A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1)

by Jacki Delecki

  Fortified with brandy, she stood before him. She slipped off her negligee slowly and provocatively, hoping to diffuse his foul mood.

  “Damn it. I’ve no need for seduction. Take it off, or I’ll rip it off.”

  Having just spent a fortune on the little black frippery, she quickly discarded the lace piece. She took a deep breath while mustering her composure to approach the man who towered over her. She had learned never to reveal her fear to any man.

  “Bend over the settee. I’m in need of a good fuck from a French whore.”

  If Lucien knew she favored this position, he wouldn’t have allowed it. She found control by avoiding her aggressor’s face. As an adolescent, she had learned to escape to another world. As an adult, she had mastered her repulsion and fear.

  * * *

  A sated Lucien lounged on the settee, his mood almost giddy. “You seemed a bit less enthusiastic tonight.”

  “Lucien, how can you say that? No one compares to you.” She kept her back to him.

  “God, I needed that. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate living among these barbarians. I need to get out of this forsaken country or I’ll kill someone.”

  She heard his desperation mixed with anger. “Why Lucien, what has happened?” She asked nonchalantly while her instincts ran wild.

  “Quelle garce.” He spat the words.

  She slipped on her robe. “Lady Henrietta isn’t cooperating?” It was hard to believe that Lucien’s abundant charms weren’t working on the English prude.

  “Don’t you tire of the endless manipulation? We’re puppets on a string, dancing between Talleyrand and Fouché’s game,” he said.

  She didn’t have any idea of Fouché’s plans or the devious methods that he had used to persuade Lucien to betray Talleyrand. The police minister was perverse in his need to discredit Talleyrand.

  “If we don’t recover the codebook, we’ll be swept away with one pen flourish by Talleyrand to prevent him any public embarrassment,” Lucien said.

  She straightened the pillows, pretending the conversation was of no importance. “Talleyrand won’t discredit us over the codebook. The minister has weathered much bigger controversies. Talleyrand’s focus is on the upcoming election. The English government is close to financial collapse with the war expenditures and two failed harvests. You should stay focused on your work amongst the disgruntled citizens of London.”

  “Working with the wretched poor isn’t as gruesome as pursuing an English virgin.” He snorted. “What a farce, chasing after a frigid virgin with no style, no flair. I’m pretending to pant over her while Rathbourne is dying to get under her skirts.”

  She ignored the painful reminder that Cord lusted after a timid, pale English woman. If Lucien or Cord ever realized she was capable of caring…

  “I’ve been following that English shrew around like a love-sick dog, trying to gather information. I can’t believe she has any French heritage.” Frustrated, he ran his manicured fingers through his blond curls. Everything Lucien did was with style.

  Isabelle poured Lucien a large brandy and seated herself across from him. “Lucien, what about the brother?”

  “He escaped Paris. No one knows whether he sent the book to England or not. What a debacle.”

  “Did the men find anything when they searched Harcourt’s study?”

  Lucien didn’t reply, but the cold fury in his eyes told her enough. She knew better than to probe further. “I’m sure we can devise a way to obtain the book.” She needed Lucien to believe she wasn’t suspicious of his changed allegiance.

  He took a large gulp of brandy. “I loathe the English. They lack sophistication, savoir faire. They’ve none of the French insouciance.”

  She found it hard to stifle her frustration. Men were such infants. “Darling, what would make the lady be willing to part with the book?”

  Lucien stood up, fastening his breeches. “I’m tired. Thank God, my Father, the Marquis, didn’t live to see what happened to his only son, scurrying after the English, searching for stolen codebooks.” Disgust punctuated his words. His movements were abrupt when he pulled on his boots.

  She waited for the tirade to end. She refused to remember France or her relatives. Nothing could come of yearning for what had been. “Lucien, what if I promise Lady Henrietta her brother in exchange for the book?”

  He turned suddenly. His eyes narrowed and focused on her. “It’s…a possibility.”

  “I could intimate that I’m holding her brother captive.”

  “How?”

  She hadn’t thought it through, but it seemed easy enough to get a message to Lady Henrietta for a rendezvous. “I’ll send her a note to meet privately.”

  “You would need to get her away from Kendal house and Rathbourne’s watchdogs. You’ll need to meet her in an isolated spot.”

  A shiver of dread raised the tiny hairs on her neck and on her arms. She ignored her instincts. Lucien wouldn’t risk harming Henrietta Harcourt.

  “Yes, to speak with her in private, early tomorrow morning at Hyde Park.”

  “But how will you get the book when you don’t have her brother?”

  “I’ll barter for the book with the information of where her brother is being held. I’ll tell her that her brother is in Winchester. It’s far enough away to give us time.”

  “You think she’ll believe you?” he asked.

  “These English women are raised to breed, not think.”

  “But what if she goes to Rathbourne?”

  “What if she does? It’s the perfect distraction from your real mission of stirring dissidence around the election,” she said.

  “And when they don’t find Kendal in Winchester? What will you tell Rathbourne?”

  She laughed. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. I’ll tell Cord my source was wrong. I’m sure he suspects that I’m not a totally dedicated English spy.”

  “Make it the Serpentine. I like the irony that it is the place where Rathbourne saved her from drowning.” He stretched into his tight blue coat and continued to instruct her on how she should proceed. As if she needed his instruction. She hid her irritation and listened with feigned interest.

  “Tell her to meet you at first light, so there is no chance of any other riders.”

  “Yes, Lucien.”

  “I wish I could be there to see you in action, but I should remain as the lady’s suitor. Why don’t you come to my rooms after your little tête-à-tête? We’ll celebrate your success.”

  She had never been invited to Lucien’s rooms.

  He stroked her cheek with cold fingers. “Very clever of you, Isabelle, to think of pretending to know the whereabouts of the brother. You should bring your pistol. It could get dangerous.”

  A frisson of fear shot down her spine to the back of her knees.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Henrietta secured her thick braid in a blue ribbon and left her bedchamber. She had no time to spare to get to Hyde Park. The note she’d found under her door late last night was brief but clear.

  Proceed to the Serpentine at dawn with the codebook. Come alone, if you want to see your brother again.

  Her palms felt cold and unpleasantly moist when she tucked the codebook in her reticule. She needed to rescue Michael.

  She longed to share the note with Cord, but she couldn’t risk her brother’s safety. Cord would never allow her, a mere woman alone, to approach Hyde Park and French spies.

  Working through the night, she’d created a false codebook. Her plan was simple. She would give the real codebook in exchange for Michael, but if anything had happened to Michael she would give them the counterfeit.

  Her stomach plummeted with the idea of an injured Michael. Her entire body trembled with the possibility of her failure. Her riding boots clicking, she descended the marble steps.

  Brompton stood at the door. “No tea or breakfast before your ride, my lady?”

  “There is much to be done today. I’m already
late.” She swept out the front door.

  “But Lady Henrietta…”

  Henrietta crossed her garden to the stable. The sun peeked through the intense cloud cover. Without sleep and tea, she was ragged, frightened but determined.

  She flicked her riding crop against her sapphire blue skirt and focused on the next obstacle to her mission, how to escape Tom, the stable master. A fixture in the family since her childhood, Tom would be dogged in carrying out his duties to accompany her.

  “Lady Henrietta, how is Lord Harcourt feeling this morning?”

  “Better, Tom. But I’m in need of a brisk ride to clear my head after the terrible assault.” She kept her eyes downcast.

  “Minotaur is always ready to run. Shall we head to Rotten Row as usual?”

  She had taken over the task of exercising the stallion after Michael had left for the Continent. She believed the immense horse shared her loss after Michael’s departure.

  While Tom held Minotaur in check, she mounted. “I’ll take Minotaur alone for a fast gallop and be back in time to break my fast.”

  “Now, Lady Hen, that gentleman, Lord Rathbourne, was very clear. He required that you be escorted at all times. He’s a man I don’t want to cross.”

  “Pshaw, Tom. Lord Rathbourne isn’t in charge. Uncle Charles is, and, since he’s indisposed, I’m in charge and I shall ride alone.”

  She had spurred Minotaur to move before Tom could respond. She turned and gave Tom her most winsome smile.

  She had left both Brompton and Tom flummoxed in her wake, but she hadn’t been able to keep her movements secret as the note had instructed. Cord had the entire household watching her.

  She did feel bad for implicating Tom in defying Cord’s directive, but she was committed to act alone. The instructions had been very clear that she was to come alone or her brother would suffer the consequences.

  The streets were already clogged with drays and wagons starting the London morning commerce. Henrietta guided Minotaur around the parked wagons, overflowing with vegetables and chickens from the countryside. Focusing on the traffic helped her settle to the next task but didn’t allay her stomach’s somersaulting and flipping in fear.

  * * *

  Cord, swathed in a crimson velvet robe, descended the stairs. After a long night of escorting his sister and aunt to all the ton balls and routs, he had been dragged out of his bed at dawn. Had Sloane really said it was the Harcourt’s stableman?

  This new development didn’t add to his less than sparkling mood about Lady Henrietta Harcourt and her refusal to confide in him. Deep inside, what really rankled him was that she didn’t trust him to protect her or her family. He didn’t see any problem that he hadn’t confided in her about his role with her family or his relationship with Isabelle. It was his job to keep secrets.

  Henrietta, Wycliffe, and De Valmont. What was their connection? Was the connection the French émigrés? The duke was under suspicion for involvement with a dissident group of French émigrés and Henrietta supported the plight of the displaced French. What part did De Valmont play?

  He rubbed the fine stubble that had grown on his chin overnight. Talley would’ve sent one of his men if there was danger, not the Harcourt stableman.

  Tom spoke, wool cap in his hands. “My lord, Lady Henrietta refused to allow me to accompany her to Hyde Park.”

  “She did what?” Cord bellowed. “How did you give her a choice? Why didn’t you follow her?”

  “She was on Lord Kendal’s stallion, the fastest horse in the stable. I’d never be able to catch her.”

  “Did I not make myself clear? I gave you explicit directions to accompany Lady Henrietta whenever she rode.” Cord could barely restrain himself from grabbing the older man.

  “I’ve known Lady Henrietta since she was a little girl and she can be darn mulish when she gets an idea in her head.”

  Mulish wasn’t the word that came to Cord’s mind. “Does Talley know she left unaccompanied?”

  “Yes, he sent me to tell you. He rode after her to Hyde Park.”

  Cord let go of the breath he had been holding, knowing that Talley was protecting her.

  The slow grin on Tom’s weatherworn face further enraged Rathbourne.

  “The old Earl would get as mad as you are now. He would rant and bellow, but eventually he found it much easier to allow the lady to go her own way.”

  “Thank you, Tom. I appreciate your insight.” His voice was the only calm part of him. “It’s time to find out what important errand the lady had at such an early hour.”

  Cord summoned his valet, butler, and stableman with terse commands while Tom waited.

  Five minutes later, he and Tom were on their way to the stable. “Did the lady give a reason for her early departure?” Cord asked.

  “She didn’t. She just told Brompton she was going to be late.”

  Why did Cord feel as if he was missing something? Why would she put herself in danger? He didn’t believe for a minute that Henrietta was a spy involved with French subversives but it was possible that Wycliffe or De Valmont had threatened her. Or they were blackmailing her? All the muscles in his body tightened with the idea of Wycliffe hurting Henrietta.

  He blew air out of his mouth. He didn’t want Tom to hear the expletives he was muttering under his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Minotaur strained at his bit, impatient and irritable, picking up on her frantic mood. It took all of Henrietta’s skill to guide him out of the congestion and finally break free, heading toward Hyde Park. They left the Curzon Gate and galloped toward the Serpentine, the site of her dramatic rescue by Cord.

  She spurred her horse on, not willing to think of Cord or his reaction to the clandestine meeting. She gave Minotaur his head, allowing him to move quickly through the open green before reaching the lake. On sunny days, the lake’s water was a crystalline blue. This morning, reflecting the heavy dark skies, the lake was the color of pewter and a portent of doom.

  Approaching the water, Henrietta slowed Minotaur to a walk. In the shadows of the trees, she glimpsed the movement of a dark silhouette.

  Mounted on a diminutive mare, a woman dressed in black with a feathered hat tipped at a jaunty angle emerged from the trees. Could this be her contact? Black netting hid her face, but it didn’t hide the impressively revealing décolletage of Isabelle Villier.

  As if coming for a tête-à-tête, Cord’s mistress rode slowly out toward Henrietta. Isabelle Villier was a French spy? It was rumored that her parents had met their fate under the guillotine and her loyalties were now with the English.

  “Lady Henrietta, I’m pleased you’ve followed my instructions. Did you bring the item?”

  Henrietta nudged her giant stallion closer. “What possible use could you have for the item?”

  “As predictable as your brother.”

  At the mention of Michael, Henrietta tightened Minotaur’s reins ever so slightly. The horse began to back up. “Where is my brother?”

  Isabelle edged her horse forward. “Like you, he rushed into peril, heedless of the consequences. Cordelier told me he wasn’t an agent, but a scholar.”

  Minotaur, increasingly tense with Henrietta’s nervousness, froze when the mare approached. With his ears plastered against his head, he bared his mammoth white teeth and tried to bite the mare.

  “Cord told you about my brother?”

  “He is ‘Cord’ to you?” Isabelle’s tone had shifted to mocking.

  “What does Cord have to do with this?” Henrietta feigned a sense of calmness while she tried to deduct why Isabelle mentioned Cord. Did she know he was the head of Abchurch? Oblivious to the horse’s flattened ears, Henrietta instinctively tightened his reins.

  “Cord didn’t tell you?” A faint smirk crossed Isabelle’s lips.

  “Tell me what?” Henrietta held firmly to the reins while peering down upon the French woman on her small horse.

  “Cord and I work together for the intelligence offi
ce.”

  “You work as his mistress.” Henrietta used her most haughty voice. She didn’t want Isabelle to suspect that she didn’t know anything about the inner workings of the Abchurch offices.

  “How long do you think you will keep Cordelier in your bed?”

  What was the woman talking about? Isabelle was trying to distract her by pretending the role of a jealous lover, but for what purpose?

  “You think you are so clever, so smug. Let me warn you. You’re not the type for these dangerous games. You need to find yourself a nice vicar.”

  “You have no idea what my capabilities are.”

  A faint smile crossed Isabelle’s lips. “Mademoiselle is fiery like her hair. I can see why Cordelier is drawn to you.”

  “For the last time, where is my brother?” Henrietta tried not to sound desperate but her throat constricted around the words. Her heart skipped and fluttered frantically against her chest.

  Isabelle muttered under her breath in French, something about the English being ridicule. “Your brother has put you and your uncle in a very dangerous position.”

  Henrietta drew in the reins, starting Minotaur on a side step. “I’ll not give you the book until I see Michael.”

  “Your brother made a deadly mistake by putting your family between Talleyrand and Fouché.” Isabelle’s eyes darted toward the woods behind Henrietta.

  Henrietta followed Isabelle’s gaze. She saw nothing in the woods behind them.

  “Mon Dieu,” Isabelle snarled.

  Turning back toward Isabelle, Henrietta looked into the barrel of Isabelle’s pocket pistol. She swung her riding crop at Isabelle’s hand.

  “You idiot,” Isabelle shrieked.

  With the impact of her riding crop, the quicksilver trigger of the gun released. The ball flew past Henrietta’s right shoulder. At the same time, Minotaur lurched forward with the sound of the loud blast.

  Unbalanced from hitting Isabelle’s gun, she couldn’t regain her seat when the panicked Minotaur took off. With one final effort, she pitched forward, trying in vain to grab the horse’s mane. She hung suspended for a few seconds before she was thrown through the air.