A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (19 page)

“Effie is a gifted tactician—England’s best secret. You’ve known her by her code name,
La Bataille
.”

His Aunt Euphemia was
La Bataille
—the battle. Of course, he knew
La Bataille
. The name was revered throughout intelligence circles. She had saved hundreds of lives during the Reign of Terror, going into an insane France to rescue aristocratic women and children from the guillotine.

He must have looked bewildered, because his aunt’s voice softened and she spoke without her usual teasing tone. “I’d always planned to tell you when you got older. But after Gray’s accident, I had to get you away from England and your parents.”

What did she mean, she had to get him out of England? Sir Ramston had been the one who approached him at his club when he was in his darkest hour of grief, in the depths of despair over the death of his brother.

Sir Ramston spoke to him of his loyalty to England, the need for men of his ilk. Cord would like to believe he also felt a duty to his country at the time when he had agreed to go to France and become a spy. But in his heart he knew it was the promise of facing death that had caused him to escape England.

“I never thought you would stay away so long. How could I’ve known how well you would take to the spy game?” His aunt tried to tease, but the wistfulness in her eyes betrayed her.

He was great at espionage because it gave him a legitimate reason to take deadly risks and squash his guilty feelings. He had become a master at controlling and suppressing his emotions.

“I’m struggling with tonight’s revelations, Aunt Euphemia.” He hadn’t understood that it was his aunt who intervened to save him from himself. “Am I to understand you engineered my position with His Majesty?” Had she known the self-loathing in which he had been mired, how destructive he had felt?

“I never imagined you wouldn’t return before the death of your parents.” Her face was partially hidden in the shadows, but his vibrant aunt looked drawn and tired.

“I did have something to do with it, but you became one of the best agents we’ve seen in years. I’m very proud of you, my boy, and the contribution you’ve made to our country.” Her eyes were bright with tears, but the familiar twinkle wasn’t diminished. “We can talk later about the past. I expect you came tonight to talk with Sir Ramston about the assault on Charles Harcourt.”

She already knew? Of course, she was
La Bataille
and Sir Ramston had people placed throughout London, reporting any unusual activities.

“I did come to discuss Charles Harcourt. I’m trying to figure out why he would be violently assaulted in his home.”

He recounted to his aunt and Sir Ramston the details of what had occurred at Kendal House that evening. Had it really been earlier this same night that he had been at the Firth ball? His thoughts drifted when he remembered the heated interlude with Henrietta on the balcony.

His aunt looked at him speculatively. Her lips curved up in a small smile. “Has your man reported anything from Paris concerning Kendal? Is the assault on Charles connected to the brother’s activities in Paris?”

Her brain quickly made the same connections he had. Tomorrow he would send someone to find Brinsley and bring Kendal home.

“There has been no communication from Brinsley. Lady Henrietta approached our office with concerns that she hadn’t heard from her brother,” he said.

“I did tell Effie about Lady Henrietta’s visit to the Abchurch offices. The young woman has a great deal of fortitude. She was very direct about her concern.” Sir Ramston didn’t look at him when he spoke nor mention how disdainful Henrietta had been of Cord and his new position.

Aunt Euphemia didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “I’ve always liked the Harcourt family, though they’re all a bit too brilliant. Henrietta tries to hide her abilities, but she is as talented as both the Harcourt men. She has tried to blend into society.”

Aunt Euphemia never stopped amazing him. She was correct about Henrietta trying to escape notice.

“What about De Valmont courting her? Is it part of his work for Talleyrand or is he truly courting her? Cord, do you know?” His aunt asked.

“I can’t believe Henrietta would consider such a reprobate.” He couldn’t keep the antagonism out of his voice.

“You’ve indicated that De Valmont continues to be involved with Isabelle Villiers,” Sir Ramston said.

His aunt hadn’t missed any part of his vehement response or his inability to control his jealousy.

“Are they involved like you and Isabelle are? Or is it a true affair?” His aunt was well informed for being retired.

“From my understanding, De Valmont and Isabelle are involved.”

“Do you think De Valmont knows that Isabelle works for us?” Aunt Euphemia probed.

“I wouldn’t think Isabelle would allow anyone to know about her work for our office. But I’ve wondered why she appeared with De Valmont at the Wentworth Ball. She maintained she was assisting me in keeping up my rakehell reputation, but it just didn’t make any sense. Why jeopardize her position with me?”

“I can’t see a real threat in her appearance, but I’m sure it didn’t help your relationship with certain members of the Harcourt family.” His aunt chuckled.

“It definitely hasn’t helped.”

Sir Ramston, who had been quiet during the discussion, spoke. “Judging by Lady Henrietta’s response to your new position, I’d say you’ve got your work cut out for you. Effie, the chit couldn’t countenance Cord as head of the office. Oh, you would’ve loved the fireworks on the day of her visit.”

His aunt smiled at Sir Ramston’s recital but responded thoughtfully, “I do believe Henrietta has suffered with the loss of her mother. She has had too much responsibility for someone so young and now she must deal with violence against her uncle in their home.”

Henrietta and her family had to be protected. “I’ve posted a guard for the remainder of the night, but I’m planning on arriving early tomorrow to search Charles Harcourt’s work.”

“Cord, I’ve no doubt you will get to the bottom of the threat against Charles Harcourt and protect the entire Harcourt family. But I’m more interested in how you plan to convince Henrietta that you’ve changed your rakish ways.” His aunt laughed and then patted her dislodged fichu into place.

Chapter Twenty-One

Joseph Fouché, the Minister of French Police, strode across the room, his black polished boots leaving a trail in the thick Flemish carpet. The room was bare except for the exquisite rug, a desk, and a Fragonard pastoral. Nothing about the raw-boned man gave the slightest hint into the sentimental depiction of the French countryside that dominated the Spartan interior.

Sensing his superior’s mood, Giscard Orly tried to control the twitch that caused his eyelid to tremor. Fouché, an impatient man who struck out violently when displeased, was in a fever. His dark eyes were dilated and his face flushed. He continued to pace as he beckoned for Giscard to be seated.

“I have him…I have him where it will hurt when I squeeze,
”
his superior said.

Giscard knew immediately that Fouché referred to Charles Talleyrand, the foreign minister. Obsessed with humiliating Talleyrand, Fouché, the most feared man in Paris, was animated with another vindictive plan for his enemy.

“I’ll crush him.”

Talleyrand wasn’t the only one who Fouché had by the balls. His body clenched in anticipation of Fouché’s punishment over his failed mission to kill Kendal. Fouché had ordered Kendal’s death to incite English fury against Talleyrand and his man Le Chiffre—all in his pursuit to find favor with Napoleon.

Rumor had it that Napoleon was distancing himself from Fouché and his brutal past.

Fouché was desperate to discredit Talleyrand, a favorite of Napoleon’s.

An unprivileged man, Fouché had risen from the ranks, driven by his lust for power and a blunt, ruthless personality. Opposite in style, Talleyrand, an urbane master, excelled in gamesmanship and crafty manipulation.

“I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I’ve discovered the name of Talleyrand’s secret agent,
Le Couteau
, the knife.”

Fouché finally sat at his desk, his block-like body tilted forward so his angular face jutted close to Giscard. “I’m depending on you
.”

It seemed he was being given a last chance to redeem himself—his mistake in not killing Kendal could’ve been his death warrant.

“I’ll not fail.” He spoke calmly, ignoring the blood thundering in his chest and ears.

“It will give me great pleasure to foil Talleyrand’s grand scheme to cause havoc around the English election.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kendal sent a codebook to England after he took it out of Le Chiffre’s home, probably the night you shot him. That codebook represents two years of ground breaking work. Kendal has fled France, pursued by Talleyrand’s and my men,” Fouché said.

Fouché leaned back in his wooden chair. The gold buttons on his stark black uniform gleamed in the morning light. “I’ve found a way to get rid of Talleyrand’s
Le Couteau
. He’s dangerous and not just another pampered English aristocrat who sold himself for gold.”

Giscard remained silent, awaiting the details of the dirty work. He had no illusions about what part he would play. He was an assassin.

“By my orders, De Valmont was to charm the book from Lady Harcourt, give the book to
Le Couteau
and then expose the English aristocrat as working for the French. After De Valmont has done my work, he’ll receive my full mercy.”

There was no misunderstanding what Fouché’s full mercy meant. His assignment was to kill De Valmont, a distinguished French aristocrat.

“I thought De Valmont worked for Talleyrand?”

“I’ve secured De Valmont’s cooperation using his sister, who he thought was safely hidden in a convent.”

Giscard felt a moment of sympathy for the young woman caught in the devil’s web.

“You’ll then stage
Le Couteau’s
downfall after the scandal erupts. He’ll be accused of stealing the book from the English for the French. Then you will leak Talleyrand’s plan that
Le Couteau
and De Valmont have been working on a violent rebellion to prevent the English election. You won’t mention Talleyrand’s name,” Fouché instructed.

Of course, Fouché wouldn’t want any of his plans against Talleyrand to get back to the Emperor.

Now that Fouché’s wrath wasn’t focused on him, Giscard perceived the twisted machinations of Fouché’s revenge against De Valmont and the unnamed English Lord.

“You’ll need to make the murder look as if the
Le Couteau
took the honorable way out as the English bastards like to do.”

“Yes sir, but how will these two deaths lead to the downfall of our foreign minister?”

Fouché jumped violently out of his chair, causing it to teeter. “Giscard, you haven’t discerned the crux of this affair.”

“The emperor will be furious to be linked with a plot aimed at the English election. French spies in England causing disorder contradict the image that the emperor has been presenting to the English as a meek lamb under the Treaty of Amiens. He’ll be quite displeased.” Fouché chortled. “The emperor’s faith in Talleyrand will be destroyed.”

Fouché smiled broadly, revealing his large yellow teeth. “Of course, I shall report all of these disgraceful events to the emperor. Talleyrand’s career will be finished.”

Giscard had never seen Fouché in such a mood. If the commander were a child, he would have been jumping up and down like the children at the guillotine watching another aristocrat’s head roll.

“You must leave for England immediately.” Fouché stood, dismissing him. “Notify me of your success.”

When he stood, Giscard felt the pain in his injured leg from his last assignment. He held his leg stiff to disguise the weakness when he walked out of his superior’s office. Fouché didn’t tolerate any flaws.

Killing De Valmont wasn’t going to be that difficult. He found masquerade balls quite conducive to his work. Dressed in a black domino mask, he’d look like any aristocratic buck, seeking a bit of dalliance. His hand touched the stiletto hidden in his boot. A slender dagger thrust at the right angle and then he would slip into the night. Staging the suicide of an English aristocrat would require more planning.

Giscard limped down the austere hallway. He was to kill a scion of a French aristocratic family and an English lord to oust the foreign minister. This was the new order of France.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fortified by a cup of strong tea, Henrietta was ready to return to her uncle’s bedside. Mrs. Brompton had relieved her at dawn for a brief nap after her night-long vigil. She walked down the long corridor to her uncle’s bed chamber. She was weary but hopeful. The doctor believed that Uncle Charles’s concussion wouldn’t have any long-term, deleterious effects.

Henrietta bent over her uncle, gently touching his face. She whispered, “Good morning, Uncle Charles.”

Her uncle opened his eyes, searching her face in confusion. “What’s happened?” With the slight turn of his head, he winced in pain.

“Oh, Uncle Charles, I’ve been so worried. You’ve had an accident, but Doctor Hadley says you’ll be fine.” She didn’t share any of the ghastly details, hoping he had forgotten. She wanted to spare him further distress.