A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (21 page)

“The codebook had to be what the thieves had been looking for last night. It’s the reason for Charles Harcourt’s assault,” he said.

“Charles Harcourt was assaulted last night?” Ash asked.

“There was a break-in. His study was searched. Charles Harcourt is too ill to tell me what is missing from his papers.”

Cord didn’t like the conclusions he was drawing about the book in Henrietta’s reticule and why she had taken it to the ball.

The clerk arrived with a tray filled with cold sandwiches and scones. He hoped the hearty sandwiches and hot tea would revive him.

“How is Charles Harcourt faring?” Ash asked.

“He took a blow to the back of the head. The doctor said he has a mild concussion.”

“My God, violence wouldn’t be necessary to subdue the elderly man,” Ash said.

“Not unless you’re trying to obtain something you believe the man is hiding, possibly a codebook?”

“Men in our line of work don’t require force to achieve our goals,” Ash said.

Neither man needed to acknowledge their familiarity with the techniques of coercion. It was a past they shared and would rather soon forget.

Ash spoke with his mouth full of the egg sandwich. “This doesn’t sound like spy work. I suspect the work of thugs.”

“Last night’s violence toward Charles Harcourt was confusing. But if the French believe Kendal sent his uncle the codebook, it makes sense. Send someone down to the docks to find out who’s been hiring.”

The tea helped Cord focus after his sleepless night, but he didn’t want to acknowledge what he’d already concluded. He had believed last night that Henrietta had been upset by the loss of her reticule because of Lord Harcourt’s traumatic assault.

He continued to chew, unaware of what he was eating. Her brother took the book from Le Chiffre and sent it to his sister, not to Sir Ramston or the intelligence office. Why? He didn’t believe for a minute that the Harcourts were traitors. They had been loyal subjects for hundreds of years. The Kendal title went as far back as the Rathbourne title.

Who did Henrietta plan to meet at the ball with the codebook in her reticule? He had only seen her in the company of De Valmont and Wycliffe.

“Are the rumors still making the rounds about Wycliffe’s debts?” he asked.

Ash didn’t seem to react to his abrupt change in topic. “He has come into a great deal of wealth recently, supposedly a death in his wife’s family. He has already gone through his wife’s vast fortune.”

Cord hadn’t forgotten the way Wycliffe looked at Henrietta, as if she was a delicious dessert for his consumption. He slammed down his teacup. “Find out what Wycliffe has been up to and where he has gotten his money. I have never trusted that bastard.”

Ash reached for another sandwich.

“Have we had word from Brinsley? I want Kendal on a ship back to England.”

Cord wasn’t ready to confide in Ash. He couldn’t reconcile his suspicions about Henrietta. He really didn’t believe Henrietta was involved in anything treasonous, but why was she secretive? He was going to wring her brother’s neck for involving Henrietta in his dangerous escapade. He was prepared to teach the young Kendal a painful lesson.

“Cord, are you all right?”

He hadn’t heard anything Ash had said but saw the speculation in his friend’s eyes.

“I was thinking about Kendal.”

“You mean Kendal’s sister?” Ash teased.

When women were involved with disreputable plots, there usually was a man behind it. He didn’t believe Henrietta was involved in anything perfidious, but he could believe Wycliffe was. He considered the idea that Henrietta was Wycliffe’s lover. Had Henrietta been feigning passion to manipulate him? She had responded passionately to his kisses at the Firth ball, but her responses were those of an innocent. He hoped she was protecting her brother. If it was Wycliffe… The rushing blood started to throb in his temples.

He had acted like a love-stricken fool, deferring to her wishes not to search the library because she was upset. Consumed with passion, he’d forgotten to ask her why she carried the book in her reticule.

“You’re giving a lot of thought to the Kendal family,” Ash said.

Ash’s jest wasn’t lost on him, but he wasn’t in a joking mood. He was onto the lady’s games. Since she didn’t seem to trust him to share her secrets, he would use his own methods of learning the truth. He wasn’t above using her blooming physical attraction to him to unveil her secrets. In fact, he was going to enjoy every moment of exploring her passionate nature.

“Send another urgent message to Brinsley to bring Kendal home. Where in the hell are those two?”

Ash nodded, understanding the dangerous game Kendal had precipitated by taking the codebook.

“I’ll deal with Henrietta and her uncle.” He ignored the smirk on Ash’s face.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Reclining on the black settee in her sitting room, Isabelle stretched her arms over her head, lifting her breasts to awaken Lucien’s appetite. She presented herself as a tableau in the slick black furnishings accentuated with crimson pillows and drapes to stir his dark erotic tastes.

Earlier today she had received a message from Talleyrand. Two of his agents in London were suspected of changing their allegiance to support Fouché. She still couldn’t believe Lucien was one of the agents. Lucien hated the peasant Fouché.

Her sheer black negligee matched the Chinoiserie bric-a-brac lining the lush sitting room and fell at mid-thigh, exposing her legs to Lucien’s inspection.

She had never trusted the highly placed English aristocrat’s motive for treason. But Lucien was a totally different matter. The possibility that Lucien was collaborating with Fouché was more upsetting to her and Talleyrand than if Lucien had defected to the English.

Trained as a female agent to use sex, she would have Lucien’s secrets before the night was finished.

“Take that damn ensemble off.” Judging by Lucien’s harsh command, he hadn’t retrieved the book from Kendal house. Their mission of recovering the codebook remained a failure.

She hadn’t expected words of love. “Lucien, darling, what is wrong? I’ll do whatever you need, but tell me what has happened.” Isabelle knew Lucien to be unpredictable, yet she never could comprehend what drove Lucien’s volatile sexual hungers. There were nights when he was almost a considerate lover. Not tonight.

Fortified with brandy, she stood before him. She slipped off her negligee slowly and provocatively, hoping to diffuse his foul mood.

“Damn it. I’ve no need for seduction. Take it off, or I’ll rip it off.”

Having just spent a fortune on the little black frippery, she quickly discarded the lace piece. She took a deep breath while mustering her composure to approach the man who towered over her. She had learned never to reveal her fear to any man.

“Bend over the settee. I’m in need of a good fuck from a French whore.”

If Lucien knew she favored this position, he wouldn’t have allowed it. She found control by avoiding her aggressor’s face. As an adolescent, she had learned to escape to another world. As an adult, she had mastered her repulsion and fear.

* * *

A sated Lucien lounged on the settee, his mood almost giddy. “You seemed a bit less enthusiastic tonight.”

“Lucien, how can you say that? No one compares to you.” She kept her back to him.

“God, I needed that. I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate living among these barbarians. I need to get out of this forsaken country or I’ll kill someone.”

She heard his desperation mixed with anger. “Why Lucien, what has happened?” She asked nonchalantly while her instincts ran wild.

“
Quelle garce.”
He spat the words.

She slipped on her robe. “Lady Henrietta isn’t cooperating?” It was hard to believe that Lucien’s abundant charms weren’t working on the English prude.

“Don’t you tire of the endless manipulation? We’re puppets on a string, dancing between Talleyrand and Fouché’s game,” he said.

She didn’t have any idea of Fouché’s plans or the devious methods that he had used to persuade Lucien to betray Talleyrand. The police minister was perverse in his need to discredit Talleyrand.

“If we don’t recover the codebook, we’ll be swept away with one pen flourish by Talleyrand to prevent him any public embarrassment,” Lucien said.

She straightened the pillows, pretending the conversation was of no importance.
“Talleyrand won’t discredit us over the codebook. The minister has weathered much bigger controversies. Talleyrand’s focus is on the upcoming election. The English government is close to financial collapse with the war expenditures and two failed harvests. You should stay focused on your work amongst the disgruntled citizens of London.”

“Working with the wretched poor isn’t as gruesome as pursuing an English virgin.” He snorted. “What a farce, chasing after a frigid virgin with no style, no flair. I’m pretending to pant over her while Rathbourne is dying to get under her skirts.”

She ignored the painful reminder that Cord lusted after a timid, pale English woman. If Lucien or Cord ever realized she was capable of caring…

“I’ve been following that English shrew around like a love-sick dog, trying to gather information. I can’t believe she has any French heritage.” Frustrated, he ran his manicured fingers through his blond curls. Everything Lucien did was with style.

Isabelle poured Lucien a large brandy and seated herself across from him. “Lucien, what about the brother?”

“He escaped Paris. No one knows whether he sent the book to England or not. What a debacle.”

“Did the men find anything when they searched Harcourt’s study?”

Lucien didn’t reply, but the cold fury in his eyes told her enough. She knew better than to probe further. “I’m sure we can devise a way to obtain the book.” She needed Lucien to believe she wasn’t suspicious of his changed allegiance.

He took a large gulp of brandy. “I loathe the English. They lack sophistication,
savoir faire
. They’ve none of the French insouciance.”

She found it hard to stifle her frustration. Men were such infants. “Darling, what would make the lady be willing to part with the book?”

Lucien stood up, fastening his breeches. “I’m tired. Thank God, my Father, the Marquis, didn’t live to see what happened to his only son, scurrying after the English, searching for stolen codebooks.” Disgust punctuated his words. His movements were abrupt when he pulled on his boots.

She waited for the tirade to end. She refused to remember France or her relatives. Nothing could come of yearning for what had been. “Lucien, what if I promise Lady Henrietta her brother in exchange for the book?”

He turned suddenly. His eyes narrowed and focused on her. “It’s…a possibility.”

“I could intimate that I’m holding her brother captive.”

“How?”

She hadn’t thought it through, but it seemed easy enough to get a message to Lady Henrietta for a rendezvous. “I’ll send her a note to meet privately.”

“You would need to get her away from Kendal house and Rathbourne’s watchdogs. You’ll need to meet her in an isolated spot.”

A shiver of dread raised the tiny hairs on her neck and on her arms. She ignored her instincts. Lucien wouldn’t risk harming Henrietta Harcourt.

“Yes, to speak with her in private, early tomorrow morning at Hyde Park.”

“But how will you get the book when you don’t have her brother?”

“I’ll barter for the book with the information of where her brother is being held. I’ll tell her that her brother is in Winchester. It’s far enough away to give us time.”

“You think she’ll believe you?” he asked.

“These English women are raised to breed, not think.”

“But what if she goes to Rathbourne?”

“What if she does? It’s the perfect distraction from your real mission of stirring dissidence around the election,” she said.

“And when they don’t find Kendal in Winchester? What will you tell Rathbourne?”

She laughed. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. I’ll tell Cord my source was wrong. I’m sure he suspects that I’m not a totally dedicated English spy.”

“Make it the Serpentine. I like the irony that it is the place where Rathbourne saved her from drowning.” He stretched into his tight blue coat and continued to instruct her on how she should proceed. As if she needed his instruction. She hid her irritation and listened with feigned interest.

“Tell her to meet you at first light, so there is no chance of any other riders.”

“Yes, Lucien.”

“I wish I could be there to see you in action, but I should remain as the lady’s suitor. Why don’t you come to my rooms after your little tête-à-tête? We’ll celebrate your success.”

She had never been invited to Lucien’s rooms.

He stroked her cheek with cold fingers. “Very clever of you, Isabelle, to think of pretending to know the whereabouts of the brother. You should bring your pistol. It could get dangerous.”

A frisson of fear shot down her spine to the back of her knees.