A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (17 page)

“It’s all right, Robert. What has happened?” Henrietta’s voice trembled and her face had lost all color.

With the attention of two lords and the lady focused on him, the boy stammered and continued to stare at his feet. “Lord…Lord Harcourt was attacked by thieves in Kendal House. He got a good knock on the head. Mrs. B sent for the doctor and for me to get ya straight away.”

* * *

Henrietta couldn’t move air in or out of her lungs. “Uncle Charles was attacked?”

The candles in the hallway flickered in the periphery of her vision. She felt light-headed. Someone had hurt her sweet, gentle uncle.

Cord wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her upright. “I’ll take you home.”

Lucien stepped forward. “I’ll accompany Lady Henrietta.” He took her hand.

Lucien’s cold grasp shook her from the shock. She didn’t want a stranger to witness her uncle in a vulnerable state. She withdrew her hand from his tight grip. “I don’t need an escort and we’re wasting time. Robert, please get my wrap.”

“I’ll take Lady Henrietta home.” Cord pulled her closer to his body.

Lucien turned slowly to face Cord. “I’m the lady’s escort for the evening.” His French accent intensified with the strain.

She pulled away from both men and took her wrap from Robert’s arm. “I’m leaving.” She was outraged that these men continued to argue over who would accompany her while Uncle Charles was hurt and most likely confused.

Cord stepped in front of her to stop her progress toward the door. “Lady Henrietta, as a close acquaintance of your uncle and dear friend of Sir Ramston, I should be the one to accompany you and assess Charles’ injuries.”

The reminder of Uncle Charles’ injuries caused her knees to buckle. She willed herself to take small breaths and moved toward the door.

Cord took her arm and pulled her close to his body to steady her. “Let me help you.”

She spoke over her shoulder. “Lucien, would you notify Amelia of my hasty departure because of…” Her voice broke.

Cord placed her shawl around her shoulders. His warm hand on the small of her back guided her to the carriage.

She offered no conversation during the carriage ride. The thought that her uncle had been assaulted in his own home was too difficult to grasp, too difficult to believe. Why would anyone want to hurt a bumbling linguist? Unless of course, the French realized he was England’s code breaker, but England had been at peace with France since March.

She rummaged through her reticule for a handkerchief to dab her tears and touched the worn leather book. Michael was the only one who knew she had the French codebook. No one else could possibly know about the codebook, could they?

Chapter Eighteen

“
Petite garce
,” Lucien uttered the expletive under his breath and bowed to Lady Henrietta. No one dismissed Lucien De Valmont. She treated him as if he were a servant. He, the Comte de Valmont, had been pursuing the bitch for weeks and her response was to have him fetch and carry while she departed with Rathbourne.

He couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t succumbing to his Gallic charms. She was part French. It must be her emotionless English blood.

He scanned the ballroom, searching for her friend as he reached for the glass of champagne from the footman in blue velvet livery. He needed something stronger than champagne.

Later he’d have to clean up the mess his men had made at Kendal House. He wasn’t going to pay the agreed sum for a botched job. He shouldn’t have employed the dockside gang known more for brawn than finesse, but he didn’t want anyone French connected to the break-in.

“
Quel idiots
.” He should be cursing the day Fouché decided to seek revenge for his father’s errors. His father would disown him if he knew his son was forced to work for the peasant Fouché. Lucky for him, his father had lost his head and would never know what happened to his heir. He gulped the champagne and reached for another.

He walked outside, ignoring the beckoning looks from the ladies. He needed a break before having to work his charm on another frigid English woman. Couples mingled on the brick terrace in the warm night air. Descending the candlelit steps, he sauntered toward a darkened area of the manicured garden.

De Valmont sensed him before he heard the rustle of the bushes and then the barely audible heavy breathing. He was tired of the bastard acting as if he were in charge of their mission. His title was as high as the fucking English mongrel. It was bad enough that they worked together for Talleyrand, but now they both were caught in Fouché’s Machiavellian game of bringing Talleyrand down.

“I’m hoping that those weren’t your thugs who perpetrated this stupidity—assaulting a peer of the realm in his own home.” His words were spoken in a menacing taunt.

The sounds of the ballroom could be heard in the garden, giving the English lord’s voice an eerie, otherworldly quality. Laughter and the clinking of glasses made a strange backdrop.

“Your silence is answer enough. You and your incompetents have drawn attention to the Harcourts. This is most indiscriminate.”

De Valmont almost smiled at the typical English understatement. He might have been amused if he weren’t wary of the violent mood swings of his associate. He had wondered at first what Fouché held over the mighty English lord, more than his astronomical gambling debts. But it didn’t take long to recognize the English lord’s opium addiction.

“Worst of all, your assault on the old man has alerted Rathbourne. He was already sniffing around Lady Henrietta’s skirts. Now he’ll be at Kendal house searching.”

No one could say that Lucien De Valmont was a coward, not after he had survived the Reign of Terror. He turned to face his accuser. “I should kill you, right here.”

The light from the ballroom reflected on the opium addict’s oblivion. Lucien recognized the detachment of someone with nothing to lose. He had seen the same detachment in the French aristocrats who had lost their families to the guillotine. “And what do you think would happen to your sweet, virginal sister?” An unnerving chuckle echoed in the silence.

De Valmont could hardly contain his burning need to grab the bastard by the throat and squeeze hard, hard enough for the son of a bitch to turn purple, his eyes bulging. He would enjoy watching the haughty bastard gasp his last breath. He gripped his hands into fists. He had to know that his sister was safe and out of France before he avenged her and father’s honor.

“I’ll return and make it look like a break-in,” he said.

“No, don’t go near Kendal House. You won’t fool Rathbourne. You’ll do as I say this time. I need that book.”

De Valmont made no reply. His French ancestors would be proud of his dignified self-restraint.

In the shadows, the corpulent, over-indulged Englishman created a menacing aura. “I’m sure the idiot Kendal sent the book to his uncle or his sister.”

Having Talleyrand’s agents acquire the lost codebook was the type of sadistic twist that Fouché thrived upon. Fouché also took pleasure knowing what would happen to them once Talleyrand discovered that his agents had given the missing book to Fouché.

A woman’s laughter broke the silence between the men.

“Use your charms on Isabelle; get her to do your dirty work. Obviously your Gallic charms aren’t working on Lady Henrietta.” He commanded Lucien as if he were a French dog then walked back toward the ball. His voice grew quieter when he moved away. “I’m sure the luscious Isabelle can succeed where you fail. I’ve heard she is quite the resourceful woman.”

Lucien wished he had brought his pistol. He would finish it now. Fouché be damned, he would’ve killed the English bastard. No one spoke to Lucien De Valmont in a disrespectful manner and lived. He would make both the English bastard and Fouché pay. Fouché would regret taking his sister. Survival always came down to the superior bloodline.

Chapter Nineteen

Henrietta dashed from the carriage and bounded up the front stairs of Kendal house. Brompton stood ready at the door. “How is he?”

“The doctor is with him in the library. We were afraid to move him…” The unflappable Brompton cleared his throat to hide the break in his voice. “Until he could be examined.”

Her stomach pitched and rolled as if she would be sick. She ran to the library and burst in before the footman could open the door. Uncle Charles lay next to his desk on the floor. She dropped to her knees. “Uncle Charles.” She could barely get out the words.

His face was ashen, his breathing shallow, his hands ice cold. “Uncle Charles, it’s me, Henrietta. Oh, please wake up, Uncle Charles.”

He seemed to have shrunk in size, his face was colorless. An ache started in her chest. She pressed her hand against the pain, to stop her heart from shattering.

“Uncle Charles, please open your eyes. It’s Henrietta. Please Uncle Charles, wake up.” Her voice trembled with each plea.

“Henrietta?” Her uncle’s voice was so quiet she needed to bend close to his face. “Tired…” He didn’t open his eyes.

A throbbing started behind her eyes. She swallowed hard to hold back the tears. “Of course, you’re tired. You need to rest.”

A brisk, efficient voice interrupted her. “Lady Henrietta, your uncle needs to be moved to his bed chamber. He has a large gash on the back of his head that needs attending.”

Henrietta looked up from her kneeling position to see Doctor Hadley. She hadn’t noticed their family physician when she rushed to be next to her uncle. The white-haired doctor stood at the desk, gathering his instruments. Doctor Hadley was of the same age as her uncle and had been the Harcourt family’s physician for years.

“Is it safe to move him?” She placed her hand beside her uncle’s head and felt the moisture of his blood. She gasped. “He’s bleeding.”

Mrs. Brompton came to her side. “There, there…Uncle Charles is going to be fine. A knock to the head won’t stop him.”

Henrietta might have been comforted by Mrs. Brompton’s words if she didn’t hear the quiver in the steady woman’s voice.

Doctor Hadley’s tone was precise and professional. “Head wounds always bleed copiously. The bleeding has slowed down, but I need to attend to the wound.”

Henrietta struggled to keep her composure. She put her shaking hands over her mouth to stop the emotions from spilling out. Her dear uncle lay injured in the library where they had spent long hours together. She couldn’t stop the shaking which moved from her hands to her arms and legs.

“Charles will have a massive headache, but after a few days of rest he’ll be back to discussing hieroglyphics.” Doctor Hadley’s confidence and total understanding of her uncle lessened the alarm that engulfed her.

Mrs. Brompton leaned over and gently grasped her arm. “Let Brompton and Robert move Uncle Charles to his room. Polly will assist Dr. Hadley. You’ve had a shock and need to sit down.”

Brompton directed Robert and two of the footmen to carry Uncle Charles to his room. Henrietta wanted to hover, but Mrs. Brompton was adamant that she was to remain seated and warm herself. Once Doctor Hadley finished his treatment, she would go to her uncle.

Henrietta couldn’t stop the shaking, though she was seated close to the fire. Mrs. Brompton had cleaned Henrietta’s hand and given her a glass of brandy to sip.

She raised the glass. Her motions were deliberate and slowed as if someone else inhabited her body. She took a large gulp and choked on the strong spirits.

Gus, lying underneath a side table next to the settee, whined when Henrietta coughed on the brandy.

“Come, Gus,” she called to him, but he wouldn’t budge.

His mournful eyes stared at her from under the table.

Henrietta walked to the table and bent over to speak to the distressed animal. “It’s okay, Gus. Uncle Charles is going to be fine.”

The dog whined louder.

Gus’ painful cry raked along her jangled nerves, causing the shakes to start again. She knelt next to Gus. On the top of the dog’s head was a swollen lump. She crawled farther under the table to assess the soft mass. “They hit you too.”

His dark russet eyes were filled with sympathy when he licked her face.

A battered Gus trying to console her snapped her fragile control. It was too much finding her unconscious uncle and an injured Gus. The tears couldn’t be held back. “Who could be so evil?”

* * *

Once Cord had been reassured that Charles Harcourt wasn’t seriously injured, he interrogated the staff with little success. No one had seen or heard anything unusual. Charles Harcourt was alone, working in the library during the break-in. Cord had found two sets of footprints next to the library window.

With everyone attending to Harcourt, Cord went to the library to search for clues to the thieves’ purpose in breaking into Kendal house. Papers and books were scattered in disarray on two large oak tables that faced each other in the center of the room. The assailants had definitely been searching for something in Harcourt’s work.

Someone spoke in a low, crooning voice from behind the settee. Proceeding tentatively, Cord peered over the couch. Henrietta was sprawled underneath a side table with tears streaming down her cheeks, petting the family dog. She was unaware of his presence.