* * *
Cord couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding as he rode toward Hyde Park. Harcourt’s stableman rode next to him exuding a quiet confidence that this was another misadventure by his mistress. But Cord’s uneasiness grew. There was something entirely wrong with Henrietta’s early morning ride.
The people who worked with him on the Continent had developed great respect for his instincts. He tried to convince himself that it was the lack of sleep that caused the anxiety growing in his gut.
Talley waited for them at the Curzon Gate. Cord had the highest regard for the young man he had assigned to guard the Harcourts.
“Tom was able to rouse you for the lady’s morning tête-à-tête?” The bulky man didn’t try very hard to hide his amusement.
“I’m glad you find this morning’s adventure entertaining. This isn’t a time for jokes. Where is she?”
“She rode to the Serpentine on that massive black stallion she treats like a kitten. I followed her there and then doubled back to direct you to her location. I didn’t see the man she was in such a rush to meet.” The giant of a man raised his eyebrows in question.
Cord didn’t want to consider Talley’s conclusions about Henrietta’s early morning meeting. But, if she was meeting a lover for an affair of the heart, he would…
“Lead us to the willful lady.” His voice echoed his determination to censure the lady whatever her activity.
He heard Tom snort when they galloped to the Serpentine.
Cord was anticipating giving Henrietta a dressing down about this morning’s excursion. He liked challenging the lady, watching her fine green eyes get fiery with the provocation. He thought of what other ways he would like to provoke her into submission. Blood pulsed through his body and pooled in uncomfortable places. This wasn’t the time to consider the pleasurable ways of igniting Henrietta’s fire.
A gunshot erupted, destroying the morning quiet.
“What the hell?” Talley shouted.
The three men spurred their horses on to the Serpentine.
“No it can’t be.” His voice vibrated with a hoarse cry. The scene in front of him replayed the recurring nightmare of his brother’s deathly fall.
Henrietta made futile attempts to regain her balance while the colossal horse sped out of the woods, out of control. Hanging half off the horse, she fought to grab the stallion’s mane. She was thrown into the air, suspended in space, and then she landed with a heart-wrenching thud. The horse’s hooves pounded the ground with skull-splitting force, missing her by inches.
He couldn’t breathe. Crushing pain pressed against his chest.
Henrietta lay still, crumpled, lifeless just like Gray. His vision narrowed down a long, black tunnel and the only sound he could hear was his own rapid breathing.
“No, God, it can’t be…”
The nightmare had him in its grip. He struggled to move but his arms and legs wouldn’t comply.
Everything and everyone slowed.
Talley was bent over Henrietta’s motionless body.
“Quick, Tom, summon a doctor.” Talley’s voice sounded muffled, as if he spoke underwater.
Cord’s body shook in panic. Cold sweat ran down his neck and back. He fought the nausea and the need to scream in agony. He jumped from his horse and knelt next to her. She lay deathly still. “Henrietta, please.”
He rolled her gently over onto her back and took her cold hand to feel for her pulse.
She gave a small sigh.
“Thank God.” His hands trailed along her body. He told himself that he was checking for injuries, but he was massaging life back into her body.
He pushed back the hair that covered her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her eyelids, whispering endearments.
“Cord?” She wheezed.
“Yes, my darling.” He feathered kisses along her chin, her jaw. And he kissed her mouth, warming her lips with his own.
She opened her eyes and stared into his. “Oh, Cord, it hurts,” she said, then closed her eyes again.
Talley cleared his throat. “Can Lady Henrietta be moved?”
“We’ll take her to Rathbourne House—it’s closer. Bring Dr. Simons to the house.” He lifted her in his arms and then commanded Talley to hold her until he mounted his horse.
She cried out when they shifted her between them. Pain stabbed in his chest with her distress. He cradled her close to his chest and cantered his horse to Rathbourne house.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isabelle dug her heels into the mare’s sides, urging her little mount into a brisk canter. Was the bastard actually aiming to shoot her? At the moment, she didn’t care. Her harsh breathing reverberated inside her veil. Fear drove her deeper into the woods.
A branch ripped across her face, tearing her lace veil. “Merde.” Her hand trembled when she tried to right the veil.
In the distance, she heard shouting. Soon the park would be filled with men searching. She didn’t want to answer the barrage of questions about the gunshot.
Her horse stumbled in the underbrush. She barely avoided a fall, pulling hard on the horse’s reins. She had been in worse situations.
Anxiety thrummed through her body and heightened her senses. She was aware of the dawning light, the first birdsong, and the pungent smell of damp moss. Her horse trampling the underbrush reverberated in her ears, sounding thunderous.
Was the shooter intending to kill her or Henrietta? A horse whinnied nearby, then the sound of hooves moved closer. She turned, trying to locate the sound.
She could see no one but could hear the steady movement of a horse’s footfalls approaching. She scanned the area, searching for a place to hide. This was a city park. There were no hidden places or hidden caves.
The trees thinned ahead, light shone through the clearing. She was at the end of the woods, moving toward the fields of Hyde Park.
She weighed her options. Could her horse outrun her pursuer? The horse was small but sturdy. The similarity between herself and the fearless mare brought a hysterical laugh to her lips. She forced the rising panic down. No one would attempt an attack in the open fields. Frantically lashing at the horse, she charged toward the thinning trees.
She turned again to see her assailant. In the shadows of the trees, the hooded figure in a domino hurtled through the underbrush, gaining on her. His face was contorted with fury. How could he know her plans to obtain the book unless Lucien told him?
“No… Please. We can work something out.”
The gunshot echoed.
She threw herself down and clung to the animal’s back and kicked hard.
If she could get to the clearing, she could make it. She had time. He couldn’t risk shooting her in a public place.
Another sound of a report and then the familiar heat, a numbing pain, then the warmth, the warmth of her blood flowing.
She gripped the reins. She could make it to the clearing. Darkness crept into the corners of her vision and sparks of bright light danced in front of her eyes. She couldn’t seem to hold on to the reins, her hands had no feeling. Her mother’s face wreathed in light beckoned to her. “Maman”
* * *
Lucien was too late. He spurred his horse through Hyde Park to Isabelle’s meeting place when he heard the second gunshot. The discharge blasted the stillness of the woods. Birds flew from their perches. He pulled the reins and kicked his horse to a gallop.
In the clearing ahead, the bastard was bent over Isabelle who lay motionless on the ground, his hands frantically searched her body.
Lucien jumped off his horse and ran to Isabelle. Her black veil was torn away from her face, exposing her soft red lips—now pale. Her eyes were unfocused and staring. He bent to feel her pulse although he needn’t. He recognized death. Her blood soaked into the knees of his breeches as he knelt beside her. He closed her eyes.
“The bitch didn’t get the book.” Le Couteau tried to roll Isabelle onto her stomach. “The bitch
didn’t get the book.”
A red rage exploded behind Lucien’s eyes. He pulled the bastard up by the neck and squeezed his throat. “You killed her, you deranged secousse. She would’ve given you the book.”
Lucien tightened his hands around the cold, clammy throat. Le Couteau’s erratic heartbeat throbbed. “I’m going to kill you.”
The bastard was stupefied from the opium. He hung limp in Lucien’s hands, unable or unwilling to fight back. It would be easy to kill him, to put an end to Fouché’s manipulation. Lucien remembered his innocent sister and the revenge Fouché would extract if he killed his agent.
Lucien dropped him to the ground. Le Couteau lay on the ground, gasping for air. “She tried to kill me. She pointed her gun at me and shot.”
“Why would Isabelle want to kill you?” Lucien wiped his hands on his breeches.
Le Couteau’s eyes were red, sweat poured down his face. “She tried to kill me. The bitch tried to kill me. She never planned to give us the book,” His voice grew louder, frenzied.
The bastard was in the grip of an opium mania. Nothing Lucien said would make any difference to his paranoid delusions. He had only told Le Couteau about Isabelle’s plan to stop the fool’s insane plan to abduct Henrietta Harcourt to obtain the codebook. The entire English army would’ve come after them if they had abducted Kendal’s sister.
Lucien bent down and covered Isabelle’s face with her veil. He brushed off the chilling prescience that his fate would be the same, alone on damp ground with a bullet in his back.
He kicked the crazed addict with his boot tip. “Get up. I hear horses coming this way. We’ve got to get away.”
Until his sister was safe, he would play Fouché’s game.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Henrietta whimpered when Cord gently placed her on his bed. The sound of her distress ripped through him.
At the Serpentine, she had said his name but now her only sound was a pitiful moan. She was pale, her breathing shallow. His hand shook when he felt for her pulse. Her heartbeat was rapid and faint.
He bellowed to the maid who stood nervously in the shadows of the dimly lit room. “Get me the damned doctor.”
The maid shrank back into the dark. He heard the door close when she left the room.
Panic clawed at the edges of his mind in the dark silence of the room. He walked into the hallway to yell at someone. Where in the hell was the doctor?
Sloane and Dr. Simons walked toward him.
“You certainly took your damned time getting here,” Cord said.
The grey-haired gentleman, unfazed by the antagonistic greeting, replied in a calm voice, “Lady Henrietta sustained a fall and has a possible head injury?”
The sound of Doctor Simons’ voice echoed in his head as if he were in a vast chamber. There was an air of unreality, a sense of déjà vu, as if he was locked in his worst nightmare.
“A head injury may take a while to manifest,” Doctor Simons said.
His stomach recoiled as if someone had sucker punched him. This couldn’t be happening again. The doctors had diagnosed a brain hemorrhage after Gray’s fall with no hope of recovery. Gray had lingered for days in terrible anguish.
Cord had begged God to take him instead, crying on his knees by his brother’s bedside. Buried memories boiled up into his chest—the haunted look in his father’s eyes when he desperately implored Gray not to give up, his mother’s inconsolable weeping, heard though the night. He was reliving every painful moment.
“Lord Rathbourne, I’ll need you to wait outside while I examine her ladyship.” Dr. Simons bent over to feel Henrietta’s pulse.
The doctor and Sloane looked at him expectantly.
“My lord, Doctor Simons has to examine Lady Henrietta,” Sloane said.
Cord stared down at Henrietta. He couldn’t leave.
“Would you like a drink in your study while you wait for Dr. Simons, my lord?” Sloane asked.
Something primitive kept him from leaving. “I’ll wait just outside the door.”
“I’ll get you a chair.” Sloane opened the door. “This way, Lord Rathbourne.”
He sat in a chair outside the bedroom. He had mastered the unbearable memories before and he could do it again. He stood and began to pace. On his third or fourth round of the hallway, the door opened and Dr. Simons stepped out of the room.
“Lady Henrietta has several bruised ribs from her fall,” the doctor said.
“Her head injury?” The words pulsed in his head, beat to the same rapid rhythm of his heart.
“I find no evidence of a head injury. The lady was awake for the exam. She fainted from the pain and the motion of moving her to Rathbourne house.”
“She’s alert?” The words hung in the air, suspended.
“Only briefly. I’ve given Lady Henrietta a generous dose of laudanum to relieve her pain. She’ll sleep for hours. She isn’t one to complain, but the pain from rib injuries can be excruciating.”
“Does she have any other injuries?” He held his breath, unable to move air in and out.
“I’ve found none. She’ll recover nicely.”
Relief rolled through him like an enormous breaker at Brighton.
“I’ve bandaged the ribs tightly, and she’ll need to keep to her bed for the next few days. She’ll have intense pain with every movement she makes. I don’t recommend she be moved to her own house.”
“I hadn’t considered moving her.” His tone was filled with contempt for the doctor’s preposterous idea.
“I’m sure you’ll take good care of her ladyship.” The doctor looked bemused. “It’s the lady herself who wants to be returned to her own home. She’s quite a strong-willed woman.”
Cord detected the doctor’s admiration for Henrietta.
“I had to convince her she would be no help to her family. She reconsidered when presented with the idea of causing them distress. You’re a lucky man.” Dr. Simons patted him on the back, a fatherly gesture from the man who had been with him through the death of his brother. “I’ll visit her ladyship tomorrow. If she awakens, you can repeat the drops for pain. I think it’s best if she eats lightly. I’ve given the maid all of the directions.”
Only bruised ribs. He couldn’t grasp that Henrietta wasn’t seriously hurt. He needed to see, touch her to believe she hadn’t died. “May I speak with Lady Henrietta?”
“She has undergone a painful ordeal with the wrapping of her ribs. The necessary movement caused severe discomfort. The sedative is beginning to take effect. It’d be best if you could wait until tomorrow to visit with her ladyship.”
“Of course, I won’t disturb her.” The thought of Henrietta in pain, hurting, was distressing.
An involuntary mixture of terror and fury shuddered through him with the memory of Henrietta sailing through the air. He couldn’t consider the possibility of losing her. Unwilling to examine his feelings of vulnerability, he’d needed to focus on solving the mystery of Henrietta’s assignation.
He needed to go to Kendal House to examine Harcourt’s papers and to have a very pointed discussion with Henrietta’s uncle. Why had Lord Harcourt allowed his niece’s participation in dangerous work? He and Harcourt were going to come to an agreement on curbing her involvement in intelligence work. She wasn’t going to be pleased, but the lady’s days of early morning trysts were over.
Cord went to his room to shed his muddied riding clothes. His aunt and Gwyneth could see to Henrietta while he was at Kendal House.
And hopefully Talley would soon have answers on the identity of the person that Henrietta met alone in the Serpentine. When he found the man who shot at Henrietta, he would make sure he was punished.
* * *
Henrietta listened to the voices outside the door. She didn’t have a clear memory of events after she fell off Minotaur, but rather a recollection of sensations. The smell of leather mixed with Cord’s lime and starch scent, the comfort of his arms wrapped around her and a sense of safety.
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She snuggled down in the warmth of the heavy bedclothes. It’d be easy to stay under the covers and rest. She heard the deep rumble of Cord’s voice causing heat to dance along her skin and her stomach to flutter in recognition. She lay still, trying to hear. The maid hovered nearby, straightening the covers at her feet.
She hoped Cord wouldn’t try to talk with her now. She wasn’t up for his questioning and was confused about his role. She wanted to trust him, but why would he have sent his mistress to obtain the codebook? Why had Isabelle aimed the pistol at her? Was she attempting to frighten or threaten her?
The medication must have been taking effect, because she was finding it difficult to concentrate. She needed to stay awake. The real and the fake codebooks were in her reticule. She needed to find the books and hide them. Whom should she trust? She would figure it out tomorrow when she felt better, but for now she wasn’t going to trust anyone—not as long as Michael remained in danger.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mrs. Brompton’s revelations concerning Henrietta had driven Cord to his club for a drink. The first drink hadn’t helped, nor the second or third. In fact, the alcohol had heightened his agitated state. Until meeting Henrietta Harcourt, he had always kept his feelings tightly in place. Now, he seemed to regularly be in the throes of extreme reactions. Such volatility was unheard of in a man who had gained his reputation for cold, composed control.
Cord inhaled deeply when he stepped out of his club. The night air was damp but fresh from the recent rain. The brisk walk home didn’t alter his antagonistic mood. Henrietta had more twists than a Gordian knot and he planned to straighten every coil and convolution of the inscrutable woman.
Awaiting, Sloane opened the door. “Good evening, my lord.”
He took the steps two at a time.
“Your aunt has asked if you would join her in the drawing room,” the butler said.
A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) Page 17
