The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance

by Samantha Saxon

  “Need to brush up on differential calculus, do you?” His brother laughed outright and Seamus could have murdered the handsome bastard.

  “If you wish to leave my home with our relationship intact, I suggest you stop right there.”

  Ignoring him, Daniel resumed his seat then lifted his black Hessians to rest on the ottoman.

  “I just wanted to discuss your problem now that I know the identity of the lady you’re attracted to.”

  “I’m not attracted to Juliet Pervill!”

  “Very well,” Daniel conceded. “The woman you desire, but are not attracted to.”

  Seamus thought about it and decided that after two such incidents he would just have to live with that humiliating assessment. “Discuss away.”

  “First of all, what in hell gave you the idea that Juliet Pervill was homely?” Daniel’s brows were furrowed with confusion.

  “I don’t know,” Seamus admitted after seeing her tonight. “The first time I saw the lass was the evening she confronted her father. Initially, my attention was on Lady Felicity.” Daniel nodded, fully understanding that any man’s attention would be on Felicity Appleton. “And then my mind was on the scene, not the lady. If you take my meaning?”

  “Aye, but Seamus, you’ve been working alongside the lass for the past . . . what? Three days?”

  Seamus ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “She’s been wearing these gowns . . .”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I hope to God the lass has been wearing gowns. What else would she wear to Whitehall? Breeches?”

  “Christ Almighty, would you just leave my house.”

  “Not until we discuss the matter fully. Right.” His brother blew out a thoughtful breath. “You say you were not attracted to her, but you desired her. Was she kind to you?”

  Seamus scoffed. “Uh, no.” Being long acquainted with the lady in question, Daniel snickered. “Although to be fair, I was not the most chivalrous of gentlemen when she first arrived at my office.”

  “You said Lady Juliet was speaking of differential calculus when you kissed her?” Daniel eyes narrowed to turquoise slits.

  “Aye, I was bored to tears. Mathematics is not my area of interest.”

  His brother’s back suddenly stiffened and his eyes grew wide as he nodded, smiling. “I know what ails you, Seamus.”

  Daniel rose and Seamus lifted himself from the edge of his seat. “Do tell, brother of mine,” he said sarcastically, desperate to know what his brother understood that he did not.

  “No.” Daniel shook his auburn head. “I don’t think I shall.”

  “What?” Seamus gave up all pretense of disinterest.

  “You’re a clever man, Seamus, but at times you’re a bloody idiot. This, dear brother, is one of those rare times.”

  “You pronounce me a fool and then just leave me to behave like one?” Seamus was furious and more than a little frustrated.

  “Aye.” Daniel nodded, explaining, “Your admiration for Lady Juliet is something best determined by you.”

  Seamus shook his head, uncomfortable. “All I need is a new paramour.”

  Daniel laughed, clasping him on the shoulder. “Good night, little brother.”

  Seamus let the blackguard leave, sure that his desire for Juliet Pervill was simply a result of her close proximity.

  Seamus kicked off his boots and removed the lavender scented gloves from his pocket, smelling them one last time.

  “Damn!” he cursed, catching himself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~

  Enigma slid off the black stallion, having finished her survey of the newly acquired estate.

  The vast lands had gone on for miles and with proper crop management could be converted into a very profitable acquisition. Yet its arrogant and indolent owner had left the ten-thousand-acre estate virtually uncultivated and its tenants resentful of their indifferent landlord.

  The lord of the manor had foolishly chosen to spend his money and his time on improving his gardens and manor house, neither of which brought in any income.

  God, but these men were stupid.

  “Perhaps now you should give me the tour of the manor house, Lord Harrington?” Enigma said, smiling with satisfaction for filching everything from the fool in a single night of gaming.

  “Yes, of course.” The obsequious man swept his arm toward the enormous front door, which had been carved with gruesome and garish scenes from Greek mythology.

  Enigma walked through the hideous door and looked up at the impressive foyer, which led the eye up a grand staircase to the chandelier hanging from the second-floor ceiling.

  “Shall we begin the tour in the parlor, Madame Richard?”

  Enigma nodded and they were shown into the large parlor before making their way around the ground-floor rooms in a clockwise rotation.

  “When was the estate built?” she asked.

  “The estate was built in 1751 by my great-grandfather, Lord Henry Harrington. That is him just there.” Harrington pointed to a stupid-looking man as they climbed the staircase and Enigma glared at Mister Collin, who had thought to laugh at the gentleman in the portrait.

  “How is the hunting on the estate?” Enigma asked, estimating the value of the paintings hanging from the brocade covered walls as they walked up to the first floor of her new country house.

  “Harrington Hall has the best hunting for ten counties,” Lord Harrington boasted as if he still owned the estate.

  “Mister Matthews,” Enigma called to the other man following them and put Harrington in his place. “I would like you to inventory the furniture, paintings, jewels . . . so on and so forth throughout the entire house,” then turning back to the previous owner, inquired prettily, “You’ve not removed anything from the estate, Lord Harrington?”

  “No.” Lord Harrington shook his head, blatantly wishing he had thought to do so before her unexpected visit. “Of course not.”

  “Good.” Enigma nodded and Matthews left to begin the extensive process. “Now, shall we discuss the ways in which you might retain your estate?”

  Harrington’s puffy eyes went wide at the mere possibility. “Yes, anything.” The greedy man stopped at the head of the stairs and she could see that he thought to outwit a mere woman. “Anything you ask.”

  Enigma smiled, enjoying bringing the ton’s arrogant fops to their knees.

  “I want you to begin by hosting several events at the estate.” Harrington’s brows furrowed in confusion, a reminder of how stupid the man was. “You will invite the gentlemen I tell you to invite and then you will ply them with drink and women,” Enigma said, spelling it out.

  “Yes, certainly, Madame Richard, but might I ask why, when you would make more blunt if these men were entertained at Dante’s?” he asked with the tone of a man teaching a woman about trade.

  “Information is a powerful thing, Lord Harrington,” she said, the chill in her voice unmistakable. The pudgy man paled. The implication of blackmail was finally sinking in. “And you will acquire as much information from these gentlemen as possible while they reside under my roof.” Enigma swept an elegant hand over the deserted hallway as they stood at the head of the stairs.

  Lord Harrington visibly winced at the reminder of his status as pauper.

  “As you wish.” The gentleman lowered his head, defeated.

  “The first thing you will do is dismiss your butler.”

  “What? Foster has been with my family for over thirty years,” Harrington protested.

  “Very well.” Enigma nodded sympathetically. “If you do not wish to see your butler let go, then perhaps you should call him over so that we might explain the transfer of ownership.”

  “Yes,” Harrington said, relieved. “That would be much better.” His condescension grated. “Foster,” he shouted down the hall and his butler walked to where they stood.

  The elegant servant bowed and Enigma smiled, asking, “How long have you been in Lord Harrington
’s employ?”

  “Thirty-four years,” Mister Foster said with pride.

  Enigma met Mister Collin’s eye over the butler’s head, saying, “A lifetime of service, how quaint,” then watched as the bodyguard twisted Mister Foster’s head round with a distasteful crack before pushing him down the winding staircase.

  Lord Harrington gave a throaty yelp and several footmen came running from different directions.

  “Call for a physician, the poor man has fallen,” Enigma ordered as Mister Collin glanced at Lord Harrington with dark eyes void of remorse.

  Mister Matthews appeared at the foot of the stairs and stared at the butler’s body. After a moment, he pushed his spectacles up his upturned nose then lifted his head to meet Enigma’s watchful eye.

  “How tragic,” Matthews said to her, visibly swallowing his fear.

  “Yes, it was,” Enigma agreed. Lord Harrington looked first to Mister Collin and then at his dead butler, whose head lay awkwardly against the third step of the staircase. “However, I have always found it better to get on with things, back to business so to speak.”

  “Y-y-y-yes.” Harrington nodded, clearly terrified. “Best t-t-to get on.”

  “Now, shall we retire to your study until the physician arrives.” It was not a question as Enigma led them down the winding stairs, lifting her skirts, and stepped over the dead butler with the assistance of Mister Collin’s powerful hand.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~

  Monday morning was clear but cold and Juliet tensed the moment she set foot outside Felicity’s front door. However, the bite of the winter wind was nothing in comparison to the constriction in her chest when she saw Lord Robert Barksdale standing beside her carriage.

  She stared through the dim light then lowered her chin and focused on the icy stairs in front of her. Juliet lifted her skirts several inches to avoid tripping, ignoring the persistent Lord Barksdale completely.

  “Juliet,” he begged. Her footman bowed and opened the carriage door, but Robert stepped between them. “Please, Juliet.” Lord Barksdale stared down at her. “Five minutes, I swear it. Please.”

  Five minutes.

  What could Robert possibly wish to say in five minutes that would justify his waiting for her in the cold this early in the morning?

  “Very well.” Juliet met his eye for the first time and unable to help herself said, “Wouldn’t want to make a scene that Papa may catch wind of.”

  Juliet spun on her heels and avoided treacherous patches of ice as she made for Robert’s elegant landau. She accepted the assistance of Barksdale’s footman then stepped into the familiar conveyance.

  “You sit there.” Juliet pointed to the opposite corner of the luxurious coach as she herself settled on the burgundy velvet squabs.

  “Hyde Park,” Barksdale called to his coachman before reaching up and drawing the matching velvet curtains lest they be seen together. “It’s a bit cold.”

  Hurt, Juliet met his eye. “Do get on with it, Robert.”

  Juliet stared at him, annoyed that he looked so well, so beautifully turned out.

  “I wanted to apologize to you, my darling Juliet, for the manner in which last we parted. I was . . .” Robert met her eye and then looked down, penitent. “Distraught by a difficult situation and spoke precipitously of a possible solution to the problem in which we now find ourselves.”

  “Damn right you spoke ‘precipitously.’” Juliet’s anger grabbed her tongue and refused to relinquish its hold. “Not to mention offensively.”

  “I know, darling.” Robert shook his head and sat next to her, tentatively testing the waters.

  She allowed him to remain and Juliet could see that Robert wanted to kiss her. The damnable thing was that Juliet was not sure that she did not want him to.

  “I came to ask”—Robert got down on one knee and took her right hand—“no, beg you, my darling Juliet, to be my wife.”

  “What?” Juliet jerked her hand away, stunned by his newfound sense of propriety.

  Robert smiled and then resumed his seat next to her. “Marry me, Juliet?” he asked, looking down at her.

  Now, it did occur to Juliet that she should be overjoyed, elated, but as she stared into Robert’s midnight blue eyes, she could not help remembering the manner in which he had drawn the conveyance curtains.

  He took her lengthy silence as consent and then bent his head to kiss her. Juliet was trapped against the squabs when he swept into her mouth, eagerly circling her tongue with his own.

  “Oh, Juliet.” His hand caressed her right shoulder. “I cannot wait to make you my wife.”

  “Robert, darling?” Juliet’s eyes narrowed and she allowed his hands to wander, curious to see where they would roam.

  “Yes?” He was kissing her neck, his hand descending to the bottom of her skirts.

  “When shall we announce our engagement?” She stared at the curtains.

  “No need to rush, don’t you think? Best if we wait a month or so.” His right hand was traveling up her bare calf. “Let the scandal die down.”

  Juliet let his hands get as far as her knee before she stopped him.

  “You are most likely correct.” She handed him a rope with which to hang himself. “However, I do think we should stop being alone with one another until our wedding night.”

  “I love you, Juliet,” Robert whispered in her ear, his hand gliding above her knee as if she would not notice. “What is the difference if I make you mine now or on our wedding night? We are engaged after all.”

  His large hand grasped her backside, pulling her hard against his erection, and Juliet was so hurt that tears welled in her eyes. Robert Barksdale had no intention of marrying her. She had known him long enough to see the truth behind his heated gaze.

  With promises of marriage, Robert would take her virginity and make her his mistress.

  But why? Why if he loved her, and she believed that he did, why would he not try to change his father’s mind?

  Robert pushed his hips against hers insistently and grunted with pleasure and possession. Possession, that was his motivation.

  After all, Robert knew firsthand her weakness with men. Juliet had allowed him to kiss her, and wanton woman that she was, she had even kissed him back.

  But she had been in love with him.

  Hadn’t she?

  “Stop it, Robert,” she said, knowing him well enough to be sure that he would. “Take me home.”

  Juliet opened her mouth to tell him that he could make love to her on their wedding night, that she would give herself to him body and soul once they were legally wed. But as she stared into his lust-filled eyes, feeling not an ounce of desire as his body pressed against hers, Juliet knew they were finished.

  In the weeks since her ruination, Juliet had come to realize that Robert Barksdale was a weak man and not what she wanted in a husband.

  She needed a man whose will was as strong as her own. Juliet needed a man able to match her mind and, on occasion, win an argument or two.

  She needed a man like Seamus McCurren.

  ≈

  Seamus climbed the front entrance of Lady Felicity Appleton’s town home, his brown Hessians pounding the marble steps in a brisk, controlled rhythm that betrayed his exhilaration.

  He lifted the heavy brass knocker and banged three times, then was forced to wait an eternity.

  “Come on, come on,” he caught himself muttering beneath his breath.

  In the end, the black door opened and Seamus offered the requisite card and polite smile to the poised butler. “Mister Seamus McCurren to see Lady Juliet Pervill.”

  The older man bowed, standing aside to allow Seamus to enter the vast entryway decorated with alternating squares of brown and white marble. “If you would be so kind as to wait—”

  “Mister McCurren,” a wholly feminine voice called from a doorway to the right. “How kind of you to call.”

  “Lady Felicity,” Seamus said, bowing toward the stunning
creature, who broke into a radiant smile. “I’ve come to consult with Lady Juliet. We were expecting her at the Foreign Office this morning.” Hearing a touch of irritation in his own voice, Seamus added, “She is well, I trust.” Felicity Appleton continued to stare, making him decidedly uncomfortable.

  Lady Felicity’s warm eyes glowed and she smiled more fully. “Oh, yes, Juliet is quite well. So well, in fact, that she chose this morning to ride in the park with Lord Barksdale rather than deal with the confinements of the Foreign Office.”

  Barksdale?

  “How nice,” Seamus observed with considerable annoyance.

  He had spent the morning identifying the last marker of the E code while Juliet Pervill gallivanted about Hyde Park with the gentleman who had abandoned her the moment that scandal erupted.

  The spineless prick.

  By all rights, Seamus should return to the Foreign Office and inform Falcon of his progress. Yet for some indiscernible reason, he wanted to share his find with Juliet first. He felt as though she was one of the only people who would understand his intellectual excitement at the discovery.

  “She is out then?”

  “Oh, no. I believe she has returned and is having tea in her sitting room.” The lady turned to her servant and spoke as though the man were doing her a kindness rather than his duty. “Alfred, would you be so good as to escort Mister McCurren to Lady Juliet’s sitting room.”

  “Will you not join us, Lady Felicity?” Seamus asked, surprised that he would not be accompanied by a chaperon. “Nonsense, Mister McCurren.” The lady smiled brightly. “Why, you are practically family.”

  Seamus nodded in gratitude for the lady’s faith and understanding of their need for privacy then followed the butler into the depths of the town home.

  The butler led him up a wide, jade-colored staircase and Seamus glanced at the portraits of Lady Felicity’s ancestors, noting that with each passing generation the lady’s family had enhanced not only its holding, but also its physical beauty.

  When they had reached the first-floor landing, Seamus glanced down the corridor, which was decorated with welcoming plants set atop Ionic pillars. The elegant décor screamed of Lady Felicity, once again reminding Seamus that Juliet Pervill was but a guest in her cousin’s home.