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

by Samantha Saxon

  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 . . .”

  Seamus followed her tiny little finger down the unusual journal to the dramatically circled figure at the bottom of a page.

  “Determining with a seventy-nine percent probability that the London Herald would be the next publication in which the marker would appear.”

  As she sighed with satisfaction, Seamus just stared at her, his heart racing . . . with anger? “Why did you not bring your finding to the Foreign Office first thing this morning?”

  Instead of gallivanting through the park with your lover.

  “Do you really want to know?” she asked, holding his eyes.

  “Yes.” He did.

  “I did not go to the Foreign Office this morning because I went for a drive in Hyde Park with the man I thought to marry.” Thought to marry? He waited for her to explain. “Yes, you see Lord Barksdale made me quite an offer this morning.”

  Seamus was stunned. “Uh,” he blinked, “congratulations, Lady Juliet.”

  She snapped the leather journal closed, her silky hair swishing from side to side as she walked back to her desk.

  “None required, I’m afraid,” she said with the casual air of someone declining to have sugar in her afternoon tea. “Robert merely asked me to be his mistress. Again.”

  Seamus’s head jerked back in disbelief and then his jaw clenched. “Lord Barksdale asked you to dishonor yourself before today?”

  “Yes.” She spun round, looking into the air as if she were contemplating the question. “But to be fair, Robert was kind enough to offer to marry me at some distant point and only after I become his mistress.”

  “Well, we must be fair to Lord Barksdale.” Seamus couldn’t contain his sarcasm as he felt the heat of anger burning in his chest.

  “You did ask why I was not at the Foreign Office.”

  “Yes, but I thought you would inform me that you had a lame horse, not that Barksdale had . . . asked you . . .” Juliet looked so lovely standing by the desk that Seamus had the overwhelming urge to go to her, to press his lips to her throat. Taken aback by the depth of his inclination, Seamus tensed markedly. “To become his mistress.”

  He quelled his own lustful thoughts and watched the petite woman set the journal on her desk.

  As Juliet Pervill returned to the sitting area, he watched her walk toward him with the anticipation of a spider watching a fly. He knew then that he should go—quickly.

  “Well, if you are already aware of the article,” he said, beginning to rise. “Then I shall see you—”

  The lady placed her hand on his shoulder and he sank back onto the chaise, shocked by the jolt of her touch.

  “You can’t leave.” Juliet Pervill was looking down at him, which wasn’t very far, considering her stature. “I haven’t read the article and as you’re here . . .” she said, her delicate brows pulled over her striking blue eyes.

  “We can discuss the matter tomorrow at the Foreign Office.”

  “Oh, I see.” She resumed her seat next to him, nodding. “I made you uncomfortable when I spoke of mistresses?”

  “Yes.” Seamus echoed her nod, jumping on any excuse to avoid thoughts of making her his.

  He leaned forward to rise, and being a clever woman, Lady Juliet anticipated his attempt to leave. She placed a hand on his right thigh and his lungs collapsed in on themselves.

  “Forgive me, Mister McCurren,” she asked, her hand lingering longer than it should have, but less than he wanted it to. “I speak too
freely. I just thought as you are an . . . experienced gentleman and, well, you did ask.” She sounded irritated.

  “I shouldn’t have.” What the hell was wrong with him? He had never been a man to lose control with women. But as Juliet Pervill continued to touch him, Seamus knew that he was so very, very close. He met her eye, willing her to understand his attempt at chivalry. “I really . . . need to leave you, lass.”

  “Why? You’ve just gotten here.”

  Could she be so naive? Yes, an innocent girl would be blind to a man’s need.

  “Because if I don’t go, I’m going to kiss you,” he said, intentionally blunt.

  She jerked her hand from his thigh as if he were made of fire. “Why?”

  Her curiosity was killing him.

  “Why would I kiss you?” He laughed.

  “Yes.” She nodded as if he were one of her equations.

  “Because men enjoy kissing women,” he said, knowing that an innocent lady would not understand a man’s desire for a particular woman.

  Hell, he did not understand his desire for this particular woman.

  “Perhaps I want you to kiss me,” she whispered, her honest eyes revealing a tentative spark of lust that sent his heart racing.

  “Why?” Seamus needed to know and he knew also that this woman would tell him.

  Juliet shrugged shyly and her long, dark hair shifted over her lovely bosom.

  “I like your company.” Her simple confession caught him off guard. “And I like the complexity of your eyes.”

  She reached up and caressed his cheek with her hand then moved down to catalog his other attributes, and bastard that he was, Seamus just sat there and let her.

  “I like the way your sideburns emphasize your jaw.” Her fingers traced that line and his heart began to pound.

  His mind screamed warnings of the dangerous waters she was wading into, but his body took hold of his tongue, silencing him.

  The lady leaned closer, the tip of her forefinger brushing his bottom lip as she whispered, “I like the way you kiss me.” She stared at his lips, adding, “And I liked the approach you took in determining commonalities of sequencing in ancient languages.”

  Seamus’s breath became shallow but he managed to whisper back, “And I quite enjoyed your article on volume displacement. Your conclusions will prove very useful to British shipbuilders.”

  She gasped, clearly shocked by his knowledge of her work. “Yes, I thought so, too.”

  They stared at one another and the glistening of firelight against her moist lips was more than Seamus could take. He bent his head, closing the last few inches separating them, and kissed her soundly, unable to stop himself.

  His hands slid around her tiny waist and her arms curled around his neck, both pulling the other closer, deeper into the sensual embrace.

  The lady’s lips parted and she sought his warmth as eagerly as he sought hers. Their tongues intertwined and she gave a soft mewling of approval that sent a wave of lust straight to his shaft.

  She tasted of inquisitive inexperience and an intellectual potency that all but brought him to his knees. Seamus kissed her more deeply, with more sexual purpose, but she pulled her head back and stared at him.

  Her eyes were filled with desire. She glanced at his face, his neck, and finally at the exposed flesh of his chest, confessing, “I like the way you feel.”

  Bloody hell!

  The lass bent her head to kiss his throat and Seamus gritted his teeth as her soft breasts brushed his chest. He took his hands off her hips and clutched the edge of the chaise until his knuckles turned white.

  “Juliet,” he protested weakly as she untied his cravat, pressing her eager lips on his newly exposed flesh. He should stop her, stop this from going . . . Oh, God. His fingers speared her lush strands as she kissed him just below the ear.

  “I even like the way you smell of leather and . . .” Her nose nuzzled his neck to confirm his scent. “Masculinity,” she breathed in his ear.

  “Stop, Juliet.”

  But she wasn’t listening. She was too focused on tasting his throat as her hands explored the rest of him.

  “Juliet.” He held out for as long as he could, but when she began unbuttoning his shirt, he lost the battle.

  Seamus lifted her onto his lap, moaning at the feel of her backside against his length. He bent his head, needing his turn, needing a taste of her, finally kissing the feminine line of her throat.

  His right hand was caressing her breast before Seamus knew what he was doing and they both moaned in appreciation. He lifted his head, eager to press his lips to the succulent mounds when a flash of light drew his attention to the near empty glass of scotch sitting atop her side table.

  The lass was foxed!

  The boldness of her kiss, her blatant desire, he should have guessed. But he was too damn caught up in his own need to notice her liquid courage.

  Bloody hell!

  Seamus slid her off his lap as he rose, distinctly dissatisfied. “I have to go,” he said to himself.

  He had no notion why he desired Juliet Pervill. Something about her drove him mad.

  She was shorter than was his taste, and her face was flawed by freckles that emphasized her innocence when he preferred the sophistication of experienced women.

  “No, you don’t.” She looked up at him.

  But those eyes.

  His stomach flipped with a ripple of wanting as those clear, blue eyes continued to peruse him.

  Lady Juliet Pervill might be an innocent woman, but the lass sure as hell admired the male form. Seamus could see it in her gaze, had felt it in her fingertips, and he wondered what such a clever woman would do if those hands were given free reign.

  Seamus blinked, his breathing erratic.

  “Trust me, lass.” He nodded adamantly. “I do.”

  He thrust both his hands through his hair then turned his back on her to ease his lingering sensual thoughts.

  And his thoughts were wicked, but Seamus was a clever enough man to know that the real question was . . . why? Why out of all the beautiful women the ton had to offer did Juliet Pervill drive him to distraction?

  He had no damn idea, but one thing was for sure. Now that he had touched her, seen her desire for him, he would not soon be able to forget it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ~

  Enigma stared at Seamus McCurren over the large gaming table, decidedly disappointed.

  “Having a bit of bad luck this evening, Mister McCurren?” her front man asked.

  Mister McCurren’s play thus far this evening had been dismal and was providing her absolutely no challenge at all. Indeed, if the gentleman continued on this way, he would lose everything he had won upon their last meeting.

  “It would seem so, Mister Youngblood,” McCurren replied apathetically, his eyes dull, distracted.

  Something was clearly occupying the man’s mind. But what?

  She stared at the delicious Seamus McCurren and then placed her hand on Youngblood’s inner thigh. Youngblood was an exceptional card player, which along with his good looks, was the reason she had hired him. But even with his exceptional skill, Youngblood was nowhere near capable enough to deal with Seamus McCurren on his own.

  With the possible exception of this evening.

  “Are you unwell, Mister McCurren?” she asked, searching for any explanation for his appalling play.

  “No.” He grinned halfheartedly, understanding her fully. “Although I wish I were so that I might offer you some form of explanation.”

  “No explanation necessary.” Youngblood dealt, drawing McCurren’s attention away from her. “Dante’s welcomes your money.”

  After making mincemeat of the Scot yet again, Enigma left Youngblood to run the table. She crooked her finger for Mister Collin to walk upstairs with her while calculating McCurren’s considerable losses.

  “Where are we in our dealings with Lord Harrington?” she asked Mister Collin when they arrived in her o
ffice.

  “We’ve set up our man as butler,” he began, closing the door, “And arranged for two of our whores to work as chambermaids at the Harrington estate.”

  “Are they trained domestics?”

  He nodded.

  “Clever girls, are they?” Enigma asked, sitting behind her desk.

  “Yes, Mira has already sent along information and I’ve just left her reports on your desk.”

  “Anything of import?” she inquired, reaching for the missives.

  “Not particularly, but the girl did manage to bed a member of the House of Lords, asking him what ‘they was goin’ to do about that bloody Napoleon and the fool revealed several possibilities being discussed.”

  “Excellent, double the girl’s fee.” Enigma sighed, changing the subject to more interesting matters. “Now, what have you learned about Seamus McCurren?”

  “Nothing more than I’ve already told you.” The bodyguard bristled. “He is a scholar and the second son of the Earl of DunDonell, wealthy in his own right after investing the funds his father gave him.”

  Enigma nodded, having known similar men, mesmerizing gentlemen who had taken advantage of her intellectual thirst by taking her to bed.

  She had been a poor girl craving an education and they had certainly given it to her. But she had gotten their money in the end. When her naïveté and innocence were finally vanquished, she had been the clever one.

  Smiling at the memory of her past triumphs, she turned to Collin. “I want Seamus McCurren followed.”

  “Why?”

  Because Seamus McCurren was different from those gentlemen—he was clever, noble, and stunningly handsome. Her old weakness for brilliance troubled her and Enigma reprimanded herself.

  “If you question me again . . .” She shot Collin a glance that bore through him as if it were a ball of lead. “It will be the last question you ask.”

  “My apologies,” he offered wisely.

  Still, she sighed, there was something about Seamus McCurren that demanded investigation.