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

by Samantha Saxon

  It seemed as though Juliet’s absence throughout the day had caused him to think of nothing but the lady herself.

  His lordship was correct, of course. She was back where she belonged, in the arms of the haute ton, protected from such ugly things as war and death . . . and him.

  He closed his eyes, knowing how easy it would be to seduce her and how much he wanted to do just that.

  Frustrated, Seamus slid off his horse, climbed the stairs to his home, and headed straight for a hot bath. But it was no good; every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, felt her lips pressed to his. He sat down for dinner, and in the silence, he heard her voice.

  He placed a piece of lamb in his mouth and chewed, confused.

  He did hear her voice!

  Seamus pushed his chair back from the table and walked silently to the door, concentrating on the ruckus in his entryway.

  “I’m afraid Mister McCurren is unavailable this evening, Lady Juliet,” his beleaguered butler explained as per his orders.

  Seamus pressed his ear to the door so that he would not miss a word of what the lady had to say.

  “I’m sure that if Mister McCurren knew I was here”—Juliet sounded angry—“he would gladly see me.”

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  “I am sorry, my lady.”

  “You mean to say . . .” Seamus could almost see the fire billowing from her nostrils as she spoke. “That you are refusing to notify Mister McCurren of my presence in his home.”

  “As I’ve said”—the brave butler held his ground— “Mister McCurren is unavailable this evening.”

  “I know Mister McCurren is in residence, I can smell his dinner!”

  Seamus glanced at his plate of traitorous lamb and then walked on tiptoes to resume his seat lest the wee woman hear him and barge into the dining room with his footmen attempting to hold her at bay.

  “Perhaps, if you were to come back tomorrow . . .”

  There was a long silence and Seamus stared at the brass doorknob just waiting for it to turn.

  “No,” Juliet said. “I don’t think I will come back tomorrow.”

  The front door closed and Seamus sat back in his chair, relieved. It had been a long, difficult day and all he wanted to do was finish his meal and go to bed.

  Seamus was just lifting his silver spoon to enjoy his dessert when a painted white brick came flying through the window. It slid the length of the new mahogany table, scratching it the entire way, before coming to rest three inches from his custard, which was still jiggling from the shaking of the now ruined table.

  Seamus looked through the shattered window at the madwoman in the street, as she shouted, “If you are going to behave like a child, then so shall I.”

  “William! Let her in,” he ordered, sure that the other window would be next if he did not.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Seamus gazed at his custard, knowing he would never eat it, then pushed himself up from his chair. He stepped into the entryway, offering a polite smile to his insistent guest.

  “Lady Juliet.” Seamus bowed with great exaggeration. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Mister McCurren,” she countered with a deep curtsy. “How lucky to find you at home.” Her eyes were ablaze and Seamus knew that he was in for it.

  The lady took a long, deep breath, ready to unleash hell when Seamus held up his index finger. “We should do this someplace else.” Not the study. Not the study. “The parlor, perhaps?” He swept his arm in that direction and followed at a safe distance.

  “Perfect,” she agreed.

  The footmen opened the door and Seamus looked at them both, saying, “For your own safety, I suggest you clear the area. William, you also.”

  “Is the lady unstable?” one of the lads asked in earnest.

  “Oh, she’s mad, all right,” Seamus said, closing the parlor door like a man about to die.

  ≈

  Juliet was shaking as she stared at the parlor fire, she was that angry.

  How dare he have her dismissed from the Foreign Office! Who in God’s name did he think he was?

  “Well.” Seamus’s rich baritone brogue skittered down her back. “Say what you’ve come to say so I can finish my dinner.”

  Juliet turned, smiling as she said, “I’ve not come to say anything,” before slapping him across the face.

  Seamus turned his head slowly to the left, rubbing his jaw as he stared down at her. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

  “You had me dismissed!” Juliet shouted.

  “I resigned!” Seamus protested. “It is not my fault that Falcon dismissed you.”

  “You gave him an ultimatum!”

  “I did no such thing.” He shook his head as he walked toward the parlor door. “What do you care anyway, it is not as though we work well together, as evidenced by this little exchange.”

  “We made great progress, Seamus.”

  He turned toward her, giving her a shimmer of hope.

  “You made progress, I made progress. ‘We’”—he motioned with both hands—“just happened to be seated next to one another.”

  “But we could make progress,” Juliet reasoned, knowing that Seamus was the only person able to have her reinstated at the Foreign Office. “Together. You and I?”

  “Lass.” His beautiful eyes were kind, soft. “What happened last night was not . . . good. It’s distracting us both from our work.”

  “Yes, and I apologized.” Juliet was so frustrated that she was about the cry. She swallowed hard, pressing back the lump in her throat. “If I promise never to kiss you again—”

  “No, lass.” He wiped an errant tear from her cheek and Juliet felt as if she had been branded by the wet heat of his fingers. “I can’t work in the same office as you. I would be happy to keep you apprised of the progress we—”

  “It’s not the same.” Juliet could see that he was trying to understand. “I’m a ruined woman, Seamus. There will be no teas, no musicals or balls unless hosted by my friends. I’ll never have a husband or children.”

  “Surely, somebody will marry you.” He sounded as though she were a day-old selection of meats.

  “Never mind,” she said, wounded and unwilling to expose herself further.

  Juliet walked toward the door but Seamus gently grasped her arm. “I am trying to understand you, lass. Truly, I am.”

  “This is all I have!” His beautiful lips parted, but he said nothing. Juliet pressed her advantage. “Please, let me work with you, Seamus.”

  “I can’t.” He shook his head, letting go of her.

  “You can’t or you won’t?” she spat, furious and frustrated.

  “Don’t do this, Juliet.” He opened the parlor door and made for the staircase. “I’m going to bed.”

  She watched him retreat from the foot of the staircase, his thighs flexing with each step, and then she laughed, desperate.

  “You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” Seamus was very near the first-floor landing and she had to run to catch up to him. “Aren’t you!”

  He rolled his eyes and turned down the wide corridor with her at his heels.

  “You’re scared that I will break the code before you do.” Juliet was sure she saw fear in his eyes. “That is why you had me dismissed.”

  “I resigned!”

  Seamus opened a door to their right, and when she tried to follow, he stopped, filling the doorway with his presence. He grasped her around the waist and lifted her, placing her in the corridor.

  “That’s why you ‘resigned’ then?” Juliet demanded and he attempted to slam the door shut, but she barreled past him.

  Juliet glanced around his bedchamber, his inner world. The deep burgundy drapes that hung from the canopy of his large four-poster bed would have dominated the room if Seamus had not been standing in it.

  “Get out of my bedchamber!” He pointed to the door.

  “Not until you admit that you’re scared of my abilities
and that is the true reason you presented your ultimatum.”

  “All right, lass,” Seamus said reluctantly. “I’m scared of your intellectual abilities and that is the true reason why I resigned from the Foreign Office. Might I go to bed now?”

  It sounded rather silly when he said it aloud, but at least he had admitted it and she should leave. Juliet watched him remove his shirt, his muscled chest as beautiful as she remembered. “You don’t mean what you just said.”

  “Aye, I do.” Seamus was popping the buttons of his buckskins as he spoke to her. He was trying to intimidate her just as he had the first time he kissed her. “I’m bloody terrified of you, Juliet. Now go home!”

  But she wasn’t intimidated and she did not want to go home. “Say, ‘I’m afraid you will break the code before me.’”

  “Christ Almighty, Juliet.” Seamus snapped his coverlet down and then placed both hands on his trim waist. “What do you want from me?”

  Juliet walked over and looked up at him, pleading, “I want my position at the Foreign Office back, Seamus.”

  “I can’t give it to you.”

  “Then speak to Falcon.”

  “I did. He refused to accept my resignation or reinstate you.”

  “Then tell him you changed your mind.”

  “No.” Seamus was shaking his head, not even considering the possibility.

  “Why not!”

  “Because I can’t work with you, Juliet.” His jaw was clenched and he was breathing heavily.

  She was hurt, and her chin began to quiver, but she had to know. “Am I that difficult to work wit—”

  “No.” He sounded frustrated as he shook his head.

  “Is it because I’m a woman?”

  “Aye.” Juliet looked down, disappointed, but he lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. “I can’t work with you, Juliet, because every time you stand near me, I want to throttle you.” She seemed to have that effect on people. “Or kiss you.”

  Juliet stared at him, stunned, and then managed to whisper, “I prefer being kissed.”

  Seamus chuckled and Juliet kissed him, forgetting the topic of their conversation. All she could think about was his bare chest, his heat pressing against her. Her hands caressed his muscular shoulders and she smiled at the feel of his thick arms sliding around her waist. His head was bent as he kissed her and Juliet felt completely surrounded by his strength.

  And then she remembered their work.

  “I forgot to tell you that I’ve begun a statistical analysis of—”

  “Stop talking, Juliet.” His breath was ragged as he spoke.

  “But this is quite pertinent to the code.” Juliet leaned back so that she could look up at him. “I’ve been formulating an equation based, ironically enough, on a French mathematician’s recent findings—”

  Seamus scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “Juliet.” Seamus stared down at her as she lay on the coverlet, his eyes a hot flash of gold. “I really need you to stop speaking, lass.”

  “Am I boring you?” she asked. “I sometimes forget that the majority of people have no interest in mathematical theories, but I thought that perhaps you were differ—”

  Juliet inhaled sharply as he yanked at the bodice of her gown, exposing her breasts. The cold in the room hardened her nipples into pink peaks.

  Nervous, she licked her lips, trying to concentrate on something else.

  “Perhaps I could help you with the sequencing portions of the code. Have you tried the Cavelli method, although finding the correct combination of . . . Oh, God.”

  His mouth was covering her left nipple, sucking in rhythm while his right hand traveled up her stocking covered leg. Seamus was so gentle, so sure of where he was going, that Juliet found her body turning toward his large hands, trusting him to find his way.

  She moaned at the feel of his mouth on her body and his attention turned to her other breast. Her right hand rose to caress the back of his neck then descended to the power of his naked back.

  Encouraged, he lifted his head and settled on top of her, the heat of his hard chest pressing against her bare breasts. He tried to look at her, but then his beautiful eyes drifted closed and his arms tightened around her as Seamus pulled her closer into his body. He gave a masculine sigh that she would have missed if his mouth were not caressing her ear.

  Her stomach flipped at the sound of his satisfaction and then she felt his lips on her neck. Oh, my. She could not think, could not remember what she had been so determined to tell Seamus about the code.

  “The commonalities . . .” Juliet said to the world in general and he looked up. “Are rarely . . . found . . .”

  She had to stop talking. She could not breathe from the pure pleasure of having Seamus McCurren lying on top of her, looking down at her. His large right hand closed over her breast and he searched her face, gauging her reaction to his touch, to him.

  She was shaking, her mind unable to contain her own desire while staring into his eyes. His muscular thighs were heavy and Juliet spread her legs to accommodate his larger frame.

  The moment she moved, his golden eyes closed and he gritted his teeth, but it took Juliet a moment to realize why. She had seen pictures of the male form, had even felt his erection against her. But not until his length was pressing her into the mattress did she understand the enormity of the situation.

  Juliet felt a moment’s panic and then Seamus kissed her and her legs turned to jelly, making the entire endeavor much more plausible. She lifted her shaky legs, wrapping them around the strength of his torso, and the feel of him between her thighs sent a moist heat to her very core.

  “Oh,” Juliet said, lifting her hips so that she could lock her ankles at the small of his back. “That’s much better.”

  “Good God, woman,” Seamus whispered over her head, forcing Juliet to arch her back so that she could look up at him.

  He groaned again and she could feel him shaking as he braced himself on his forearms. “Are you all right?” Juliet asked, concerned.

  “Stop . . .” Seamus looked down at her. “Moving, lass,” he finished with considerable effort.

  Juliet stilled until he recovered, watching as the muscles of his chest expanded with each heavy pant of discomfort. And then he was pushing himself off her, coming to settle on the side of his bed. He ran his finger through his dark hair and stared at the floor.

  “Go home, Juliet,” Seamus said, closing his eyes.

  Juliet had never seen a man struggling with temptation before and the thought that she was the source of that struggle made her feel . . . exhilarated.

  “All right, Seamus,” she said to his beautiful back as she slid the sleeves of her gown up over her shoulders. “I will speak to you at the office—”

  “No,” Seamus turned to her, shaking his head. “You will not speak to me at the office.” He stood, the flat plains of his stomach taut with tension. “I meant what I said. I’ll not work with you, Juliet.”

  “Because I’m a threat to you?” She was furious.

  “Because you distract me!”

  They stared at one another and she had to admit that he was a bit distracting himself. However, they were both full grown and certainly able to control themselves for the security of their country. Tonight might not be a good example, but surely in the office . . .

  “Surely—”

  “No.” His mind was set. She could see it in his striking eyes as he looked down at her.

  How could a man who was so handsome be so cruel?

  “Go to hell, Seamus McCurren,” she spat, devastated.

  Chapter Twenty

  ~

  On Saturday morning, Juliet lay in bed thinking.

  She had been thinking about Seamus McCurren for hours when she should have been thinking about the code.

  Men were dying in battle and she dreamed of the man who had gotten her dismissed from the one place where she could help them. She should be furious with hi
m, but after last night, seeing him . . . feeling him on top of her, touching him . . .

  What was she going to do with herself now? Do needlepoint until her fingers bled, paint until her eyes crossed? Of course, she could always go to the theater and be ignored by every member of polite society.

  Oh, that would be enjoyable.

  So, if she could not work on deciphering the French code what was she going—

  Wait! Why couldn’t she work on the code? Why was it necessary to work on decrypting the code at the Foreign Office at all? Could not a private citizen investigate suspicious activities and report them to the Foreign Office if any information came to light?

  Juliet swung her legs over the side of her bed and stared at the intricate pattern of her carpet.

  And wouldn’t it be wonderful if her investigation yielded information before his? Excited, Juliet jumped out of bed and called for her lady’s maid, writing out her instructions.

  “I want you to have a footman run out and buy these publications.” She handed her lady’s maid the list of the four newspapers that had printed the markers. “Every day.”

  “Yes, Lady Juliet.” Anne curtsied and began to turn when Juliet thought better of it.

  “And don’t tell anyone,” she said. “Particularly my mother. Just bring the papers straight to my bedchamber.”

  Determined, Juliet got dressed and went down to the conservatory to meet her mother and cousin for luncheon.

  “Good afternoon,” Juliet said, the last to arrive.

  “You’re looking very bright-eyed this morning, darling,” her mother observed before placing a napkin across her lap.

  “Yes, I am in fine spirits today.” Juliet smiled, not about to tell her mother why.

  “I’m so glad.” Felicity smiled back at her, having listened to Juliet’s angry rant for half the night. “I was actually quite concerned for your safety when you were at the Foreign Office. So, I am rather pleased that you shall be spending your days at home with us.”

  “Mmm.” Juliet nodded and her mother looked at her with suspicion in her eyes.

  “Yes, I thought you would still be very angry about your dismissal.” Her mother watched her carefully, thoughtfully.

  “I thought I would be, too,” Juliet said, having learned a thing or two about dealing with her mother. “But after speaking with Felicity, I realized that working at the Foreign Office was getting a bit”—Juliet looked at the glass ceiling—“boring, really.”