A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1)

by Jacki Delecki

  “Aunt Euphemia is still awake?” This was exactly what he needed—a clear, logical discussion to restore his balance.

  “Shall I bring brandy?”

  “I seem to have missed dinner tonight. Can you remedy it?”

  The revelations at Kendal House had left him completely distracted. He had spent the entire afternoon and part of the evening there. He couldn’t recall eating anything since dinner last night.

  During afternoon tea with Charles Harcourt, he’d been in shock. Later, when Mrs. Brompton had brought him supper, he’d been too focused on searching the study to even notice if he had consumed anything.

  He was hungry, but his real hunger was for a battle with the woman who lay asleep upstairs. She had pushed him over the edge, the edge of restraint. Every muscle in his body clenched in aggravation and fear. Henrietta was up to her pretty little neck in code breaking.

  And, as if that were not enough, he was now certain that she had the missing codebook. But, even as he seethed with feelings of frustration and betrayal, the thought of her lying injured aroused his most tender feelings.

  He climbed the steps to his aunt’s drawing room. “Aunt Euphemia. I’m glad to find you awake.”

  His aunt was decked out in an orange, toga-like gown with a matching turban with bright fuchsia feathers. “Gwyneth and I just returned from Lady Mandrake’s ball. A dull enterprise, but your sister is making quite a splash in society.”

  “I apologize for not joining you. Did you receive the message that I was otherwise engaged?”

  “Yes, Ash brought the message with alacrity and then deemed it necessary to dance with Gwyneth twice, all the while glaring at the young gentlemen who hovered around her. Quite entertaining.”

  His aunt implied that Ash was interested in Gwyneth. He’d needed to speak to Ash. Gwyneth was too young for his friend’s kind of romantic intrigue.

  “How is Hen…?” He stopped himself. “How is Lady Henrietta?”

  “She has slept most of the day and the entire evening. The nurse has been with her. I’ve checked on her periodically, but she’s been sleeping constantly.”

  It was futile to pretend mild interest under his aunt’s scrutiny. “Has she had a lot of pain? Dr. Simons believed the bruised ribs would be very uncomfortable.”

  “The nurse has followed the doctor’s instructions, dosing Henrietta regularly with the drops to keep her comfortable. I’m sure the laudanum is part of the reason she’s still sleeping, but the poor child must be exhausted. It was only two days ago that her uncle was assaulted. And now she was shot at.” La Bataille already knew that Henrietta’s fall wasn’t an accident.

  “Have you been at your office all this time?” She asked.

  “I was at Kendal House.”

  “How is Charles feeling today?”

  “Still weakened, but mending slowly. I had afternoon tea with him.”

  His aunt slowly scrutinized his face. “You know about Charles Harcourt’s state of mind?”

  He remembered Henrietta’s visit to his aunt with the deciphered communication. “When did you discover the changes in Charles Harcourt?”

  “I visited Charles last week. It’s a terrible loss.” His aunt’s energetic tone became subdued, her devilish sparkle vanished.

  He hadn’t considered that his aunt would be upset by the change in her friend. “I’m sorry.”

  “On making Henrietta’s acquaintance at Lady Chadwick’s soiree, I realized that I hadn’t seen Charles in society. It wasn’t that unusual since he always had been an intrepid scholar, choosing his work over the ton’s entertainment, but my curiosity was aroused. Recognizing the connection between you and Henrietta, I was motivated to renew our friendship.”

  He chose to avoid comment about his connection with Henrietta.

  “I didn’t see any harm in letting the charade continue. Henrietta has been protecting her uncle for some time.”

  “No harm?” His voice went up a notch.

  His aunt stared at some distant point in the room. “It must be heart-wrenching for Henrietta to watch her uncle decline, his brilliant mind deteriorating.”

  “But what possessed her to take over his job? You do realize the repercussions if her role were to be discovered? She’s a woman.”

  “You’ve just come to the realization that she’s a woman?” He was glad to see his aunt’s somber mood improve but not at his expense.

  He was very aware of Henrietta as a woman. He didn’t seem to be able to forget her soft, womanly curves for a single moment.

  “She isn’t just a woman. She’s an admirable woman, an English subject we should embrace. She has put her reputation in jeopardy to protect her uncle and continue to serve our country. After the loss of her mother, she ran the household and protected her uncle and her brothers, all the while continuing to work as a code breaker.” His aunt’s tone wasn’t exactly strident, but it was clear she took issue with his hostile response.

  He heard his aunt take a deep breath to continue when Sloane arrived with a footman carrying a silver tray laden with food and a bottle of brandy.

  “Thank you, Sloane,” he said.

  Aunt Euphemia poured the brandy while he piled his plate with beef, cheese, and a crusty piece of bread. He slowed to arrange his plate, giving himself time to think. Aunt Euphemia wasn’t one to give lectures, and her strong reaction gave him pause.

  He hadn’t seen Henrietta in the light of what her life had been. He could only think of the danger she risked by taking over her uncle’s role. She would garner no sympathy from the French or Spanish if her identity were detected.

  And unlike Aunt Euphemia, who held her in esteem, English society would also condemn her. Both men and women alike would see her as odd. He could protect her from the dangers of kidnapping or torture, but he couldn’t stop the old biddies from tearing her reputation to shreds. He hadn’t created the social strictures, but Henrietta was breaking all the rules of acceptable behavior.

  His aunt leaned back against the pillow, her leg crossed over her knee. By her posture, she didn’t hold to the rules of society. “You and she are very much alike, both responsible from a very young age.”

  His parents, too overwhelmed with the loss of Gray, forgot they had another son and a daughter. Their roles became reversed, with him trying to shelter his parents and take care of Gwyneth.

  “You’ve both sacrificed your happiness for the benefit of family and country.” His aunt stared down at her brandy.

  Overcome with his own guilt at Grey’s death, he had tried to make it better, mend his parents’ broken hearts. When he couldn’t fix the problem, he became lost. As any young man, he had acted out his helplessness with excessive living until his aunt and Sir Ramston had intervened.

  He’d already spent too much time today dwelling on the past. He turned to his aunt. “I’ve received news today that Giscard Orly, Fouché’s henchman, has arrived in England and is headed to London.”

  “I wonder what Fouché is up to?” His aunt leaned forward, her rheumy eyes sharpening.

  “I’m wondering the same thing. The ongoing competition between Fouché and Talleyrand for Napoleon’s attention might be related to the other message received from France today.”

  “We might be able to use their dog fight to our advantage.” Aunt Euphemia was already calculating their next move. “What was the other message?”

  “Our man heard shouting between Talleyrand and Le Chiffre,” he said.

  Aunt Euphemia slapped her bent knee. “I’d like to have been a mouse in the corner to witness Talleyrand and Le Chiffre, the epitome of savoir-faire, yelling at each other like fishwives.”

  He too would’ve liked to see the two formidable men caterwauling. “They argued about Le Chiffre misplacing the codebook.”

  She raised her eyebrows and waited.

  “There may be a connection between the missing codebook and the arrival of Giscard Orly. Fouché wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity of Le Chiffre
’s bungle to paint his arch enemy Talleyrand as an incompetent.”

  His aunt beamed at him, appreciating his deduction. “But why send Giscard Orly? His skill as an assassin won’t be helpful in recovering a stolen book.” She paused, rubbed her forehead back and forth until she had knocked her turban askew. “Unless you don’t care how you recover the book—Fouché’s usual violent solution.”

  He sighed, relieved that his aunt’s concise conclusions were the same as his. It felt good to be able to process information with a rational and logical person, free of volatile emotions.

  “Fouché has changed the game by sending an assassin.” Aunt Euphemia sat up. “This means Henrietta is in incredible danger. We must keep her here.”

  He was grateful someone other than him understood the danger to the Harcourts.

  “Henrietta asked Doctor Simons to be moved to Kendal house right after the accident. I don’t think I can keep her here unless I bring her uncle and her brother.” He didn’t want to expose his raw feelings of vulnerability over Henrietta’s safety. He needed to act as a Head.

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea to move Charles to Rathbourne House with his recent injury.”

  Henrietta would refuse to stay at Rathbourne House while her uncle was at Kendal house. He didn’t want to let her leave his house, but he couldn’t hold her prisoner, although the idea had passed through his mind. He’d have to put more men at Kendal House once she returned there.

  “Henrietta has the book?”

  “I believe her brother sent her the book. Her uncle was assaulted when the men went to Kendal House to search for the book. When they didn’t obtain it, they sent Henrietta a message to bring the book to the Serpentine.” He reported his conclusions to his aunt, squashing his feelings of hurt and betrayal.

  “But why did Kendal take the book? And where is he now?” she asked.

  “I don’t have any definite answers. I’ve considered the possibility that Kendal stole the book for money, but I’ve gone through the Harcourt’s accounts and there is nothing leading me to believe they’re in need of money.”

  “Their mother was French?” The traitorous implications were clear in his aunt’s question.

  Cord would be remiss in his job if he didn’t consider the Harcourt’s allegiance. “I see no benefit for the French to steal their own codebook. Unless Fouché had Kendal steal the book to embarrass Talleyrand? But what leverage would Fouché have over Kendal?”

  “Then Henrietta has had the book for some time?” His aunt asked the question he had mulled over, chewed and re-chewed like a tough piece of mutton.

  “We don’t know when or how Kendal sent the damn thing.”

  Cord gulped the brandy.

  “But why hasn’t Henrietta given it to you?”

  His aunt expected him to answer from his role as head of intelligence, not as a man whose betrayed feelings were burning in his gut like the brandy he gulped.

  “I’m convinced Henrietta is protecting her brother. Kendal is being held for ransom and Henrietta was contacted to bring the book to the Serpentine today. It explains why she has been so concerned for her brother and her unwillingness to tell anyone what’s going on. The assault on her uncle may have been a warning.”

  He wanted to give Henrietta the best possible reason for not giving him the book, not trusting him. His aunt understood his position. His reasoning, although logical, was defensive.

  “Why kidnap Kendal? He isn’t that important in the scheme of things.” Aunt Euphemia asked.

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question.” And if they hadn’t kidnapped Kendal, then there was no reason for Henrietta not to confide in him. He threw back the brandy.

  If Kendal was kidnapped or in hiding, it still didn’t explain why there had been no communication from Brinsley.

  “You haven’t been able to talk with Henrietta?”

  “I’d planned to talk with her this morning but the doctor was adamantly against it.” He poured himself another brandy.

  “Does Talley have any leads on the person Henrietta met today at the Serpentine?’

  “There were very few people about at that early hour. But Talley found two men who remember most explicitly a lone woman dressed in black with a veil covering her face. They were pretty clear that she was a Cyprian.”

  “Because she was alone in the park?”

  “No, the lady’s revealing décolletage was quite impressive, according to the gentlemen’s description. Not the usual lady’s riding habit.”

  “Isabelle Villier?” His aunt asked.

  “Exactly. Talley couldn’t track her down today. Her maid said she was in the country, which I find suspect, so we’ve posted a man to watch her place. And Talley has men searching the grounds of Hyde Park.

  “You’ve had a very eventful day. With much to be done tomorrow, you must get some rest.” His aunt leaned forward with a serious look in her eyes that he remembered from his wild days. “Henrietta has been through a very frightening time. Try to understand that all of her actions have been out of loyalty and concern for her uncle and her brother.”

  He understood Henrietta’s loyalty, but he couldn’t reveal to his aunt how hurt, how deeply hurt he was that Henrietta didn’t trust him. He couldn’t share his jealousy of Henrietta’s devotion to her uncle and brother. It seemed childish that he wanted her devotion and loyalty to be for him and only him. His need for her total affection made him feel like a greedy bastard.

  “Consider carefully how you’ll approach the lady. Like you, Henrietta is used to acting alone. She hasn’t had the need for direction from anyone in quite a while.” His aunt rose to make her way to bed. “I’m fagged and ready to retire.”

  He stood and came around to offer his arm.

  “It isn’t necessary to escort me. You finish your repast. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Aunt Euphemia. And thank you.” He bent and kissed her powdered skin, her familiar scent of roses filled him with comfort.

  She swept toward the door, turned back, her face wreathed in a brilliant smile. “There will be fireworks tomorrow if I’ve taken the mettle of Henrietta correctly.”

  The type of fireworks he planned weren’t the ones his aunt expected. He took one last gulp of brandy.

  * * *

  Henrietta awoke, not clear on how long she had slept. The curtains remained closed. She scanned the darkened, ornate, maroon and gold room. It took her a moment to remember yesterday’s events and why she was in a masculine bedroom. The candle beside the bed had burned down. She had fallen asleep without hiding the books.

  She slowly stretched her legs then pressed her hand against the heavy bandage on the left side of her chest to splint the injury. She had to get out of bed and hide the books.

  She braced herself and rolled to her side. A sharp pain pierced her chest. She gasped, making the strain even worse. Tears of pain and frustration flowed. She pushed herself to a sitting position.

  Upright, the room spun, sparks of light shot before her eyes. She bit down on her lip, to stifle her cry. It hurt to breathe, to move. Her muscles tightened, her entire body clenched in anticipation of the excruciating pain when she stood. She waited for the room and her stomach to stop rolling then placed her feet on the ground. She knew better than to take a deep breath.

  The blood rushed from her head when she stood. Woozy, she used the bedstead to steady herself. It hurt too much to stand upright. Bent over like an old woman, she took shallow breaths and made her way to the chair that held her clothes and reticule. Cold sweat dripped down her back, shivers raced up and down her body.

  Hunched over to guard against more pain, she extracted the books from her pelisse and reticule. She’d have to hide them under the mattress since she couldn’t walk any farther.

  Grabbing hold of the bedside stand, she took tiny steps to the bed. To place the books between the mattresses, she had to stoop farther. A surge of nausea accompanied the deep knife jab when she lifte
d the mattress to conceal the books.

  She’d have to repeat the whole torturous process to get back in bed. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t push herself upward and roll again. She’d lie back on the covers and then, after she rested, she would get back into bed. She eased herself back on the soft covering.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dampening down his lusty thoughts about exploding fireworks, Cord headed toward Henrietta’s room to check on her before retiring. Making his way by candlelight, he quietly opened the door and stepped into the darkened room. The nurse wasn’t seated next to the bed, nor was Henrietta tucked under the covers. Henrietta lay across the bed as if she had collapsed.

  What the hell was going on? Adrenaline charged through his brain and body, pushing him into high alert for possible danger. He scanned the room before he moved to the bed. Sleeping horizontally across the dark maroon cover, Henrietta’s breathing was slow and easy.

  Her mane of golden red hair fanned out in stark contrast to the dark fabric. He had never seen her hair down, the color of firelight. Gwyneth’s white nightgown clung to all her curves and hid nothing, her voluptuous breasts jutted above the heavy bandage. His eyes roamed her body, enjoying its dips and curves. His groin hardened at the sight of the patch of fiery red between her legs.

  He tried to control his body’s reactions. He reminded himself that she was injured. Asleep, she looked young, vulnerable, and voluptuous. Lust and something more powerful—tenderness pumped through him.

  “Henrietta?”

  She didn’t stir.

  He spoke quietly as he put his arm under her shoulders. It was going to be painful to ease her to the top of the bed.

  “Henrietta, I’m going to move you,” he whispered into her hair.

  She smelled of spring flowers, lilies, and honeysuckle. She groaned when he lifted her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, sweeting. I know it hurts.” A rush of gentleness washed over him.

  “Cord?” Her voice was low, sleepy.

  He loved the way she said his name, the way she would say it when he pleasured her. His erection pushed against her leg. Hopefully, she wasn’t too awake.