A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (25 page)

“Then Henrietta has had the book for some time?” His aunt asked the question he had mulled over, chewed and re-chewed like a tough piece of mutton.

“We don’t know when or how Kendal sent the damn thing.”

Cord gulped the brandy.

“But why hasn’t Henrietta given it to you?”

His aunt expected him to answer from his role as head of intelligence, not as a man whose betrayed feelings were burning in his gut like the brandy he gulped.

“I’m convinced Henrietta is protecting her brother. Kendal is being held for ransom and Henrietta was contacted to bring the book to the Serpentine today. It explains why she has been so concerned for her brother and her unwillingness to tell anyone what’s going on. The assault on her uncle may have been a warning.”

He wanted to give Henrietta the best possible reason for not giving him the book, not trusting him. His aunt understood his position. His reasoning, although logical, was defensive.

“Why kidnap Kendal? He isn’t that important in the scheme of things.” Aunt Euphemia asked.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.” And if they hadn’t kidnapped Kendal, then there was no reason for Henrietta not to confide in him. He threw back the brandy.

If Kendal was kidnapped or in hiding, it still didn’t explain why there had been no communication from Brinsley.

“You haven’t been able to talk with Henrietta?”

“I’d planned to talk with her this morning but the doctor was adamantly against it.” He poured himself another brandy.

“Does Talley have any leads on the person Henrietta met today at the Serpentine?’

“There were very few people about at that early hour. But Talley found two men who remember most explicitly a lone woman dressed in black with a veil covering her face. They were pretty clear that she was a Cyprian.”

“Because she was alone in the park?”

“No, the lady’s revealing décolletage was quite impressive, according to the gentlemen’s description. Not the usual lady’s riding habit.”

“Isabelle Villier?” His aunt asked.

“Exactly. Talley couldn’t track her down today. Her maid said she was in the country, which I find suspect, so we’ve posted a man to watch her place. And Talley has men searching the grounds of Hyde Park.

“You’ve had a very eventful day. With much to be done tomorrow, you must get some rest.” His aunt leaned forward with a serious look in her eyes that he remembered from his wild days. “Henrietta has been through a very frightening time. Try to understand that all of her actions have been out of loyalty and concern for her uncle and her brother.”

He understood Henrietta’s loyalty, but he couldn’t reveal to his aunt how hurt, how deeply hurt he was that Henrietta didn’t trust him. He couldn’t share his jealousy of Henrietta’s devotion to her uncle and brother. It seemed childish that he wanted her devotion and loyalty to be for him and only him. His need for her total affection made him feel like a greedy bastard.

“Consider carefully how you’ll approach the lady. Like you, Henrietta is used to acting alone. She hasn’t had the need for direction from anyone in quite a while.” His aunt rose to make her way to bed. “I’m fagged and ready to retire.”

He stood and came around to offer his arm.

“It isn’t necessary to escort me. You finish your repast. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Aunt Euphemia. And thank you.” He bent and kissed her powdered skin, her familiar scent of roses filled him with comfort.

She swept toward the door, turned back, her face wreathed in a brilliant smile. “There will be fireworks tomorrow if I’ve taken the mettle of Henrietta correctly.”

The type of fireworks he planned weren’t the ones his aunt expected. He took one last gulp of brandy.

* * *

Henrietta awoke, not clear on how long she had slept. The curtains remained closed. She scanned the darkened, ornate, maroon and gold room. It took her a moment to remember yesterday’s events and why she was in a masculine bedroom. The candle beside the bed had burned down. She had fallen asleep without hiding the books.

She slowly stretched her legs then pressed her hand against the heavy bandage on the left side of her chest to splint the injury. She had to get out of bed and hide the books.

She braced herself and rolled to her side. A sharp pain pierced her chest. She gasped, making the strain even worse. Tears of pain and frustration flowed. She pushed herself to a sitting position.

Upright, the room spun, sparks of light shot before her eyes. She bit down on her lip, to stifle her cry. It hurt to breathe, to move. Her muscles tightened, her entire body clenched in anticipation of the excruciating pain when she stood. She waited for the room and her stomach to stop rolling then placed her feet on the ground. She knew better than to take a deep breath.

The blood rushed from her head when she stood. Woozy, she used the bedstead to steady herself. It hurt too much to stand upright. Bent over like an old woman, she took shallow breaths and made her way to the chair that held her clothes and reticule. Cold sweat dripped down her back, shivers raced up and down her body.

Hunched over to guard against more pain, she extracted the books from her pelisse and reticule. She’d have to hide them under the mattress since she couldn’t walk any farther.

Grabbing hold of the bedside stand, she took tiny steps to the bed. To place the books between the mattresses, she had to stoop farther. A surge of nausea accompanied the deep knife jab when she lifted the mattress to conceal the books.

She’d have to repeat the whole torturous process to get back in bed. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t push herself upward and roll again. She’d lie back on the covers and then, after she rested, she would get back into bed. She eased herself back on the soft covering.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dampening down his lusty thoughts about exploding fireworks, Cord headed toward Henrietta’s room to check on her before retiring. Making his way by candlelight, he quietly opened the door and stepped into the darkened room. The nurse wasn’t seated next to the bed, nor was Henrietta tucked under the covers. Henrietta lay across the bed as if she had collapsed.

What the hell was going on? Adrenaline charged through his brain and body, pushing him into high alert for possible danger. He scanned the room before he moved to the bed. Sleeping horizontally across the dark maroon cover, Henrietta’s breathing was slow and easy.

Her mane of golden red hair fanned out in stark contrast to the dark fabric. He had never seen her hair down, the color of firelight. Gwyneth’s white nightgown clung to all her curves and hid nothing, her voluptuous breasts jutted above the heavy bandage. His eyes roamed her body, enjoying its dips and curves. His groin hardened at the sight of the patch of fiery red between her legs.

He tried to control his body’s reactions. He reminded himself that she was injured. Asleep, she looked young, vulnerable, and voluptuous. Lust and something more powerful—tenderness pumped through him.

“Henrietta?”

She didn’t stir.

He spoke quietly as he put his arm under her shoulders. It was going to be painful to ease her to the top of the bed.

“Henrietta, I’m going to move you,” he whispered into her hair.

She smelled of spring flowers, lilies, and honeysuckle. She groaned when he lifted her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, sweeting. I know it hurts.” A rush of gentleness washed over him.

“Cord?” Her voice was low, sleepy.

He loved the way she said his name, the way she would say it when he pleasured her. His erection pushed against her leg. Hopefully, she wasn’t too awake.

Bent over her, he murmured words of apology that he had to hurt her. He breathed in her sleepy, womanly scent. She was pale even in the dim light. He pressed a soft kiss to her cool lips, then rubbed gently back and forth to warm her.

Slowly she opened her eyes. She gazed into his eyes with surprise and gladness. “Cord.” She ran her hand along his cheek, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“You need to rest.” His voice was low, edgy as he felt.

“Cord, I must…”

“I know darling, I feel the same. But I’d be a brute to spend any time with you tonight.”

“But Cord, I must speak with you.” Her words came out in a rush of breathless.

“I’ve a lot to say to you too. But it can wait ’til tomorrow. You need your rest.”

He was impressed with his ability to control the needs that drummed insistently through his body. He wanted to remove their clothes and lie naked next to her. He would never hurt her, but he wanted to stroke every one of those round curves and indentations. He wanted to put his mouth to her soft, womanly places and mark her as his. There would be no more secrets between them. “Let me lift you to the top of the bed. How did you get into such a position? And where is your nurse?”

“I’m not sure.” She already sounded half asleep.

He slowly slid his arm underneath her knees. “This is going to hurt.” He felt her flinch then take a sharp breath when he laid her straight. He tucked the heavy covers around her neck. “Do you want a sip of water? Is it time for another dose of laudanum?” How intimate this moment was, as if he had every right to care for her, comfort her.

“A sip of water.” Her voice was muted, her eyes dilated with pain and the laudanum.

He slipped his arm behind her and lifted her head to the glass. She sipped. A sense of deep contentment eased into his body.

“You needn’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” He bent over and brushed his lips against hers. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”

* * *

Henrietta floated through layers of unfocused images and dreams. She relived the sensation of Cord’s warm lips, a wisp of his scent, his hot breath across her face. He cradled her in his arms and whispered words of love. Wrapped in a cocoon of tenderness, she fell back into sleep.

Chapter Thirty

Henrietta sat by the fire, wrapped in a cashmere shawl with Gwyneth’s white robe buttoned to her neck. She couldn’t get warm or shake her melancholic feelings. The laudanum was probably contributing to her gloomy mood.

“Am I disturbing you?” Gwyneth stood in the doorway. “After all my chatting this afternoon, I hope you were able to nap.” The young woman’s smile sparkled like the diamonds on her neck and ears.

“I was glad of our time together. Recuperating by yourself is quite boring.” Henrietta tilted her head and made an exaggerated perusal of the young woman. “You look exquisite.”

Forsaking the usual bows and frills of a young girl, the cut of Gwyneth’s ivory evening gown was simple, with a square, low neckline and cap sleeves. She turned full circle, the delicate material swirling and clinging in the most enticing way. With her dark hair cascading around her shoulders, Gwyneth looked like a beguiling Madonna.

Gwyneth had earlier confided that she planned to flaunt her womanhood to Cord’s childhood friend Ash tonight. She more than exceeded her plan to look the part of a sophisticated woman, ready to entice the experienced gentleman.

Henrietta wished she could witness the supposedly hardened man’s response to this tantalizing woman. “Oh, poor Ash. He won’t have a chance tonight. There will be a line of men begging to dance with you.”

“I wish you could attend tonight’s ball,” Gwyneth gushed.

For all of her youthful eagerness, Gwyneth was mature for her years and remarkably insightful about her brother. The young man she described before the death of his brother wasn’t what Henrietta had expected. Cord was a serious scholar, a gentle man with a great wit, not the reprobate that had cut a shocking swath throughout society with gambling, womanizing, and dueling. Gwyneth believed that Cord’s wild behavior had been driven by pain.

“My brother is unable to attend tonight’s ball. He also missed last night’s ball. Neither Aunt Euphemia nor Cord feel that I should know about his dangerous work. They want to protect me as if I were a baby to be swaddled in bunting.” She gestured with her hands and shook her head. “It’s ridiculous to shelter me from the work my brother does.”

Euphemia swept into the room in another loud costume. Henrietta was beginning to believe no one could have such bad taste. Euphemia wore her clothes almost as a badge of independence, or perhaps as a disguise.

Tonight’s ensemble was a perfect contradiction to good taste. Her stout body was encased in a bright green dress with purple piping and topped with the most outrageous turban with a multi-colored, stuffed bird between the folds.

“What are you saying young lady about your brother’s work?” Euphemia’s lively presence crowded the spacious room.

“I was commenting on Cord’s inability to attend tonight’s ball because of his heavy workload.”

“It’s unusual circumstances that have delayed him. His message said he hopes to meet us at the ball. Your brother never shirks his responsibility to family.”

Gwyneth’s throat and face flushed with color. “Auntie Em, I wasn’t criticizing Cord but rather your attempts to shelter me from the fact that he works for the intelligence office and today he’s dealing with the murder of an agent.”