“I do not ‘throw’ things, Juliet.” Her mother was busy stabbing the linen on one of the many marks she had made with the pencil she kept in her embroidery basket. “If you wish to—”
“Throw me the pencil, Mother!” Juliet shouted and her mother’s head snapped up, hearing Juliet’s uncommon distress.
Their eyes meet and her mother picked up the pencil and threw it across the small sitting area. Juliet caught it, her hands shaking as she began to work with her feet still curled under her.
She ignored her mother’s gaze as her eyes darted from letter to letter and word to word. And then she thought of Seamus and his description of the cryptographer as “orderly.”
The person who had written the E code had an organized mind, creating a simple system of cryptography that was virtually impossible to detect.
Juliet looked again and then whispered to herself, “No wonder Seamus only found the markers,” before glancing up. “Mother, I must return to London. Would you be so kind as to send my things to Felicity’s?”
“You’re not leaving now?” her mother asked, appalled. “It is the middle of the night.”
“It is ten o’clock in the evening, Mother, and if I leave tonight, I can be in London tomorrow evening.” She kissed the countess on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I shall take a battalion of footmen with me.”
“It is the footmen I worry for,” her mother quipped over raised brows.
≈
Enigma sat at her table and smiled to herself when Seamus McCurren entered her establishment.
“Ah, Mister McCurren,” Youngblood said. “Do join the table, we were just getting started.”
The cards went flying about the table and Enigma glanced at Youngblood’s cards and then watched the expressions of the men around her. The old man had nothing, the young gentleman thought he did, the fat man wasn’t sure, and Mister McCurren . . .
She had no idea.
A surge of excitement went through her and she placed two fingers on Youngblood’s thigh, knowing it was not the card he would have played. He tossed the card that she had ordered and Mister McCurren raised a brow ever so slightly, surprised.
McCurren won the trick and laid a second card down and Enigma tried not to envision his beautiful hands on her body. Her attraction to the man who had broken her code was becoming distracting at a time in which she needed none.
But she could not help herself.
She placed four fingers against Youngblood’s thigh and watched the intelligence burning in the golden eyes of the man across from her. She watched his full lips, the precision of his sideburns. He was a man who liked control and she was more than willing to give him the reins.
Stimulated, her hand drifted to Youngblood’s cock and she caressed his length. His green eyes darted to hers, but when he saw her looking at Seamus McCurren, his jaw pulsed with anger.
She touched three fingers against Youngblood’s elegant thigh and grinned as she stroked him, knowing how much he liked to be handled. His pretty eyes were having a difficult time staying open and it took him a moment to throw out the card.
Her attention returned to Seamus McCurren, whose gaze had wandered elsewhere.
“Are we in need of redecorating, Mister McCurren?”
“Not at all,” Seamus said to Dante’s beautiful bawd, while keeping his eyes on the short man with a bandage wrapped around his head. A thought crawled up the back of his mind and took root, spreading an uneasiness that left him cold. He tried to shake it off but the sensation of apprehension grew until he finally asked the stocky little man, “Do you work here?”
“Yes sir,” the man said and the instant he heard the Welsh tones he knew why he was so uneasy. This Welshman was the man Juliet had described as having rescued her.
Seamus took a steadying breath, inhaling the implications of this man standing here, in Dante’s employ. But the longer he sat, the more intensely he could feel Youngblood’s eyes on him. He could feel the eyes of the man that had kidnapped Juliet, had intended to kill her.
“Might I have a brandy then.” Seamus smiled, using all of his control to keep from shooting the proprietor of Dante’s where he sat.
But avenging Juliet’s kidnapping would do him no good, and as he played his hand of cards, he contemplated the deeper game.
“Nicely done, Mister Youngblood.” Seamus nodded to his adversary, who had concealed a pit of French vipers in his den of iniquity.
“I’ve never been complimented for taking a man’s money, Mister McCurren.”
“I’m not complimenting your taking my blunt, Mister Youngblood,” he said to the creator of the E code. “I am complimenting your outplaying me.”
The proprietor’s lover grinned and Seamus’s eyes narrowed. He glanced about the room, glanced at the influential men seated around him and the half-dozen upstairs.
Dante’s was the perfect venue for the cryptographer’s needs.
Ply the gentleman of the ton, of Parliament, with drink and women then relay the information gathered in their weakened state to France.
However, as Seamus stared at Mister Youngblood and his superiority of play, he realized that Lord Harrington had not been the only gentleman coerced into service by France. There would be others being blackmailed for a myriad of unseemly reasons, the least of which was a gaming debt.
“I’m afraid I am finished for the evening.”
Seamus rose and Youngblood’s lover asked, “Is she expecting you so early?”
Irritated and overcome by his own guilt, Seamus met the woman’s cold, indigo eyes. “Unfortunately, I have no lady expecting me at all.”
“No lady?” The bawd raised an eyebrow. “We’ve no ladies here, Mister McCurren, but surely you see something you like.”
The woman sat back in her chair seductively and Youngblood’s head snapped round as she continued to smile at Seamus in carnal speculation.
“While Dante’s is indeed entertaining, I’m afraid it does not offer the quality of companionship to which I am accustomed.”
Youngblood’s glare shot daggers at the woman as he said, “You see, Mister McCurren prefers ladies, my dear, not secondhand whores.”
“If you will excuse me?” Madame Richard met Youngblood’s gaze as she stood. “I’m off to earn you a bit of blunt.”
Three gentlemen at the table jumped on the rare opportunity, rising, but the bawd called to the ever-present head of security.
“Mister Collin,” she said, and Seamus stared at the fury in Mister Youngblood’s eyes, confused. “Have we an available room upstairs?”
“Yes, Madame Richard.”
“Show me,” she said and they disappeared from sight.
Chapter Thirty-two
~
Falcon glanced at the Duke of Glenbroke when a knock sounded at their private room of White’s, interrupting their chess match.
The young duke shrugged his enormous shoulders and then looked toward the door, saying, “Enter.”
But rather than a footman delivering a message as Falcon had expected, the fair figure of the Marquis Shelton stood in the door.
“Sorry to disturb you,” the marquis said, closing the door, fully aware as were the other members of the ton that they were never to be disturbed while enjoying their weekly match.
“I assume it is important?” Falcon asked, turning in his chair.
Ian Shelton was a powerful man, not only physically but mentally, and Falcon silently approved of the close friendship between these two young men.
“Yes.” The marquis sat in one of the vacant chairs and looked at him. “I believe that it is.”
“Well,” the duke demanded.
“I came to tell you about my fascinating weekend.”
Ian St. John smiled at the duke, who rolled his eyes, saying, “A bachelor should never tell a married man of his exploits, particularly ‘fascinating’ exploits.”
“Ah, but this one, I think, will be of interest to our lordship as much as to you, You
r Grace.”
Falcon raised a brow, intrigued, “Do tell us of your weekend, Shelton.”
“It began with a journey to the estate of Lord Harrington.”
“The bastard who ruined Juliet Pervill?” the duke growled as Ian leaned forward and handed Falcon his invitation.
“ ‘A meeting of the minds’?” Falcon asked, both of them ignoring the duke entirely. “What on earth does that mean?”
“Exactly what I wanted to know.”
“And did you find out?” Falcon asked.
The marquis raised both blond brows. “I’m not sure. We were shown into the drawing room before dinner and told by Harrington that the purpose of his coordinating the ‘first of many’ gatherings”—it was Falcon’s turn to raise a brow—“was for influential members of society to come together to discuss in a comfortable environment the issues facing our great nation.”
“What did you discuss?” the duke asked, curious.
“Everything from Napoleon to surplus corn crops.”
Falcon thought for a moment and then asked, “And how did Harrington appear?”
“Very interested”—the marquis met his eye—“which was rather odd since he has not attended a single session of Parliament for as long as I have been a member.”
“I’ve never seen him either,” the duke confirmed.
“But that is not all,” Shelton said, “When I went to my room, I found a pretty little chambermaid waiting to warm my bed.” Falcon waited. “Talkative little thing, Mira, wanted to know all about me and the House of Lords as she removed my trousers.”
“Sacrificed yourself for your country, did you, Ian?” The duke smiled, stealing a glance in Falcon’s direction.
“Good God, no.” The marquis laughed. “I could hear the girl’s sex clapping the moment I entered the room.”
“A professional woman?” Falcon elicited an opinion.
“From the way she moved, I’ve no doubt of it,” Ian said.
“But why so talkative?”
“Good question,” the duke asked.
“I’ll have Lord Harrington investigated, this chambermaid, too. Mira, you said the girl’s name was.”
“Mira,” Shelton confirmed. “Brown hair, midnight blue eyes, and a birthmark on her right breast.”
The duke raised a brow, adding a sardonic grin. “Laboring hard for the cause of freedom?”
“You know me, Your Grace,” the marquis said. “Anything for the crown.”
“It is not your crown falling off that I’m worried about.” The duke laughed and Falcon chuckled. “More in the vicinity of the family jewels, I should think.”
As the marquis glared at his powerful friend, his lips remaining firmly closed, Falcon’s mind returned to the reason Ian St. John had called.
“ ‘A meeting of the minds’?” Falcon mused as if their conversation had never strayed.
The only question was, whose was the mind behind Lord Harrington’s meeting? And what did that mind want to know?
Chapter Thirty-three
~
Enigma stood with arms outstretched when the door to Madame Maria’s was flung open with a violent ringing of the bell above the modiste shop door.
She turned to look at the offensive interruption as the woman ordered her footmen to remain outside. Madame Maria jotted down the last measurement she had taken of Enigma’s trim waist before bobbing her head.
“Excuse me, Madame Richard.” Maria’s words were forced by a vulgar Italian intonation as if the sounds were fermented deep within her belly.
Enigma gave a nod of consent for the modiste’s departure and then she turned to look at the woman who had disturbed them.
The girl was certainly small to be so loud and her English lineage could clearly be seen in her fair skin and clear blue eyes. She might even at some point be called pretty, given a few more years on the vine.
“Buongiorno, Madame Maria,” the girl said and Enigma lowered her arms, sensing a lengthy and meaningless conversation.
“Good afternoon, Lady Juliet.”
Enigma’s head snapped round, giving the girl a second look. This was the woman the brilliant Seamus McCurren had been bedding?
Unbelievable!
“Yes, good afternoon, Madame Maria,” Lady Juliet said and then turned to her and apologized. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your fitting.”
Enigma smoothed down the tight silk on what she knew to be an exceptional figure. “Take all the time you need, my dear,” Enigma replied, meaning every word. “I’m in no hurry.”
The girl turned back to the modiste to hasten their exchange. “I was wondering if I might see your last month’s advertisements?” Maria’s brows asked the question for her and Lady Juliet explained, “There was a beautiful gown that I was considering purchasing in one of your advertisements but I cannot seem to remember which paper—”
“Ah, sì.” Madame Maria handed Lady Juliet a stack of newspapers and then walked over to Enigma to finish taking her measurements.
“Madame Maria, who writes the adverts for your gowns?”
“I hire a skinny man at the paper.” The modiste continued taking measurements while Enigma stood watching Lady Juliet from the corner of her eye.
The girl nodded and she looked down, her mouth moving as she read. But it was not until Lady Juliet’s finger began to stab at the pages of newsprint that Enigma realized what the woman was doing.
She was counting.
Enigma stared more closely, reading the girl’s lips as Lady Juliet counted to ten, over and over again. The lady turned the page and continued to count, her eyes getting closer to the words as she concentrated on them.
And then the girl smiled, and deep within the woman’s intelligent eyes, Enigma saw her allure to Seamus McCurren.
Her heart was beating with excitement at being this close to being detected, this close to a woman capable of doing so.
“Madame Maria makes lovely gowns, does she not?” Enigma could not help speaking with a woman as gifted as she.
Lady Juliet looked up as though unsure if the question was addressed to her. “Yes, they are very beautiful.” The girl smiled, adding, “Might I keep these?” to the busy modiste.
Madame Maria shrugged, delighted by the compliment. “Certainly, take as many adverts as you wish.”
“Thank you so very much, Madame Maria.” Juliet grinned triumphantly and, being a well-bred English lady, turned to Enigma and said, “Good day.”
“Good day.” She smiled, adding, “Lady Juliet Pervill, was it not?”
“Yes.” The girl stopped on the threshold of the door, stunned. “I’m sorry, but have we been introduced?” she asked and Enigma respected her even more.
“No, my name is Madame Richard,” Enigma said pleasantly. “And perhaps now that we have been introduced, we shall meet again?”
“Yes, perhaps we shall.” Lady Juliet met her eye before turning to leave and saying, “Thank you again, Madame Maria.”
The door closed and Enigma grinned, contemplating what use she would make of this information and more importantly . . . what use she would make of Juliet Pervill.
≈
“Mister Habernathy, you’ve no idea how happy I am to see you.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Juliet.” James Habernathy smiled, pleased to see her again. “Where is your guard?” he asked, confused.
“I left them on the front steps, but I don’t have time to explain.” She walked to Seamus’s desk and riffled through his papers. “I think I may have identified our French cryptographer.”
“Really?” Mister Habernathy looked stunned.
“Yes.” Juliet tried not to be annoyed at his surprise of her intellectual ability. “And the last thing I need at the moment is two footmen following me about. I need to verify a few things before I present my findings to Falcon or I shall never be reinstated with the Foreign Office.”
“Oh, yes, I see.” Mister Habernathy nodded. “It wouldn’t do to make an
error, and if you will forgive me for saying so, Lady Juliet, I thought it rather unfair that you had been dismissed at all.”
Juliet’s hands stilled and she stopped herself from crying. “Why no, Mister Habernathy, I don’t mind your saying so at all.” Her loyal secretary blushed and Juliet eased his embarrassment. “Now, we have two hours to prepare.”
“Prepare for what?”
“For our meeting with the architect of the E code.”
≈
“I think I’ve identified our cryptographer.” Seamus stared at the Duke of Glenbroke and then Falcon, having located them in a private room at White’s.
“Thank you, Mister McCurren, but I am afraid that we already know who the man is.” Falcon moved a pawn and, without looking up, said, “Lord Harrington was found dead in his town home from an overdose of laudanum not three hours ago. While the blackguard’s death is not surprising to anyone who knew him, it was the unfortunate mauling of his solicitor by two dogs that rather convinced me.”
“His solicitor is dead?” Seamus asked, horrified.
“Oh, yes torn to pieces on the steps of his front door.” Falcon sighed. “Unnecessary that, although the solicitor’s death does suggest his complicity in the matter of Lord Harrington’s collaboration.”
“We also have information pertaining to several weekend gatherings where prominent gentlemen were asked to discuss their views on the political direction in which Britain is heading.”
Seamus shook his head. “I’m sorry but you have made a mistake about Lord Harrington.”
“What makes you think so?” The duke’s eyes had sharpened to steel.
“A little more than a month ago, Lord Harrington lost his town home during a card game to Lord Pervill.”
“Yes, Mister McCurren, we know all that,” the old man said impatiently.
Seamus continued, undeterred. “What you may not know is the name of the establishment where the transfer took place. A well-respected gaming hell by the name of Dante’s Inferno.”
“I know of it.” The duke nodded.
Seamus cleared his throat, having difficulty admitting the remainder of the details. “I, myself, am a frequent visitor of that particular hell as the hell’s proprietor, a one Mister Lucas Youngblood, provides the only gaming challenge for me in town.”
The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance Page 24
