A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1)

by Jacki Delecki

When she had imagined this conversation with Cord, she hadn’t considered how menacing he could be. “The note said to bring the codebook.”

  He turned to look at her. “Isabelle knew you had the book?”

  “She implied you had sent her to get the codebook, since she was your mistress. I couldn’t understand why you would send her instead of asking yourself.” She wasn’t able to hide the jealous hurt in her voice.

  “Isabelle works for me.” His tone was detached as if discussing the weather.

  Well, of course she worked for him. He paid her to be his mistress.

  “Yes, I know.”

  She must have betrayed her hurt feelings. Cord moved closer, as if he might touch her. “She was never my mistress. Isabelle worked for me in France and now in England.” His voice wasn’t warm but the antagonism had disappeared.

  “Oh…” She looked up at him but his face and eyes hid any emotion.

  He stepped away, his back to her. “What happened next?”

  “I made a false codebook in case it was a hoax. I took both books with me.”

  He turned and tilted his head toward her. “You arrived at the Serpentine with two codebooks, one you’ve written and one your brother sent you?”

  This wasn’t the warm, caring man his aunt and sister described. He questioned her as if she was a suspect in a horrendous crime. She nodded.

  “Go on.”

  “I was shocked to discover Isabelle.”

  “Did she say why she wanted the codebook?”

  “She spoke in circles.” She hesitated in explaining Isabelle’s conjectures about their relationship.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she worked for you, but as your mistress.”

  “She did?” His eyes couldn’t hide his surprise. “She didn’t ask for the codebook?”

  “We never got that far.”

  “What?” Disbelief flashed across his face. “You didn’t give her the codebook?”

  “No.” Heat rushed to her neck and face. “She acted like a scorned woman. She said I would never satisfy you the way she did.”

  “Isabelle sent you a note to come to the Serpentine with the codebook, but she never asked for the book because she was too busy talking about her relationship with me?”

  It did sound incredulous when he recited her words in his cold, precise manner.

  “All I wanted was news of my brother, to hear he was safe.”

  “What did she say about your brother?”

  “She told me he was an idiot for taking the codebook and placing himself between Fouché and Talleyrand. She also warned me that it was dangerous to have the codebook in my possession.”

  “She knew that Fouché was after the book?”

  “She said my brother was in great danger from both sides.” She gulped down the despair, the hitch of hopelessness rising from her chest.

  “What else did Isabelle say?”

  “Nothing else.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Isabelle looked startled, as if she saw someone in the woods behind me. I turned to see what she was looking at and, when I turned back, she was pointing a gun at me.”

  “Did she demand the book with the pointed gun?”

  “I didn’t give her time. I hit the gun out of her hand with my riding crop.”

  He strode to the window. He spoke in a low, barely audible tone with his back turned. “You could’ve been killed.”

  “I believe Isabelle tried to protect me from whoever was in the woods.”

  He slammed his fist against the wall. “Damn it! Henrietta. Don’t you realize how close you came to being shot? Isabelle saved you and your damn codebook.”

  She ignored his fury. “You didn’t ask Isabelle to get the codebook from me?”

  “No, I didn’t send Isabelle. She was a double agent for France and England.”

  “Does Isabelle know that you are on to her and her demand for the codebook?”

  “Isabelle is the agent who was killed last night.”

  “Isabelle is dead?” The woman who had tried to protect her was dead. She couldn’t breathe. The room became stifling as if all the air was sucked out.

  “She was found shot not far from the Serpentine.”

  “I can’t believe it.” She closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning.

  Cord knelt on one knee and pressed a glass of brandy into her hand. “Drink this. It will help. I should’ve prepared you.”

  Her body and hands shook. She was unable to raise the glass. He wrapped his hands around hers to bring the brandy to her lips.

  “Take a sip,” he said.

  She took a small sip, but Cord forced several more sips. Heat rushed into her stomach, warming her from the inside out. The shock of Isabelle’s death slowly subsided. “But who would want to kill Isabelle if she was a French agent?”

  “I don’t know.” She could hear his frustration.

  “Please tell me you’ve heard from Michael.” The high pitch in her voice didn’t sound like her own. She couldn’t believe anything bad could befall Michael without her sensing it.

  His eyes darkened with an emotion she didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, Cord. I’m sorry to think only of my family. You cared about Isabelle.” She squeezed his hands.

  He rose, shaking off her hands. “She worked for me.” He bent over the fire, slamming the poker against the logs.

  “You can’t blame yourself. You said Isabelle was a double agent.”

  “Isabelle was killed for the book.” He dropped the poker and turned. “Don’t you ever think of your own safety? Your brother put you at great risk when he sent you the codebook. I’ve no idea what possessed the young fool to take the book.”

  “Michael’s intentions would never be to cause harm or put me in danger.”

  “You continue to defend your brother, knowing you might have been killed?”

  “Wouldn’t you risk everything to help your brother?”

  “My brother is dead.”

  Euphemia’s words echoed. He would be hard on himself and everyone around him. He needed understanding, a woman’s comfort.

  “Since my mother died, I’ve had only my brothers and Uncle Charles.” Her voice wavered. “My mother never asked me, but when she was ill, I promised I’d take care of the men.”

  Cord took large swig of brandy and walked to the window.

  “Michael and I’ve been inseparable since we were small children. I constantly followed him and his friends. He teased me relentlessly. I had to prove myself by besting him.” She chuckled, trying to lighten the icy strain, the heavy silence between them.

  “Michael and I’ve always competed. As Michael grew and became stronger, I had to adapt my strategies to beat him.” Now wasn’t the time to tell Cord she was the better code breaker.

  “What was the age difference between you and your brother?”

  Cord whipped his head around. “Your plan isn’t going to work.” His tone was cryptic and cynical. “Your womanly wiles will not soften my response to your wayward brother.”

  The odious man. She never had felt such a strong need to pummel a person before meeting Cord. She wanted to wrestle him to the ground and strike him repeatedly.

  “Pardon me, my lord, but how could I soften a glacier?” She took a big gulp of the brandy. “How naïve of me to think that you could sympathize with my worries or have any understanding of a sibling bond.”

  “You already know the age difference between my brother and I and anything else my aunt and sister felt they needed to confide.”

  Her body trembled, not from exhaustion but from the frustration of trying to break through Cord’s prickly pride and the walls of stone around his vulnerability. She wasn’t up for sparring with the impossible man. “I’m tired and wish to retire.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cord had lost track of how long he had been standing at the window until Henrietta said she wanted to retire. “Gray was eighteen m
onths older.” He stayed at the window but partially turned toward her. He couldn’t see her face in the dim light, but heard her take a slight breath.

  “Were you as competitive as Michael and I in your studies?”

  He chuckled at the idea of Gray and him battling over their studies. “Gray had no interest in intellectual pursuits. Our contests were entirely physical.” He realized tonight was the first time he had laughed about Gray and his antics in a very long time.

  “Gray and I were always competing. We turned everything into a contest: who could get to the stables faster, who could eat the most tarts. Nothing was too trivial. As we got older, the contests became more sophisticated, but the drive to win never changed.”

  He wasn’t going to share that when he and Gray got older, they competed for the favors of women.

  “Gray was an incredible athlete. I was the studious one. He knew exactly how to goad me about my studies, how to get me to take part in his crazy schemes.”

  “Your library is obviously home to a scholar.”

  He could hear the admiration in her voice. Henrietta loved books. She was an amazing conundrum of a woman. Young agents and spies were terrified by his wrath, but she had just stood up to his fury.

  “Were you with him when he had his accident?” No wilting flower, his Henrietta. She wanted to help him exorcise his feelings about Gray’s death. He sensed his aunt and sister’s hand in Henrietta’s probing.

  “Gray was laughing, with his head turned toward me, gloating with his damn self-righteous smile, gloating that he had beaten me over the jump. He didn’t see the shallow ravine.”

  God, how many times could he replay the moment, the moment he would do anything to change? A moment with a different ending, a moment of good judgment that would save Gray.

  “Oh, Cord. I’m so sorry.”

  He sat down, crossed his ankles, feigning an air of relaxation, as if this night were routine for both of them. He didn’t want to stir up the painful feelings swelling in his chest and gut.

  “You must miss him terribly.”

  “He’s just gone.” He never admitted to missing Gray.

  Henrietta’s face was soft with a tender grace that warmed him. He never had been remotely interested to talk to anyone about Gray. Henrietta made him want to try. He had suffered, endured, but no one had made him feel as if they really understood.

  “How terrible for your parents.”

  “My father seemed to shrink, to wither with the grief. My mother would burst into tears when she saw me. To her, I was a painful reminder of Gray.”

  Henrietta reached and took hold of his hands. Her small, soft hands squeezed his. “You lost your best friend and your parents.”

  “I always thought that with all our intense closeness that I would continue to feel a connection.”

  Henrietta tightened her hold on his hands.

  “But there’s nothing. Just emptiness…and a desire to tell him what I think of his stupid recklessness.”

  “You’re still mad at him?”

  “Mad at him?” Was anger the emotion he felt toward Gray? He didn’t have only one feeling about Gray’s death. “How can I be mad at him? He’s the one who died.”

  “I was really angry at my father,” Henrietta said. “How could he die and leave all of us heartbroken? It’s rather shocking to be angry at a dead person.”

  He had never admitted his anger to anyone, not even himself. But how could Gray have left him, left him alone, left him to console his parents, who could never be consoled?

  “My mother got ill a year after my father died.” Tears formed in Henrietta’s eyes. “She tried to fight the wasting disease, but her spirit was broken without my father.”

  He looked down on Henrietta’s slight hands, covering his grip. He raised her hands to his lips. He brushed his lips against her softness. “I know you miss your mother.” He recognized the sorrow of loss in her eyes.

  She nodded. “I miss her every day.”

  “A day doesn’t pass when I don’t think of Gray.”

  She released his hands and touched his face, caressing his jaw with her delicate fingers. The simple act awakened a need deep inside him to be close to her, to share her pain. He wanted to take and offer joy to Henrietta, who had suffered as he had.

  She leaned forward in her chair and ran her finger along his lower lip.

  He was swept away in a hunger, a hunger he didn’t know existed. It wasn’t only passion, but a need to comfort her. He needed her to envelop his hard body and wounded feelings into her softness, into her sympathy. He rose on his knees to kiss her. His tongue searched the corners of her sweet lips. He savored the taste of Henrietta and the hitch in her breathing when he nibbled on her full, plump lower lip.

  He lifted her onto his lap. She was buttoned up in her prim nightgown. His other hand massaged her leg.

  She moved rhythmically on his lap.

  He pressed his tongue into her mouth searching the warm, moistness.

  Henrietta pressed her breasts against his chest and sucked on his tongue. He groaned. “We have to stop or I won’t be able to.”

  “Oh, Cord, I don’t want you to stop.”

  He laughed aloud. The joy in the sound surprised him. He felt free, as if he could finally breathe again after years of pain. “You enjoy living dangerously.”

  He began to unbutton her nightgown. “I want to touch you all over.”

  “I want to touch you too.” Her voice had gotten husky with desire and caused his erection to throb.

  She leaned back into his shoulder. He took advantage of her position to fondle her full luscious breasts. He plucked her nipples through the fabric, the buds tightened with his touch. His hand moved downward to cup her glorious softness. The bandage below her chest stopped him.

  “My God, I had forgotten you’re injured. What’s wrong with me? Every time I touch you, I’m overwhelmed with wanting you.”

  “Cord, I’m fine. In fact, I’ve never felt better.” She moved her hips against his bulging erection. His need to take her on a wild ride, right here in the chair drummed through his body.

  She was an innocent and a virgin. She deserved a gentle, slow awakening.

  “Too much has happened today. I don’t know if I can be gentle tonight. Do you understand?”

  Henrietta moved again.

  He was ready to plunge into her. He needed to slow down, to be gentle. Where had all his expertise, all his highly practiced skill as a lover gone?

  She scattered kisses on his cheeks and neck, then turned toward him and pressed her breasts against his chest again, driving him close to the brink. “Cord, I want you as you are tonight. I don’t need gentle. I need you.” She kissed him passionately, thrust her tongue into his mouth. “I want to be loved by you. Don’t deny me.”

  “Oh, darling. I want you, as you can feel, but I’m afraid of hurting you.”

  Her green eyes were ablaze with desire. “Cord, please.”

  His blood heated and pulsed with Henrietta’s need for him. “I’ve waited a long time for you, Henrietta Harcourt, since Lady Chillington’s ball.”

  He lifted her carefully and lowered her to the bed. Her hair fell across the counterpane, streaks of fire shining in the candlelight. Her face was flushed, but whatever she saw in his eyes made her smile widen in pleasure. She opened her arms. “Come, Cord.”

  He tore off his boots and shirt and tried to gain control of his rampant need to sink into her wet heat. Henrietta, waiting in a linen shift was more stimulating than any other woman in a silk negligee. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this, you just as you are now?” he asked.

  He lay on his side next to her. He brushed her thick, glossy hair away from her neck. He sucked on the delicate whirl of her earlobe, gently twirling the pink, firm skin with his tongue. The idea of exploring Henrietta’s firm, pink womanhood enflamed him. He thrust his tongue into her ear and fingered her nipple.

  “Darling, you’ll have to tell m
e if what I do hurts. I only want to bring you pleasure.”

  She was restless and breathless. “Cord, everything you’re doing is pleasure.”

  “Will it hurt too much to take off this damned nightgown?”

  “It’s difficult to raise my arms but if you help me slip the nightgown over my head, I’m sure we can manage.” Her lips curved in a small smile. Henrietta was a natural temptress.

  His hands shook like a callow youth when he tried to unbutton her nightgown. The dainty pearl buttons were difficult to pull through the embroidered buttonholes. Frustrated, he looked up at Henrietta watching him. Her eyes dilated with passion. He wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and brought her close to thrust his tongue into her soft mouth.

  She ran her hands through his hair.

  He got the last button undone on the nightgown. “If you sit up, I’ll slip the nightgown over your head without dislodging your bandage.”

  He circled her chest with his arms to lift her gently to a sitting position. He felt her wince from the pain, but she didn’t complain.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” He spoke tenderly, trying to be a gentleman, to pretend he was in control.

  “I don’t feel any pain.”

  A rush of exultation shot through him. He threw her nightgown on the floor. She had a muslin bandage wrapped around her pale chest. The bandage lifted her breasts. Her pink, ripe nipples jutted above the bandage. He bent and took one of the coral nipples into his mouth and sucked.

  Henrietta gasped then squirmed, pushing her breast into his mouth.

  “Let me help you lie down.” Slowly he moved her lower on the bed and came down next to her. He trailed kisses along the bandage. “I don’t want you to ever hurt again.”

  He suckled the nipples of each breast until Henrietta moaned and writhed, lifting her hips off the bed. He ran his hand down her smooth, soft abdomen and cupped her mound. His finger explored her opening, into her wetness. He inhaled her sweet, muskiness. “Oh, God. Hen, you’re ready for me. He put his finger inside, gently expanding her tightness.

  She was hot and wet and he was going to explode if he didn’t enter her soon.

  Henrietta whimpered his name and pushed against his hand. He put a second finger in her and slowly imitated the rhythm he would pleasure them both. He licked each breast while he maintained a slow languorous rhythm in Henrietta’s hot body.