The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (23 page)

“What?”

“I refused Seamus’s offer.”

“I could have killed him.” Christian looked horrified, and they both stared at the blood trickling down Seamus’s bare chest. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Because it is none of your bloody business.” Seamus slipped on his shirt, more miserable than he had been when he arrived.

“Why on earth would you refuse him?” Christian whispered, staring down at Juliet. Seamus tried to appear disinterested in her answer.

“Oh, I don’t know, Christian,” she growled and the man took a step back. “Perhaps the fact that you threatened to kill the man if he did not make the offer.”

Furious, Juliet threw the foil in her hand to the wooden floor and stormed out.

“I was defending her honor.” Christian shrugged, confused by Juliet’s anger.

“Believe me, St. John.” Seamus stared longingly at Juliet’s retreating back. “The lady does not need defending.”

~

Seamus
waited two days for Juliet to come to him, to come to her senses. But she did not and the thought that she might have accepted Lord Barksdale’s offer out of anger was driving him mad.

At ten o’clock that evening, he gave up all pretense of indifference and called for his horse, determined to speak with her.

Seamus leapt atop his mount, reassessing his unenviable position. He was in love with Juliet Pervill and the longer he went without having her in his bed, the more he realized just how much he wanted her for his wife. However, thanks to the interference of his blasted friends, the woman would never believe the sincerity of his desire to marry her.

He knew how stubborn Juliet was, knew that nothing he could say would persuade her, not now.

But he had to try.

Seamus arrived at her house at half past ten and waited impatiently for the butler to answer Lord Appleton’s door. “Is Countess Pervill available?” The countess might be able to persuade her daughter of his sincerity.

“I’m afraid Countess Pervill and Lady Felicity have left for the evening.”

“Lord Appleton, perhaps?” Seamus asked, desperate.

“His club, I’m afraid.”

“Lady Juliet?” Seamus inquired, bowing to the inevitability of confrontation.

“Yes.” The man smiled, nodding.

“Are my footmen guarding her properly?”

“They never leave her side,” the butler said with obvious approval of the precaution.

“I’ll just verify that they are on duty as ordered, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Mister McCurren.”

Seamus handed the man his greatcoat and hat and then bounded up the staircase. Two footmen stood guard at Juliet’s door. “Wait for me in the parlor,” he ordered.

The footmen glanced at one another, confused, and then started down the corridor while Seamus opened Juliet’s sitting room door.

He headed straight for her balcony and asked the two freezing footmen, “Where is Lady Juliet?”

“The lady has retired to her bedchamber.”

Seamus nodded. “Wait for me downstairs in the parlor.”

“Thank you, Mister McCurren,” the footman said, pleased to be relieved of a winter’s night duty.

Seamus knocked on Juliet’s bedchamber door, more nervous than he could have thought possible. “Come in.”

He found her in bed and all the eloquent words he had rehearsed flew from his head. “Why did you refuse my offer?”

“You know why.” Juliet snapped her book shut, rolling her eyes as she stood up from her bed.

Trying not to stare through her thin dressing gown, Seamus concentrated on what she was saying. “I’m sorry you found out about the meeting.”

“I’m not.” She was shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, it is only fair that we both know you were forced to make the offer.”

He could not deny the truth and Juliet walked to her dressing table then sat down to brush her hair before he had thought how to respond.

He tried to sound convincing. “I wasn’t forc—”

“So Christian was merely offering you his congratulations when he sliced open your chest?” She raised her eyebrows to punctuate the question. “And I suppose you had invited four gentlemen around for tea the morning after . . .”

“You can’t marry Barksdale.”

Juliet spun around in her chair, asking, “Why not?”

Her eyes held his with such intensity that Seamus was having a difficult time thinking. “Because he’s an idiot.”

“And you’re an ass.”

Juliet turned away from him and tilted her head to the side as she continued to brush her long hair. He watched her in the mirror and was stunned to see a tear fall from the corner of her beautiful eyes. He watched it roll down her cheek, and his heart ripped in two.

“Juliet,” he whispered, walking to her and reaching out to rub her shoulder with his right hand. “I’m so sorry. Marry Barksdale if that will make you happy.”

Even if it would kill him.

But he hadn’t said the right thing. Seamus could see that he had only upset her more when she put both elbows on the vanity and covered her face.

He swept her luscious hair to one side and bent down to kiss the back of her neck.

“Don’t cry, Juliet,” Seamus begged, turning her head so that he could kiss her on the cheek.

His lips were moistened by her delicate tears and he followed their path, kissing them away. She tilted her head to the side, abandoning her sorrow to his comfort. Her head fell back against his shoulder as her right hand drifted up to caress the back of his head.

The air was pushed from his lungs and his heart leapt with the need to hold her. His left hand slid around Juliet’s waist; his right hand drifted to her breast. He squeezed softly, eliciting an encouraging moan.

Seamus eased Juliet to her feet, kicking the chair from between them. He drew her to him and smiled when he saw Juliet close her eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

The thought that the touch of his body had given her pleasure made him want to give her so much more. He dipped his hand between her breasts and untied her silky robe, letting it fall to the floor.

Seamus stared at the mirror, looking at Juliet in nothing more than a thin nightdress that made visible every curve of her beautiful body. He kissed the other side of her neck, remembering how she had felt beneath him, how he had felt when he made love to her.

He wanted to feel like that again, to confirm that what he had experienced in her arms was real, that his mind had not embellished his memory during the long nights without her.

His left hand swept down her neck, taking the left sleeve of her nightdress with him. He kissed her bare shoulder, her skin so flawless, so soft. Seamus was breathing hard and his eyes skimmed over the curves that hinted at the full breasts he knew were hiding beneath the nightdress.

His right hand was on her other shoulder and he took a step back, pulling down her right sleeve. He stared in the mirror, his eyes following the nightdress as it fluttered to the floor. His breath caught and he stared in the mirror at a nude Juliet, his memory flawless.

Seamus kissed her and avoided looking her in the eye as he carried her to bed, afraid that she would stop him, stop this from happening if he did.

He stripped quickly and climbed over her, only then looking her in the eye. Neither of them spoke as he set about comforting her. He touched her gently, reverently, as they drew nearer to becoming one.

She began kissing him back, consoling him as much as he was comforting her. He rolled on his back, needing to know that she wanted him.

He leaned against the pillows and Juliet straddled him, placing her hands on his shoulders and leaving them eye to eye. She didn’t kiss him or caress him; they merely stared at one another as she sank down his length.

Neither of them breathed, until she lifted herself, only to have their breath stolen when she sank down again. Seamus grasped her backside to aid in the rhythm of their breathing, their lovemaking.

Her breathing became more rapid as did her movements. Seamus moaned, but he dare not look away from the eyes that saw him so clearly.

Tears began forming in her eyes, but he did not know why. His hands slid to her hips and he penetrated more fully. Her eyes remained fixed on his. She was close to her peak and Seamus raced to catch her.

He reached up and caressed her cheek and Juliet sank down, causing them to climax as one.

His entire body was trembling and nothing else existed. He stared into her beautiful eyes, shaken.

“Marry me?” Seamus asked before he knew what he was saying.

He had asked for her hand before, but this time he felt no sense of obligation, no guilt, only a terrifying desire for her to say yes.

“You bastard,” she whispered, the sound of devastation in her voice. “Is that why you came here, to coerce me into marrying you?”

“I . . .” Seamus wanted to deny it, to tell her that he was there because he wanted her and nothing more, but it wasn’t true.

He had come because he didn’t want anyone else to have her. She was his.

Juliet pushed away from him, scrabbling off the bed. “You thought if you made love to me again, that I would consent to be your wife? Get out,” she whispered. He could not move and anger contorted her features as she shoved him in the chest. “Get out!”

He just stared at her, not understanding what the hell had just happened, not understanding how their incredible lovemaking had resulted in her screaming at him.

“Very well, then, I shall leave.” Juliet was out of bed and covering her beautiful body with a silk sheet before Seamus could stop her.

“Juliet.” What could he say?

She stopped at her bedchamber door and turned to him.

“So kind of you to ask, but I’m afraid I must refuse your offer, Mister McCurren. You see, I have a bit of a scandalous reputation that I have yet to earn, and now that I have crossed
you
off the list”—she smiled—“I can move on to Lord Barksdale.”

His jaw clamped shut and he climbed out of bed. “Don’t, Juliet.”

Juliet cupped her hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard correctly, for a moment you sounded like a jealous husband. But then again you’re not my husband.” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you, Seamus?”

Before she left him for Barksdale, Seamus took careful aim and then let his words fly.

“Well, you’ve one thing to recommend you to the rakes of the
ton
.” Juliet turned to meet his eye, her lovely long hair cascading down the cobalt sheet she held to her chest. “You’re bright if not beautiful.”

Her mouth fell open and Seamus could see that he had struck dead center. Tears welled in her bright blue eyes, and as he witnessed the depth of her wound, Seamus was unsettled to find that his verbal blow had made him bleed far more than Juliet.

He stood, naked before her, unable to move through his shame and guilt to comfort her. Seamus blinked and she was gone. He staggered backward, his shaky legs barely able to hold him until he sank to the mattress. He placed his head in his hands and stared at the floor in shock.

For twenty-six years he had been alone, had felt out of place in the world. Not until he had met Juliet Pervill had Seamus realized that there were others like him and the relief, the elation of that discovery, had been beyond measure.

Yet only when he had made love to Juliet, when he held her in his arms, had Seamus truly understood that Juliet was his. Slated by God, his match in both mind and spirit, and what had he done, but driven her straight into the arms of another man.

He wondered what Juliet would calculate to be the odds of his meeting another woman with a mind equal to his own. She would know, of course. He laughed painfully then sucked in the bitterness that burned the back of his throat, mingling with the familiar cold of desolation and his perpetual loneliness.

~

It
had been two days since they had left town, and Juliet sat with her mother in their drawing room, staring out the window at the waning moon.

She sighed for the hundredth time, prompting her mother to breach the two-day silence. “Did you tell him?”

“What?” Juliet flipped a page of a newspaper.

“That you love him?”

“I don’t love him.” She flipped another page, having read nothing.

“Of course you do. You didn’t even ask to whom I was referring.”

“I’m not in love with Seamus McCurren.”

“Then why did you go to him?”

“What are you talking about, Mother?” Juliet looked up from her paper, confused.

“When you escaped from your kidnappers, you went to him.” Her mother raised an accusing brow. “Not me, not Felicity—”

“He works for the Foreign Office. It was only logical—”

“Bullocks.” Her mother looked down at her cross-stitch and Juliet’s jaw dropped at her mother’s crudeness. “We both know why you went to him that day and why you have run off to the country. You’re scared.”

“I’m not scared of Seamus McCurren.”

“Of your feelings for him, you stupid girl,” her mother lectured affectionately. “You are so afraid that he will not love you in return that you have fled to the country.”

She was in love with him, had been for quite some time, but men like Seamus McCurren did not love women like her. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mother.”

It was far too painful.

Juliet looked down at an advertisement of fashion plates for the spring season and tried not to think. Ball gowns, riding gowns, day gowns . . . mourning gowns. She read on.

“When is Felicity coming to visit?”

“Next week.” Her mother pulled a stitch.

“Perhaps we should have a ball while she is here.”

“If that would take your mind off Seamus McCurren.” Her mother met her eye and she rolled hers.

She flipped a page and her nose wrinkled. “Mother, listen to this.”

Juliet lifted the newspaper and read aloud the description of the pictured gown.

Madame Maria’s Modiste

Welcome spring in this stunning muslin gown where fashion meets function. The many layers of quality muslin are trimmed by the finest of colorful silk ribbon. Stroll across the Serpentine wearing this gown and you are sure to turn heads. This design can be fashioned with varieties of fabrics for spring. Please, call on Madame Maria’s to be the first to wear London’s latest fashions.

“Doesn’t that sound odd to you?” Juliet continued to stare at the page as she spoke.

“Madame Maria, was it?” Her mother pulled another stitch of the pale silk thread. “Poor woman is assuredly foreign, which is no doubt why she butchers our language while peddling her wares to poor, unsuspecting country girls eager to purchase town fashions.”

“What do you mean ‘butchers our language’?”

The countess looked up from her embroidery as if she had failed as a mother.

“Well, darling, one would never say ‘with varieties of fabrics,’ would one. Any lady with a minimum of breeding would have written ‘with a variety of fabrics.’ ‘Variety’ is, of course, already plural in this instance, so why on earth would one say ‘varieties of fabrics’ unless the woman was a foreigner and unfamiliar with the subtlety of the English language.”

Juliet froze. “Pardon?”

Her mother looked down at her intricate creation, losing interest. “I said Madame Maria was undoubtedly a foreigner, Italian most likely, unfamiliar with the subtleties of the English language.”

With varieties of fabrics
. Juliet stared at the paragraph and thought,
With varieties of fabrics
.

“Mother, throw me your pencil,” Juliet said, agitated.

“I do not ‘throw’ things, Juliet.” Her mother was busy stabbing the linen on one of the many marks she had made with the pencil she kept in her embroidery basket. “If you wish to—”

“Throw me the pencil, Mother!” Juliet shouted and her mother’s head snapped up, hearing Juliet’s uncommon distress.

Their eyes meet and her mother picked up the pencil and threw it across the small sitting area. Juliet caught it, her hands shaking as she began to work with her feet still curled under her.

She ignored her mother’s gaze as her eyes darted from letter to letter and word to word. And then she thought of Seamus and his description of the cryptographer as “orderly.”

The person who had written the E code had an organized mind, creating a simple system of cryptography that was virtually impossible to detect.

Juliet looked again and then whispered to herself, “No wonder Seamus only found the markers,” before glancing up. “Mother, I must return to London. Would you be so kind as to send my things to Felicity’s?”

“You’re not leaving now?” her mother asked, appalled. “It is the middle of the night.”

“It is ten o’clock in the evening, Mother, and if I leave tonight, I can be in London tomorrow evening.” She kissed the countess on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I shall take a battalion of footmen with me.”

“It is the footmen I worry for,” her mother quipped over raised brows.

≈

Enigma sat at her table and smiled to herself when Seamus McCurren entered her establishment.

“Ah, Mister McCurren,” Youngblood said. “Do join the table, we were just getting started.”

The cards went flying about the table and Enigma glanced at Youngblood’s cards and then watched the expressions of the men around her. The old man had nothing, the young gentleman thought he did, the fat man wasn’t sure, and Mister McCurren . . .

She had no idea.

A surge of excitement went through her and she placed two fingers on Youngblood’s thigh, knowing it was not the card he would have played. He tossed the card that she had ordered and Mister McCurren raised a brow ever so slightly, surprised.

McCurren won the trick and laid a second card down and Enigma tried not to envision his beautiful hands on her body. Her attraction to the man who had broken her code was becoming distracting at a time in which she needed none.

But she could not help herself.

She placed four fingers against Youngblood’s thigh and watched the intelligence burning in the golden eyes of the man across from her. She watched his full lips, the precision of his sideburns. He was a man who liked control and she was more than willing to give him the reins.

Stimulated, her hand drifted to Youngblood’s cock and she caressed his length. His green eyes darted to hers, but when he saw her looking at Seamus McCurren, his jaw pulsed with anger.

She touched three fingers against Youngblood’s elegant thigh and grinned as she stroked him, knowing how much he liked to be handled. His pretty eyes were having a difficult time staying open and it took him a moment to throw out the card.

Her attention returned to Seamus McCurren, whose gaze had wandered elsewhere.

“Are we in need of redecorating, Mister McCurren?”

“Not at all,” Seamus said to Dante’s beautiful bawd, while keeping his eyes on the short man with a bandage wrapped around his head. A thought crawled up the back of his mind and took root, spreading an uneasiness that left him cold. He tried to shake it off but the sensation of apprehension grew until he finally asked the stocky little man, “Do you work here?”

“Yes sir,” the man said and the instant he heard the Welsh tones he knew why he was so uneasy. This Welshman was the man Juliet had described as having rescued her.

Seamus took a steadying breath, inhaling the implications of this man standing here, in Dante’s employ. But the longer he sat, the more intensely he could feel Youngblood’s eyes on him. He could feel the eyes of the man that had kidnapped Juliet, had intended to kill her.

“Might I have a brandy then.” Seamus smiled, using all of his control to keep from shooting the proprietor of Dante’s where he sat.

But avenging Juliet’s kidnapping would do him no good, and as he played his hand of cards, he contemplated the deeper game.

“Nicely done, Mister Youngblood.” Seamus nodded to his adversary, who had concealed a pit of French vipers in his den of iniquity.

“I’ve never been complimented for taking a man’s money, Mister McCurren.”

“I’m not complimenting your taking my blunt, Mister Youngblood,” he said to the creator of the E code. “I am complimenting your outplaying me.”

The proprietor’s lover grinned and Seamus’s eyes narrowed. He glanced about the room, glanced at the influential men seated around him and the half-dozen upstairs.

Dante’s was the perfect venue for the cryptographer’s needs.

Ply the gentleman of the
ton
, of Parliament, with drink and women then relay the information gathered in their weakened state to France.

However, as Seamus stared at Mister Youngblood and his superiority of play, he realized that Lord Harrington had not been the only gentleman coerced into service by France. There would be others being blackmailed for a myriad of unseemly reasons, the least of which was a gaming debt.

“I’m afraid I am finished for the evening.”

Seamus rose and Youngblood’s lover asked, “Is she expecting you so early?”

Irritated and overcome by his own guilt, Seamus met the woman’s cold, indigo eyes. “Unfortunately, I have no lady expecting me at all.”

“No lady?” The bawd raised an eyebrow. “We’ve no ladies here, Mister McCurren, but surely you see something you like.”

The woman sat back in her chair seductively and Youngblood’s head snapped round as she continued to smile at Seamus in carnal speculation.

“While Dante’s is indeed entertaining, I’m afraid it does not offer the quality of companionship to which I am accustomed.”

Youngblood’s glare shot daggers at the woman as he said, “You see, Mister McCurren prefers ladies, my dear, not secondhand whores.”

“If you will excuse me?” Madame Richard met Youngblood’s gaze as she stood. “I’m off to earn you a bit of blunt.”

Three gentlemen at the table jumped on the rare opportunity, rising, but the bawd called to the ever-present head of security.

“Mister Collin,” she said, and Seamus stared at the fury in Mister Youngblood’s eyes, confused. “Have we an available room upstairs?”

“Yes, Madame Richard.”

“Show me,” she said and they disappeared from sight.