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

by Samantha Saxon

  “Exactly!” Juliet smiled, pinching her cheeks and adjusting her pale blue ball gown. “That is precisely why it will work.”

  “No, dearest.” Felicity met her eye, shaking her head lightly. “All your plan will do is further shame you in the eyes of polite society.”

  Juliet swallowed the lump in her throat, refusing to feel sorry for herself as she turned and looked at her concerned cousin.

  “Felicity, I am the gossip of the season and not welcome in any reputable home in London. What could I possibly do tonight to make my situation any more shameful?”

  Her beautiful cousin took a moment, trying and failing to think of something more devastating than a lady’s loss of her reputation.

  “Nothing, I suppose,” Felicity said regretfully.

  “Now.” Juliet held out her gloved hand. “Give me your invitation.”

  “I don’t want to watch you do this, Juliet.” Lady Felicity shook her head, the blond curls dangling down her cheeks swinging attractively. “I’ll just wait in the carriage until the entire scene is finished.”

  “Please, come inside.” Tears moistened her eyes, and Juliet struggled to steady her quivering chin. “I don’t think I can do it without you, Felicity. When I leave that ballroom, I shall need one person whom I can look to that will not hold censure in their eyes. Please, come with me,” she begged, holding her breath as she waited for an answer.

  “Oh, Juliet, I had not thought of it in such a way. Of course I will accompany you, but are you sure that I cannot talk you out of doing this?”

  “No, if I am going to be unjustly ruined, then I am damn sure going to take my blackguard of a father with me.”

  Felicity grasped Juliet’s hands and searched her eyes. “Your father already has a horrible reputation, Juliet. Why are you really doing this?”

  Juliet tried to look away, tried to manufacture a lie that Felicity wouldn’t recognize instantly as a falsehood.

  “It is so unfair, Felicity,” she whispered and her cousin wrapped her gentle arms around her. They silently held each other as they had been clinging to one another their entire lives.

  “I know, dearest,” Felicity whispered. “And if I could take your place, I would willingly do so.”

  Juliet lifted her head and met her cousin’s kind eyes and knew that Felicity meant every word.

  “Right.” Juliet sniffled, wiping her cheeks of wasted tears. “No more or I shall look as if I have been crying which quite frankly would be more humiliating than the spectacle I am about to make of myself.”

  Felicity laughed. “You look stunning, Juliet. Oh, I almost forgot.” She opened her reticule and pulled out an enormous sapphire necklace and matching bracelet. “If you are going to exit polite society, do it with a bit of flash.”

  “I thought my plan had a great deal of flash.”

  “Oh it does,” Felicity said, fastening the necklace around Juliet’s neck. “I just thought your attire should be equally as ostentatious.”

  “Well, my lady.” Juliet yanked at her gloves as they rolled to a stop. “Shall we enter the den of hungry lions?”

  “After you, dearest.” Felicity bowed her elegant head as Juliet laughed at her cousin’s subtle humor.

  Then, with a deep breath, she stepped from the carriage, knowing that the ton was waiting to feed on its latest victim.

  ≈

  The Spencer ball was a bloody bore and Seamus could not wait to leave. However, he was here at his brother’s request and knew that the viscount would arrive at any moment with his beautiful bride, Lady Nicole Dunloch.

  Daniel had married the lass a little over a month ago and recruited the entire McCurren clan to ease her path into polite society. Not that the stunning woman needed much assistance, but Seamus had promised his brother nonetheless. So, here he stood, bored to tears and counting the minutes until he could leave the ball without enduring too much grief.

  He positioned himself by a potted shrub, grateful that he was merely the second son of the Earl of DunDonell but not willing to take any chances of being seen by the more desperate of this year’s debutantes.

  Seamus pulled his pocket watch from his gold brocade waistcoat and sighed, staring at the front entrance of Lord Spencer’s tawdry town home.

  A group of guests sitting some ten feet in front of him burst into robust laughter, drawing his attention away from the door. Seamus turned to stare at the gentleman holding court over his attentive hangers-on and tried not to visibly roll his eyes.

  The man was well into his forties but was still dressing as though he were a young buck just swaggering into society. God in heaven, but there was something to be said for subtlety. Seamus glanced at the exquisite sleeves of his own black superfine, thankful that at six-and-twenty he knew the difference between garishness and sophistication.

  He had never needed, as this man obviously did, the approval of his peers. Seamus had always done what he pleased, caring only that he retains the respect of his parents and his six brothers.

  But this man . . .

  Seamus sipped his champagne, knowing he would never understand gentlemen such as these, men who lived purely for their own pleasure. The ton was littered with them, which was no doubt why Seamus felt so out of place in the drawing rooms of London society, choosing instead to do something with his time and his mind.

  “Oh, my lord!” one of the gentleman’s court said, her eyes growing wide as she stared at the front entrance of the Spencer town home.

  Seamus turned, curious as to what this worldly woman could possibly find surprising, and saw nothing more than two young ladies. A tiny brunette and a stunning blonde who was dressed in a spectacular white gown embroidered with silver thread. His eyes flickered over her slender frame, thinking this beautiful lady knew a thing or two about sophistication.

  Conversation at the Spencer ball died as the women walked down the stairs and Seamus could see why, noting the lady’s sheer grace, her elegance. Heads of guests drew together as if tethered and the hiss of whispers became deafening.

  Seamus waited to be enlightened, knowing that he was missing some crucial bit of information about the alluring woman and making him want to know all the more.

  The corner of his mouth lifted as the ladies made their way toward him, affording Seamus a much better view. He watched the fair lady grow more beautiful the closer she came, soft brown eyes that were kind and trained . . . He turned back toward the group before him. The lady’s eyes were trained on the pompous fop holding court not ten feet in front of him.

  The dandy smirked, looking up at the duo as he said, “Well, I’m surprised to see you show your face in public.”

  The blonde’s eyes widened, her beautiful mouth falling open in shock, and Seamus wished that he paid more attention to the politics of polite society. But before he had a chance to speculate, the little brunette hauled back and slapped the dandy so hard that the gentleman’s champagne glass went flying across the floor while her bracelet came hurtling toward Seamus’s head.

  He caught it in midair and smiled as others gasped. Turning away from the blonde, Seamus looked at the little brunette for the first time.

  The girl had no idea that the clasp of her bracelet had broken because the whole of her attention was focused on the gentleman she had just walloped.

  “How dare you speak to me in such a manner when my situation is entirely your fault!”

  Situation?

  The fop grinned caustically as he rubbed his wounded cheek. “Well, darling,” he chuckled. “It is hardly my fault that you were caught entertaining your lover at Lady Felicity’s soiree.”

  The blackguard indicated the beautiful blonde, who had gone completely white as her eyes darted to the smaller woman. The fair lady took an instinctive step backward, and as Seamus watched the narrowing of the brunette’s striking blue eyes, he could see why.

  “I was assaulted at Lord Appleton’s home by a man that sought to take revenge on you, because as the ton well knows, y
ou are a lying, cheating, gaming, philandering bastard who cares nothing for anyone bar himself!

  “Unfortunately, for me, this Lord Harrington appears to be the only member of polite society that did not realize your daughter was included in that category!”

  Seamus laughed aloud and the woman’s sharpened eyes trained on him, prompting him to raise his champagne glass in encouragement.

  “Don’t mind me, lass.”

  Her lightly freckled cheeks went a subtle shade of pink and she lifted her chin and said for the benefit of the aghast guests, “Do not ever contact me again, Lord Pervill, because as of this instant, I renounce you as my father.”

  The brunette spun about and made for the door, leaving her companion to add, “Yes, and I am afraid that you are no longer welcome in my home, Uncle.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” Lord Pervill said, amused.

  And being the epitome of a lady, the man’s elegant niece nodded, saying, “You’re quite welcome,” before turning to join her cousin, who was speeding toward the front door.

  Glancing down at the costly bracelet, Seamus hastened to intercept them. He grasped the brunette’s upper arm, which proved to be a dangerous miscalculation.

  Startled, and more than a tad angry, the lass spun round, throwing a rather sharp elbow, which would have connected with his right ribs had he not leaned dramatically to his left. He was stunned to see her features lined with disappointment when the lady realized that he was not her intended target.

  “I take it you were expecting your father.”

  “Oh,” she gasped, her large eyes growing larger with surprise. “Oh, I’m so . . .”

  Words failed her so Seamus provided them.

  “You seemed to have lost your bracelet the moment you lost your temper,” he said, holding up the diamond and sapphire band by the tip of his index finger.

  “I thank you for returning it.” The lass reached up and yanked the jewels from his finger. “But I’ll not apologize for my temper.”

  Seamus met her bright blue eyes. “I would never dream of asking, Lady Juliet,” he said, grinning as he bowed while the cousins continued along their determined path.

  As Seamus watched the entertaining pair leave, their names kept rolling around in his mind. Lady Felicity Appleton and Lady Juliet Pervill? He had heard the names before and was racking his brain when his brother strolled up alongside him, having finally arrived at the ball.

  “Evening, Mister McCurren.”

  Seamus looked in his brother’s direction. “And where is your lovely bride?”

  “Lackland has just taken her out for the first set.” Seamus glanced across the ballroom floor and easily located his younger brother dancing with the ebony-haired lady.

  “Your wife looks beautiful.”

  “Aye.” Daniel grinned like an idiot and Seamus smiled, pleased to see his brother so contented. “She always does. Have you been here long?”

  “Long enough,” Seamus moaned, and his elder brother chuckled, knowing how much Seamus abhorred society events.

  “You can dance the next set with my wife and then be dismissed to join your mistress with my heartfelt gratitude.” Daniel placed an enormous hand over his insincere heart.

  “I no longer have a paramour.” Seamus sighed without any real regret.

  “You jest?” Daniel’s turquoise eyes widened in proportion to his surprise. “When did this occur?”

  “Last month.” Seamus shrugged, not wanting to discuss the matter of his former lover’s cold ambitions to inherit his brother’s title. So he changed the subject. “Who are Felicity Appleton and Juliet Pervill? I know the names, but I don’t recall where I have heard them mentioned.”

  “From me, no doubt,” Daniel said, adding by way of explanation, “Do you recall the Earl of Wessex and his younger sister Sarah Duhearst, now the Duchess of Glenbroke?”

  “Aye, Daniel. I’ve met the duchess once or twice at your house, remember?” Seamus could not keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  “How the bloody hell am I supposed to remember who you’ve met at my house. Right, so you know the duchess.” His brother took a moment to remember what he had been saying. “Well, Lady Felicity and Lady Juliet are cousins who met the duchess years ago when they were still in the schoolroom, been thick as thieves ever since.”

  “What happened to the lass, the brunette?”

  Daniel looked to see if anyone was standing near them and then moved closer, just to add to his precaution.

  “A week ago, Lady Felicity Appleton hosted her annual New Year’s ball. Her cousin was naturally invited as were half the people you see here tonight. Unfortunately. . .” Daniel hesitated, disliking gossip particularly as it pertained to a friend. “Shortly after midnight, Lady Juliet was found in a rather compromising position with a gentleman.”

  “Lord Harrington.” Seamus nodded.

  “How did you know?” Daniel’s auburn brows furrowed.

  Seamus shrugged, “I heard someone mention the gentleman’s name. It’s not important, go on with the tale.”

  “There is no more to tell. They were seen by Lord and Lady Winslow and the lady’s most ardent admirer, Lord Robert Barksdale. Lady Juliet has been in seclusion at her cousin’s town home ever since the regrettable incident.”

  “Hmm.” Seamus sipped his champagne, his mind turning from the curious cousins to his duty for the evening. “So, may I dance the next set with your wife and then flee to my own home?”

  “Aye.” Daniel smiled, adding, “Unless you want to stay and select your next paramour.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Seamus said, resolute. “I’ve decided it is far cheaper for me to hire a harlot than to woo another lady.”

  “I give that declaration all of a week. You’ve always enjoyed quality, Seamus.” Daniel met his eye, grinning.

  “Well, I see your wife is finished with our little brother. So, I’ll just go have a spin while you circle the seventh ring of hell, which is surely where you’re headed.” Seamus slapped his brother on the back so hard that he was sure his hand would hurt the entire time he danced with the blackguard’s wife. But it was damn well worth the pain. “Good evening, Daniel.”

  Chapter Four

  ~

  Falcon paced his office, walking a wooden plank as if it were a rope strung fifty feet off the floor. And at times his work did seem a tightrope, an intricate show of balance. Knowing which steps would propel Britain toward victory and which of his decisions would prove fatal to the country and the war.

  He had agents carefully dispersed throughout Europe gathering information, and it was his job merely to interpret their findings. The problem for him came when the puzzle was incomplete, when he knew there was a vital piece of information missing, which rendered any speculation or recommendations he might provide Wellesley . . . useless.

  This was the case with the most recent of French codes.

  For the most part, the French were careless and their codes elementary in nature. It had taken his cryptographers no time at all to intercept and decode their messages, thus allowing him to provide Wellesley with valuable information in a timely manner. Yet, while each code had its own style and flavor, this new anomaly was proving elusive.

  The writer of the E code, Falcon feared, was not your typical French cryptographer. This code, he was sure, was concealing a level of complexity that his men had yet to crack. But how did one crack an anomaly?

  By deviating from the normal patterns of cryptography.

  A knock at his office door interrupted Falcon’s tortuous deliberations, and he returned to the dignity of his desk before looking up and saying, “Yes.”

  His secretary entered the room with a deferential bow.

  “Lady Juliet Pervill wishes an audience, my lord.”

  “Send her in,” Falcon said, remembering clearly the intriguing young woman.

  The lady had proved exceedingly helpful some months ago in identifying a French assassin working in London. He h
ad been struck then by her composure as she described in detail the horrific scene she had stumbled upon.

  The girl had instantly understood the significance of what she had seen, had known instinctively that the murders were not the work of footpads, and had come to the only person to whom her information would be useful.

  Him.

  The lady walked into his office, interrupting his recollection, her pale yellow morning gown and elfin stature giving her the appearance of a schoolgirl.

  Just as he remembered her.

  Falcon rose to his feet, saying with a polite bow that would not aggravate his back, “Good afternoon, Lady Juliet.”

  “Good afternoon.” The girl smiled nervously, which immediately piqued his already honed interest.

  He indicated a sturdy wooden chair facing his well-worn oak desk and then asked, “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you.” The lady sat, her blue satin slippers scarcely touching the floor as Falcon nodded for his assistant to leave them in privacy.

  The door clicked closed and he seated himself in his leather chair, taking a moment to reassess the woman. Light brown hair, shimmering with health and an intelligent face dusted with faded freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were an unusually vibrant blue and she had an overwhelming air of competence that seemed to come as naturally to her as breathing.

  “How might I be of assistance?” Falcon asked, sure that her visit had in some way to do with the unfortunate episode surrounding the girl one week ago.

  Lady Juliet fidgeted in her chair, obviously attempting to decide which path to take as they proceeded down the road of conversation.

  “Were you aware, my lord, that I have received honorary recognition from Oxford University?”

  Falcon shook his head. “I was not aware that women were bestowed recognition, honorary or otherwise,” he said, impressed and wondering how this was pertinent to their conversation.

  “They’re not,” she confirmed. “The assumption was made that J. Pervill was male and—”