A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (15 page)

“I understand that your uncle was unable to make the appointment. I’m sorry that I haven’t yet been able to meet him. His reputation as a brilliant linguist is well known in this office,” he said.

Why did he mention Uncle Charles at this point? Was he implying that he would reveal her role in assisting her uncle to Sir Ramston? He had lied to her when they were tangled in the mud. He had said he had an interest in hieroglyphics, but he knew Uncle Charles worked for the Abchurch offices, in fact, for him. He hadn’t said a word about his position when she had brought the message to his aunt. The arrogant man acted if he would be sending the message to someone, when in truth it was for himself.

Her spine stiffened. Betrayal and anger supplanted her distress. “Sir Ramston has been a trusted family friend for many years. I’m sure your qualifications are exceptional for this position, but you can understand my shock at your appointment.”

His aunt had warned her that he was a stickler for the rules. Lord Rathbourne wouldn’t be tolerant about the change in her uncle or the possibility that her brother had landed himself in misadventure. She hated to be deferential to the despot but Michael took priority. “We haven’t heard anything from my brother. We’re a close family and it is so unlike him not to correspond.”

Her voice began to quiver when she described their closeness as a family. She wouldn’t show how frightened she was and toll upon her for not to sharing her fears. She raised her eyes and looked directly at him, daring him to comment.

His eyes weren’t steely gray any longer but had returned to the warmth of a summer sky. “Let me reassure you. Your brother’s position as a linguist doesn’t carry a great risk to his safety.” His tone was authoritative but not in the least bit reassuring. Lord Rathbourne didn’t know Michael or his capability for escapades. “I’m surprised that your uncle, with all his years of service, has been influenced by your feminine imagination to actually be concerned. Please, my lady, do not be alarmed. I wouldn’t want you to be distracted from the season’s requirements.”

Angry rage burned through her body like a forest fire igniting. She wanted to wrestle the clod to the ground and pound him with her fists for his condescending reassurance.

“You believe that if my feminine brain is filled with shopping and attending balls, I’ll forget about my brother?”

He stepped toward her.

She was quicker and moved close enough for their toes to touch. She wasn’t afraid of the insensitive brute. “By your conduct in society, you must be harboring a great deal of family concerns?” She wished she were a gentleman and she could’ve accompanied her verbal attack with her fists.

His face colored. He took an audible breath, as if ready to refute her.

“Lady Henrietta, I’m sure Lord Rathbourne understands your concerns about Michael. Cord, you don’t want Lady Henrietta to worry about her brother. What have you heard recently from Kendal?” Sir Ramston asked.

Cord’s eyes never left her face. She was getting good at reading the change in his eye color that signaled his mood change. His eyes were glacial, like the frozen water of the Serpentine.

He held his jaw tight, the muscle in his right cheek twitched. “I’d never wish Lady Henrietta to worry. I can vouchsafe that nothing untoward has happened to her brother.”

He leaned closer. She backed up. He bent forward as if he might take her in his arms. “I hope this reassures you.”

No, that didn’t reassure her. She wasn’t going to allow him to pat her on the head and send her home. “Have you had any contact with my brother in the last month?”

“No, I haven’t, but he’s well protected in Paris.”

“I’m sure Lord Rathbourne would share more about your brother’s position if he were able. It sounds like Michael might have been too busy to write to his family.”

It was easier to rail against Lord Rathbourne than to delve into her reaction that Michael hadn’t been in communication with anyone and what it must mean. Fear blasted through her body. She felt shaky, as if she might swoon. She had never swooned. It was too much, too much filling her mind, too much filling her heart. She had to get out of the office.

“Thank you, Sir Ramston, Lord Rathbourne.” With a curt nod of her head, she escaped.

“Lady Henrietta, let me escort you out,” Lord Rathbourne said.

She didn’t care about proprieties. She shook her head without looking back or replying.

She descended the steps, thinking of all types of torture she would like to inflict on the mighty Lord Rathbourne, who wouldn’t trust her with the truth about her brother.

“Lady Henrietta, what a surprise to run into you.”

She squinted in the sunlight to see the striking comte’s smiling face. Her brain began to ache with the idea of having to deal with another overbearing gentleman.

Comte De Valmont moved with feline grace across the sidewalk to assist her with the last steps.

A burgeoning tension ran through her body when he pressed his lips to her fingertips. Although she was half French, she wasn’t comfortable with his overly affected manners.

“What brings you to these offices? You aren’t being harassed by the pompous English because of your French connections, are you?”

“I was returning a military history book for my uncle.” She was grateful for the excuse she had prepared in advance for such a chance meeting with an acquaintance. “As you know, my uncle is fascinated with war history and prolific in his reading.”

“May I escort you home? I’ve my curricle and the change in the mercurial spring weather is to be enjoyed.”

The sun was shining after a cloudy morning.
Darn!
In her rush to get out of the office, she’d left her umbrella in Sir Ramston’s office. Nothing would cause her to go back into those tyrannical offices.

“Lady Henrietta, are you all right?” His voice was filled with concern.

“I was remembering a trying task at home. A ride in your curricle is just what I need.”

* * *

Cord flew down the steps to give Henrietta her umbrella. It wasn’t the umbrella that caused him to dash out without a word to Sir Ramston. It was the pained look on Henrietta’s face when he had no word of her brother. But he couldn’t let her get involved. Too much was at stake, and this was too dangerous.

He came out of the building as De Valmont assisted Henrietta into his curricle. Henrietta smiled down at De Valmont when she took her seat. She was radiant in the sunshine with the silly feather flapping in the wind.

Why was that damn Frenchman always in the vicinity of Henrietta? Red-hot fury burned in his chest. He retreated up the steps. His pounding feet matched his rising anger. When he came around the corner to his office, Sir Ramston stood waiting outside the door.

“What is the situation with Kendal? I assumed you’ve had bad news that you weren’t willing to share with Lady Henrietta?”

He opened the door to allow Sir Ramston to enter the office ahead of him. “I don’t have any news, which makes it bad news.”

“No messages from either Brinsley or Kendal?”

“None.”

“Damn, I knew there was a risk sending Kendal into Le Chiffre’s den. But he was the best man for the job, a brilliant linguist with impeccable French connections.”

“You made the right decision. There are no easy choices during wartime,” Cord said.

“If anything happens to young Kendal, I won’t be able to forgive myself. I’ve known the boy since he was in leading strings.”

Cord felt the same way. If anything happened to Kendal on his watch, he would never be able to forgive himself and most likely Henrietta would feel the same way.

“And you’ve no word from Brinsley?”

Cord shook his head. Having Kendal guarded by an untried and inexperienced agent was a problem that kept him awake at night.

“Brinsley doesn’t have field experience but he has good instincts,” Sir Ramston said. “But to assure that young Kendal was protected, I placed Denby, an ex-military man, in Kendal’s household. Denby can handle himself and any threat. He’ll get Kendal out of France if it becomes necessary.”

“I didn’t see anything in Kendal’s file about Denby.”

“Denby’s acting as Kendal’s valet. Denby’s been in many tricky situations.”

With the knowledge that an experienced military man guarded Kendal, Cord was able to take his first deep breath since Henrietta had arrived in the office. When she voiced his exact worries about her brother, he couldn’t share any of his concerns or uncertainties. He didn’t want to fuel her anxieties. His only response was a primitive need to protect her.

“I suggest you pay a call on Lady Henrietta and Charles and smooth the stormy waters. I don’t think the lady was pleased with your response?” Sir Ramston made his comment a question and waited like a good, intelligent officer for Cord to reveal his relationship with Henrietta.

Cord had been trained by Sir Ramston and wasn’t fooled by his predecessor’s tactics. “I had nothing to share that would alleviate her concern.” He almost took her in his arms to comfort her and would’ve if Sir Ramston hadn’t been present. She looked fearful and lost.

“Your purpose in encouraging the lady to take in the season was a ploy?” Sir Ramston raised his eyebrows. “Lady Henrietta has never struck me as a woman who cares about the social goings on.”

Cord shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t know what to tell her.” His tactical skills got muddled, interacting with a woman like Henrietta—a woman who helped her uncle decipher codes, a woman who was now infuriated by his callous response. When she left looking so vulnerable, he felt like a cold bastard. And now De Valmont was offering her consolation.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to comfort Lady Henrietta.” Sir Ramston smiled and walked out of the office.

Chapter Sixteen

Henrietta threw her hairpins down on the vanity. “What male balderdash—that a lady must be protected from the truth.” With a neat flip of her ivory comb, she secured the wayward curl to her upswept hair. Why couldn’t her unruly hair behave tonight? Her hair, like her tongue, seemed to go its own way.

She had every right to challenge the mighty Lord Rathbourne yesterday. Typical of men of his station, he had treated her as a mindless woman who should be sheltered from real life. She was disappointed. She had begun to soften toward him when he had listened respectfully while she explained the threat against Wellington. He had asked her opinion on the workings of the cipher. In the Abchurch offices he was a different man—a controlling despot.

She took the codebook out of the drawer, where it had been hidden between scarves and shawls. She ran her fingers over the worn cover. It was her only connection with her brother. Touching the book didn’t bring any comfort, only a sense of impending doom.

In the midst of another sleepless night, she came to a solution of how she could provide the Abchurch offices with the codebook and avoid possible censure of Michael. She would give the book to Sir Ramston at this evening’s ball. Sir Ramston had been very kind yesterday, trying to convince Lord Rathbourne to share information about her brother. Sir Ramston, who had known Michael his whole life, would tell her what Lord Rathbourne had refused to confide. She hoped Lord Rathbourne was too busy working to attend tonight’s ball.

She tucked the book into her green silk reticule. The decision against giving Lord Rathbourne the book hadn’t been easy for her. She couldn’t allow her conflicting emotions about the enigmatic lord to influence her decision. She wouldn’t jeopardize Michael’s safety and his position with the intelligence office.

Since her last disastrous meeting in the Abchurch offices, Lord Rathbourne had called at Kendal House twice. Both times Brompton had deflected him, feigning her absence. She didn’t want either her brother or her uncle to be under Lord Rathbourne’s scrutiny.

Touching the golden locket around her neck deepened her sense of isolation. A month with no word from her errant brother left her exhausted, her emotions frayed.

Mrs. Brompton knocked on the door. “Henrietta, Miss Amelia and the comte have arrived.”

Henrietta draped a paisley shawl over her bared shoulders. The amber in the pattern of the shawl matched the same copper hues of her hair.

Henrietta stood slowly when Mrs. Brompton entered the bedroom, allowing the housekeeper a full view of the new gown. The ruche green silk crisscrossed over her breasts in a daring décolletage, then dropped into a flowing, full skirt.

“
Ooh la la
as the French say. You’ll put all those young misses to shame. I can’t wait to see the flowers the comte will send after tonight.”

Since the Chadwick soiree, the comte De Valmont had become quite attentive. Bouquets of fragrant flowers arrived every day.

“He shares my interest in the French émigré problems.”

Mrs. Brompton laughed out loud. “The comte and Lord Rathbourne definitely aren’t interested in the problems of the French émigrés.”

Henrietta refused to respond to Mrs. Brompton’s teasing. “I wish Michael were here to escort me.” Henrietta placed the reticule over her wrist as she and Mrs. Brompton moved into the hallway.

“You stop worrying ’bout Michael. He’s a grown man, and can get himself out of any scrape he has gotten himself into. He wouldn’t like you worrying about him. Go to the ball and have a good time.”