He couldn’t look away from the way her chest rose as he removed her thin lace glove.
“Your beauty and your passionate response to me is honest and sincere. I’ve never met a woman like you. I want to marry you and spend our lives together.”
He slowly traced with his lips along her palm, following each crease.
The flush across her face and her tiny gasps with each flick of his tongue heated his body to a feverish pitch. He wanted so much from her, with her.
“Once we find the mole, we can elope.” Her words came out raspy, stifled by her breathlessness.
He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Darling, we aren’t going to elope. I refuse to have your name linked with a scandal. And I know you would never want to sever your relationship with your father. We will have to be patient.”
“I don’t want to be patient. I want you, your kisses. I want to take the place of all those opera dancers in your bed.”
Flames of desire licked beneath his skin. He needed all his discipline to keep his passion in check. His mind raced with the possibility of eloping, of having Joie in his bed and not having to endure the season.
The idea was enticing, except for his dangerous mission and the overwhelming problem of her father’s disapproval. He was in no position to elope or court her when his focus needed to be on finding the mole who was a threat to the entire Rathbourne household. Letting her be courted by Landry and staying busy with the season’s events was the logical option. But her soft whimpering sounds as he ran his tongue between each finger was clouding his judgment. Overtaken for a moment by the idea of eloping, he hadn’t processed her exact words until now.
He released her hand and glowered at her soft eyes filled with passion. “There is no ‘we’ in finding the mole.”
Her spine stiffened and she inhaled deeply, drawing his attention to her voluptuous chest. She had the body of a Renoir painting—creamy flesh that he wanted to explore for years.
She pulled her hand away. “You don’t have to take that tone with me. I’m not planning on causing you any trouble. I want to help you. I want to help England.”
“You can help me by remaining safe and enjoying the season with all the other gently bred ladies.” He omitted any mention of spending time with Landry.
She jumped from the bench, her hands on her hips, her head tilted to the side. “I’m capable of so much more than just attending balls and soirees. Please let me be of assistance. People trust me with their secrets. And women will speak more readily to me than to you. I can interact with the lower servants of the Rathbournes, and they wouldn’t be on guard. I’m not intimidating.”
He ran his hand through his hair to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking her. Did she not understand what he had endured when she had been kidnapped? She could have been killed because of him. “I know all the household staff since I was in charge of security for the Rathbournes before I became an agent. I’m not intimidating to any of them. And it is obvious that you haven’t thought your plan through. Why would the staff talk to an esteemed lady who has no connection to them?”
He was harsh, but Joie needed to be discouraged. He couldn’t bear a repeat of Rye with Joie embroiling herself in his mission.
“There is no need to belittle me. I’ve run my father’s household since I was barely in my teens after my mother died. I planned to have my housekeeper ‘accidently’ run into the Rathbournes’ housekeeper at the market and invite her for tea. And I would just happen to go to the kitchen to speak with my housekeeper, giving me the opportunity to ask Lady Rathbourne’s servant how she would handle a servant who might be stealing goods or money. It seems to me, the servant who is the mole is most likely in need of money. Why else would an English woman or man become a traitor?”
Reggie hated to admit his admiration for her logic. He had been following the same thread, but he had to tread carefully to avoid arousing suspicions.
“Your ideas are very sound.”
Her wide grin paused his brain for a minute. She was such a delight with her open enthusiasm, the same enthusiasm that almost got her killed in Rye. How was he ever going to keep her safe?
Chapter Four
Joie shifted her weight, trying not to move her feet and raise suspicion as she stood behind the screen in the ladies’ retiring room. Didn’t the two stragglers hear the orchestra warming up? It was time for everyone to make their way back to the ball. It would be just her luck that the two chattering women had no partners for the next set. How much longer before the room was empty and she could sneak down the hall?
Fortunately, there was more than one chamber pot for the use of all the ladies at the ball. Otherwise, her plan of making her way to the servants’ quarters in Rathbourne House would never work. She counted to ten again and steeled herself for patience.
“She sailed into the ball as if everyone would have forgotten her scandalous behavior with Lord Ayer.”
The top of Joie’s ears burned at the mention of the despicable lord. Could there be more than one woman compromised by Lord Ayer? He was enough of a scoundrel to have lured another innocent woman to the conservatory. If there were another victim of Lord Ayer’s malicious behavior, Joie would wish to console the poor woman.
“She acts oblivious… As if everyone isn’t talking about the daughter of an archbishop caught in a compromising situation.”
Drat. They must be talking about her since there couldn’t be another archbishop’s daughter Lord Ayer had pursued. None of the other high-ranking clergy had a daughter taking in the season. They were all older, like her father. She had been a surprise for her childless elder parents.
“Did you see the color of her dress? You would expect after her scandal that she would avoid drawing attention to herself.”
The two tittered.
Joie tried to peek through the crack in the screen to see who the women were.
“Blue and orange. Who would ever wear those two colors?”
The blue silk was closer to a blue gray; the orange was the color of a muted sunset in a winter sky. Had they not read La Belle Assemblée? Turkish blue was the rage in Paris. She had always fantasized about living in Paris, feeling more of an affinity for French fashion and art, like her mother than the staid sartorial tastes of the English. Not anymore. After tangling with French spies, she was ready to fight against her grandparents’ homeland. Her mother would have supported Joie’s decision.
“She’s supposedly brought Lieutenant Talley up to snuff, but her father has rejected his offer. Everyone had already given up any hope of ever landing him and his large inheritance since he has never shown any interest in decent women—probably why her father rejected him.”
“I’d love that man in my bed. He is such a large, delicious specimen.”
One of the women snorted.
“It explains his attraction to her, doesn’t it? She dresses like one of his paramours.”
Joie smiled. She hoped that Reggie found her daring and as exciting as his opera dancers. Her recent dreams involved more than kisses with the enthralling and ardent man. She was limited in her imagination of exactly how bedding occurred, but she wanted more—more of his touches, more of everything.
“Like all of us, she will marry her father’s choice.”
Joie wanted to shout “never.” She would elope before she would marry Albert.
“I can’t blame her for dallying with Lieutenant Talley before her marriage. Who could resist that man in his dress regiments?”
She wasn’t dallying with Reggie. All they had indulged in so far was kisses—heated kisses burned into her skin and heart. She was more than ready to dally, but he continued to behave like a gentleman.
“We had better return. My mother will be looking for me. She’s angling for a match with Baron Thomas’s son.”
“No, he’s so…so…”
“Obese? He’s the size of my childhood pony.”
Their chortles followed them into the hal
lway.
Joie let out a large exhalation. She hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath in fear of discovery. She waited and listened to make sure no one else had entered the room.
After counting to twenty, she emerged from behind the screen and exited the small room that was on the main floor of the house. She had chosen it from the three retiring rooms since it was downstairs near the servants’ stairwell. The other two retiring rooms were near the ballroom on the second floor of the grand house.
Her plan was to make her way to the servants’ hall and feign seeking a remedy for a headache from the housekeeper. Of course, it was beyond the pale for her to not have her chaperone, another of her father’s elder sisters who had married a baron, to seek a headache powder. She would explain to the housekeeper that since her aunt was elderly, she had ventured downstairs herself. She thought her plan was sound, especially when she requested to rest until the powder began to work. This would allow her time to ingratiate herself into the housekeeper’s good graces.
Her heart was hammering as she sashayed confidently past the footman stationed at the bottom of the staircase. She kept her chin up and walked toward the hall. It was lit by sconces mounted on the opposite side of the staircase. She thought there was most likely a library, a morning room, and a drawing room. When she had come for tea, she had been taken upstairs to Lady Henrietta’s drawing room and wasn’t able to assess the rooms on the main floor.
If Joie was correct about the design of these Jacobean houses, there should be a servants’ stairwell behind the grand staircase. Her knees were weak, and her stomach was aflutter with anticipation. The only sounds were the shush of her skirt on the wood floor below and the orchestra’s music from above.
In the first room on her right stood two footmen in front of an impressive mahogany door. As required by ton standard, footmen were imposing—tall but with slender builds. Surprisingly, these two were hefty with thick necks, not the usual lean symmetry that the aristocrats required for their servants. The blue-and-white livery stretched across their brawny shoulders. They were likely soldiers, chosen to protect the Rathbourne family. Reggie had been in charge of the household’s safety before she met him on his first secret assignment in Rye. And it was his knowledge of Lady Henrietta that led to the whole blasted mess with the French. Joie wished she knew what role Lady Henrietta played in this mystery. She hoped to gain some revelations from the housekeeper if the woman was the chatty sort.
“My lady, may we help you?” The taller of the two giants stepped forward.
She proceeded down the hallway, calling gaily over her shoulder, “Thank you. I’m fine.”
His heavy footsteps continued close behind. Drat. Double drat.
“My lady, this is the family’s quarters. The ballroom is upstairs. I will escort you to the ball since you’ve lost your way.” His stiff stance and steely voice reminded her a lot of Reggie.
Her mission was over before she had begun. She had made it only halfway down the hall before being thwarted.
As she continued, the next door on her right opened. A stooped, white-haired gentleman stepped out. His hair was mussed from his glasses perched on his head, and his cravat was askew.
She halted and smiled at him.
“Henrietta sent you to escort me to the ball? How delightful. I usually have Lewis here as my escort. You’re a lot prettier than he is.”
The guard behind her covered his laugh with a cough.
“My lord. I’d be honored to escort you to the ball.” Joie curtsied. “I’m Miss James. My father is Archbishop James.”
“Tubby’s daughter? I knew your father at Eton. He was years behind me.” The gentleman’s rheumy eyes glinted with mischief.
Joie giggled at the outrageous sobriquet. “My father has never shared his nickname.” The idea was so foreign to her stern and stiff angular father. She had to stifle another giggle.
“I’m sure he hasn’t.” He offered his arm. “You may call me Uncle Charles since you’re Tubby’s daughter. And what a stir we’ll cause when we enter the ballroom.”
“Everyone will wonder how I’ve attracted such a dashing man as my escort.” She grinned before batting her eyelashes in an outrageous fashion.
Uncle Charles chuckled and squeezed her arm. “What a bouncer. You remind me of Henrietta. She was a spirited little girl…”
He paused, momentarily lost in a memory.
Joie waited, not wanting to rush him. They stood together in silence until the footman interrupted. “Sir, you will be late for the ball.”
His gaze searched Joie’s in bewilderment. “Oh my. Is it time for the ball?”
“By the sound of the music, the dancing is in full swing.” Joie wanted to comfort him. He reminded her of Mr. Turnstilton, one of the elder parishioners who sometimes got befuddled but was as sweet and gentle a man as Uncle Charles.
“We haven’t had a ball in several years. Cord and Henrietta want to raise morale with the blasted war raging.” Uncle Charles shook his head vehemently, causing his glasses to slip partially down. “Oh, no. I’m always misplacing these darn spectacles. I need to return them to my office.”
“I can return them for you.”
“Nonsense. It’s a mere few steps.” He guided her into an expansive library. Every wall was lined with shelves of books. Two massive tables ran the length of the room. A fire blazed and candles were lit throughout the room, giving it a welcoming feeling despite the disarray of papers and tomes spread across the tables.
“Mr. Benning, why are you in this room?” the guard demanded.
A wiry, fair-haired gentleman startled before he turned away from the bookshelf. His narrow face registered surprise before shuttering.
“As I explained to Mr. Harcourt, I’m looking for a book for tomorrow’s lesson with Edward.”
“Isn’t it time for you to be with Master Edward? Lord Rathbourne specifically said you’d be dining with Edward during the ball.”
“I wanted to find this book before I joined Edward for dinner. I explained all of this to Mr. Harcourt. Don’t you remember, sir?” His voice was solicitous toward Uncle Charles while his eyes raked over Joie, lingering on her deep cleavage.
“Just came to leave my glasses here. What book are you looking for?”
“I’m looking for Father Augustine of Hippo’s work. It is difficult to keep pace with Edward’s prodigious mind. We are working our way through philosophers.”
Joie said, “You must be referring to Father Augustine’s conversion to Christianity based on Cicero’s lost Hortensius. It is required reading for philosophy students.”
“You read Latin?” Mr. Benning asked, his gaze moving over her again in a very ungentlemanly manner.
“Benning, women can read and read well. Have you not learned anything from my niece?”
Joie wanted to hug Uncle Charles. What an extraordinary man, so unlike her father, who would never defend her despite both men being of an age that only saw women in a limited way.
“I’ve had an unusual education being the only child of the archbishop,” Joie commented, as if her rigorous studies were of no consequence. But of course, to Mr. Benning, they weren’t. The tutor’s contemptuous response shouldn’t come as a surprise to her. He was no different than most gentlemen. But his patronizing attitude coupled with his leering stares stirred a maelstrom of feelings. She wanted to react—to argue in all of womankind’s defense or at least to stomp on his foot. But she was a lady, and nothing would come of an outburst with a thick-headed man. It would only confirm how emotional and unstable women could be.
“Of course, you have, my dear, with Tubby as your father. You must come with Edward, Benning, and I to ‘The Odd Set of Volumes.’ It’s my book lovers’ club. You will be a wonderful addition to all the stodgy old men.”
“The club doesn’t allow ladies. I’m sure you understand.” Benning’s forced smile made it only to his lips.
Joie was about to decline the invitation un
til his smirk. No, she didn’t understand. But that debate wasn’t worth her time with the narrow-minded tutor. Now, she would accompany Uncle Charles if Lady Henrietta approved. She wasn’t sure how Reggie would react since he had given her the directive to avoid contact with anyone in the Rathbourne household. But meeting Uncle Charles had been totally by chance.
“I’ve no doubt the men will welcome this lovely, bright woman. Do you read any other languages?”
“Greek, of course, but I’ve always wanted to study hieroglyphics. I find the pyramids fascinating.”
“If I weren’t so old, I’d ask you to marry me. I’m keenly interested in the Egyptians.”
Joie laughed. The delight in interacting with a warm older gentleman was so unlike her interactions with her father and his colleagues. An inner glow enveloped her. “I don’t think our love of Egypt makes for the basis of a good marriage.”
“You’re probably right.” His light eyes twinkled. “Shall we make our grand entrance to the ball, Miss James?”
“Yes, Uncle Charles.” She was more than ready to dance with Reggie.
Chapter Five
Joie managed a smile as she was swept into the fast-paced Boulanger by Albert. There had been no way to escape dancing with him. The man had stood guard by the entrance when she returned to the ballroom. Fortunately, the dance required frequently changing partners, limiting their time together.
All week she had envisioned her first dance with Reggie—his gentle touch, his bright eyes shining with desire, and, when their eyes met, the vibrant connection that would leave them both breathless. Then there would be the magical moment when they would stroll in the garden, and her heart would race in anticipation of stolen kisses.
As she reeled through the steps, she searched the crowd for him. He was a head taller than almost everyone in the room, so he should be easy to spot. The blasted man was nowhere to be seen. He might be in danger right now, fighting French spies, and she was oblivious, twirling away with no reassurance that he was safe.
A Secret Code Page 3
