A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1)

by Jacki Delecki

  Bent over her, he murmured words of apology that he had to hurt her. He breathed in her sleepy, womanly scent. She was pale even in the dim light. He pressed a soft kiss to her cool lips, then rubbed gently back and forth to warm her.

  Slowly she opened her eyes. She gazed into his eyes with surprise and gladness. “Cord.” She ran her hand along his cheek, her eyes wide in disbelief.

  “You need to rest.” His voice was low, edgy as he felt.

  “Cord, I must…”

  “I know darling, I feel the same. But I’d be a brute to spend any time with you tonight.”

  “But Cord, I must speak with you.” Her words came out in a rush of breathless.

  “I’ve a lot to say to you too. But it can wait ’til tomorrow. You need your rest.”

  He was impressed with his ability to control the needs that drummed insistently through his body. He wanted to remove their clothes and lie naked next to her. He would never hurt her, but he wanted to stroke every one of those round curves and indentations. He wanted to put his mouth to her soft, womanly places and mark her as his. There would be no more secrets between them. “Let me lift you to the top of the bed. How did you get into such a position? And where is your nurse?”

  “I’m not sure.” She already sounded half asleep.

  He slowly slid his arm underneath her knees. “This is going to hurt.” He felt her flinch then take a sharp breath when he laid her straight. He tucked the heavy covers around her neck. “Do you want a sip of water? Is it time for another dose of laudanum?” How intimate this moment was, as if he had every right to care for her, comfort her.

  “A sip of water.” Her voice was muted, her eyes dilated with pain and the laudanum.

  He slipped his arm behind her and lifted her head to the glass. She sipped. A sense of deep contentment eased into his body.

  “You needn’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” He bent over and brushed his lips against hers. “Tomorrow we’ll talk.”

  * * *

  Henrietta floated through layers of unfocused images and dreams. She relived the sensation of Cord’s warm lips, a wisp of his scent, his hot breath across her face. He cradled her in his arms and whispered words of love. Wrapped in a cocoon of tenderness, she fell back into sleep.

  Chapter Thirty

  Henrietta sat by the fire, wrapped in a cashmere shawl with Gwyneth’s white robe buttoned to her neck. She couldn’t get warm or shake her melancholic feelings. The laudanum was probably contributing to her gloomy mood.

  “Am I disturbing you?” Gwyneth stood in the doorway. “After all my chatting this afternoon, I hope you were able to nap.” The young woman’s smile sparkled like the diamonds on her neck and ears.

  “I was glad of our time together. Recuperating by yourself is quite boring.” Henrietta tilted her head and made an exaggerated perusal of the young woman. “You look exquisite.”

  Forsaking the usual bows and frills of a young girl, the cut of Gwyneth’s ivory evening gown was simple, with a square, low neckline and cap sleeves. She turned full circle, the delicate material swirling and clinging in the most enticing way. With her dark hair cascading around her shoulders, Gwyneth looked like a beguiling Madonna.

  Gwyneth had earlier confided that she planned to flaunt her womanhood to Cord’s childhood friend Ash tonight. She more than exceeded her plan to look the part of a sophisticated woman, ready to entice the experienced gentleman.

  Henrietta wished she could witness the supposedly hardened man’s response to this tantalizing woman. “Oh, poor Ash. He won’t have a chance tonight. There will be a line of men begging to dance with you.”

  “I wish you could attend tonight’s ball,” Gwyneth gushed.

  For all of her youthful eagerness, Gwyneth was mature for her years and remarkably insightful about her brother. The young man she described before the death of his brother wasn’t what Henrietta had expected. Cord was a serious scholar, a gentle man with a great wit, not the reprobate that had cut a shocking swath throughout society with gambling, womanizing, and dueling. Gwyneth believed that Cord’s wild behavior had been driven by pain.

  “My brother is unable to attend tonight’s ball. He also missed last night’s ball. Neither Aunt Euphemia nor Cord feel that I should know about his dangerous work. They want to protect me as if I were a baby to be swaddled in bunting.” She gestured with her hands and shook her head. “It’s ridiculous to shelter me from the work my brother does.”

  Euphemia swept into the room in another loud costume. Henrietta was beginning to believe no one could have such bad taste. Euphemia wore her clothes almost as a badge of independence, or perhaps as a disguise.

  Tonight’s ensemble was a perfect contradiction to good taste. Her stout body was encased in a bright green dress with purple piping and topped with the most outrageous turban with a multi-colored, stuffed bird between the folds.

  “What are you saying young lady about your brother’s work?” Euphemia’s lively presence crowded the spacious room.

  “I was commenting on Cord’s inability to attend tonight’s ball because of his heavy workload.”

  “It’s unusual circumstances that have delayed him. His message said he hopes to meet us at the ball. Your brother never shirks his responsibility to family.”

  Gwyneth’s throat and face flushed with color. “Auntie Em, I wasn’t criticizing Cord but rather your attempts to shelter me from the fact that he works for the intelligence office and today he’s dealing with the murder of an agent.”

  Aunt Euphemia chortled and slapped her thigh. “What was I thinking? Of course you’d know. You’re my niece.”

  Gwyneth did a small curtsy. “Thank you. I might be just eighteen, but I am a Rathbourne.”

  At that moment, Henrietta saw Gwyneth’s resemblance to her brother, the same raised chin, confidence and arrogance in her bearing.

  Gwyneth winked at Henrietta. “Good night. I’m sorry you can’t join us.”

  “I’ll look forward to hearing all the details of tonight’s ball and a certain gentleman’s reaction to you in that stunning dress,” she said.

  Euphemia, unlike Gwyneth, didn’t mind if her dress would be crumpled before the ball. She threw herself in the seat next to Henrietta. “Were you able to rest this afternoon?”

  “I’m not good at being a patient, but I did find myself dozing off. I’m ready to return to Kendal House and resume my responsibilities. Dr. Simons has given me permission to leave tomorrow.”

  “Have you spoken to Cord about your departure?”

  “I’ve not seen him since the night of my accident.”

  “Cord visited your uncle yesterday and is aware of all of your duties, including the code breaking.”

  Henrietta gripped the arms of the chair. “He knows about Uncle Charles?” Anxiety thrummed in her stomach.

  “Cord knows all your secrets.” Euphemia’s direct gaze didn’t falter.

  “Why hasn’t he spoken to me?” Henrietta grasped her chest as if she could stop the fear running rampant.

  “He didn’t return until late last night, and now with the murder of our agent, I don’t know when he’ll be home.”

  “An agent was killed here in London?” Her heart hammered in uneven beats against her palm.

  “And Cord feels responsible. He’s been under a lot of pressure due to a missing codebook, and now with the death of an agent, he won’t be in an understanding mood about your work or the risks you’ve been taking.”

  Henrietta straightened her shoulders, causing a sudden thrust of pain in her ribs. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you are, my dear, but my nephew is concerned for your safety and Rathbourne men can be very pig-headed. In fact, they become quite boring with their inability to believe women can take care of themselves.” Euphemia shook her head, causing the bird on her turban to look as if it would take flight.

  Henrietta sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in her side. “The mystery o
f the missing codebook will be solved today.”

  Euphemia threw her head back and laughed. The bird in her turban almost lost its perch. Henrietta didn’t see any humor in the situation.

  “You underestimated my nephew if you think it’s going to be that easy.” Euphemia reached across and took Henrietta’s hand, her light-hearted demeanor growing serious. “I hope you’ll have patience with my nephew. He’s lost an agent and blames himself as he did with his brother’s death. He’ll be very hard on himself and everyone near him. He’ll need a woman’s comfort to deal with this newest loss and the devilish memories that haunt him.”

  Henrietta didn’t know how to respond to Euphemia’s request. His sister and aunt loved him, but both implied he remained hurt from his brother’s death. “I don’t think I’m the kind of woman that Cord will derive comfort from. He wants a woman he can bend to his will.”

  “Fiddlesticks. Cord would be bored in a minute by some whey-faced chit. He needs a woman with the strength to allow him to protect and care for her in his overbearing, autocratic way.”

  Happiness enveloped Henrietta as she considered the idea of Cord caring for her in his autocratic, tender way.

  Euphemia continued, “You’d do anything in your power to protect your uncle and brothers?”

  Euphemia didn’t wait for a response. “It’s the same for Cord. You’re both good at taking care of everyone, but who takes care of you? Cord needs someone to take care of him, but he’ll never admit it. You and he are alike.”

  Henrietta had never resented her family, but there were times when she wished she could have shared her burdens with someone who understood the pressures of running the estate, taking care of her uncle and her young brother. Could it be possible that Cord would understand her loyalty to her family and share her responsibilities?

  “I won’t insult you by pretending Cord is easily influenced. He’s had years of building up defenses, and knowing my nephew, he won’t adjust easily to the idea of your independence. You’ve many gifts in your arsenal to convince him to take a risk.” Euphemia squeezed Henrietta’s hand, tears pooling in her eyes. “I hope he can finally forgive himself and have the life he deserves.”

  Henrietta felt the ache of unshed tears behind her eyes as she shared with Euphemia.

  Euphemia stood. “I’m off to Matilde Bertram’s ball. Can’t wait to see Lord Ashworth drooling over Gwyneth. I’ve waited a long time to watch Cord and Ash, two heartbreakers, get their come-uppance. I hope you don’t mind me giving you advice.”

  Henrietta leaned forward. She would’ve stood if she were capable. “Thank you, Euphemia. I’m glad we’ve had this conversation. You’ve given me a better understanding of Cord and his behavior when I first met him.”

  Euphemia bent over and kissed Henrietta on the cheek. “You’re the answer to my prayers. I can’t wait to watch my nephew bending to an independent woman. Oh, what fun for this old lady.”

  Henrietta eased herself back against the chair after Euphemia swept out of the room. She felt a kindred spirit with Euphemia. She had been alone without any woman’s comfort since her mother’s death. She would have an aunt and a sister. And for the first time since Michael had gone to France, she felt hopeful. The thought of sharing her worries with Cord brought a sense of liberation.

  And she did have a lot of worries—her uncle, her brother, and the codebook. Edward would have no trouble adjusting to living with Cord. He already admired Cord after his kindness to Gus. And once Cord met Michael he would understand how easy it was for Michael to get into a McGregor. Cord would protect her uncle’s reputation and she could continue to do the code breaking.

  She wasn’t going to take any laudanum tonight in hopes that Cord would visit her room. After last night’s sensual dream in which Cord held and kissed her, she had a disturbing dream about Michael—a nightmare filled with frantic terror and dread. She ran down dark alleyways to find Michael, who was lost. The night grew darker and she grew desperate. She turned corner after corner with the expectation that Michael waited for her. And, as in dreams, suddenly everything shifted and a cruel man dressed in a black domino chased her into a dead end. She was trapped, with no escape.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Henrietta awoke to the sound of the door opening. The candle was out and the fire gave off a faint glow. A large figure moved in the shadows.

  “Why in the hell are you sleeping in a chair?” Not the voice of the ardent Cord who had filled her dreams.

  He loomed over her. Tension radiated off his rigid posture.

  A prickle of danger skipped across her skin, up into her neck. “I must have dozed off after your aunt and Gwyneth left for the ball.”

  Cord lit a candle on the mantel then knelt to rebuild the fire, using the poker to arrange the logs. The fabric of his shirt stretched across his back when he bent over the fire, his breeches hugged his tight backside. He had come to her room without his coat or cravat.

  He lit the candle next to her chair. His white shirt shone in the dim light. The candlelight glimmered across the angles of his face, but his eyes remained in the shadows.

  After his aunt and Gwyneth’s disclosures today, she felt a deep tenderness toward him and wanted to right all the wrongs he had suffered.

  He seated himself across from her as his aunt had earlier.

  She wanted to press her lips to the cleft where his shirt opened, revealing his dark chest hair, run her hand along the black stubble on his chin. She inhaled his masculine scent of lime, leather and brandy.

  His eyes, the color of glacial ice, travelled over her face in detached assessment. “Has your pain subsided?” He didn’t look or sound like the lover of her fantasies, who held her in his arms and kissed her.

  “I’m feeling a lot better. I spent the day visiting with your sister and aunt. They’re both delightful.”

  He held himself taut as if any minute his fury would burst forth. “This isn’t your first acquaintance with my aunt. You and she have shared secrets before?”

  She had expected his anger about her deception, but this was more than anger. There was an undercurrent of antagonism she couldn’t understand. Ignoring her discomfort, she sat taller in the chair. “What secrets are you referring to?”

  “You seem to have so many, perhaps you can’t keep track of them?”

  She leaned toward him in the chair, wanting to touch him. “You’re upset that I didn’t confide in you about my uncle, but you must understand my concern for his health and his reputation?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Your concern for your uncle’s reputation is commendable, but what about your own reputation?” His voice was even, too even.

  “My reputation?”

  “You’d be a pariah if anyone in society found out you were breaking codes. You and the family you’ve been obsessed with protecting would be ostracized.”

  He was angry out of concern for her. She checked her resentment over his high-handed tone and stretched her hand to touch him.

  “Of course, your reputation won’t matter if the French find out you’re our code breaker, since they’ll probably kill you or, at the least, torture you.”

  She had never worried about her safety. She lived in England. “My uncle has remained safe these years.”

  “You won’t divert me tonight. I’ve underestimated your abilities to manipulate me.”

  She dropped her hand.

  “You’ve prevented me from searching your desk after your uncle’s assault and from questioning you after your fall at the Serpentine. Not tonight.”

  He bound out of his chair. “I could only think of protecting you, when the whole time you went behind my back, breaking codes, endangering yourself.”

  “You make it sound as if I purposely lied to you. I wanted to tell you, but you can be so…” Her voice trembled and that made her angrier. “…bloody obstinate.”

  He stood over her, trying to intimidate her. She wished she could jump up to confront him, but she would need
his assistance.

  “The pat on my head when I wanted news of my brother; you told me to go home and not worry my silly head. How could I know you would be sympathetic to my uncle or to Michael?”

  “You’ve a low opinion of me.” He shook his head. “You didn’t believe I would be compassionate toward your uncle?” His tone lost its hard edge.

  “I now know you’re an honorable man, but I didn’t know then. When I met you four years ago, you were notorious. Just weeks ago, you brought your mistress to Lady Wentworth’s ball. Not exactly credentials for trustworthiness.”

  He stood still. His eyes and face were in the shadows, making it hard to gage his reactions.

  “I was wrong, and I should’ve trusted you,” she said.

  “An agent was killed last night because of the codebook. You went alone to the Serpentine to meet with someone who planned to murder you.”

  She hugged her shawl around herself as the icy shivers darted up and down her spine.

  He folded his long length into the chair. The dim candlelight made the angles and planes of his face stark, his clenched lips unforgiving. “Who did you meet at the Serpentine?”

  “Isabelle Villier.”

  He jumped up from the chair. “Isabelle? He towered over her. “What in the hell possessed you to meet her?”

  A grown man would quake at an outraged Cord. Hoping her voice wouldn’t wobble, she said, “I received an unsigned note, claiming to have news of my brother. I was to come alone or Michael’s life would be in danger.”

  He walked to the side table and poured himself a glass of brandy. He took a large gulp, then a second gulp. “You didn’t consider that I might be of assistance?” He shook his head, his voice filled with disdain. “Of course not. You’ve already said I wasn’t trustworthy.”

  “Cord, I could only think of protecting my brother.”

  He paced in front of the fireplace, his heels pounding on the wood floor. “Did the note give any other instructions?”