A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (9 page)

“Whatever you think, I’m sure…” Henrietta turned back to her desk and reached between two massive volumes retrieving a slender packet—the code table she had meticulously edited based on Abchurch’s previous tables.

When he recognized her prodigious talent, Uncle Charles demanded her ability to recognize patterns, uncover subtleties the men often missed be put to use. Uncle Charles maintained she was the best code breaker in the family.

Again and again, she scanned the arrival. The French had broken new ground. She was used to deciphering with less than fifty numbers. This new table was at least one hundred and fifty numbers.

Why hadn’t Michael sent the book to Sir Ramston? Nothing made sense unless Michael’s work for the intelligence office had been exposed. She pressed her hand against her chest to slow her speeding heart. She needed to speak with Sir Ramston and share the codebook.

Her last attempt to gain entrance into the offices had failed dismally. Sending Sir Ramston a note for an appointment was out of the question. Women didn’t communicate with men who weren’t family and definitely didn’t write men concerning intelligence work.

She decided to send a letter to Sir Ramston, pretending it was from her uncle. Why hadn’t she considered that before?

At her appointment with Sir Ramston in Uncle Charles’s place, she would be able to ask about Michael and the communications he had with Sir Ramston. Then she would give Sir Ramston the codebook.

She began the letter to Uncle Charles’s old friend asking for an appointment for the following day since Lady Chadwick’s soiree was tomorrow. The two-day wait would be interminable, but an unscheduled appearance at the Abchurch offices would be fruitless.

By the looks of the codebook, Michael had gotten into more than a foolish prank. Did he refer to the McGregor in the letter from her cousin because there would be dire consequences with his newest caper? A niggling uneasiness filled her body. She was going wring his neck when she saw him. Why did that idea make her eyes tear?

Chapter Nine

Isabelle paced in her lush sitting room, decorated with black lacquer in the Chinoisere style. The dark, exotic atmosphere with midnight blue wallpaper and japanned furniture was designed to appeal to the sensual.

Attendance at the Wentworth ball had been a miscalculation. She had followed Lucien’s suggestion to distract Cord while he pursued the codebook and Lady Henrietta. But Cord’s fury could jeopardize their mission of obtaining the stolen codebook.

She stopped her frantic movement. It was best not to attempt explanations but seduction. Her life had prepared her for persuading men. By the attentions of her uncle at an early age, she had become adroit at sexual manipulation. Except, now she was the victor, not the victim.

Bolton announced a visitor and ushered Comte Lucien De Valmont into her sitting room. It wasn’t the arrival she had expected.

“My darling, you are enchanting this afternoon.” He bowed.

She had dressed in a cornflower blue dress that made her black hair and eyes shine, creating the appearance of an innocent. Men always found the illusion of virginal innocence juxtaposed with the low-cut décolletage stimulating in a tawdry way.

Lucien raised her hand to his lips. His eyes darkened with desire as he surveyed her. “What is the English expression? You are in fine fettle today?”

Lucien was breathtakingly beautiful, every woman’s fantasy. His intense blue eyes and curling blonde hair gave him the look of a devilish cherub. He slid his long narrow finger down the cleft between her breasts.

Her newest assignment from France had been to become close and intimate with the comte, a fellow agent in the service of the prime minister. She was to monitor Lucien’s activities. There were suspicions about where Lucien’s allegiances lay.

The irony wasn’t lost on her, since she also was a double agent, turned by Cord. All the twists of her double life had gotten convoluted. She believed Cord saw past their short but passionate affair in France to know that sex wouldn’t make her forget her loyalty to Talleyrand, who had saved her from the guillotine. But then men didn’t believe women had the ability to separate sex from business.

“Do you not feel like playing today, my little
l’oiseau
?” His finger snaked under her breast.

In the beginning, she had found her mission of seducing the comte interesting, but now it was work.

“Or do I suspect correctly that this show of all your plumage is not for my benefit but for Rathbourne?”

Isabelle forced her breathing to slow. Maybe she wasn’t as bored with her assignment as she believed.

“Lucien,
mon cheri
. I always dress to please you. You’ve remarked before that this gown pleases you.”

“It does please me.” His eyes raked her breasts. “However, I’m not sure I want to share my prize with that English prig.”

He straightened and moved to the window, his cane tapping a staccato beat. He appeared to be contemplating the activity on the street below.

Isabelle prepared herself for the predictable jealous outburst. She was surprised when he continued in a mild tone of voice.

“I’ll not detain you. You expect no difficulty today in dealing with Rathbourne?”

“Lucien, darling, you can have the greatest confidence in my ability to handle Lord Rathbourne.” She seductively stretched on the chaise to allow Lucien the opportunity to guess how she intended to handle Cord.

Lucien’s breathing became audible. He exhaled slowly. “Isabelle, my tigress, I regret there is not time for you to practice your skills on me before the arrival of Rathbourne.”

He moved away from the window. He bent, taking her hand to his lips. Instead of an expected polite kiss, he slowly licked her fingers with his tongue.

“Au revoir,
ma sorciere,
until tonight.”

* * *

“Lord Rathbourne, milady.” Bolton announced Isabelle’s next visitor in his deep bass voice. She had always known that Bolton was hired by English intelligence to report her activities, but her butler’s punctilious announcement made it clear where his loyalties lay.

“Please show him in, Bolton.”

“Yes, milady.”

She positioned herself as a magnificent tableau. She wanted Cord to come to her. Her heart throbbed in excitement, the more dangerous the game, the more gratifying the spoils. She needed the missing codebook. Distraction and possible leads to the whereabouts of the codebook were tonight’s goal. But Cord’s love-making was definitely a pleasurable prize.

Cord’s wavy black hair was pushed back in disarray, as if he had brushed his hands through his hair when he arrived. With his finely-chiseled features and well-formed body, Cord would make her work for France less arduous.

“Good day, Isabelle.” Cord’s stance was rigid, his shoulders tightly pulled back.

He was in control. The game would be easy, since it was a short path from anger to passion.

“Cordelier,
mon cheri
, are you in a snit this afternoon? Come, sit here, and let me help you relax.” Using her sultry voice, she writhed on the settee, moving her hips sinuously across the cushions.

His cheeks flushed; she heard him take in a breath. The high and mighty Cordelier Beaumont was going to be an easy English whale to reel in. He cleared his throat and paused as if he could control the tension building in the room by keeping his distance.

“Please, Cordelier, come sit.” Emphasizing the French pronunciation of Cordelier, she beckoned to him, like a siren from the mythical Greek Seas, swathed in her azure blue dress.

He cleared his throat again as if struggling with his breath. “Isabelle, your role as my mistress doesn’t continue when we’re in private.”

She loved his reaction. The English were so predictable. Correct procedure, correct roles. If he needed her to clarify what their relationship could be, that was fine with her.

“Darling, I know what my role is in society, but we can have any relationship we both desire when we’re together in private. Can I show you this afternoon the relationship I desire with you?”

She drew her lips into a pouty “O” shape to suggest what she could do with her mouth, and at the same time, she rubbed her breasts, tempting him with the prospect of the pleasure the perfect orbs could bring. At the young age of fifteen, she had learned the power of her breasts.

Her uncle had not been able to resist them, nor had the sixty-year-old Marquis who had purchased her from her uncle. When the guillotine had rid of her of the Marquis, Talleyrand had offered her an escape and the chance to control her fate.

She continued to stimulate herself, rubbing her breasts and slightly spreading her legs. Watching the domineering Lord Rathbourne weaken was stimulating, and her breathing became short pants. Her control over this powerful specimen of masculinity was exhilarating.

His eyes had turned steely and his voice got rough. “Stop it. Stop it, Isabelle. We’re here to work together.”

She couldn’t suppress a laugh. Seducing Cord was enthralling, and she wasn’t about to let it end. “
Cheri
, we can work together, but I don’t think you’ll think of it as work.” She leaned toward him, removing one of her hands from her breast to reach for him. “Come here, darling. Let me do all the work.” She eyed his massive erection. “You’re under a lot of stress at the office. Let me help you relieve all your tension.”

* * *

The mention of the office helped bring Cord back to the purpose of his visit. It would be so easy to walk the few steps and indulge in all the pleasures Isabelle Villier was offering. It had been a long time since he had a woman, and he would have a powerful release with Isabelle—but that’s all it would be, a release. There was only one woman he wanted and it wasn’t just for carnal pleasure. He’d had a lifetime of empty carnal pleasure. He wanted something more, something lasting.

He watched Isabella release her luscious breast from the confines of her morning dress. He’d have to be a monk or a eunuch not to respond to the performance Isabelle was enacting. His erection began to throb.

Dampening down his masculine, primitive response, he reminded himself that he had come to get information about De Valmont, Isabelle’s lover.

“Isabelle, desist from this.” He struggled to regulate his breathing. “I’m here about your appearance at the Wentworth ball and how you’ll go on as my mistress.”

She maintained a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Cordelier, do we have to be so serious? We can play and still do our jobs.”

“Isabelle, I’ve no need to play. Let us say I’ve others…” He paused. “To meet my needs.”

She eyed his prominent manhood. Her lips and eyes warmed into a knowing look. “It’s fine,
mon cheri
. I’ll be here when the others…” She snickered, “aren’t available, since I’m your mistress.”

“Thank you for your concern.” His voice came out harsher than he planned. “Why did you attend the Wentworth Ball?”

“You said we were to make our relationship obvious. I thought you wanted a public display to establish yourself in your old reprobate identity to distract from your more secret responsibilities.”

She was lying, but why? Isabelle knew the rules. He needed to discover what she and De Valmont were planning. He assumed that De Valmont also worked for Talleyrand, but there were rumors that De Valmont also worked for another powerful person who sought to stir dissidence in the French émigrés. He wanted to know if Isabelle was involved with the subversive plot.

“The plan is for us to attend social events where men, especially foreign men, are known to relax and confide secrets that they wouldn’t consider speaking in a respectable setting.”

Isabelle leaned back and sighed, fully aware that doing so enhanced her breasts and wouldn’t go unnoticed. “How absolutely boring. I can think of more entertaining ways to establish our relationship.”

He needed to get out of this space. Isabelle had perfected the art of tempting a man. He would do better questioning her away from her planned seduction. “Let us take my phaeton around Hyde Park to reinforce what you started last week at the ball. Let’s make a spectacle at the park.”

Chapter Ten

Cord drove his matched set of black horses through Hyde Park and acknowledged that Isabelle played the role of mistress sublimely. No one would guess that he had just rejected her sexual advances and that their relationship was platonic. She flirted lightly with him, publicly allowing herself to be seen gazing at him as if he were the center of her universe. He never underestimated anyone who was so adroit at changing their roles.

“Cordelier, smile fondly at me. Here comes the biggest gossip in the ton, Lady Billingsworth.”

Hildegard Billingsworth was worth her weight in innuendo. And if the size of the turquoise dress she wore today was any indication, she was going to be going full steam by teatime.

Lady Billingsworth spoke loudly enough for him to hear when her carriage passed by them. With just the right amount of practiced outrage, she intimated that the old Earl of Rathbourne would be shocked to see his son, the new earl, with a French… The last word was lost, as it was intended to be. Her companion ladies tittered at the implication.