A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (5 page)

The thought of her brilliant uncle, incapable of crossing the street to go to his club was too painful to contemplate. “You’ve done a great job, Bromie. Uncle Charles will return hungry and ready for tea. I suggest you start preparing.”

Mrs. Brompton’s thick hand blotted the beads of perspiration on her forehead. “It would be just like him to get it into his head that he needed a book and get up and leave the garden. I better see Cook gets the crumpets in the oven. Everyone will be hungry after this morning’s adventures.” The stout woman moved toward the kitchen.

Henrietta walked toward the front door then turned. “Everyone should continue the search until I get back.”

She walked at a furious pace, cutting through the park. Silently, she prayed she’d find Uncle Charles, uninjured at his club. Her hands twisted the sides of her gown. She swallowed hard against the fear that had risen into her throat and chest.

Ahead on the path, Edward and Gus ran toward her. With Edward’s easy lope, his blond curls lifting in the wind, he looked like a younger version of Michael. She couldn’t allow Edward to see her distress.

“Henrietta, Uncle Charles is missing.” Edward shouted loud, enough that all of Mayfair would know their business. Edward’s face was taut, his lips downturned as if he might cry with any provocation. She wanted to hold him tight and spare him this pain.

“Uncle Charles left the house and we can’t find him,” he said.

“I know. I’m sure he decided to go to his club. I’m walking there now.” She struggled not to betray the tumultuous emotions fluttering in her stomach.

“Should Gus and I come?”

“You should search on the other side of the park, in case I miss Uncle Charles on this side.”

“Gus and I can do that, Hen. Where else should we look?”

“Bromie is in a tizzy, and it would be a great help if you could keep her busy. Ask her to make tea. I’ll bring Uncle Charles home.”

“Gus can help with his amazing nose.”

“You and Gus are helping a lot if you look for Uncle Charles on the other side of the park. And then, can you pretend you’re hungry for Mrs. Brompton’s sake?”

The boy flashed the famous dimple-creasing Harcourt smile. “Gus and I can pretend.” The boy patted his plump partner. “If you don’t come back after tea, should I meet you at the club?”

The panic had returned to her chest. She didn’t want to consider the next step, should Uncle Charles not be found. “Why don’t you wait until I get back? If we need to change our strategy, I’ll want us all together.”

Her brother searched her face, his green eyes wide.

“I’m sure Uncle Charles is fine and reading some obscure tome on ancient Egyptians.” She tried to sound confident.

“He is probably looking for something on embalming. He loves mummies.”

“You’re probably right. You and Gus head that way. I’ll go this way,” she said.

The pair turned back toward Kendal house. She waited for them to disappear before she renewed her frantic pace.

In Uncle Charles’ present condition, he might not fare well with his friends. The club was made up of a motley group of eccentrics who might not notice the dramatic change in her uncle. Unlike other men’s clubs, The Odd Set of Volumes required neither a title nor aristocratic connections. The requirements were a curious mind and a passion for all books. Her uncle retained both, and hopefully, would still fit in.

She burst into the old brick building, home to the collection of odd books and the odd set of men who read them. A familiar musty scent assaulted her nose. Oblivious to the stares, she scanned the large room teeming with men and their books. No sign of her uncle. Flutters somersaulted in her stomach.

The clerk began to move from behind his desk.

She dodged the older man and skirted down the opposite aisle of tables. She nodded to the shocked gentlemen who looked up from their tomes to find a woman racing through their club. She headed to the rear of the library, where the oldest books were shelved.

Turning a corner made up of tall shelves, she heard her uncle’s rambling speech. Relief surged through her whole being down to her toes. Her white-haired uncle, his waist coat teeming with his collection, chatted amiably.

“Uncle Charles.” The high pitch and intensity of her voice reverberated in the narrow shelves of books.

Her uncle greeted her as if they had just parted company. “Henrietta, I’m glad you’ve come. I’ve been having the most interesting conversation with this gentleman. He shares an interest in Egypt, especially hieroglyphics. I was beginning to tell him how I’ve applied the principals in my work.”

“Uncle, I’m sure the gentleman must return to his own work.”

An impeccably dressed gentleman in all grey, with a complicated cravat turned toward her. “Mademoiselle, I’m interested in everything from ancient Egypt, especially hieroglyphics.”

Henrietta failed to recognize the gentleman who leaned on an ivory walking stick. His nonchalance belied the tension in the set of his shoulders and jaw. The perfect lines and planes of his face clashed with his round, sensual lips. His thick blond hair was combed back, as if the wind had blown it into disarray. The locks curled around his ears and one curl fell on his forehead.

“Comte Lucien De Valmont, at your service.” He bowed.

Henrietta curtsied. Their eyes locked when each straightened. His piercing gaze didn’t match his formal manner.

“Your uncle was just beginning to explain the modern applications of hieroglyphics,” he said.

She felt breathless, as if the room had lost all its air. Had Uncle Charles revealed anything critical about his code breaking?

She forced herself to keep smiling. “Yes, my uncle is knowledgeable about many facets of Egyptian life. Did you also discuss your fascination with mummies, Uncle Charles?” Shifting to her uncle’s other obsession usually did the trick.

“I’ve little knowledge of mummies. My interest has always been in hieroglyphics.” The comte turned toward her uncle, his face and smile immobile. “Lord Harcourt, as a linguist, your interest must be in ancient Egypt’s language?”

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted with the comte’s interest in her uncle. As a renowned linguist, her uncle was often sought after to share ideas. But there was something disquieting about Lord De Valmont’s curiosity.

“Language can never be isolated in the study of a culture. My uncle is fascinated with all aspects of Egypt, including the architecture. Don’t you find the pyramids fascinating, my lord?”

“I’m biased by my own heritage. I find the architecture of France magnificent. Is there any more grand than the Louis XVI style?” he asked

“I’ve never had the opportunity to travel to France,” she said.

He leaned on his stick, closing the distance between them. “But I understood your mother was French?”

Her stomach flittered in anxiety at this stranger’s knowledge of her family. “Do you know my French Ormond family?”

“I’ve never had the good fortune to meet your family, but I’d love to discuss your French heritage with you, mademoiselle.” The way he lilted mademoiselle in his French accent made his interest in her too intimate.

Did the comte simply miss his homeland as many of the émigrés did and want to talk about her French connection or was there something more sinister in his curiosity?

“Perhaps another day?” Another day without Uncle Charles taking part in the conversation. “My uncle and I’ve one stop to make before we return home.”

“May I have the pleasure of calling on you and your uncle in the near future?”

Her uncle put his arm on the stranger’s shoulder. “Come to Kendal house. I’d love to discuss mummies. You said you’re fascinated with mummies?” 

“Uncle, we need to leave.”

“Please let me escort you to the door.” Comte De Valmont’s tone was gracious while he directed her out of the stacks of books. She needed to get her uncle safely back to Kendal House, away from the inquisitive Frenchman.

* * *

Cord sat with Ash at his massive oak desk in the inner sanctum of the espionage offices in Abchurch Lane, the den of secret-making and code-breaking. He was much better suited to being in the action than plotting the activities of others from a desk. Nothing was as he had expected since he returned to England.

Slouched low in a leather chair, Ash held a brandy snifter and a cigar between his fingers. “What in the hell were you thinking, bringing Isabelle to Lady Wentworth’s Ball last night?”

Cord didn’t miss the bewildered tone in Ash’s voice. “Damn it. I didn’t bring her.”

Last night he had been stuck with Isabelle Villiers, playing a role that had been set in place in France. He tried not to vent his frustration on his friend. “Isabelle came with De Valmont. She and that snake are playing some kind of game, flaunting her position as my mistress in front of the ton.”

His plans to pursue Lady Henrietta and to establish his respectability as the new earl had gone sideways last night. He had hoped four years on the Continent would’ve been enough time for his reprobate reputation to be forgotten.

“While you were busy entertaining Isabelle, De Valmont was busy entertaining the very attractive Lady Henrietta,” Ash said.

He wanted to walk into the center of the crowd of gentleman surrounding her, snatch her from the French fop and the doting dandies and claim her as his own. “I hoped to make amends last night, but instead I was trapped with Isabelle.” He was unable to remain seated at his cluttered desk. He moved toward the window. The London fog didn’t add much light to the room.

“Does Isabelle still work for Talleyrand as well as us?” Ash asked.

In his new role as head of the office, Cord was trying to understand all the plots and subplots he had inherited from Sir Ramston.

Cord walked from the window toward Ash. “Isabelle would like me to believe that she has renounced her allegiance to the French foreign minister but Talleyrand saved her from the guillotine. She was doomed to the same fate as her husband, the Marquis de Lombard. In the last moment, Talleyrand rescued her from the blade. Knowing Talleyrand’s manipulations, he most likely made a deal with Isabelle. I doubt he has rescinded the agreement.”

“Does De Valmont work for Talleyrand too?”

Cord was slowly learning the machinations of his predecessor and kept nothing from his closest friend. “I thought De Valmont worked for Talleyrand. But this new relationship between Isabelle and De Valmont makes you wonder if Talleyrand is suspicious of De Valmont and assigned Isabelle to learn his secrets. There is always an objective in Isabelle’s liaisons.”

“Our newest information might be related to Isabelle and De Valmont’s affair. The rumor is Napoleon plans to distance himself from Fouché,” Ash said.

Cord sat on the corner of his desk. “It makes sense that Napoleon would like to sever his connection with the bloody past. As minister of the police, the powerful and brutal Fouché won’t go down without a fight. He’ll try to take his arch enemy, Talleyrand, with him. It’s possible Fouché has turned to De Valmont.”

“I can’t keep up with the twists and turns in the French political scene.” Ash shook his head. “I liked it better when we did actual espionage, not analysis.”

“It was easier when we were actually at war with France and not bound by a signed treaty. This business of trying to predict what Napoleon will do and what role Talleyrand and Fouché will play is riskier than daily death threats in France,” Cord said.

“But you’ve a far more interesting and enticing challenge in London than our French exploits.” Ash waggled his eyebrows.

Cord couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Henrietta as a challenge, a challenge he planned to win. And what pleasure they would have in her surrender.

“It could be worse. Your Aunt Euphemia and sister could’ve been at the Wentworth ball. I don’t think Aunt Euphemia would believe you were working for His Majesty.” Ash laughed.

“Aunt Euphemia arrived yesterday, and, trust me, the old bloodhound will know every detail by teatime. I’d certainly like to dine out tonight and avoid her. I promised the old girl that I’d play the role of the respectable brother and escort Gwyneth this season. When she hears about the Wentworth ball, there will be hell to pay.” He’d have to make amends to Aunt Euphemia, but he wasn’t sure what approach he should take.

Cord sat in the chair behind his desk. “Join us for dinner. Aunt Euphemia will have to temper her comments in your presence. And Gwyneth will be thrilled to see you.”

“Truly, you can’t believe that I can actually calm your Aunt Euphemia? I can already hear the piercing voice: “Lord Ashworth, why is it that you’re always in the vicinity when Cordelier is taking the path of a reprobate?” Ash did a perfect imitation of his aunt’s imperious tone.

Cord laughed with his friend, enjoying the shared memories of their roguish past. On his return to England, he had resolved never again to be a disappointment to the grand lady. His thoughts turned to another woman he planned never to disappoint again. He’d a lot to explain to Henrietta after the Wentworth Ball, but how could he deny a relationship with Isabelle without explaining his secret work

“It’s only the expectation of seeing Gwyneth after four years that keeps me from making every excuse.” Ash leaned forward in his chair. “Your aunt will forgive you as she always does, but Lady Henrietta will not be as easy.”