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

by Samantha Saxon

  The carriage lurched forward and Juliet stared across at the man with the empty eyes. He smirked as she cried and Juliet lost control. She kicked him and struck out at his face.

  The brutal man caught her painfully by the wrist as the woman to her left began to laugh, “Careful with this one, Mister Collin. The lady is not as tame as she appears.”

  Juliet turned her head to the left, asking angrily, “How do you know me?”

  “I had you followed, my dear.”

  Juliet paled, remembering the instance in front of Felicity’s house. “For how long?”

  “Since you began disrupting my code and for as long as you have been Seamus McCurren’s lover.”

  Juliet felt ill.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, wondering why they had not already killed her.

  “To meet you, speak with you.” The lady stared at her. “It is not often that I come across a person, much less a woman, capable of understanding me.”

  Juliet looked at her lap, trying not to comprehend. “I understand nothing about you,” she lied.

  “Don’t you?” The woman grinned, knowing that Juliet did. “Have you never sat in a parlor room, praying for God to strike you dead so that you would not have to suffer another word from some fool? Have you never wanted to stuff the condescension in a gentleman’s voice down his arrogant throat? Have you never wanted to test the limits of your mind, Lady Juliet?”

  The woman looked into her soul, seeing the true reason she had joined the Foreign Office.

  Uncomfortable, Juliet asked, “So boredom has led you to betray your country?”

  The lady laughed. “I have no country,” she said, holding out her lovely hands. “I simply have myself.”

  “Then why sell secrets that will cause the death of nations?”

  “Because I can?” Her eyes blazed darker, a deeper blue. “What do I care if men kill one another? I’m in trade. I trade the opportunity to beat me at the gaming table for gentlemen’s money, and I trade English secrets for even more money.”

  “It is not the money you want.” Juliet met the woman’s cerulean eyes, her turn to see clearly. “You want to enjoy the game. You want to feel superior to the minds you meet . . . the minds you best.”

  The woman grinned, sitting back. “Seamus McCurren has quite good taste. Do you not think, Mister Collin?”

  The enormous man looked Juliet up and down, his lip pulled back with distaste. “No.”

  “Never mind, my dear.” The lady patted Juliet’s left knee. “Mister Collin is more interested in beauty than brains.” The traitor’s eyes brightened, warmed. “Not like the absorbing Seamus McCurren.”

  The woman practically purred and Juliet bristled, as did, she noted with interest, Mister Collin.

  “Comely and clever,” the lady pronounced aloud. “What more could an intelligent girl want in a man?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Juliet looked at the vicious man seated across from her. “However, I’m quite sure that a propensity to murder people would be low on my list.”

  “Really?” The cryptographer looked perplexed. “I’ve always found that proclivity rather useful.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed.” Juliet closed her eyes to dispel the image of James Habernathy with a knife sticking in his belly. “I’m finished speaking with you,” she said, so the woman would not have the satisfaction of seeing her weep.

  “Oh, but I have yet to tell you your choices, Lady Juliet.” The large man grinned and Juliet held his eyes, trying not to show the depth of her fear. “As a mathematically minded madam, I have earned a great deal of blunt, but with you assisting me . . . We could make much, much more.”

  “Why on earth would I help you?”

  “To test the limits of your mind.” She must have seen that Juliet was unmoved so she added, “And because Mister Collin will take days to kill Mister McCurren if you do not.” Juliet stilled, frozen by fear. “Or better yet”—the woman chuckled, amusing herself further—“I could make you one of my whores. According to Lord Harrington, you already have that proclivity.”

  The man scoffed. “I don’t think she would earn you much.”

  “Perhaps not,” the brilliant bawd agreed, feigning disappointment as she looked Juliet over. “There you are then. Run the numbers of my gaming book or I let Mister Collin kill Mister McCurren then you.” The lady looked from Juliet to her servant, curious. “How do you lean, Mister Collin?”

  “The knife.”

  “Oh, dear, but you have irritated Mister Collin.” The lady sighed. “The knife is very painful, my dear. Are you sure you will not reconsider my off—”

  “Pardon me.” They heard from outside the carriage.

  Their conveyance slowed and Enigma sat up, instantly alert. “See who it is,” she ordered Mister Collin.

  Her bodyguard nodded then pulled a pistol from his jacket. He carefully pulled the red velvet to one side, saying, “I can’t see the man speaking,” the bodyguard whispered. “His back is turned—”

  Mister Collin’s next sound was a grunt of surprise as Juliet kicked him in the chest with both feet, knocking his pistol out of his hand.

  “Go,” Enigma yelled at the driver just as the girl opened the carriage door.

  The landau lunged forward as did Lady Juliet, but Mister Collin yanked her back by her hair before the girl made it out of the conveyance.

  Lady Juliet cried out and it was then that Enigma saw him, Seamus McCurren. His golden eyes turned murderous. He raised a pistol as he rode, and the instant before he shot Mister Collin in the forehead, she envied Juliet Pervill.

  But now was the time for self-preservation, not envy.

  Mister Collin’s corpse was dangling from the carriage, slowing them down, so Enigma kicked him loose. Both she and Lady Juliet were lifted by a jarring bump as the back wheel of the landau ran over Jack Collin’s large frame.

  Seamus McCurren had yet to slow and Enigma was beginning to seriously fear for her own life.

  She pulled the smaller woman against her right side, her pistol to the back of the girl’s head as Enigma shouted out the door, “If you want her so badly, Mister McCurren, by all means, take her.”

  Seamus McCurren’s eyes grew large with fear and he steered his mount wide as she pushed Juliet Pervill out the carriage door. Enigma watched him leap from his horse before it stopped galloping. He rushed to her side and then bent to one knee over the unconscious woman.

  Enigma reached out and closed the door as her carriage sped forward, vaguely wondering why she had not shot the girl before pushing her out.

  Her heart constricted, already knowing the answer.

  She had spent her entire life looking for a man of equal ability and in the end had resentfully settled for fleecing the men she inevitably found wanting. She had made an enormous amount of money doing it and no doubt would again. But in her heart of hearts, Enigma knew that she would give it all up to be understood . . . to find her counterpart.

  She laughed aloud, surprised to find that after all of her financial success, she was still a woman, a woman looking for her mate, her intellectual match.

  And then she heard it, a muffled click.

  Her mouth dropped as she lifted her head. She met the cold green eyes of Lucas Youngblood and he smiled weakly with Mister Collin’s pistol pointing at her heart.

  Mister Youngblood took a gargled breath and blood poured from the side of his pretty mouth as he whispered, “Bitch,” just before pulling the trigger.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  ~

  Seamus turned his head at the sound of gunfire, but quickly lost interest when soldiers surrounded the landau as it attempted to exit Hyde Park.

  His attention, his world, was focused on the woman lying on the ground. He gathered Juliet in his arms and she winced, chilling him to the bone.

  “Juliet, darling, are you all right?” Seamus whispered, but she did not respond. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers to feel her wa
rmth, her life. “Juliet,” he breathed, kissing her lips.

  But when she still did not respond, Seamus scooped her up in his arms and mounted his horse. But where to go? He could not think as panic was clouding his judgment.

  Felicity’s house was not far and a physician could be quickly summoned. Five minutes. It would take no more than five minutes to ride there.

  “Juliet?” He needed to hear her voice, see her beautiful eyes, to assure himself the she would survive his stupidity. “Juliet!”

  Seamus looked down at her face, her freckles appearing lighter. Was she getting pale? God, please, not his Juliet.

  They were at Felicity’s home and he slid off his horse and climbed the stairs shouting, “Open the bloody door,” as he banged the brass kick plate with the tip of his right boot.

  “Juliet,” he called again as he ran into the house. “Can you hear me, darling? Are you all right?”

  Felicity was running into the entryway, fear in her eyes.

  “Well, Seamus, I would feel a great deal better if you would stop banging me about.” Seamus smiled, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I mean honestly; don’t you think the fall I took from that damn carriage was jarring enough?”

  The efficient Felicity was quietly ordering her butler to summon a physician as she herself ran up the stairs ahead of Seamus to ready Juliet’s bedchamber.

  “And why on earth would you bring me here?” Juliet was rubbing her head and squinting as if the light was painful. “It would have been much more sensible to take me directly to the physician. Now, poor old Doctor Barton will be forced to drag all of his apparatus—”

  Seamus lifted the girl to his lips and kissed her hard, relieved that his love was alive and for the most part well. “Shut up, Juliet.”

  It must have been the besotted look in his eyes, because rather than argue, Juliet just smiled, saying, “Very well, Seamus.”

  Seamus watched as she closed her beautiful eyes and then nuzzled his neck, allowing him, for the first time since their meeting, to take care of her.

  They reached Juliet’s bedchamber and Seamus grinned, stepping past the settee where it all had begun. He carried Juliet to the bed where they had made love and gently set her down, settling on one knee at the side of the cobalt counterpane.

  “How do you feel?” He stared at her eyes so that she would not lie to him.

  “A few cuts and bruises, but otherwise I’m perfectly fine.” Juliet brushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled a little half smile that made him want to devour her.

  He leaned forward and kissed the adorable freckles on her perfect nose, before kissing her beautiful mouth. He lifted his head and brushed a leaf from her hair.

  “Seamus?”

  “Yes,” he said, the happiest man on earth.

  “This never would have happened if you hadn’t gotten me dismissed.” She could not resist pointing this out, and his head dropped, a defeated man.

  “Juliet.” He rose.

  She sat up, propping herself on the many silk pillows. “You know I’m right. You never should have gotten me dismissed from the Foreign Office just because I threatened your pride.”

  “Juliet,” he shouted out of frustration. “I resigned from the Foreign Office because I had fallen in love with you!”

  “You really are in love with me, aren’t you?” Her bright blue eyes grew brighter with her tears.

  “Yes,” he said, feeling vulnerable. “Why else would I have resigned when we both bloody well know that I’m the better cryptographer?”

  She laughed. “Do we?”

  “Mmm.” Seamus grinned, scooting her over so that he could lie beside her.

  “We shall see about that.”

  “What do you mean, we shall see about that?”

  “Nothing.” She kissed him and his heart leapt.

  “Marry me.” he ordered.

  “If you apologize for calling me homely,” she countered.

  “You called me dim-witted.”

  “It is not the same.” He could see the hurt in her eyes.

  “Juliet, do you remember the rogue in the corridor at the Foreign Office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember what I said to you?”

  “No.”

  “I said that beautiful women should not be allowed in a building full of unmarried men.”

  Juliet smiled. “You did say that, didn’t you?”

  “I thought you beautiful then, Juliet. That night, I just . . .” He looked into her eyes, ashamed. “I just could not stand the thought of another man touching you, and I wanted you to feel the same amount of pain that I was feeling.”

  “I did.”

  “I know, and I’m so very sorry for hurting you.”

  “It seems we both know how to cut with our tongues,” she pointed out.

  “The curse of being clever, I’m afraid.”

  “I never had this problem with Robert.”

  “Ouch, she draws first blood.” Seamus kissed her on the neck. “But as I’m the one marrying you, Robert Barksdale can—”

  “I don’t recall accepting either one of your offers.”

  Seamus met her amused eyes. “Marry me, my darling Juliet?” he asked with all his heart.

  And being a very clever woman, she saw his sincerity, whispering, “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  ~

  “Seamus, what are you doing!”

  “Nothing,” Seamus said, perplexed by Juliet’s anger. “I’m just sitting at my desk!”

  “You know James is injured and yet you ordered him to bring you a laden tray of coffee and biscuits?”

  “I did no such thing,” he protested, half listening to his wife and colleague.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. McCurren, I am feeling right as rain,” Mister Habernathy said as he set the tray on Seamus’s larger desk.

  “See,” Seamus said absently as he continued to read. “Not my fault at all.”

  “Are you quite sure, James?” his bride asked their devoted secretary. “Perhaps you should take another week off.”

  “No,” the man said adamantly. “Thank you, madam, but if I am being entirely truthful, it is far more restful at the Foreign Office than at home with my five children.”

  Juliet laughed. “Very well, then, you can recuperate here if you promise not to retrieve any more coffee, luncheon trays, or heavy documents.”

  “I swear it,” Mister Habernathy said, his hand on his heart, as he backed out of the office door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing really,” Seamus mumbled, continuing to read. “Don’t you have anything to decrypt?”

  “No.” His wife sighed heavily. “Honestly, sometimes I wish the French were not so thick and provided me with a bit of a challenge.”

  “Uh-huh.” Seamus was scarcely paying attention.

  “Do you ever feel that way?” she mused, more to herself than to him.

  “Why don’t you work on one of your mathematic suppositions?” Seamus suggested so that she would leave him alone.

  “I was working on a new theory.” Juliet walked up behind him and began playing with the hair at the nape of his neck just as Seamus was getting to an interesting portion of the newspaper he was reading. “Are you familiar with the work of Pascal?”

  “Not now, Juliet.” He brushed her away, both of them aware of the amorous mood her discussions of mathematical theory put him in.

  “He was a Greek mathematician who founded a school for both men and women—”

  “Not now.” Seamus dropped his chair to the floor, his heart racing as he continued to read.

  “You’ve found something?” Juliet asked, hearing in his tone that he had.

  “Get me a piece of paper and a pencil.” He knew his wife would forgive his rudeness in the state of discovery.

  “Here.” Juliet handed him the things he had requested and then stood back to let him work, trusting his ability to decode and knowing that he would co
nfer with her if he needed assistance.

  Seamus read the article four times, seeing the pattern clearly. Yet as he wrote the words, his face turned as pale as the sheet of paper his wife had handed him.

  “Darling?” he asked, hoping to God he was wrong. “Who is speaking in the House of Lords Friday next?”

  “Don’t be foolish, Seamus. You know very well that Ian St. John is scheduled to address the House. He has been working on his speech for weeks now.” And then she glanced at him, holding her breath. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because”—Seamus met her eye—“the French have just offered one thousand pounds for his assassination.”

  ONE

  Descendants.com Headquarters

  Salt Lake City, Utah

  January 13th, 9:44am

  "We got one!"

  The man in the black suit jumped to his feet then walked across the room to stare at the computer over the analyst's right shoulder. "Where?"

  "I'm working on it,” the programmer muttered, tension straightening his back as he fought the keyboard to extract the information they would need from their database. His dark eyes grew wide with concentration as he read from the high definition monitor. "Washington State. A town called Woodinville. Her name is Mrs. Catherine Miller."

  The older man lifted his cell phone to his ear, and out of habit, hooked his thumb on the belt loop in front his holster.

  "I want the team ready to go in ten minutes," he ordered. "We're going to Seattle." The man hung up, his heart pounding with an unfamiliar urgency. He turned his grey eyes on the man sitting in front of the computer. "Is there anything else we can use?" he asked, praying that there was.

  The internet resisted, but the kid was persistent.

  "She's a thirty-two-year-old owner of a magazine called The Finer Things. According to her tax records, she works from home and didn't make much money last year. However, her husband did. His name is Dave Miller and he works for..." The tech tapped again, and colorful websites flashed by until he found the one he was looking for. "Microsoft. Nice," the kid added, impressed.