Her newest assignment from France had been to become close and intimate with the comte, a fellow agent in the service of the prime minister. She was to monitor Lucien’s activities. There were suspicions about where Lucien’s allegiances lay.
The irony wasn’t lost on her, since she also was a double agent, turned by Cord. All the twists of her double life had gotten convoluted. She believed Cord saw past their short but passionate affair in France to know that sex wouldn’t make her forget her loyalty to Talleyrand, who had saved her from the guillotine. But then men didn’t believe women had the ability to separate sex from business.
“Do you not feel like playing today, my little l’oiseau?” His finger snaked under her breast.
In the beginning, she had found her mission of seducing the comte interesting, but now it was work.
“Or do I suspect correctly that this show of all your plumage is not for my benefit but for Rathbourne?”
Isabelle forced her breathing to slow. Maybe she wasn’t as bored with her assignment as she believed.
“Lucien, mon cheri. I always dress to please you. You’ve remarked before that this gown pleases you.”
“It does please me.” His eyes raked her breasts. “However, I’m not sure I want to share my prize with that English prig.”
He straightened and moved to the window, his cane tapping a staccato beat. He appeared to be contemplating the activity on the street below.
Isabelle prepared herself for the predictable jealous outburst. She was surprised when he continued in a mild tone of voice.
“I’ll not detain you. You expect no difficulty today in dealing with Rathbourne?”
“Lucien, darling, you can have the greatest confidence in my ability to handle Lord Rathbourne.” She seductively stretched on the chaise to allow Lucien the opportunity to guess how she intended to handle Cord.
Lucien’s breathing became audible. He exhaled slowly. “Isabelle, my tigress, I regret there is not time for you to practice your skills on me before the arrival of Rathbourne.”
He moved away from the window. He bent, taking her hand to his lips. Instead of an expected polite kiss, he slowly licked her fingers with his tongue.
“Au revoir, ma sorciere, until tonight.”
* * *
“Lord Rathbourne, milady.” Bolton announced Isabelle’s next visitor in his deep bass voice. She had always known that Bolton was hired by English intelligence to report her activities, but her butler’s punctilious announcement made it clear where his loyalties lay.
“Please show him in, Bolton.”
“Yes, milady.”
She positioned herself as a magnificent tableau. She wanted Cord to come to her. Her heart throbbed in excitement, the more dangerous the game, the more gratifying the spoils. She needed the missing codebook. Distraction and possible leads to the whereabouts of the codebook were tonight’s goal. But Cord’s love-making was definitely a pleasurable prize.
Cord’s wavy black hair was pushed back in disarray, as if he had brushed his hands through his hair when he arrived. With his finely-chiseled features and well-formed body, Cord would make her work for France less arduous.
“Good day, Isabelle.” Cord’s stance was rigid, his shoulders tightly pulled back.
He was in control. The game would be easy, since it was a short path from anger to passion.
“Cordelier, mon cheri, are you in a snit this afternoon? Come, sit here, and let me help you relax.” Using her sultry voice, she writhed on the settee, moving her hips sinuously across the cushions.
His cheeks flushed; she heard him take in a breath. The high and mighty Cordelier Beaumont was going to be an easy English whale to reel in. He cleared his throat and paused as if he could control the tension building in the room by keeping his distance.
“Please, Cordelier, come sit.” Emphasizing the French pronunciation of Cordelier, she beckoned to him, like a siren from the mythical Greek Seas, swathed in her azure blue dress.
He cleared his throat again as if struggling with his breath. “Isabelle, your role as my mistress doesn’t continue when we’re in private.”
She loved his reaction. The English were so predictable. Correct procedure, correct roles. If he needed her to clarify what their relationship could be, that was fine with her.
“Darling, I know what my role is in society, but we can have any relationship we both desire when we’re together in private. Can I show you this afternoon the relationship I desire with you?”
She drew her lips into a pouty “O” shape to suggest what she could do with her mouth, and at the same time, she rubbed her breasts, tempting him with the prospect of the pleasure the perfect orbs could bring. At the young age of fifteen, she had learned the power of her breasts.
Her uncle had not been able to resist them, nor had the sixty-year-old Marquis who had purchased her from her uncle. When the guillotine had rid of her of the Marquis, Talleyrand had offered her an escape and the chance to control her fate.
She continued to stimulate herself, rubbing her breasts and slightly spreading her legs. Watching the domineering Lord Rathbourne weaken was stimulating, and her breathing became short pants. Her control over this powerful specimen of masculinity was exhilarating.
His eyes had turned steely and his voice got rough. “Stop it. Stop it, Isabelle. We’re here to work together.”
She couldn’t suppress a laugh. Seducing Cord was enthralling, and she wasn’t about to let it end. “Cheri, we can work together, but I don’t think you’ll think of it as work.” She leaned toward him, removing one of her hands from her breast to reach for him. “Come here, darling. Let me do all the work.” She eyed his massive erection. “You’re under a lot of stress at the office. Let me help you relieve all your tension.”
* * *
The mention of the office helped bring Cord back to the purpose of his visit. It would be so easy to walk the few steps and indulge in all the pleasures Isabelle Villier was offering. It had been a long time since he had a woman, and he would have a powerful release with Isabelle—but that’s all it would be, a release. There was only one woman he wanted and it wasn’t just for carnal pleasure. He’d had a lifetime of empty carnal pleasure. He wanted something more, something lasting.
He watched Isabella release her luscious breast from the confines of her morning dress. He’d have to be a monk or a eunuch not to respond to the performance Isabelle was enacting. His erection began to throb.
Dampening down his masculine, primitive response, he reminded himself that he had come to get information about De Valmont, Isabelle’s lover.
“Isabelle, desist from this.” He struggled to regulate his breathing. “I’m here about your appearance at the Wentworth ball and how you’ll go on as my mistress.”
She maintained a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Cordelier, do we have to be so serious? We can play and still do our jobs.”
“Isabelle, I’ve no need to play. Let us say I’ve others…” He paused. “To meet my needs.”
She eyed his prominent manhood. Her lips and eyes warmed into a knowing look. “It’s fine, mon cheri. I’ll be here when the others…” She snickered, “aren’t available, since I’m your mistress.”
“Thank you for your concern.” His voice came out harsher than he planned. “Why did you attend the Wentworth Ball?”
“You said we were to make our relationship obvious. I thought you wanted a public display to establish yourself in your old reprobate identity to distract from your more secret responsibilities.”
She was lying, but why? Isabelle knew the rules. He needed to discover what she and De Valmont were planning. He assumed that De Valmont also worked for Talleyrand, but there were rumors that De Valmont also worked for another powerful person who sought to stir dissidence in the French émigrés. He wanted to know if Isabelle was involved with the subversive plot.
“The plan is for us to attend social events where men, especially foreign men, are known to rel
ax and confide secrets that they wouldn’t consider speaking in a respectable setting.”
Isabelle leaned back and sighed, fully aware that doing so enhanced her breasts and wouldn’t go unnoticed. “How absolutely boring. I can think of more entertaining ways to establish our relationship.”
He needed to get out of this space. Isabelle had perfected the art of tempting a man. He would do better questioning her away from her planned seduction. “Let us take my phaeton around Hyde Park to reinforce what you started last week at the ball. Let’s make a spectacle at the park.”
Chapter Ten
Cord drove his matched set of black horses through Hyde Park and acknowledged that Isabelle played the role of mistress sublimely. No one would guess that he had just rejected her sexual advances and that their relationship was platonic. She flirted lightly with him, publicly allowing herself to be seen gazing at him as if he were the center of her universe. He never underestimated anyone who was so adroit at changing their roles.
“Cordelier, smile fondly at me. Here comes the biggest gossip in the ton, Lady Billingsworth.”
Hildegard Billingsworth was worth her weight in innuendo. And if the size of the turquoise dress she wore today was any indication, she was going to be going full steam by teatime.
Lady Billingsworth spoke loudly enough for him to hear when her carriage passed by them. With just the right amount of practiced outrage, she intimated that the old Earl of Rathbourne would be shocked to see his son, the new earl, with a French… The last word was lost, as it was intended to be. Her companion ladies tittered at the implication.
So much for his new image. He didn’t want to guess what his father would’ve thought. He was lost in musing about his father when he saw Henrietta. The sunlight shone on her golden hair, giving the red streaks the effect of fire. She rode upon a mammoth horse, not a tame mare that ladies were supposed to ride. The silence in the park was peppered with her laughter, sending anticipation through his body. She was riding with Edward and a gentleman whom he couldn’t identify.
With the gentleman’s back turned, his face remained hidden, but his posture and stance looked familiar. He couldn’t believe it. Ash was riding with Henrietta. He was going to mutilate his friend.
In his annoyance, he inadvertently pulled too tightly on the reins. The sensitive horses reared, thrashing against their confinement.
Henrietta and Ash wheeled their horses toward the sound. They both stared at him, watching him pull in the horses. Ash laughed loudly. He watched Henrietta’s tight intake of breath when she recognized his companion.
Her younger brother said loudly, “What a fine pair. Have you seen any better?” The innocent innuendo wouldn’t be lost on Ash, who snorted.
Isabelle, sensing his discomfort, joined in the fracas, primed for retaliation after this morning’s rejection. “Cordelier, darling, do you want me to help you?” She pressed herself closer to him, running her hand along his leg.
He thought he heard Henrietta gasp, but perhaps it was only his guilty imagination.
Isabelle was laughing gaily when they drove by the group.
He shot Ash a look that promised retribution. An unrepentant Ash smiled back.
Henrietta bent down to speak with her brother, avoiding them and effectively distracting her brother from the improper scene unfolding.
“Isabelle unhand me this instant,” he said sotto voce.
“Lady Henrietta Harcourt?” She laughed heartily. “Is she the other who offers you comfort?”
Outrage coursed down into his gut. “Keep silent.” He did want Henrietta to be the one who brought him comfort, but after today’s foray with Isabelle, it was going to be almost impossible to convince Henrietta that Isabelle wasn’t his mistress.
Henrietta wasn’t making it easy for him to tell her about the Wentworth Ball and now this newest escapade would be hard to explain without revealing his work. He planned to clarify his position with the Abchurch office and his relationship with Isabelle but he had deep fears that Henrietta wouldn’t be receptive to his role over her family. She hadn’t been home to him all week, however Henrietta Harcourt wouldn’t be able to outmaneuver him much longer. The Chadwick soiree was tomorrow.
* * *
Henrietta and Edward had paused on their morning ride to greet Lord Ashworth. The friendly gentleman had been regaling them with hilarious anecdotes about Lady Billingsworth.
“Hen, look at that pair,” Edward shouted and pointed. The thunder of hooves, snorting, and clatter of wheels came from behind her.
She wheeled Minotaur toward where her brother gestured. Lord Rathbourne, moving in a phaeton toward them, fought to control a magnificent pair of black horses. Seated next to him was Isabelle Villiers, amused at his difficulty.
Anyone looking upon Isabelle Villiers’s décolletage didn’t have to make a big leap to know why Lord Ashworth coughed into his hand to hide his amusement about Edward’s innocent comment.
“Hen, isn’t that Lord Rathbourne?” Edward inquired when the couple passed them.
She tried to appear disinterested, adjusting her riding skirt over her sidesaddle.
“Hen, why didn’t you speak to him?” Edward asked in a loud voice. “I’d really like to learn more about his horseflesh.”
Henrietta bit the side of her mouth, suppressing her need to say anything about flesh in front of her younger brother. “Lord Rathbourne was fully occupied.” She looked directly at Lord Ashworth, challenging him to make any further comments.
“His wife is a looker, isn’t she, Lord Ashworth?” Edward’s whisper was fully audible. He was imitating the banter he must have heard many times among Michael and his friends.
Lord Ashworth leaned over to speak to her, out of Edward’s hearing. “This isn’t what it appears.” He gestured to the couple who had passed them.
Trying to feign indifference, she spoke with the right amount of insouciance. “He’s planning on marrying her, then?”
Lord Ashworth chortled loudly. Lord Rathbourne turned back when he heard his friend laugh.
Bored by the adult conversation, Edward and Gus, his stout, four-legged companion, continued to the Serpentine to throw and retrieve sticks, the favorite activity of the boy and the yellow dog.
“It looks like Cord has returned to the reckless life he led before he went to the Continent, but he has changed. He’ll never return to the life of dissolution.” Lord Ashworth watched her closely, gauging her response to his disclosure. “He suffered terribly after his brother died.”
Her gaze drifted upward, taking in the brilliance of an almost opal sky. She remembered the pain, her deep anger and bewilderment when her mother died. Could Cord’s wild behavior have been a reflection of his grief? His controlling, cold manner a defense to protect himself from the pain?
Lord Ashworth leaned over his roan. “He’s my closest friend and I want to see him put the past behind him.”
“You’re a good friend, but I’m unsure what this has to do with me.”
“You held his interest before he left for the Continent and he hopes to further his acquaintance with you now that he has returned.” A wide grin spread over Lord Ashworth’s boyish face. “He was ready to kill me just now for talking with you.” Lord Ashworth’s smile widened, enjoying his friend’s wrath. “He isn’t the easiest man.”
“I’m sure Lord Rathbourne has many endearing qualities.”
Lord Ashworth laughed loudly, his head thrown back. “I’m sure his mother would’ve found him endearing if she were still living, but I’m not sure I can think of anyone else who would find Cord endearing. Uncompromising, stubborn, controlling would be how I’d describe him and a courageous and loyal friend.”
What could she say after such a heartfelt testimony? “Lord Ashworth, it’s been most enlightening to hear about the gentleman. But you’re under a misapprehension about Lord Rathbourne’s feelings for me. We’re mere acquaintances.”
“Hen, come and see Gus try to catch the swan
s!” Edward’s voice traveled the distance. After their last excursion, she didn’t trust Edward and Gus at the Serpentine.
“Excuse me, Lord Ashworth. I must attend to my brother and his dog.”
Lord Ashworth tipped his head in a bow from his horse and said under his breath but loud enough for her to hear, “Not mere acquaintances for long.”
She turned Minotaur toward the path leading to the Serpentine. She was a grown woman with many responsibilities, but when it came to understanding relationships between women and men, she was ignorant. She wished there were a book that dissected men and their behaviors like Greek participles. She was brilliant at dissecting Greek participles.
Four years ago, Lord Rathbourne had approached her at Lady Chillington’s ball with an air of superiority and haughtiness. His dark aristocratic features and powerful muscular physique created a commanding presence, but his distracted and insincere gestures annoyed her. For him, asking a young debutante to dance was sport, nothing more than a form of entertainment, simply something to laugh about with his jaded friends.
Soon after their dance, she caught a glimpse of him leading Lady Atherton, a widow of some repute, into a curtained alcove. His fingers trailed along the woman’s neck. His other hand gently moved her into the hidden area. She might have been an innocent, but she knew there was only one reason for Lord Rathbourne to lead a lady into a cloistered area. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard the gentleman near her chortling about Rathbourne and his newest paramour. The gentleman, unaware of Henrietta, described in scathing details Lady Atherton’s known appetites.
Lord Rathbourne had the nerve to come back and ask her for a second dance after his exploits with Lady Atherton behind the curtain. Unable to refuse a gentleman, she was forced to dance with him again. She never admitted that a tiny, a very tiny part of her fantasized about the pleasurable activities in the alcove. And she never, ever admitted that in her fantasy she was the captivating woman led behind the curtain by the experienced rake.
A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) Page 7