain focused on His Majesty’s safety, and he couldn’t be totally focused if he were worried about a threat against Gwyneth.

“She’s quite a beautiful woman,” Lady Charolois said.

He hadn’t realized that he had allowed the conversation to dwindle.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Oh, come now, Lord Ashworth. The woman you and every gentleman can’t stop staring at.”

He had to pay closer attention to his job and stop acting like the ridiculous Henley, who hung on Gwyneth’s every word.

“Lady Gwyneth? I’ve known her since she was a little girl. It’s hard to imagine her as a grown woman.”

What a bouncer. He wasn’t having any difficulty with his “imagination.” Every night he visualized exactly how and where Gwyneth had grown into luscious womanhood.

Lady Charolois’ lips pursed in amusement. “I think Lord Henley is quite besotted.”

Ash stiffened when he saw Henley put his arms around Gwyneth’s waist and lift her over a fallen log. Her sunny laughter sprinkled the air.

He didn’t want to discuss Gwyneth and Lord Henley. He was walking with the lady in hopes of detecting any clues that she might be connected to the plot against the prince, if there even was a plot. “Are you acquainted with Lord Henley?”

“I’ve met the gentleman on occasion. The usual social rounds of the ton.”

Ash’s senses heightened as Lady Charolois’ French inflection grew heavier and her hand tightened on his arm.

Ash didn’t know what to think. If he weren’t suspicious of her French connections, he’d have assumed that she was a woman scorned. “I’ve heard he’s very close to making Lady Gwyneth an offer of marriage.” God, he hated the spy game at this moment.

“I’ve heard the same thing,” she said in a quiet voice.

Her eyes appeared to have tears, but he couldn’t be sure if this was in response to the cold wind or genuine emotion. His years as a spy had taught him how calculating women could use their supposed frailty to their advantage.

He pretended not to notice Lady Charolois’ distress. “Oh, look, they’ve found the holly. Shall we join them?”

Ash escorted the lady to the group standing in front of a giant holly tree.

Gwyneth’s eyes were rounded in wonder, as if she had never seen such a spectacle. She gushed with emotion. “Now, it feels like Christmas.”

He found himself, like everyone, drawn into Gwyneth’s pure exuberance. Her eyes were untouched by the seediness of the world, and he wanted to keep her goodness protected.

He must have betrayed his feelings toward Gwyneth since Henley gave him a look that no male could misconstrue. With his body leaning toward Ash and his jaw jutted forward, Henley telegraphed his territorial rights over Gwyneth.

Every muscle in Ash’s body tensed in response. He had never backed down from a fight and he would greatly enjoy planting a facer on Henley’s glass jaw.

Gwyneth turned toward him. “Lord Ashworth, can you help gather the pine cones? The pine trees are ahead. The scent of pine is essential to a Christmas celebration, don’t you agree, Lord Henley?” She released Henley’s arm and walked toward Lady Charolois. “Would you like to join us, Lady Charolois?”

Gwyneth, the imp, had ruined the fight. She hadn’t missed the male posturing. A hoyden herself, and growing up with two brothers, she recognized a brawl about to happen.

Gwyneth linked arms with Lady Charolois. “You must tell me more about your Christmas traditions in France. Do you have Christmas pudding?”

Henley eyed Ash warily.

“Shall we join the ladies?” Ash realized he had acted like an ass, allowing his feelings for Gwyneth to interfere with the mission. “I’ve always loved traipsing through the woods gathering pine cones.” Ash added with sarcasm.

Henley laughed. “My sentiments exactly.”

Both ladies turned at the gentleman’s laughter. Gwyneth had the nerve to wink at him when Henley looked away.

Gwyneth circled the enormous pine tree, gathering pine cones in her skirt. Ash followed, leaving Henley to assist Lady Charolois. He took her bounty and made an enormous pile for the footmen to haul back to Edworth manor. The footmen would follow later with a wagon to collect the fruits of their labor, the piles of evergreens and holly.

Satisfied with her pile, Gwyneth glowed in satisfaction. “Shall we go deeper into the woods to look for the elusive mistletoe?” Ash liked the way her voice lilted with excitement. She was a wood fairy. She was Artemis, the Greek goddess of the wilderness.

She took Ash’s arm, forcing Henley to offer Lady Charolois his arm. “Did you know the mistletoe leaches nourishment by living on another tree? At our estate, mistletoe grows on a very old apple tree. I think we might have to walk quite a distance to find some. You gentleman will definitely need to do the climbing. As a girl, I always raced my older brothers, Gray and Cord, to claim the mistletoe. If I weren’t wearing these d…these clothes.”

Ash tried to suppress his chuckle at Gwyneth’s almost unladylike use of the word “damn.”

“Lady Charolois, is something wrong?” Gwyneth touched the woman’s arm. “You look distressed. I hope my chattering hasn’t upset you? This is my favorite time of year, and I do get carried away.”

“No, Lady Gwyneth, I’m enjoying your reminiscing. I’m afraid I’ve worn the wrong boots for such a long walk in the woods.” She lifted her dress to reveal a pair of denim half-boots.

“Oh, my. You’re right. Those boots will be destroyed in the mud. We’ll need to postpone our search for mistletoe to another day.” Ash heard the disappointment in Gwyneth’s voice.

“Oh, I would never make you alter your plans because of me. I’ll return to the group. You must go ahead without me.”

Henley, a true English gentleman, stepped to the lady and offered his arm. “I’ll escort you back to the group. We can help with the gathering of the greens.”

Lady Charolois looked stunned by Henley’s offer. Ash didn’t miss the shift in Henley’s shoulders to a protective stance and a look of concern. There was definitely something between those two, and Ash would bet his best curricle it had nothing to do with espionage.