All the mental restrictions drilled into ladies of the ton disappeared when Juliet suddenly remembered—
She was a ruined woman.
Juliet reached up and grasped the burgundy silk around Seamus’s shoulders and yanked the robe from his enticing body.
Seamus stared down at her in complete shock and then smiled with a seductive heat in his eyes, asking, “Disappointed?”
Breathing heavily, her eyes scanned the muscled curves of his chest, noting his nipples so deliciously different from her own. She bit the side of her lip, looking lower at the lines that crisscrossed his flat belly, at the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath . . . Damn! His drawers.
“Yes,” she said truthfully. Seamus threw his head back and roared with laughter, causing her to blush.
“Well, lass, I would not want you to leave my home unsatisfied.” Juliet watched his hand go to the drawstring of his drawers before she closed her eyes, humiliated that she wanted very much to see more of him.
“I’m so sorry to have disturbed you,” Juliet whispered on the verge of tears, sure that this was quite amusing for a man of Seamus McCurren’s ilk.
She turned, rushing toward the study door, but it would not open, and then she felt his heat against her back.
“I’m sorry, Juliet,” he breathed in her ear. “I was just teasin’, lass.”
His lips pressed against her neck and then Juliet did cry, overwhelmed with her want of him.
“Despite what you may have heard, Mister McCurren, I have no experience with such . . . games. Good night.”
Seamus let her go, knowing now was not the time. There never would be a time for them. Juliet was an innocent, as overcome by her awakening sensuality as was he. When she had ripped his robe from his body, Seamus had very nearly done the same to her gown.
He was still shaking from the need to make love to her and he knew that something had to be done. He could not go on like this, working side by side, all the while wanting something he could not have.
“William,” Seamus shouted to his butler as he opened the study door. “You are never to allow that woman in my home again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Now, if he could just keep her out of his office.
≈
A hairy little Welshman clung to the warmth of the brick walls across the street from the house he had been paid to watch. He snuffled and reached for his gin, taking a small swig then putting the half-empty bottle back in his overstuffed pocket. The man took out a scrap of paper and a pencil and huddled under the lamppost so that he could note the time.
Mister McCurren had arrived home late from Whitehall. What the hell Seamus McCurren did at Whitehall he had no notion, nor did he care. He and his brother were being paid to watch the fancy and nothing more.
The job had been a right bore until the lady arrived. She was young, fresh, and angry when she pushed her way into McCurren’s home. She hadn’t stayed long, and by the look on her face when he watched the lady being helped into her carriage, she had left more troubled than when she had arrived.
“Who’s the woman?” He saw his brother’s pipe burning on a slow draw before he saw his ugly face.
“Don’t know. First time I’ve seen her.” He looked his brother in the eye. “I’ll follow the lady. You stay here and watch McCurren,” he suggested, his elbow aching at the first sign of a freeze. “Did you bring some blankets? It’s gonna get cold tonight.”
“Never you mind about me.” His brother smiled around the bone of his ever-present pipe. “Just remember that you’ll be the one freezing tomorrow night.”
“True,” he chuckled, rubbing salt into his brother’s wound. “But tonight I’ll have a warm bed at Dante’s and an even warmer whore.”
“As long as you get me money from Mister Collin, I don’t give a damn what you do with your evening.”
“Don’t forget to write down everything McCurren does.” He jerked his head toward the fancy’s house. “And the time he does it.”
The Welshman jumped atop his horse as the lady’s carriage rolled forward.
“I have done this before, you know,” his brother said, looking up at him.
“Not for these people you haven’t.”
The brothers stared at one another, aware of the consequences for failing people such as these.
Chapter Eighteen
~
“I’m afraid that I am no longer able to work with Lady Juliet and am therefore forced to resign my commission at the Foreign Office.”
“Resign?” Falcon stared at Seamus McCurren, who had sought him out at his home.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” He nodded. “Now that the Foreign Office has commissioned a cryptographer as capable as Juliet Pervill, I feel comfortable in returning to my prior research.”
Falcon was by now familiar enough with Seamus to know that something else was bothering the man. “Has the lady—”
“It really has nothing to do with Lady Juliet, I assure you.” McCurren looked at him with regret. “Rather the fact that I prefer . . . That is to say, I am far more effective when working in solitude.”
“Ah, so you have not found the lady’s insight . . . useful?” Falcon watched the boy carefully for insight of his own.
“Quite the contrary, the lady is eminently qualified to decrypt French code. I just find it difficult to concentrate when . . .”
Falcon watched the scholar search for the proper word.
“Challenged?” he suggested helpfully.
The poor lad jerked his head back to look at him then blinked several times before he could manage, “No! No, not at all. I merely find it difficult to concentrate when a variety of methods are being applied to the information gathered by this office.”
The boy had a point, he supposed.
“Mmm,” Falcon mused. “You know, I often have this difficulty with the gentlemen in my employ.”
“What difficulty is that?” McCurren appeared truly perplexed.
“When I hire a new man, my agents inevitably feel . . . threatened, feel that I find the work they are doing somehow lacking.”
McCurren’s dark brows pulled over his golden eyes, and Falcon could see that he was mulling over the never before-considered possibility of his feeling threatened.
“No,” Seamus concluded. “I do not believe that to be the difficulty in this particular situation.”
“Which implies that you do know what the difficulty might be?” McCurren held his eyes and in the complex depths Falcon found the answer. “Perhaps the difficulty is that you are unaccustomed to working with women?”
“Yes.” The man’s tense shoulders were eased by relief. “As I’ve said, I concentrate much more effectively when working . . . in solitude.”
“You seem to concentrate quite well with the assistance of Mister Habernathy.”
“Quite true.” Seamus glanced down, clearly embarrassed, and Falcon felt a twinge of guilt. “And I am quite sure that Lady Juliet Pervill will work with Mister Habernathy equally well.”
“Thank you for informing me of your intention to resign in person.” Falcon took pity on the lad. “I shall speak with Lady Juliet first thing tomorrow morning and inform her of the new arrangement.”
“Thank you, my lord. It has been an honor working with you,” Seamus said, leaving Falcon to wonder what would become of the brilliant Juliet Pervill when he dismissed her from his employ.
≈
Juliet arrived at the Foreign Office at ten o’clock and, as she walked toward her office, told herself repeatedly to pretend as though nothing happened last night between her and Seamus.
To pretend that he had not kissed her . . . or rather that she had not kissed him, to behave as though she had not ripped his dressing gown from that magnificent bod—
“Morning, James.” She forced a smile and then swept into the inner office.
“Morning, Lady Juliet,” Mister Habernathy called after her.
But she stopped col
d when she saw that the large Scot was not there. “Has Mister McCurren come in today?”
“No, Mister McCurren has yet to arrive.” He looked up then shook his head, smiling. “Perhaps he is out making inquiries?”
“Oh, excellent,” Juliet said, being the coward that she was. “Then we are sure to make some progress today.”
“Undoubtedly,” James agreed, always the optimist. “Also, his lordship wished a word with you the moment you arrived in the office.”
“All right.” Juliet removed her reticule and pelisse. “While I’m gone, would you be so kind as to brew me some coffee?”
She had not slept well.
“Certainly.”
Juliet made her way down the maze of halls, wondering why in the world the old man had chosen such a tiny office. Surely, his position within the Foreign Office required more room, if not recognition.
“Good morning,” Juliet said to Falcon’s pleasant assistant. “Is his lordship available?”
The man did not quite meet her eye. “Yes, he is awaiting you, as a matter of fact.”
“Thank you,” Juliet said simply, not wanting to disturb the gentleman further.
She walked to the door of his lordship’s inner sanctum and knocked. The old man cleared his throat and called, “Come in.”
Juliet smiled politely at Falcon’s secretary, but when she met his eye, the man dropped his gaze. Confused, she pushed open his lordship’s door, her attention focused entirely on the old man himself.
“You wanted to speak with me, my lord?”
“Yes, Lady Juliet.” Falcon took a shaky moment to rise to his feet and then swept his hand over the set of familiar chairs in front of him. “Please, have a seat.”
Juliet’s brows furrowed, sensing that it was Falcon who would be handing out the information today, not the other way round.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the same seat that she had the last time she had been in his office . . . with Seamus McCurren.
His lordship smiled and Juliet felt an immediate foreboding, which was confirmed when he began by saying, “Lady Juliet, your work with the Foreign Office over the past several weeks has been quite commendable.”
“I am so glad that you think so.” She stared at him, wary.
“However . . .” Juliet started to panic. “I’m afraid that your continued presence at the Foreign Office is no longer possible.”
“You disappoint me, my lord.” Her chin quivered and she bit her bottom lip to stop it from shaking. “I would have thought you of all people able to deal with having a woman of questionable reputation in your employ.”
“That is unwarranted, Juliet,” the old man admonished. “If it were up to me, you would still—”
“If it is not up to you, your lordship, then who the bloody hell is it up to?”
She was near to crying now, not sure what she would do if she did not have the Foreign Office to come to every day.
The old man ignored her outburst.
“I was forced to make a decision.” Falcon looked at her with great regret. “Seamus McCurren has resigned his commission at the Foreign Office if you continue on, and I cannot afford to lose you both.”
“Then lose him!” Juliet shouted, her hand thrust upward as if by her logic. “Accept his resignation and keep me on as sole cryptographer.”
Falcon shook his head, denying her. “That is impractical, I’m afraid.”
“Why?” Juliet demanded, furious. “Because I am a woman?”
“Yes.” The old man nodded, unrepentant. “You have been a distraction for several gentlemen at the Foreign Office but that is not the only reason you are being dismissed.”
“Is Mister McCurren a better cryptographer than I?” Tears flowed so freely down her cheeks that Juliet did not even try to stop them.
“No,” the old man admitted. “Mister McCurren offers different talents than you do, my dear. However, Seamus has been with the office longer and he is, as you so correctly point out, male.”
“But why would he resign from—”
But before the words came out of her mouth, Juliet knew.
“Mister McCurren says that you are a distraction to his work.”
Juliet nodded. It was true—she had kissed him several times, and last night . . . last night she had practically assaulted him. The poor man was probably protecting his virtue from such a wanton woman.
“I understand,” Juliet whispered, rising. “I’ll just gather my things.” And my dignity. “Thank you so very much . . .” She began to cry again and then forced herself to look her former employer in the eye. “For the opportunity that you have given me, your lordship.”
“No, my dear.” Falcon took her hand in both of his. “Thank you for the work that you have done for us . . . for Britain.”
Juliet nodded, unable to speak, and then she left the old man’s office for the last time.
“It has been an honor,” his secretary said as she left, finally meeting her eye. “Working with you, Lady Juliet.”
“Thank you.” Her tears started up again and she pressed her gloved fingers to the corners of her eyes to quail them.
Juliet opened the door and stepped into the corridors of the Foreign Office, praying that no one noticed the redness of her nose. She arrived at their outer office, but it was empty, and she took a deep breath before opening the inner-office door.
“I’ve brought your coffee, my lady,” James said, setting the steaming cup on her messy desk.
“Might I take it with me?” she asked, and hearing her distress, James Habernathy turned around.
“Take it with you?” The secretary handed her his handkerchief.
“I’ve been dismissed.”
“You have not.” He said the words as if they could change the outcome.
“Yes, I have.” Juliet nodded, relieved that she was not the only person who thought her dismissal a shock and entirely unwarranted, not to mention unfair.
“They would not dare dismiss you after all you have done with the E code.” Mister Habernathy was indignant. “What on earth is his lordship thinking?”
Juliet walked to her chair and yanked on her pelisse, furious. “It was not his lordship who had me dismissed.”
“Who else even knows you collaborate with the Foreign Office?”
Juliet raised a brow and Mister Habernathy looked at Seamus’s desk, gasping. “He did not.”
“He did! Sort of.” Juliet slipped her reticule on her wrist and then began gathering her books from atop the desk. “He told his lordship that he would resign his post if I continued on.”
“Why would Mister McCurren do such a horrible thing? You were making such progress.”
Juliet shrugged as if she did not know, and the books in her arms started to fall to the side. “Ask Mister McCurren.”
“Oh, do let me pack your things for you, Lady Juliet,” Mister Habernathy offered, so gently that she just nodded. “Send them to Lady Felicity Appleton’s home, if you please, and thank you for everything, James. It has been a pleasure working with you.”
Mister Habernathy smiled and Juliet walked to the door, glancing back at her secretary and then at Seamus McCurren’s very empty desk.
Chapter Nineteen
~
Embarrassed, Seamus returned to the office late that afternoon, praying that it was empty so that he might pack up his desk in peace.
But it was not.
“Afternoon, James,” he said to Mister Habernathy’ s back as the secretary packed the contents of Juliet’s desk into a small wooden trunk. “What are you doing?”
“Good afternoon, Mister McCurren.” His amiable secretary’s tone was curt and far from welcoming. “I spoke with his lordship this morning,” James continued, having yet to turn round. “And I am emptying Lady Juliet’s desk as per his request.”
“Lady Juliet’s?” James had gotten it all wrong. “No, it is not Lady Juliet who is leav---”
The trunk was slammed over his word
s and James Habernathy walked directly in front of him, eyeing him with a look of immense disappointment.
“I must say, I found the news disturbing as I have seen firsthand the strides Lady Juliet has made in decrypting this most recent French code.”
Seamus felt as though he had been struck in the gut, but he could not explain his motives for removing himself from this office, from removing Juliet from his reach.
“As have I, which is why I offered my resignation to his lordship,” Seamus explained, trying to sound reasonable.
“You resigned?”
“Yes!” He nodded, angry. “You’re packing the wrong desk.”
“But I don’t understand.” James stared at the trunk on Juliet’s desk as if he had no idea how it had gotten there. “His lordship said that Lady Juliet would be leaving the Foreign Office and returning to a life more befitting her station.”
Oh, damn! Falcon had gotten rid of his reason for resigning.
Stunned, he sank into Juliet’s chair as James continued to talk. “But I must say, Lady Juliet did not look as though she wished to return to a life of leisure. She looked absolutely murderous.”
Mister Habernathy held his eye and Seamus tried not to flinch.
“Let’s just get on with it, shall we,” Seamus sighed. He had done the honorable thing. “Falcon has made his choice.” And Seamus would do his best to convince the old man that he’d made the wrong choice.
“Yes, Mister McCurren.” His secretary’s cool formality punctuated the growing distance between them.
Seamus spent the remainder of a very long afternoon arguing with Falcon and then looking over the E markers. His “distraction” had been removed and the old man refused to reinstate her, leaving only Seamus to decrypt the code.
It was blackmail, pure and simple. He should bloody well tell the old man to stuff his commission, but he knew if he did that, it would be British troops who would pay the price.
At six o’clock, Seamus gathered his greatcoat and walked to the stables, angry and distracted. He called for his horse and rode through St. James’s Park to clear his muddled head.
The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance Page 14