England's Assassin (29 page)

London, England

December 1, 1811

The wedding banquet was everything Nicole had ever dreamed and she took a moment to appreciate every winter rose and every chord of music pulled in unison across the strings of the twenty piece orchestra.

Nicole could not stop herself from smiling as she stood at the edge of the ballroom floor gawking at her stunningly handsome husband as he spun is mother about the room. Daniel caught her staring and winked like the rake that he was and Nicole pretended to ignore him, sipping her champagne.

However, the moment the Austrian crystal touched her lips she felt a tiny tug on the voluminous silk skirts of her elaborate wedding gown.

Nicole smiled as she looked down at an ebony haired child with bright blue eyes.

“Hello, Jonathan.” Nicole grinned as an elegant woman of middle years scooped him up so that they could speak eye to eye. “I was so pleased that you could come to my wedding. I don’t think that I could have gotten married without you here.”

“Because I holded the rings?”

The two women grinned at one another and the baroness, corrected, “Held the rings, darling.”

“Held the rings.”

“Exactly so.”

“Oh,” the cherub said, his little red lips forming an adorable circle.

“And because I was a friend of your mother’s.” The baroness stiffened and Nicole hastened to add, looking up to meet her eye. “Your mother is a very kind woman and I do so hope that we shall always be friends.”

The baroness held Nicole’s eye, her chin quivering before she recovered, saying, “Shall we invite Lady DunDonell to visit us, Jonathan?” The boy nodded. “Now give her the letter, darling.”

The child held out his little arm. “Granpa gived this to you.”

“Gave, darling.”

“Gave.”

“Thank you, Jonathan.”

“Welcome.” The child turned his dark head toward the banquet table. “Mummy, I want cake.”

Nicole laughed as did the boy’s mother. “Well, you had better hurry, Jonathan. The McCurren clan is rather large.”

“Congratulations, Lady DunDonell.”

“Thank you.” Nicole paused, meaningfully. “For everything.”

The baroness squeezed her hand, nodding and then went to claim a cake for her adorable son.

“He’s a bonnie lad.” Nicole heard as her husband joined her.

“Aye, Jonathan is quite a bonnie lad.”

“Are you mockin’ me, lass?” His turquoise eyes shone with feigned indignation. “Because it I don’t think it very kind to mock a man. Particularly the man you just married.”

Nicole laughed and then turned her attention to the note in her hand.

“Who’s that from?”

“Falcon.” Daniel scanned the room and aided him, adding as she broke the seal to the correspondence, “He is in the corner speaking to Seamus.”

Lady DunDonell,

I was so pleased to hear of your impending nuptials and I wanted to be the first offer my congratulations. There is no one more deserving of happiness and it brings me great peace to know that you have found it. I realize that it has been a very long time, but I wanted you to know that you will always been welcome in my home.

Sincerely,

Lord Stratton

Nicole was so shocked that she looked toward Falcon with tears in her eyes. The old man had been watching her and lifted his champagne glass in her direction.

“What’s the matter?” Nicole smiled at the concern in her husband's voice.

Nicole turned to her husband and smiled, saying in all honest. “Nothing, darling, everything is absolutely perfect.”

Seamus McCurren dragged himself into the Foreign Office at ten o’clock having never gone to bed.

He had spent the entire evening gaming at Dante’s Inferno and in the end he had still come out losing. Not much blunt, but it was vexing nonetheless. He had wandered home at sunup to be shaved and to change his attire, but his external appearance was merely a palatable façade covering deep fatigue.

“Morning, James,” he mumbled to his assistant.

“Good morning, Mister McCurren.” The man eyed him suspiciously, prompting Seamus to raise his brows.

“What?”

“Are you feeling well?”

“Why?” Seamus asked evasively.

“Your eyes?” His secretary pointed toward Seamus’s face, making small circles with his index finger as he said, “Are all . . . They look as though a sheet of glass is covering them.”

“Just get me some coffee, will you?” Seamus’s brogue was extracted by his irritation. But the man’s brows were drawn together in concern and Seamus thought to ease his anxiety. “I’m just tired, James. I had a very late night last night.”

The married father of five smiled, envying Seamus’s bachelor lifestyle.

“I see.” What his assistant saw, he had no notion, but the man must have thought Seamus needed reviving because he dashed out the door, saying, “I shall just go and retrieve a strong cup of coffee for you.” His secretary was half way out the door when he stopped and turned, saying, “Oh, you’ve just received a report, and I’ve left it on your desk.”

Seamus nodded, too tired to respond, and then opened the door to his large office and settled in his comfortable desk chair. He sighed heavily and reached for the report, leaning his chair back and propping his feet on the corner of his desk as he read.

The report was from the Naval Office, giving a detailed account of the sinking of a British supply frigate just west of Bordeaux. However, it was not the loss of the ship that landed this report upon his desk, but the manner in which the ship had been sunk.

The vessel had been ambushed, by all accounts, by three French ships which appeared to have been lying in wait in the port city of La Rochelle. And while this information could easily be disputed as a coincidental encounter, it was the attack within the two week time frame of the E anomaly appearing in the Gazette that made the attack suspect.

“Damn.”

Seamus was rereading the report when James knocked on the inner office door.

“Yes,” Seamus said, continuing to read.

However, when no coffee was produced his brows furrowed and he was just going to look up after finishing this last paragraph when Falcon said from the doorway, “Good morning.”

Seamus dropped the front two legs of his chair to the floor as his head snapped round to meet the astute eyes of his employer.

“Morning,” he greeted politely, but upon seeing a woman at the old man’s side, Seamus dragged his boots off the abused desk and rose to his feet. “Good morning,” he said to the lady and bowed with as much elegance as he had remaining, before he focused his attention on the small woman’s face.

“May I introduce to you, Lady Pervill,” Falcon offered.

“That is not necessary, my lord.” The girl’s astonishingly blue eyes met his as she held out her hand in his direction, adding, “Mister McCurren introduced himself three nights ago at the Spencer ball.”

Seamus kissed the back of her hand, taking her bait . . .and a bit more. “Aye, but I’m astonished that you remember, Lady Pervill, as I recall you to be rather occupied at the time.”

“Oh, no, speaking with my father never requires more than half of my mind,” the lady said, calling him out.

Seamus hid his amusement behind a polite smile and offered to his guests, “Please, do have a seat.”

The lady sat in Seamus’s leather chair while the old man found a wooden chair tucked in the corner of the spacious office.

Falcon looked up at Seamus who remained standing and said, “Lady Pervill will be assisting the Foreign Office with our inquiries, and I have determined the best use of her skills would be in this department.”

The thought of a woman running underfoot stiffened his smile, and Seamus stared at Falcon and then glanced at Lady Pervill. A knock at the door broke the awkward moment, and when James Habernathy entered with his coffee, Seamus could have embraced the man.

“That is a very generous offer, Lady Pervill. However, I already have a secretary. Thank you, James,” Seamus said, overly appreciative as he took his warm cup of coffee from the man’s dutiful hands.

Seamus took a long sip to prove his assistant’s usefulness and Lady Pervill raised a brow and then turned, irritated, toward Falcon.

The old man rose, saying, “You may go, Mister Habernathy.” When the door closed, Falcon’s brandy colored eyes met his. “I’m afraid you are misunderstanding the situation entirely, Mister McCurren. Lady Pervill will not be your subordinate. She will be your colleague.”

Seamus waited for the end of the jest, and when none came he laughed, saying in a thick brogue, “Pardon me?”

“I will be moving a second desk into this office and you will be working hand in hand with Lady Pervill to decipher French communiqués intercepted in Britain.”

Seamus glanced at the woman glaring back at him and then turned to Falcon, “Perhaps, my lord, it might be more appropriate if we discuss this matter at another time.”

“This matter is not up for discussion, Mister McCurren. You have done excellent work thus far, but you need help, and Lady Pervill is eminently qualified to provide you that much needed assistance.”

“Or guidance.” The lady smiled caustically, eliciting a turn of the head from the old man as he looked directly at her.

“Or guidance”—Falcon nodded—“in untangling this latest code. Lady Pervill has been briefed and her clearance is of equal status as your own.”

It was a slap in the face and Seamus was set back on his heels. The petite woman made a great show of evaluating him from the tips of his boots to the top of his less than academically adequate head.

“Well,” she said to Falcon as if Seamus was not standing in the middle of the bloody room. “It appears as though it will take a day or two for the man to adjust. I can certainly see why his intransigence of thinking might prove ineffectual in decoding French communications.”

“Thankfully, we were fortunate enough to acquire your services, Lady Pervill,” Falcon said with a nod of respect. “I shall have your desk ready by tomorrow morning and all pertinent papers will be awaiting you.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Lady Pervill rose and the two small people walked around Seamus as if he were a lamppost. “I shall look forward to working with you.”

Falcon opened the door and the woman left without once glancing in Seamus’s direction. No sooner had the door to his office closed than did he voice his protest.

“My lord, you cannot be serious?”

“Oh, but I am, my boy. Lady Pervill will be working with you as of tomorrow.”

“The lady is unqualified, not to mention impolite.”

“The woman is brilliant, and you deserved every barb she gave you.” Falcon gave him the full force of his authority, saying, “My decision is final.”

“Then at least put her in her own office.”

“It is more beneficial for the Foreign Office if two scholarly heads are put together.” Falcon opened the door and smiled, his yellowing teeth hidden by what Seamus thought to be amusement. “Besides, I don’t have another office to put the lady in. Good day, Mister McCurren.”

***

Seamus McCurren arrived in his office at precisely half passed eight the following morning.

He had come at such an ungodly hour to ensure that the location of the desk provided the inconvenient Lady Juliet Pervill was placed where he wished it to be.

Well, that was not entirely accurate, for he wished it to be located in the corridor. But if he was to be shackled with the woman then he would damn well position her desk as far away from him as was possible.

“Good morning, James.” His secretary glanced up from his desk, clearly stunned to see Seamus arriving so early in the morning. Seamus ignored the man’s surprise, opening the inner office door as he asked, “A cup of coffee if you ple—”

His request was cut off by the sight of Juliet Pervill sitting behind a small desk which had been placed in front of the office window. Her chestnut hair was twisted in a severe chignon at the back of her neck and she wore a gown that made her skin turn as drab as the gray color.

The lass glanced up and nodded politely toward Seamus while speaking to James Habernathy. “Have you located the documents I requested?”

“Uh.” Mister Habernathy looked toward Seamus for assistance. “No, ma’am. I was just on my way to prepare Mister McCurren’s morning coffee.”

Seamus raised a triumphant brow and acknowledged the woman’s presence. “Good morning, Lady Pervill.” Then making clear that James was his secretary, said, “Black would be fine.”

The lady’s light blue eyes flashed and she set her gaze on Seamus. “Surely, this late in the day Mister McCurren is in no need of refreshing?” Then her eyes pierced his discomfited secretary. “And do you not think it more urgent, Mister Habernathy, that our office deals with the security of this country before the comforts of its occupants?”

James paled and Seamus took pity on the poor man. “You may retrieve my coffee when you have finished gathering the documents so”—he turned his head and met the woman’s unflinching gaze—“urgently needed by Lady Pervill.”

“Yes, my lord,” James said, leaving before the lady had an opportunity to take a second bite.

Seamus took a step toward his desk which faced the wall opposite hers when the lass asked with a raised brow, “My lord?” She pretended to mull the title over in her mind. “I’d no idea that you held a title,” she said, knowing full well that he was the DunDonell spare.

Annoyed, Seamus sat in his chair and turned to face the bothersome woman.

“It is a courtesy title.” She smiled and he added, “Rather like yours, Lady Pervill,” before politely turning his back on the lady that behaved otherwise.

“Would you be so kind as to tell me,
Mister
McCurren,” she began, having caught his slight. “The details of the discovery of this code?”

Hackles raised, Seamus lifted his head and spoke over his right shoulder. “As his lordship has no doubt told you, the anomaly appeared in three publications which—”

“Means the mathematical probability of a consistent printing error is highly unlikely,” she finished, reading his mind. “Yes, I agree.”

“I am so pleased our conclusions meet with your approval,” he said, picking up a new report in need of analysis.

Seamus had not even read half the page when he saw the tiny woman standing beside his overcrowded desk. “And you have found no pattern in these articles?”

Seamus sighed and looked up at the lass, her dusting of freckles more visible as she stared down at him.

“No.”

“And you have found four anomalies printed in three publications over the past two months?”

“Yes.”

“May I see them?” the lady asked, failing to take the hint.

Unaccustomed to having his findings questioned, Seamus looked into her clear eyes, holding her gaze. “There is no pattern in those articles, Lady Pervill.”

“Nevertheless.” The girl smiled. “I would like to read them.”

Seamus handed her the clippings, knowing that she would find nothing.

“Do let me know your conclusions,” he said, smiling before returning to the document on his desk and completely ignoring her.

The woman eventually wandered off and he heard not a peep from the opposite side of the room until James Habernathy returned to the office with a stack of newspapers and a laden luncheon tray, both of which he set on the lady’s small desk.

“Lady Appleton sends luncheon with regards.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of Lady Appleton,” Lady Pervill said as though she had just been invited to tea. “Thank you so much for bringing it to me, Mister Habernathy.”

“Not at all,” James said with considerable pleasure, adding an overly reverent inclination of his head.