A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (2 page)

“Lady Henrietta, how…how?” She heard the distress in Mrs. Brompton’s question.

“Direct me to Lady Henrietta’s room. She needs to be out of these wet clothes immediately.”

There was a flurry of activity around her, but Henrietta couldn’t summon any energy to respond.

The housekeeper and her husband snapped into action. Mrs. Brompton directed Lord Rathbourne into Henrietta’s bedroom.

Henrietta didn’t want to be put down, cold and alone again. She must be in shock. She wanted to stay in the arms of a man who had more mistresses than cravats.

His voice, like his body, was warm, mesmerizing. “Can you stand or should I put you on the bed?”

The idea of her bed and the heat of Lord Rathbourne stirred something deep and primitive. The coldness of her skin collided with the warmth pumping through her veins. “I can stand.”

He moved her closer to the fire that Mrs. Brompton stirred. With his arms wrapped around her tightly, he slid her down his hard body and placed her feet on the ground.

Excruciating sensations engulfed her. She was unsteady and swayed toward him.

“Maybe it is better if you lie down.” His voice sounded strained, rough.

She shook with chills as white heat raced through her body and into her face. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

His look was tender but held something she couldn’t comprehend, something she would reflect upon when she wasn’t so cold.

Mrs. Brompton stepped forward. “I’ll help Lady Henrietta.” Mrs. Brompton placed her arm around Henrietta’s shoulder. “Thank you, my lord. I must get Lady Henrietta out of these wet clothes.”

He walked toward the door then turned, as if reluctant to leave. “Make sure your man has called a doctor.”

Mrs. Brompton nodded at his words.

Finding it difficult to speak, Henrietta whispered in a small voice, “Thank you.”

“I leave you in good hands. I’ll return.”

Lord Rathbourne bowed and quietly closed the door.

The housekeeper helped Henrietta remove the soaked garments then wrapped a towel around her body and tucked another over her dripping hair.

“How could you’ve gotten yourself into such a McGregor? I promised your mother I’d take good care of all three of you.” Mrs. Brompton’s voice choked. “What if something happened to you or Master Edward and with Master Michael in France, what would I do?” A large sigh moved her generous bosom.

“Oh, Bromie, it wasn’t a McGregor. We just got too close to the water.”

The housekeeper continued to dry Henrietta with a soft towel. “Terrible woman, she was, that Nanny McGregor. Used to frighten you both, she was wicked cruel to Master Michael. The Scottish are a brutal race.”

She and her older brother had named their childhood pranks after their nasty nanny. The code name was a warning for possible dire consequences for their mischief.

“I’m glad the old earl saw fit to dismiss the woman after she whipped Master Michael that awful day.” Mrs. Brompton’s familiar mutterings and the warmth of the fire had stopped Henrietta’s shaking.

Mrs. Brompton pointed at the housemaid who carried hot water into the room. “Polly, if you’re finished filling the bath, bring up hot tea and a bottle of brandy.”

“I’m going to need a nip myself. You and Edward almost drowning…”

“Bromie, there was no danger of us drowning. Lord Rathbourne overreacted but was kind enough to bring me home.” She felt guilty for the lie but the arrogant lord’s ego could sustain the blow. “Edward and I’ll be right as rain once we warm up.” With that pithy reassurance, she sunk into the hot bath. “Oh, I thought I would never be warm again.” A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips when she sank deeper into the tub. She closed her eyes and let the warmth of the hot water seep into her body.

Blue eyes, she hadn’t realized he had blue eyes, like quicksilver, changing colors rapidly with his mood. The cold must have gone to her brain. She and Edward had almost drowned and she was musing over the eyes of a cad with arguably the worst reputation in London. She sank deeper into the tub and placed the sponge over her eyes, shutting out all visions of the seductive lord.

* * *

Cordelier Richard Beaumont, Earl of Rathbourne, crossed his legs at his ankles and savored the aroma from the delicate snifter, a delightful combination of comfort and cognac. The warm room of the club and the aged brandy were easing the chill from his plunge into the frigid Serpentine earlier in the day. His childhood friend and war compatriot sat across the dark mahogany table, poised, waiting to pounce.

Cord sighed dramatically. “Spit it out.”

“Lady Henrietta.” Viscount Henry James Ashworth chortled. “The look on your face today was worth the ruin of my new coat.”

“My God, she was drowning. What look did you expect to see on my face?” His stomach clenched with the memory of how close Henrietta had come to dying. “It was damn lucky we were riding by.”

Ash raised his eyebrows, his eyes light with humor. “Her distress was evident as was…”

Like Ash, he had registered every wet, soft, delectable part of Henrietta during the rescue. How could he not appreciate those thinly disguised generous curves? His face heated with the unsuitable thoughts.

“Your face is turning red. I never thought I’d see the day,” Ash needled.

“I felt depraved to be noticing…while the lady was distressed. Hell, I can’t believe I’m admitting that to you.”

“What are friends for? And as a good friend I should remind you it was the same lady who four years ago found you loathsome, if my memory serves me right.”

Cord took a large gulp of the brandy. “As you damn well know, your memory is excellent.”

She had looked at him with a mixture of disregard and disrespect when he had asked her dance at Chillington’s ball—no other woman had ever looked at him in such a way. Spirited and confident, Henrietta acted neither grateful nor thrilled for the opportunity to dance with him. She clearly believed him to be a reprobate. The most uncomfortable part of the memory was that he knew her to be absolutely correct.

“Cord, don’t be so hard on yourself. You were in a rough patch after Gray died. You’re not that man any longer.”

“You and I might agree that I’ve improved, but convincing the lady will be the challenge. My new position as Head of Abchurch is going to be a problem. Both her brother and uncle work for me.”

“It is ill-timed that your position is a secret and can’t be revealed to Lady Henrietta.”

“It’s not exactly a position discussed in social circles.”

“But the responsibility of the post would recommend you to the lady.”

“She isn’t going to believe I’m capable of guarding her loved ones. You saw how protective she was of the young cub.”

“An irresponsible rake making decisions for her family.” Ash shook his head. “You did manage to rescue her, so you better start pursuing her while she remains grateful.”

“I took flowers over this afternoon. Mrs. Brompton informed me that Henrietta was indisposed, but I will call again. At least the housekeeper likes me.”

Ash’s eyes danced with merriment. “An auspicious beginning. Tomorrow will be the perfect opportunity to demonstrate your new worthiness.”

“Why tomorrow?” Cord asked.

“The Wentworth Ball, a respectable event to approach the lady.” Ash didn’t hide his grin. Cord was surprised that Ash wasn’t rubbing his hands together in glee. His friend was definitely looking forward to the entertainment of watching him squirm. “Do the polite thing. Invite her to dance. Escort her to dinner.”

Cord didn’t want to do the polite thing, he didn’t want to wait. Courting took time and patience, and he was short on both when it came to Henrietta. He hadn’t forgotten her for four long years during his tenure on the Continent for his country and King. Her frank green eyes and her unwillingness to be impressed by him or his title had captivated him.

Twirling a walking stick, Comte Lucien De Valmont strolled confidently toward them. De Valmont was currently being scrutinized by the office for possible covert connections to Talleyrand, the foreign minister of France.

“God, I think he means to talk with us,” Ash said.

“Have you dried out from your rescue of the luscious Lady Henrietta, Rathbourne?” De Valmont stood over the table, one hand placed jauntily on his hip, the other leaning on a heavily carved ivory walking stick.

Cord maintained his nonchalant gaze, but his jaw and body tightened, ready to spring into action.

De Valmont postured, unaware of the danger. “Was it the lady’s charms, so flagrantly displayed, that made you play the role of the gallant?”

Cord was going to put his fist right through the carefully arranged foppish French face.

Ash stood. “The evening grows tiresome. Shall we depart?”

Cord ignored Ash’s burning stare. He could floor the French bastard with one punch right between his shifty eyes. He stood ready to decimate De Valmont, his hands twitching at his side.

De Valmont stepped back, his smile fading.

He moved close to De Valmont, close enough to watch the French man’s pupils dilate in apprehension, close enough for the Frenchman to hear the menacing tone in his voice without attracting the attention of his fellow club members. “If I hear one word of today’s accident or a mention of the lady’s name, I will find you and grind you into the ground.”

With a swift kick, Cord knocked De Valmont’s stick to the ground. A deafening sound resounded off the oak floors in the quiet room. A footman rushed over to pick up the gentleman’s stick.

Ash caught up with Cord in the hallway. He patted Cord on the back. “Well done. That was the finest undercover work I’ve seen in a long time.” Ash’s laugh echoed off the high ceilings in the entrance way.

“I’m glad I made your evening entertaining.”

“And I’m glad you showed some measure of restraint. God, man, I thought you were going to kill him.”

“He’s lucky I didn’t call him out right there.” The thought of De Valmont alluding to Henrietta’s body, vividly exposed by her soaked gown, infuriated him. The blood continued to rush through his body. “I still might have to challenge him.”

“I can’t believe how quickly word has spread about the rescue,” Ash said.

“It is interesting that De Valmont already knew.”

“And felt the need to comment to you. I’d say he was testing the waters?” Ash chuckled. “No pun intended.”

A companionable silence lengthened between the two friends.

Cord’s reaction stunned him. What had happened to the cool detachment which made him legendary in espionage circles? “I acted like an idiot.”

“De Valmont has a great deal of interest in Lady Henrietta. Is he a jealous suitor?”

A primitive possessiveness surged through Cord’s body. “He better not consider approaching Henrietta.”

“I think the lady might have something to say about it,” Ash said.

“I won’t give the lady a choice.”

Ash snorted. “If he isn’t a suitor, why the interest in Lady Henrietta?”

“I believe De Valmont was looking for a reaction from me. And he got it.”

“But why seek you out?”

“He couldn’t have known of my interest in the lady. And he wouldn’t insult a lady he was planning to pursue. Either he wanted to challenge me or has an interest in the Harcourt family. Either way, De Valmont bears closer scrutiny.”

“Someone in his house?” Ash asked.

“Yes, I think Talley would be perfect for the job. I want to know De Valmont’s whereabouts.”

“And Lady Henrietta’s whereabouts?” Ash chuckled.

Chapter Two

Gus pounced as Henrietta rose from her knees, the task of weeding the flower beds complete. Henrietta teetered but the impact of the four-stone Labrador couldn’t be stopped. She fell backward on her heels, giving Gus the perfect position to lick her face. His wet kiss landed squarely on her lips and was followed by a full frontal assault. Her shrieks encouraged Gus to intensify his slobbery affection.

“Gus, you kiss better than the gentlemen of the ton.” She stood, brushing the paw marks from her pale yellow muslin dress.

“You never told me that you kissed a lot of men.” Edward came down the steps. Her younger brother never appeared to be listening, but it was like him to hear her slightly risqué comment.

“I was joking, and a gentleman would never ask a lady whom she has been kissing.”

“Why were Michael and his friends laughing about Lady Hawksley’s lips?” Edward asked.

Henrietta was going to wring their older brother’s neck for being indiscreet about the voracious widow in front of Edward. “I’ll let Michael explain what he and his friends were discussing.”

“I knew you weren’t going to tell me anything. Michael is in France and isn’t going to be home for at least four or five years.”

With his round baby cheeks and the golden Harcourt hair, Edward looked like a cherub in a Raphael painting. Leaning over, she tousled his hair. “I’m sure Michael will be home before you’re twelve years old and will answer all your questions.”