A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1)

by Jacki Delecki

  She wasn’t to be deterred. “Fine. I’ll wait.”

  She looked around for a place to sit. Her reddish blond curls poked out of her bonnet. He couldn’t see her eyes but knew the green would’ve darkened like the deep waters of the stormy Serpentine.

  Cord stepped into the hallway. “Lady Henrietta, what a pleasure to welcome you to Rathbourne House.”

  She stood abruptly. By the astonished expression on her face, she hadn’t expected to see him. “My lord…” she mumbled, looking down at the floor. She fingered a necklace hidden under her pelisse, an anxious gesture, he was coming to recognize. “I’ve come to see your aunt.” Her chin went up in defiance.

  He knew nothing of her friendship with his aunt. He glanced behind her to see if her maid accompanied her. She was alone.

  She didn’t offer any further explanation but bit on her lower lip.

  A very sensual lower lip, now that she had called attention to it. He found himself riveted to the pink plump lower lip. “My aunt is out on her social calls with Gwyneth. May I assist you?”

  It didn’t matter what brought her here today. He wasn’t going to let her leave until he had time to probe the mystery of her unaccompanied appearance.

  She stood motionless.

  The air filled with expectation.

  “Is your need to see my aunt concerning your uncle? I know they’re close acquaintances.”

  It was hard to imagine that her large green eyes could get any larger, but they seemed to grow.

  “What do you know of my uncle?” Her strident voice and stiffened stance challenged him. She was absolutely compelling with her fiercely determined eyes.

  “I don’t believe I’ve yet had the honor of meeting the gentleman.”

  She studied him, weighing his answer.

  “I’m trying to understand what would cause you to arrive at Rathbourne House, seeking word with my aunt.”

  “My visit is of a private nature.”

  His impulse was to take her into his arms and console her about whatever problems she faced, to kiss away the anxiety furrowing her forehead. “May I offer you tea while we wait for my aunt?” He gestured with his hand to the marble staircase, which wound grandly up to the second floor.

  She gazed upward toward the staircase. Her slender fingers caressed the hidden necklace.

  Warm arousal ran through his veins with the vision of her pale fingers touching him.

  “Please I don’t wish to interrupt you. I’m content to wait for your aunt in the parlor.”

  “I was finding it difficult to concentrate on estate business.” He attempted to bring some normalcy to this strange, wonderful interlude. “Would it be too cold if we took tea on the terrace?”

  “Thank you.” Her words and body were taut as if any sudden noise or movement would cause her to flee out the front door.

  His attempt at the social niceties did nothing to reduce the strain she was suffering. She continued to chew on her lower lip.

  “Let us go through my study to the terrace,” he said.

  Sloane appeared from a closed door.

  “Sloane, Lady Henrietta and I’ll take tea on the terrace.” Cord took her elbow. Her arm was tight with tension. “Right this way.” He guided her down the hallway to the library door. He paused, hesitating to enter the library. Few were allowed to enter his private space.

  When his brother had died, he had abandoned the solitary enjoyment of his scholarly studies, unable to tolerate the stillness. Instead, he had sought endless activities and nameless crowds to dull the acute pain of grief. Since his return to England, he began to find contentment again in his books.

  She peeked through the doorway. “What an extraordinary room. You’ve as many books as we do in Kendal House.”

  He watched her scan the two walls overflowing with worn books. Afternoon light shone from the large windows onto Henrietta, surrounding her in a warm halo. She turned a full circle, noting his massive mahogany desk scattered with papers, the stacks of his favorite books on a round table next to the two high back chairs situated in front of the fireplace. Her sensual lips turned up at the corners—her first smile of the afternoon.

  He wanted her to see more than the books; he wanted her to see the man who engaged in intellectual pursuit. He wanted her to sit with him in front of the fireplace, sharing the fire’s heat and the magic of literature, of a good story told. He wanted her in his house, in his life.

  “Is there someone in the family who is a scholar?”

  “My father was a scholar. He loved to spend all his days studying history, never tiring of ancient worlds.”

  The tilt of her head, the sparkle in her eyes showed her appreciation of his description.

  “Was your father a member of The Odd Set of Volumes, a club devoted to the love of all books? He sounds like he would’ve made a perfect member.”

  “I don’t know. I was away the last years and missed the opportunity to know many details of my father’s later life.”

  “Was your father’s death was recent?”

  “Fourteen months ago. He wasn’t ill for long. I came as soon as I could from the Continent, but I was too late.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice filled with compassion.

  Her calming, gentle voice soothed the rough edges of the pain; he had been too late to say goodbye.

  “I’ve also lost my parents. There are many times I wish I could talk with my mother, share my concerns about my brothers, my…” Red patches graced each of her cheeks. She quickly turned and walked toward the gilt-framed picture above the fireplace. “Is this your father as a young boy?”

  “No it’s my older brother, Grayson.” He didn’t mean to sound abrupt, but he wasn’t ready—he might never be ready to discuss his brother, despite the warm intimacy growing between them.

  She wandered closer to the shelves, running her fingers along the leather binding. She kept her back to him.

  “Are the Greek books your father’s?”

  “No, they’re mine. I went through a Greek phase during my youth.”

  She turned to look at him, her eyes and lips were rounded with astonishment. “You read Greek?”

  He could hardly control the urge to press her against the bookshelves and kiss her surprise away. “You’re finding it hard to believe I studied Greek? You should speak to old Mr. Thornton, my tutor. I was crazy with everything Greek.”

  He could feel her veiled scrutiny, her attempt to reconcile this new revelation about him with her perceived notions of his character.

  He couldn’t stop gazing at her, enjoying her confusion. He wanted to kiss the surprise out of those luscious lips.

  Aunt Euphemia swept into the library like a northern windstorm. “Henrietta, is something wrong?”

  “Lady Henrietta is here to see you, Aunt Euphemia.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Sloane told me of Henrietta’s arrival.” His aunt gave him a sharp nod and moved toward

  Henrietta. “My dear, has there been a change in Charles?” Aunt Euphemia took Henrietta’s hands into her own as if they were closely acquainted.

  “No, he is the same as when you left.” Henrietta exchanged a knowing glance with his aunt.

  “Your visit is one of urgency?”

  “My visit pertains to the matter we previously discussed.” Henrietta’s answer was barely audible.

  Neither lady paid any attention to him. He was puzzled by their secrecy.

  “Has there been something of importance in the packet of messages that you and Charles were going to decipher?” Aunt Euphemia asked.

  Henrietta bent her head toward his aunt and whispered, “A most disturbing message.”

  “My dear, you needn’t worry about Cord knowing you assist your uncle. He works for the same office as you…your Uncle Charles does.” Aunt Euphemia gave him an expectant look, as if he should know about Henrietta assisting Charles Harcourt on highly secretive work.

  “Why don’t you share the message with Cord
while I freshen up? He’ll be able to make sure the message gets to the right place. Isn’t that so, Cord?”

  “Of course, I’ll assist you in any way, Lady Henrietta.”

  When had his aunt had time to make Henrietta’s acquaintance, and why was his aunt meddling in intelligence office business?

  “You can trust Cord.” His aunt again gave Henrietta an encouraging nod, as Henrietta was obviously hesitant to share the code her uncle had deciphered.

  “Gwyneth and I’ll join you and Lady Henrietta for tea, Cordelier.” And in a breath, Aunt Euphemia was gone, leaving him to assist Henrietta.

  Henrietta again fingered the hidden necklace, her composure shaken by his aunt’s abrupt manner and high-handed directions.

  “Why don’t we go out onto the terrace and you can share your uncle’s concerns about this latest message?”

  Sloane and a footman had already laid a white damask tablecloth and placed the silver tea service. Sloane nodded to the footman to place the platter of scones and sandwiches.

  Cord helped seat Henrietta in an iron garden chair.

  “Lord, would you like me to pour?” Sloane asked.

  “It isn’t necessary, Sloane. I’m sure Lady Henrietta or my aunt will do the honors.” He dismissed the butler and seated himself directly next to Henrietta. She sat so close he could see flecks of amber in her green eyes. He spoke in soft tone as he did with Gwyneth when she was a young child and upset. “Tell me about the message.”

  Henrietta took a deep breath. “My uncle and I believe there is a plot brewing to assassinate the Whig candidate for Prime Minister, James Fox.”

  He exhaled a long breath between his teeth. Only last week he had dealt with threats against Henry Addington, the Prime Minister.

  “James Fox has been threatened many times before for his radical views and his support of Napoleon. Does your uncle believe this is a credible threat?”

  “This message is very different than previous threats.” She leaned toward him and took a folded sheet of parchment out of her reticule.

  He got a whiff of something fresh, of spring—Lilac. It suited Henrietta. He felt the blood pumping through his body as he imagined his lips tracing the path of scent to the warm soft space between her breasts. He shifted, uncomfortable on the metal chair.

  She carefully spread the creased paper on the white tablecloth. “This message is unique, unlike any other we’ve deciphered… I mean my uncle has deciphered. The pattern is new and has a new code name—asuto.” She paused and looked expectantly at him. “The French have changed Fox’s code name. He has been renard for several years.”

  He found it endearing the way she gave her uncle the credit. But caught up in the moment, she revealed her role. He didn’t feel threatened in the least by his future wife’s prodigious abilities, emerging right in front of him. Clearly she worked with her uncle. “Asuto means clever, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me,” he said.

  “Clever, cunning. Descriptions of a fox? A new code pattern, a new code name in Spanish for James Fox. What do you deduce from this?”

  Her eyes were bright with intellectual curiosity. She waited for his response. He basked in the moment of having Henrietta’s full attention focused on him. He tried to hide his inner turmoil between admiration and lust.

  “My belief…my uncle’s belief…this is from a splinter group with an intelligent leader and code writer. The message was very difficult to decipher. I struggled but finally recognized that the code writer used Hittite.”

  “Hittite? Unbelievable. How many people can write Hittite?” He tried to make sense of today’s turn of events—somehow he was on his terrace with Henrietta discussing ancient languages and assassination plots.

  “You know what Hittite is?” Her pupils dilated and her mouth formed a plump “O”.

  Warm arousal pulsed through his body when he looked at her alluring lips. The idea of pink moist flesh caused the blood to pump harder through his body. “The oldest known language and the basis for the current Greek language. I believe it was the Hellenization of Anatolia in 1600 BC that brought the change in language, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Amazing.” She gaped, her most alluring mouth hung open.

  He wanted to laugh out loud and kiss her at the same time. He had discovered the way to win Henrietta’s heart. Not through bouquets and afternoon calls but through his knowledge of dead languages.

  “Then you can appreciate the skill of this astounding code writer,” she said.

  He wanted to choke the clever code writer who now had Henrietta’s eyes filled with admiration. Jealousy of an unknown enemy twisted his gut.

  “Their plan is to have the Spanish look responsible for the attempt. Can you imagine our response if we believed one of the insurgent Spanish groups assassinated James Fox for his pro-France, pro-Napoleon views?” Breathless, Henrietta’s eyes shone with passion. She was in the chase and enjoying it.

  He was dumbstruck. An impassioned Henrietta made his usually detached heart fill with longing, longing to be loved by this most unusual woman. His world just turned upside down and inside out.

  “An English invasion would give Napoleon the perfect pretext to also move into Spain and Portugal, too,” he said.

  She smiled at him as if he were a prize pupil.

  “Fox must be warned. I’ll send the message immediately to the Abchurch office.”

  “Thank you.” She folded the paper and paused. “This code is almost too clever. What if this is a ruse? To make us jump to the conclusions we have to distract us from something else?”

  He followed her succinct logic but was struggling to overcome the hypnotic effect of lilac and amazing woman. “An interesting theory, to keep us focused on Spain and away from France.”

  “Or away from the unrest surrounding our upcoming election?” Henrietta asked. “Napoleon would benefit from the political chaos in our country.”

  His mind raced with the repercussions if Napoleon interfered with the election of the Tory Prime Minister? But how? Last week they had dismissed the threat against Henry Addington because of lack of evidence. But with this credible threat against a candidate for prime minister, was Napoleon attempting to interfere with the election?

  It was his turn to stare at her in wonder. “You’re a remarkable woman.”

  She folded the message and handed it to him without raising her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Rathbourne.”

  She had resumed her formal manner. Had he embarrassed her with his admiration? Why would she be embarrassed by her obvious phenomenal talent and why did she deliver the message to Aunt Euphemia instead of asking Charles to send it directly to the intelligence office? He wanted to ask Henrietta a thousand questions, but he heard his aunt and sister approaching the terrace.

  Today wasn’t the day to press his questions. Discovering the secrets of the enigmatic Lady Henrietta would be the most pleasurable aspect of his new job.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Henrietta arrived at the Abchurch offices in her best bonnet, adorned with a jaunty peacock feather that curved on her cheek. She wore her favorite dress and pelisse which matched the forest green in the feather. Dressed in her most ladylike outfit, she was ready to storm the male citadel. She needed the Abchurch offices to see her as Charles Harcourt’s niece—a respected lady of the ton, not as a worried spinster.

  She exhaled deeply and ascended the stairs.

  A footman opened the door to a cavernous room filled with rows of wood desks. Clerks dressed in dark suits that matched the mahogany paneled walls were bent over their work. The room smelled of wood, fire, and tobacco.

  She made no eye contact and proceeded to the next office. “Oh, darn, darn.” It was the same blasted clerk who guarded Sir Ramston’s office at her last futile attempt.

  The clerk stood from his desk and blocked access to the anteroom of Sir Ramston’s office. “May I be of assistance, my lady?”

  In her most haughty voice she said, “I’ve an appointment with
Sir Ramston. Please announce me—Lady Henrietta Harcourt.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken. Sir Ramston doesn’t have any appointments with…” The older gentleman’s face colored crimson. “Aren’t you the same…person?” He said “person” with thinly disguised sneer. “You tried to see his lordship last week.”

  She mentally kept herself in check. She needed to use her feminine allure, not her usual direct manner. “I’m aware that you’re charged with the grave responsibility of guarding Sir Ramston and his schedule. My uncle, Lord Charles Harcourt, had an appointment with Sir Ramston today. Due to my uncle’s illness, I’m here in his stead.”

  Warring emotions played across the clerk’s mottled face. He would never want to offend Lord Harcourt or his family, but obviously he had never admitted a woman to this office.

  “Please excuse me, my lady. I’ll announce you to Sir Ramston.” He rushed to a large oak door and knocked discretely before entering.

  Seconds later, Sir Ramston came out to greet her. “Lady Henrietta, I hope that nothing is wrong with Charles.” Concern darkened his eyes.

  “Uncle Charles has a head cold which, of course, Edward gave to him. It’s nothing serious and I’m sure Uncle Charles will be back to his old self very soon.” Lying to Sir Ramston, a trusted family friend, felt terrible. She couldn’t stop babbling. “He asked me to come. I hope this isn’t an imposition for you.”

  “Of course not, my dear. Please come in and give me all the news of my friend and your brothers.”

  Her confidence soared. She gracefully swept past Sir Ramston into his office.

  “Please sit down. Shall we have tea?” Sir Ramston gestured to a leather settee by the fireplace. His dark hair was now streaked with silver and he moved slower than she remembered.

  “Thank you, Sir Ramston.”

  Seated together in front of a warm fire, Sir Ramston asked the details of Uncle Charles’ illness and Edward’s progress with his studies. Just when she thought Sir Ramston would finally ask about Michael, the tea arrived.

  Sir Ramston then discussed his estate, bordering near Kendal land. When he began to describe his hounds in great detail, Henrietta became impatient. She mentally tapped her foot.