The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (10 page)

~

Enigma
slid off the black stallion, having finished her survey of the newly acquired estate.

The vast lands had gone on for miles and with proper crop management could be converted into a very profitable acquisition. Yet its arrogant and indolent owner had left the ten-thousand-acre estate virtually uncultivated and its tenants resentful of their indifferent landlord.

The lord of the manor had foolishly chosen to spend his money and his time on improving his gardens and manor house, neither of which brought in any income.

God, but these men were stupid.

“Perhaps now you should give me the tour of the manor house, Lord Harrington?” Enigma said, smiling with satisfaction for filching everything from the fool in a single night of gaming.

“Yes, of course.” The obsequious man swept his arm toward the enormous front door, which had been carved with gruesome and garish scenes from Greek mythology.

Enigma walked through the hideous door and looked up at the impressive foyer, which led the eye up a grand staircase to the chandelier hanging from the second-floor ceiling.

“Shall we begin the tour in the parlor, Madame Richard?”

Enigma nodded and they were shown into the large parlor before making their way around the ground-floor rooms in a clockwise rotation.

“When was the estate built?” she asked.

“The estate was built in 1751 by my great-grandfather, Lord Henry Harrington. That is him just there.” Harrington pointed to a stupid-looking man as they climbed the staircase and Enigma glared at Mister Collin, who had thought to laugh at the gentleman in the portrait.

“How is the hunting on the estate?” Enigma asked, estimating the value of the paintings hanging from the brocade covered walls as they walked up to the first floor of her new country house.

“Harrington Hall has the best hunting for ten counties,” Lord Harrington boasted as if he still owned the estate.

“Mister Matthews,” Enigma called to the other man following them and put Harrington in his place. “I would like you to inventory the furniture, paintings, jewels . . . so on and so forth throughout the entire house,” then turning back to the previous owner, inquired prettily, “You’ve not removed anything from the estate, Lord Harrington?”

“No.” Lord Harrington shook his head, blatantly wishing he had thought to do so before her unexpected visit. “Of course not.”

“Good.” Enigma nodded and Matthews left to begin the extensive process. “Now, shall we discuss the ways in which you might retain your estate?”

Harrington’s puffy eyes went wide at the mere possibility. “Yes, anything.” The greedy man stopped at the head of the stairs and she could see that he thought to outwit a mere woman. “Anything you ask.”

Enigma smiled, enjoying bringing the
ton
’s arrogant fops to their knees.

“I want you to begin by hosting several events at the estate.” Harrington’s brows furrowed in confusion, a reminder of how stupid the man was. “You will invite the gentlemen I tell you to invite and then you will ply them with drink and women,” Enigma said, spelling it out.

“Yes, certainly, Madame Richard, but might I ask why, when you would make more blunt if these men were entertained at Dante’s?” he asked with the tone of a man teaching a woman about trade.

“Information is a powerful thing, Lord Harrington,” she said, the chill in her voice unmistakable. The pudgy man paled. The implication of blackmail was finally sinking in. “And you will acquire as much information from these gentlemen as possible while they reside under my roof.” Enigma swept an elegant hand over the deserted hallway as they stood at the head of the stairs.

Lord Harrington visibly winced at the reminder of his status as pauper.

“As you wish.” The gentleman lowered his head, defeated.

“The first thing you will do is dismiss your butler.”

“What? Foster has been with my family for over thirty years,” Harrington protested.

“Very well.” Enigma nodded sympathetically. “If you do not wish to see your butler let go, then perhaps you should call him over so that we might explain the transfer of ownership.”

“Yes,” Harrington said, relieved. “That would be much better.” His condescension grated. “Foster,” he shouted down the hall and his butler walked to where they stood.

The elegant servant bowed and Enigma smiled, asking, “How long have you been in Lord Harrington’s employ?”

“Thirty-four years,” Mister Foster said with pride.

Enigma met Mister Collin’s eye over the butler’s head, saying, “A lifetime of service, how quaint,” then watched as the bodyguard twisted Mister Foster’s head round with a distasteful crack before pushing him down the winding staircase.

Lord Harrington gave a throaty yelp and several footmen came running from different directions.

“Call for a physician, the poor man has fallen,” Enigma ordered as Mister Collin glanced at Lord Harrington with dark eyes void of remorse.

Mister Matthews appeared at the foot of the stairs and stared at the butler’s body. After a moment, he pushed his spectacles up his upturned nose then lifted his head to meet Enigma’s watchful eye.

“How tragic,” Matthews said to her, visibly swallowing his fear.

“Yes, it was,” Enigma agreed. Lord Harrington looked first to Mister Collin and then at his dead butler, whose head lay awkwardly against the third step of the staircase. “However, I have always found it better to get on with things, back to business so to speak.”

“Y-y-y-yes.” Harrington nodded, clearly terrified. “Best t-t-to get on.”

“Now, shall we retire to your study until the physician arrives.” It was not a question as Enigma led them down the winding stairs, lifting her skirts, and stepped over the dead butler with the assistance of Mister Collin’s powerful hand.

~

Monday
morning was clear but cold and Juliet tensed the moment she set foot outside Felicity’s front door. However, the bite of the winter wind was nothing in comparison to the constriction in her chest when she saw Lord Robert Barksdale standing beside her carriage.

She stared through the dim light then lowered her chin and focused on the icy stairs in front of her. Juliet lifted her skirts several inches to avoid tripping, ignoring the persistent Lord Barksdale completely.

“Juliet,” he begged. Her footman bowed and opened the carriage door, but Robert stepped between them. “Please, Juliet.” Lord Barksdale stared down at her. “Five minutes, I swear it. Please.”

Five minutes.

What could Robert possibly wish to say in five minutes that would justify his waiting for her in the cold this early in the morning?

“Very well.” Juliet met his eye for the first time and unable to help herself said, “Wouldn’t want to make a scene that Papa may catch wind of.”

Juliet spun on her heels and avoided treacherous patches of ice as she made for Robert’s elegant landau. She accepted the assistance of Barksdale’s footman then stepped into the familiar conveyance.

“You sit there.” Juliet pointed to the opposite corner of the luxurious coach as she herself settled on the burgundy velvet squabs.

“Hyde Park,” Barksdale called to his coachman before reaching up and drawing the matching velvet curtains lest they be seen together. “It’s a bit cold.”

Hurt, Juliet met his eye. “Do get on with it, Robert.”

Juliet stared at him, annoyed that he looked so well, so beautifully turned out.

“I wanted to apologize to you, my darling Juliet, for the manner in which last we parted. I was . . .” Robert met her eye and then looked down, penitent. “Distraught by a difficult situation and spoke precipitously of a possible solution to the problem in which we now find ourselves.”

“Damn right you spoke ‘precipitously.’” Juliet’s anger grabbed her tongue and refused to relinquish its hold. “Not to mention offensively.”

“I know, darling.” Robert shook his head and sat next to her, tentatively testing the waters.

She allowed him to remain and Juliet could see that Robert wanted to kiss her. The damnable thing was that Juliet was not sure that she did not want him to.

“I came to ask”—Robert got down on one knee and took her right hand—“no, beg you, my darling Juliet, to be my wife.”

“What?” Juliet jerked her hand away, stunned by his newfound sense of propriety.

Robert smiled and then resumed his seat next to her. “Marry me, Juliet?” he asked, looking down at her.

Now, it did occur to Juliet that she should be overjoyed, elated, but as she stared into Robert’s midnight blue eyes, she could not help remembering the manner in which he had drawn the conveyance curtains.

He took her lengthy silence as consent and then bent his head to kiss her. Juliet was trapped against the squabs when he swept into her mouth, eagerly circling her tongue with his own.

“Oh, Juliet.” His hand caressed her right shoulder. “I cannot wait to make you my wife.”

“Robert, darling?” Juliet’s eyes narrowed and she allowed his hands to wander, curious to see where they would roam.

“Yes?” He was kissing her neck, his hand descending to the bottom of her skirts.

“When shall we announce our engagement?” She stared at the curtains.

“No need to rush, don’t you think? Best if we wait a month or so.” His right hand was traveling up her bare calf. “Let the scandal die down.”

Juliet let his hands get as far as her knee before she stopped him.

“You are most likely correct.” She handed him a rope with which to hang himself. “However, I do think we should stop being alone with one another until our wedding night.”

“I love you, Juliet,” Robert whispered in her ear, his hand gliding above her knee as if she would not notice. “What is the difference if I make you mine now or on our wedding night? We are engaged after all.”

His large hand grasped her backside, pulling her hard against his erection, and Juliet was so hurt that tears welled in her eyes. Robert Barksdale had no intention of marrying her. She had known him long enough to see the truth behind his heated gaze.

With promises of marriage, Robert would take her virginity and make her his mistress.

But why? Why if he loved her, and she believed that he did, why would he not try to change his father’s mind?

Robert pushed his hips against hers insistently and grunted with pleasure and possession. Possession, that was his motivation.

After all, Robert knew firsthand her weakness with men. Juliet had allowed him to kiss her, and wanton woman that she was, she had even kissed him back.

But she had been in love with him.

Hadn’t she?

“Stop it, Robert,” she said, knowing him well enough to be sure that he would. “Take me home.”

Juliet opened her mouth to tell him that he could make love to her on their wedding night, that she would give herself to him body and soul once they were legally wed. But as she stared into his lust-filled eyes, feeling not an ounce of desire as his body pressed against hers, Juliet knew they were finished.

In the weeks since her ruination, Juliet had come to realize that Robert Barksdale was a weak man and not what she wanted in a husband.

She needed a man whose will was as strong as her own. Juliet needed a man able to match her mind and, on occasion, win an argument or two.

She needed a man like Seamus McCurren.

≈

Seamus climbed the front entrance of Lady Felicity Appleton’s town home, his brown Hessians pounding the marble steps in a brisk, controlled rhythm that betrayed his exhilaration.

He lifted the heavy brass knocker and banged three times, then was forced to wait an eternity.

“Come on, come on,” he caught himself muttering beneath his breath.

In the end, the black door opened and Seamus offered the requisite card and polite smile to the poised butler. “Mister Seamus McCurren to see Lady Juliet Pervill.”

The older man bowed, standing aside to allow Seamus to enter the vast entryway decorated with alternating squares of brown and white marble. “If you would be so kind as to wait—”

“Mister McCurren,” a wholly feminine voice called from a doorway to the right. “How kind of you to call.”

“Lady Felicity,” Seamus said, bowing toward the stunning creature, who broke into a radiant smile. “I’ve come to consult with Lady Juliet. We were expecting her at the Foreign Office this morning.” Hearing a touch of irritation in his own voice, Seamus added, “She is well, I trust.” Felicity Appleton continued to stare, making him decidedly uncomfortable.

Lady Felicity’s warm eyes glowed and she smiled more fully. “Oh, yes, Juliet is quite well. So well, in fact, that she chose this morning to ride in the park with Lord Barksdale rather than deal with the confinements of the Foreign Office.”

Barksdale?

“How nice,” Seamus observed with considerable annoyance.

He had spent the morning identifying the last marker of the E code while Juliet Pervill gallivanted about Hyde Park with the gentleman who had abandoned her the moment that scandal erupted.

The spineless prick.

By all rights, Seamus should return to the Foreign Office and inform Falcon of his progress. Yet for some indiscernible reason, he wanted to share his find with Juliet first. He felt as though she was one of the only people who would understand his intellectual excitement at the discovery.

“She is out then?”

“Oh, no. I believe she has returned and is having tea in her sitting room.” The lady turned to her servant and spoke as though the man were doing her a kindness rather than his duty. “Alfred, would you be so good as to escort Mister McCurren to Lady Juliet’s sitting room.”

“Will you not join us, Lady Felicity?” Seamus asked, surprised that he would not be accompanied by a chaperon. “Nonsense, Mister McCurren.” The lady smiled brightly. “Why, you are practically family.”

Seamus nodded in gratitude for the lady’s faith and understanding of their need for privacy then followed the butler into the depths of the town home.

The butler led him up a wide, jade-colored staircase and Seamus glanced at the portraits of Lady Felicity’s ancestors, noting that with each passing generation the lady’s family had enhanced not only its holding, but also its physical beauty.

When they had reached the first-floor landing, Seamus glanced down the corridor, which was decorated with welcoming plants set atop Ionic pillars. The elegant décor screamed of Lady Felicity, once again reminding Seamus that Juliet Pervill was but a guest in her cousin’s home.

His escort knocked on the second door to the right and a familiar female voice bellowed, “Come in,” as if irritated at being disturbed.

The older servant lifted his hand to the doorknob and Seamus felt his curiosity rising as the man turned it. He smiled to himself as the butler entered a room as dramatic as the woman who lived here. The vibrant colors were tempered by lush textures.

He did not at first see Juliet Pervill, but as his escort turned to his left, so, too, did Seamus. The diminutive lady lay outstretched on a gold damask chaise with her face obscured by a leather-bound book. Her long, chestnut hair spilled over her pillow and she twisted a shimmering strand around her delicate forefinger as she continued to read.

His chest tightened instantly as Seamus recalled the women he had thusly positioned in far less intellectual pursuits, lovers whose hair had hung over him, caressing his chest as they made love.

The butler cleared his throat to make their presence known, announcing, “Mister Seamus McCurren to see you, my lady.”

The lady’s twirling finger stilled and her book dropped below her chin. She looked toward the door with her delicately arched brows pulling down over her bright blue eyes.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Lady Juliet Pervill asked ungraciously and the butler stood his ground as if Seamus had come to the woman’s sitting room to accost her.

Overlooking her rudeness, Seamus did not hesitate to explain, “As you failed to grace the Foreign Office with your presence this morning, I have come to consult about the matter which has been of interest to us both.”

The girl sat up and he cringed as she tossed the fragile book next to the others that already littered the sitting room floor. “You’ve found something pertaining to the code?”

“Yes,” Seamus said with considerable satisfaction. “I have . . . found ‘something’ as you so eloquently put it.”

“Thank you, Alfred, you may go.”

“Very good, my lady.” The butler was clearly uncomfortable leaving them alone. “Would you like some tea brought—”

Lady Juliet shook her head, her long hair brushing her breasts. “I’ve had tea, remember? You brought it not half an hour ago.”

The butler’s eyes slid to Seamus in obvious embarrassment and then the man recovered, saying, “As you wish, my lady,” before withdrawing from the sitting room altogether.

The instant the door closed, Juliet Pervill looked Seamus directly in the eye.

“Well?” she asked with a shrug of her pretty little shoulders. “What have you found?”

“The last marker,” he said triumphantly as he walked toward the lass, reaching into the inner pocket of his russet jacket. He withdrew the clipping from the
London Herald
and handed it to Lady Juliet as he sat at the far end of the chaise lounge.

“Of course you found the last marker,” she snorted as though he were an idiot, and handed the article back to him, unread. “It’s the third week of the code.”

Seamus felt a flash of irritation punctuated by a sense of disappointment. It was inevitable that they find the last marker, but his subsequent observations of those markers would be significant only to those who understood the intricacies of mathematical sequencing.

“You found the marker in the
London Herald
,” she said, confirming rather than asking.

Seamus stared at the lass’s features, her perfectly sculpted nose and smattering of freckles. “Then you’ve read the article?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

Busy with Lord Barksdale, no doubt.

“Then how did you know I found the marker in the
Herald
?”

The lass rose and walked across the room, picking up a leather-bound book from atop a rather cluttered desk. She smiled, pleased with herself, then sat on the settee and invited him to sit beside her with a pat of her right hand as if he were a dog.

Begrudgingly, Seamus sat, his curiosity overtaking his pride. He looked down as she opened the book resting on her lap, revealing that it was not a book at all but rather a journal.

However, unlike any other journal he had seen before, this one consisted entirely of numbers—hastily written figures and symbols, most of which were quite foreign to him. “Those are mathematic formularies?”

“You’re as clever as everyone says that you are, Mister McCurren. Yes.” She smiled like a proud parent. “I analyzed the information gathered from the code thus far, frequency of occurrence of the code in each publication, circulation of the newspaper, distribution areas, so on and so forth . . .”