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

by Samantha Saxon

  “Why?”

  Christian glanced round at Angelo’s busy fencing room and took a step forward so that they would not be overheard. “I spoke to Lady Felicity this morning and she informed me that there would be no wedding.”

  Seamus stiffened, not taking kindly to his private affairs being discussed in public. “That is none of your concern, St. John.”

  “Like hell.” Christian took a step back and uncorked his foil, raising it as he warned, “En garde.”

  “Are you mad?”

  St. John took a step forward and swiped at Seamus’s chest. A hint of blood seeped from the shallow wound.

  “En garde,” Christian repeated with a raised brow and a deadly tone.

  A crowd began to gather. “Very well, Christian.” He uncorked his own foil.

  Christian’s anger betrayed him and he lunged before he was in position and Seamus countered easily, scratching his friend’s arm to bring the man to his senses.

  Unfortunately, it seemed to have the reverse effect.

  “You bastard.” Christian lunged a second time, and if Seamus had not jumped wildly to his right, the foil would have run him through.

  Stunned, Seamus parried each vicious blow until his lungs were burning.

  “St. John,” someone called out from the crowd, but Seamus dared not take his attention off Christian’s deadly foil.

  “Christian!” he heard a familiar voice shout. Seamus stole a glance to his left and watched as Juliet grabbed an onlooker’s foil and stabbed Christian in the backside.

  “Oww!” Christian turned around abruptly, his large eyes going wide when he saw Juliet standing there. “Juliet! What on earth are you doing here?”

  Christian glanced around at the half-dressed members of the exclusively male club, rightfully appalled.

  “Felicity told me you were coming here.” Juliet took Christian’s arm and pulled him to one side. “And why you were coming,” she said meaningfully, as Christian rubbed his backside.

  The show ended, and the other gentlemen in the room dispersed, allowing them to speak freely.

  “Felicity should never have told you. This is a matter of honor between gentlemen and—”

  “I refused him, Christian.”

  Seamus closed his eyes and locked his hands behind his head.

  “What?”

  “I refused Seamus’s offer.”

  “I could have killed him.” Christian looked horrified, and they both stared at the blood trickling down Seamus’s bare chest. “Why did you not tell me?”

  “Because it is none of your bloody business.” Seamus slipped on his shirt, more miserable than he had been when he arrived.

  “Why on earth would you refuse him?” Christian whispered, staring down at Juliet. Seamus tried to appear disinterested in her answer.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Christian,” she growled and the man took a step back. “Perhaps the fact that you threatened to kill the man if he did not make the offer.”

  Furious, Juliet threw the foil in her hand to the wooden floor and stormed out.

  “I was defending her honor.” Christian shrugged, confused by Juliet’s anger.

  “Believe me, St. John.” Seamus stared longingly at Juliet’s retreating back. “The lady does not need defending.”

  Chapter Thirty

  ~

  Seamus waited two days for Juliet to come to him, to come to her senses. But she did not and the thought that she might have accepted Lord Barksdale’s offer out of anger was driving him mad.

  At ten o’clock that evening, he gave up all pretense of indifference and called for his horse, determined to speak with her.

  Seamus leapt atop his mount, reassessing his unenviable position. He was in love with Juliet Pervill and the longer he went without having her in his bed, the more he realized just how much he wanted her for his wife. However, thanks to the interference of his blasted friends, the woman would never believe the sincerity of his desire to marry her.

  He knew how stubborn Juliet was, knew that nothing he could say would persuade her, not now.

  But he had to try.

  Seamus arrived at her house at half past ten and waited impatiently for the butler to answer Lord Appleton’s door. “Is Countess Pervill available?” The countess might be able to persuade her daughter of his sincerity.

  “I’m afraid Countess Pervill and Lady Felicity have left for the evening.”

  “Lord Appleton, perhaps?” Seamus asked, desperate.

  “His club, I’m afraid.”

  “Lady Juliet?” Seamus inquired, bowing to the inevitability of confrontation.

  “Yes.” The man smiled, nodding.

  “Are my footmen guarding her properly?”

  “They never leave her side,” the butler said with obvious approval of the precaution.

  “I’ll just verify that they are on duty as ordered, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, Mister McCurren.”

  Seamus handed the man his greatcoat and hat and then bounded up the staircase. Two footmen stood guard at Juliet’s door. “Wait for me in the parlor,” he ordered.

  The footmen glanced at one another, confused, and then started down the corridor while Seamus opened Juliet’s sitting room door.

  He headed straight for her balcony and asked the two freezing footmen, “Where is Lady Juliet?”

  “The lady has retired to her bedchamber.”

  Seamus nodded. “Wait for me downstairs in the parlor.”

  “Thank you, Mister McCurren,” the footman said, pleased to be relieved of a winter’s night duty.

  Seamus knocked on Juliet’s bedchamber door, more nervous than he could have thought possible. “Come in.”

  He found her in bed and all the eloquent words he had rehearsed flew from his head. “Why did you refuse my offer?”

  “You know why.” Juliet snapped her book shut, rolling her eyes as she stood up from her bed.

  Trying not to stare through her thin dressing gown, Seamus concentrated on what she was saying. “I’m sorry you found out about the meeting.”

  “I’m not.” She was shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, it is only fair that we both know you were forced to make the offer.”

  He could not deny the truth and Juliet walked to her dressing table then sat down to brush her hair before he had thought how to respond.

  He tried to sound convincing. “I wasn’t forc—”

  “So Christian was merely offering you his congratulations when he sliced open your chest?” She raised her eyebrows to punctuate the question. “And I suppose you had invited four gentlemen around for tea the morning after . . .”

  “You can’t marry Barksdale.”

  Juliet spun around in her chair, asking, “Why not?”

  Her eyes held his with such intensity that Seamus was having a difficult time thinking. “Because he’s an idiot.”

  “And you’re an ass.”

  Juliet turned away from him and tilted her head to the side as she continued to brush her long hair. He watched her in the mirror and was stunned to see a tear fall from the corner of her beautiful eyes. He watched it roll down her cheek, and his heart ripped in two.

  “Juliet,” he whispered, walking to her and reaching out to rub her shoulder with his right hand. “I’m so sorry. Marry Barksdale if that will make you happy.”

  Even if it would kill him.

  But he hadn’t said the right thing. Seamus could see that he had only upset her more when she put both elbows on the vanity and covered her face.

  He swept her luscious hair to one side and bent down to kiss the back of her neck.

  “Don’t cry, Juliet,” Seamus begged, turning her head so that he could kiss her on the cheek.

  His lips were moistened by her delicate tears and he followed their path, kissing them away. She tilted her head to the side, abandoning her sorrow to his comfort. Her head fell back against his shoulder as her right hand drifted up to caress the back of his head.

&n
bsp; The air was pushed from his lungs and his heart leapt with the need to hold her. His left hand slid around Juliet’s waist; his right hand drifted to her breast. He squeezed softly, eliciting an encouraging moan.

  Seamus eased Juliet to her feet, kicking the chair from between them. He drew her to him and smiled when he saw Juliet close her eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

  The thought that the touch of his body had given her pleasure made him want to give her so much more. He dipped his hand between her breasts and untied her silky robe, letting it fall to the floor.

  Seamus stared at the mirror, looking at Juliet in nothing more than a thin nightdress that made visible every curve of her beautiful body. He kissed the other side of her neck, remembering how she had felt beneath him, how he had felt when he made love to her.

  He wanted to feel like that again, to confirm that what he had experienced in her arms was real, that his mind had not embellished his memory during the long nights without her.

  His left hand swept down her neck, taking the left sleeve of her nightdress with him. He kissed her bare shoulder, her skin so flawless, so soft. Seamus was breathing hard and his eyes skimmed over the curves that hinted at the full breasts he knew were hiding beneath the nightdress.

  His right hand was on her other shoulder and he took a step back, pulling down her right sleeve. He stared in the mirror, his eyes following the nightdress as it fluttered to the floor. His breath caught and he stared in the mirror at a nude Juliet, his memory flawless.

  Seamus kissed her and avoided looking her in the eye as he carried her to bed, afraid that she would stop him, stop this from happening if he did.

  He stripped quickly and climbed over her, only then looking her in the eye. Neither of them spoke as he set about comforting her. He touched her gently, reverently, as they drew nearer to becoming one.

  She began kissing him back, consoling him as much as he was comforting her. He rolled on his back, needing to know that she wanted him.

  He leaned against the pillows and Juliet straddled him, placing her hands on his shoulders and leaving them eye to eye. She didn’t kiss him or caress him; they merely stared at one another as she sank down his length.

  Neither of them breathed, until she lifted herself, only to have their breath stolen when she sank down again. Seamus grasped her backside to aid in the rhythm of their breathing, their lovemaking.

  Her breathing became more rapid as did her movements. Seamus moaned, but he dare not look away from the eyes that saw him so clearly.

  Tears began forming in her eyes, but he did not know why. His hands slid to her hips and he penetrated more fully. Her eyes remained fixed on his. She was close to her peak and Seamus raced to catch her.

  He reached up and caressed her cheek and Juliet sank down, causing them to climax as one.

  His entire body was trembling and nothing else existed. He stared into her beautiful eyes, shaken.

  “Marry me?” Seamus asked before he knew what he was saying.

  He had asked for her hand before, but this time he felt no sense of obligation, no guilt, only a terrifying desire for her to say yes.

  “You bastard,” she whispered, the sound of devastation in her voice. “Is that why you came here, to coerce me into marrying you?”

  “I . . .” Seamus wanted to deny it, to tell her that he was there because he wanted her and nothing more, but it wasn’t true.

  He had come because he didn’t want anyone else to have her. She was his.

  Juliet pushed away from him, scrabbling off the bed. “You thought if you made love to me again, that I would consent to be your wife? Get out,” she whispered. He could not move and anger contorted her features as she shoved him in the chest. “Get out!”

  He just stared at her, not understanding what the hell had just happened, not understanding how their incredible lovemaking had resulted in her screaming at him.

  “Very well, then, I shall leave.” Juliet was out of bed and covering her beautiful body with a silk sheet before Seamus could stop her.

  “Juliet.” What could he say?

  She stopped at her bedchamber door and turned to him.

  “So kind of you to ask, but I’m afraid I must refuse your offer, Mister McCurren. You see, I have a bit of a scandalous reputation that I have yet to earn, and now that I have crossed you off the list”—she smiled—“I can move on to Lord Barksdale.”

  His jaw clamped shut and he climbed out of bed. “Don’t, Juliet.”

  Juliet cupped her hand to her ear. “I’m sorry, I must not have heard correctly, for a moment you sounded like a jealous husband. But then again you’re not my husband.” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you, Seamus?”

  Before she left him for Barksdale, Seamus took careful aim and then let his words fly.

  “Well, you’ve one thing to recommend you to the rakes of the ton.” Juliet turned to meet his eye, her lovely long hair cascading down the cobalt sheet she held to her chest. “You’re bright if not beautiful.”

  Her mouth fell open and Seamus could see that he had struck dead center. Tears welled in her bright blue eyes, and as he witnessed the depth of her wound, Seamus was unsettled to find that his verbal blow had made him bleed far more than Juliet.

  He stood, naked before her, unable to move through his shame and guilt to comfort her. Seamus blinked and she was gone. He staggered backward, his shaky legs barely able to hold him until he sank to the mattress. He placed his head in his hands and stared at the floor in shock.

  For twenty-six years he had been alone, had felt out of place in the world. Not until he had met Juliet Pervill had Seamus realized that there were others like him and the relief, the elation of that discovery, had been beyond measure.

  Yet only when he had made love to Juliet, when he held her in his arms, had Seamus truly understood that Juliet was his. Slated by God, his match in both mind and spirit, and what had he done, but driven her straight into the arms of another man.

  He wondered what Juliet would calculate to be the odds of his meeting another woman with a mind equal to his own. She would know, of course. He laughed painfully then sucked in the bitterness that burned the back of his throat, mingling with the familiar cold of desolation and his perpetual loneliness.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  ~

  It had been two days since they had left town, and Juliet sat with her mother in their drawing room, staring out the window at the waning moon.

  She sighed for the hundredth time, prompting her mother to breach the two-day silence. “Did you tell him?”

  “What?” Juliet flipped a page of a newspaper.

  “That you love him?”

  “I don’t love him.” She flipped another page, having read nothing.

  “Of course you do. You didn’t even ask to whom I was referring.”

  “I’m not in love with Seamus McCurren.”

  “Then why did you go to him?”

  “What are you talking about, Mother?” Juliet looked up from her paper, confused.

  “When you escaped from your kidnappers, you went to him.” Her mother raised an accusing brow. “Not me, not Felicity—”

  “He works for the Foreign Office. It was only logical—”

  “Bullocks.” Her mother looked down at her cross-stitch and Juliet’s jaw dropped at her mother’s crudeness. “We both know why you went to him that day and why you have run off to the country. You’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared of Seamus McCurren.”

  “Of your feelings for him, you stupid girl,” her mother lectured affectionately. “You are so afraid that he will not love you in return that you have fled to the country.”

  She was in love with him, had been for quite some time, but men like Seamus McCurren did not love women like her. “I don’t want to talk about it, Mother.”

  It was far too painful.

  Juliet looked down at an advertisement of fashion plates for the spring season and tried not to think. Ball
gowns, riding gowns, day gowns . . . mourning gowns. She read on.

  “When is Felicity coming to visit?”

  “Next week.” Her mother pulled a stitch.

  “Perhaps we should have a ball while she is here.”

  “If that would take your mind off Seamus McCurren.” Her mother met her eye and she rolled hers.

  She flipped a page and her nose wrinkled. “Mother, listen to this.”

  Juliet lifted the newspaper and read aloud the description of the pictured gown.

  Madame Maria’s Modiste

  Welcome spring in this stunning muslin gown where fashion meets function. The many layers of quality muslin are trimmed by the finest of colorful silk ribbon. Stroll across the Serpentine wearing this gown and you are sure to turn heads. This design can be fashioned with varieties of fabrics for spring. Please, call on Madame Maria’s to be the first to wear London’s latest fashions.

  “Doesn’t that sound odd to you?” Juliet continued to stare at the page as she spoke.

  “Madame Maria, was it?” Her mother pulled another stitch of the pale silk thread. “Poor woman is assuredly foreign, which is no doubt why she butchers our language while peddling her wares to poor, unsuspecting country girls eager to purchase town fashions.”

  “What do you mean ‘butchers our language’?”

  The countess looked up from her embroidery as if she had failed as a mother.

  “Well, darling, one would never say ‘with varieties of fabrics,’ would one. Any lady with a minimum of breeding would have written ‘with a variety of fabrics.’ ‘Variety’ is, of course, already plural in this instance, so why on earth would one say ‘varieties of fabrics’ unless the woman was a foreigner and unfamiliar with the subtlety of the English language.”

  Juliet froze. “Pardon?”

  Her mother looked down at her intricate creation, losing interest. “I said Madame Maria was undoubtedly a foreigner, Italian most likely, unfamiliar with the subtleties of the English language.”

  With varieties of fabrics. Juliet stared at the paragraph and thought, With varieties of fabrics.

  “Mother, throw me your pencil,” Juliet said, agitated.