The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (11 page)

Seamus followed her tiny little finger down the unusual journal to the dramatically circled figure at the bottom of a page.

“Determining with a seventy-nine percent probability that the
London Herald
would be the next publication in which the marker would appear.”

As she sighed with satisfaction, Seamus just stared at her, his heart racing . . . with anger? “Why did you not bring your finding to the Foreign Office first thing this morning?”

Instead of gallivanting through the park with your lover.

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, holding his eyes.

“Yes.” He did.

“I did not go to the Foreign Office this morning because I went for a drive in Hyde Park with the man I thought to marry.”
Thought to marry?
He waited for her to explain. “Yes, you see Lord Barksdale made me quite an offer this morning.”

Seamus was stunned. “Uh,” he blinked, “congratulations, Lady Juliet.”

She snapped the leather journal closed, her silky hair swishing from side to side as she walked back to her desk.

“None required, I’m afraid,” she said with the casual air of someone declining to have sugar in her afternoon tea. “Robert merely asked me to be his mistress. Again.”

Seamus’s head jerked back in disbelief and then his jaw clenched. “Lord Barksdale asked you to dishonor yourself before today?”

“Yes.” She spun round, looking into the air as if she were contemplating the question. “But to be fair, Robert was kind enough to offer to marry me at some distant point and only
after
I become his mistress.”

“Well, we must be fair to Lord Barksdale.” Seamus couldn’t contain his sarcasm as he felt the heat of anger burning in his chest.

“You did ask why I was not at the Foreign Office.”

“Yes, but I thought you would inform me that you had a lame horse, not that Barksdale had . . . asked you . . .” Juliet looked so lovely standing by the desk that Seamus had the overwhelming urge to go to her, to press his lips to her throat. Taken aback by the depth of his inclination, Seamus tensed markedly. “To become his mistress.”

He quelled his own lustful thoughts and watched the petite woman set the journal on her desk.

As Juliet Pervill returned to the sitting area, he watched her walk toward him with the anticipation of a spider watching a fly. He knew then that he should go—quickly.

“Well, if you are already aware of the article,” he said, beginning to rise. “Then I shall see you—”

The lady placed her hand on his shoulder and he sank back onto the chaise, shocked by the jolt of her touch.

“You can’t leave.” Juliet Pervill was looking down at him, which wasn’t very far, considering her stature. “I haven’t read the article and as you’re here . . .” she said, her delicate brows pulled over her striking blue eyes.

“We can discuss the matter tomorrow at the Foreign Office.”

“Oh, I see.” She resumed her seat next to him, nodding. “I made you uncomfortable when I spoke of mistresses?”

“Yes.” Seamus echoed her nod, jumping on any excuse to avoid thoughts of making her his.

He leaned forward to rise, and being a clever woman, Lady Juliet anticipated his attempt to leave. She placed a hand on his right thigh and his lungs collapsed in on themselves.

“Forgive me, Mister McCurren,” she asked, her hand lingering longer than it should have, but less than he wanted it to. “I speak too freely. I just thought as you are an . . . experienced gentleman and, well, you did ask.” She sounded irritated.

“I shouldn’t have.” What the hell was wrong with him? He had never been a man to lose control with women. But as Juliet Pervill continued to touch him, Seamus knew that he was so very, very close. He met her eye, willing her to understand his attempt at chivalry. “I really . . . need to leave you, lass.”

“Why? You’ve just gotten here.”

Could she be so naive? Yes, an innocent girl would be blind to a man’s need.

“Because if I don’t go, I’m going to kiss you,” he said, intentionally blunt.

She jerked her hand from his thigh as if he were made of fire. “Why?”

Her curiosity was killing him.

“Why would I kiss you?” He laughed.

“Yes.” She nodded as if he were one of her equations.

“Because men enjoy kissing women,” he said, knowing that an innocent lady would not understand a man’s desire for a particular woman.

Hell, he did not understand his desire for this particular woman.

“Perhaps I want you to kiss me,” she whispered, her honest eyes revealing a tentative spark of lust that sent his heart racing.

“Why?” Seamus needed to know and he knew also that this woman would tell him.

Juliet shrugged shyly and her long, dark hair shifted over her lovely bosom.

“I like your company.” Her simple confession caught him off guard. “And I like the complexity of your eyes.”

She reached up and caressed his cheek with her hand then moved down to catalog his other attributes, and bastard that he was, Seamus just sat there and let her.

“I like the way your sideburns emphasize your jaw.” Her fingers traced that line and his heart began to pound.

His mind screamed warnings of the dangerous waters she was wading into, but his body took hold of his tongue, silencing him.

The lady leaned closer, the tip of her forefinger brushing his bottom lip as she whispered, “I like the way you kiss me.” She stared at his lips, adding, “And I liked the approach you took in determining commonalities of sequencing in ancient languages.”

Seamus’s breath became shallow but he managed to whisper back, “And I quite enjoyed your article on volume displacement. Your conclusions will prove very useful to British shipbuilders.”

She gasped, clearly shocked by his knowledge of her work. “Yes, I thought so, too.”

They stared at one another and the glistening of firelight against her moist lips was more than Seamus could take. He bent his head, closing the last few inches separating them, and kissed her soundly, unable to stop himself.

His hands slid around her tiny waist and her arms curled around his neck, both pulling the other closer, deeper into the sensual embrace.

The lady’s lips parted and she sought his warmth as eagerly as he sought hers. Their tongues intertwined and she gave a soft mewling of approval that sent a wave of lust straight to his shaft.

She tasted of inquisitive inexperience and an intellectual potency that all but brought him to his knees. Seamus kissed her more deeply, with more sexual purpose, but she pulled her head back and stared at him.

Her eyes were filled with desire. She glanced at his face, his neck, and finally at the exposed flesh of his chest, confessing, “I like the way you feel.”

Bloody hell!

The lass bent her head to kiss his throat and Seamus gritted his teeth as her soft breasts brushed his chest. He took his hands off her hips and clutched the edge of the chaise until his knuckles turned white.

“Juliet,” he protested weakly as she untied his cravat, pressing her eager lips on his newly exposed flesh. He should stop her, stop this from going . . .
Oh, God.
His fingers speared her lush strands as she kissed him just below the ear.

“I even like the way you smell of leather and . . .” Her nose nuzzled his neck to confirm his scent. “Masculinity,” she breathed in his ear.

“Stop, Juliet.”

But she wasn’t listening. She was too focused on tasting his throat as her hands explored the rest of him.

“Juliet.” He held out for as long as he could, but when she began unbuttoning his shirt, he lost the battle.

Seamus lifted her onto his lap, moaning at the feel of her backside against his length. He bent his head, needing his turn, needing a taste of her, finally kissing the feminine line of her throat.

His right hand was caressing her breast before Seamus knew what he was doing and they both moaned in appreciation. He lifted his head, eager to press his lips to the succulent mounds when a flash of light drew his attention to the near empty glass of scotch sitting atop her side table.

The lass was foxed!

The boldness of her kiss, her blatant desire, he should have guessed. But he was too damn caught up in his own need to notice her liquid courage.

Bloody hell!

Seamus slid her off his lap as he rose, distinctly dissatisfied. “I have to go,” he said to himself.

He had no notion why he desired Juliet Pervill. Something about her drove him mad.

She was shorter than was his taste, and her face was flawed by freckles that emphasized her innocence when he preferred the sophistication of experienced women.

“No, you don’t.” She looked up at him.

But those eyes.

His stomach flipped with a ripple of wanting as those clear, blue eyes continued to peruse him.

Lady Juliet Pervill might be an innocent woman, but the lass sure as hell admired the male form. Seamus could see it in her gaze, had felt it in her fingertips, and he wondered what such a clever woman would do if those hands were given free reign.

Seamus blinked, his breathing erratic.

“Trust me, lass.” He nodded adamantly. “I do.”

He thrust both his hands through his hair then turned his back on her to ease his lingering sensual thoughts.

And his thoughts were wicked, but Seamus was a clever enough man to know that the real question was . . . why? Why out of all the beautiful women the
ton
had to offer did Juliet Pervill drive him to distraction?

He had no damn idea, but one thing was for sure. Now that he had touched her, seen her desire for him, he would not soon be able to forget it.

~

Enigma
stared at Seamus McCurren over the large gaming table, decidedly disappointed.

“Having a bit of bad luck this evening, Mister McCurren?” her front man asked.

Mister McCurren’s play thus far this evening had been dismal and was providing her absolutely no challenge at all. Indeed, if the gentleman continued on this way, he would lose everything he had won upon their last meeting.

“It would seem so, Mister Youngblood,” McCurren replied apathetically, his eyes dull, distracted.

Something was clearly occupying the man’s mind. But what?

She stared at the delicious Seamus McCurren and then placed her hand on Youngblood’s inner thigh. Youngblood was an exceptional card player, which along with his good looks, was the reason she had hired him. But even with his exceptional skill, Youngblood was nowhere near capable enough to deal with Seamus McCurren on his own.

With the possible exception of this evening.

“Are you unwell, Mister McCurren?” she asked, searching for any explanation for his appalling play.

“No.” He grinned halfheartedly, understanding her fully. “Although I wish I were so that I might offer you some form of explanation.”

“No explanation necessary.” Youngblood dealt, drawing McCurren’s attention away from her. “Dante’s welcomes your money.”

After making mincemeat of the Scot yet again, Enigma left Youngblood to run the table. She crooked her finger for Mister Collin to walk upstairs with her while calculating McCurren’s considerable losses.

“Where are we in our dealings with Lord Harrington?” she asked Mister Collin when they arrived in her office.

“We’ve set up our man as butler,” he began, closing the door, “And arranged for two of our whores to work as chambermaids at the Harrington estate.”

“Are they trained domestics?”

He nodded.

“Clever girls, are they?” Enigma asked, sitting behind her desk.

“Yes, Mira has already sent along information and I’ve just left her reports on your desk.”

“Anything of import?” she inquired, reaching for the missives.

“Not particularly, but the girl did manage to bed a member of the House of Lords, asking him what ‘they was goin’ to do about that bloody Napoleon and the fool revealed several possibilities being discussed.”

“Excellent, double the girl’s fee.” Enigma sighed, changing the subject to more interesting matters. “Now, what have you learned about Seamus McCurren?”

“Nothing more than I’ve already told you.” The bodyguard bristled. “He is a scholar and the second son of the Earl of DunDonell, wealthy in his own right after investing the funds his father gave him.”

Enigma nodded, having known similar men, mesmerizing gentlemen who had taken advantage of her intellectual thirst by taking her to bed.

She had been a poor girl craving an education and they had certainly given it to her. But she had gotten their money in the end. When her naïveté and innocence were finally vanquished, she had been the clever one.

Smiling at the memory of her past triumphs, she turned to Collin. “I want Seamus McCurren followed.”

“Why?”

Because Seamus McCurren was different from those gentlemen—he was clever, noble, and stunningly handsome. Her old weakness for brilliance troubled her and Enigma reprimanded herself.

“If you question me again . . .” She shot Collin a glance that bore through him as if it were a ball of lead. “It will be the last question you ask.”

“My apologies,” he offered wisely.

Still, she sighed, there was something about Seamus McCurren that demanded investigation.

“I want to know everything about Mister McCurren; where he goes, who he speaks with, everything. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

“Very.”

“Tell me about his women.”

The bodyguard’s eyes flared. “He kept a paramour for almost a year but he recently threw her over.”

“For whom?”

“I’ve not heard rumors of a new mistress, but he is reported to take to quality”—the man paused—“ladies of the
ton
. Particularly blondes.”

“Blondes?”

“It was bandied about town some years back that McCurren frequently entertained the widow Lady Catherine in the same bed with her twin sister, Lady Rebecca.”

“Really?” Enigma smiled with admiration for Seamus McCurren’s prowess.

“But then again, he was eighteen at the time and now is six-and-twenty.”

“You don’t think the gentleman still up for the job?”

“Not now.” Mister Collin shook his head and stared at her. “McCurren’s not the sort to keep two lovers.”

Enigma walked toward Collin, pressing her breasts against his chest.

“You mean like me?” she whispered seductively.

Her bodyguard’s breathing was becoming shallow. The more he lost control, the more she wanted him to.

“Yes,” Mister Collin ground out. “Like you.”

“Now, Jack.” Enigma fluttered her lashes, caressing his cock with her right hand. “You must admit that Mister Youngblood is damn beautiful.”

Mister Collin remained silent, knowing that she was intentionally taunting him.

“Do you really . . .” She pushed his jacket off those deliciously broad shoulders. “Want me to choose between the two of you?” she asked, discouraging his stupidity. “Or would you rather take me to my desk and plow me?”

Her bodyguard made a primal grunt and began stripping her of her clothes by way of an answer. And when she was nude before him, Jack laid her atop the desk and stared at her body while he himself undressed.

Enigma teased him while she waited, drawing his attention to places she wanted touched, caressed.

Mister Collin’s body was itself beautiful, larger and far more muscular than Youngblood’s. His arms bulged into rounded mounds of muscle as he worked diligently to remove his stubborn trousers. He stepped forward, his chest broad and so captivating that her eyes descended to view more of him. She stared at his erection and smiled up at him, provocatively spreading her thighs. His dark eyes flared and he grasped her around the waist, yanking her to the edge of the sturdy desk.

“Let me ride you,” he asked, knowing the rules.

“Youngblood is far more skilled a lover,” she said, inciting his anger. But this time he grinned, confident of her desire, then leaned over so that her tight nipples brushed his hard chest.

He stared down into her eyes, his thick arms on either side of her head when he whispered, “We both know you don’t want Youngblood’s skill, you want my power.”

“Yes,” Enigma admitted and he impaled her.

She cried out at the sheer force of the man over her, in her. It was so rare that she was able to be dominated, and as his intoxicating power moved against her, Enigma allowed herself to be overcome. With each masculine thrust, Mister Collin was becoming more aroused, more demanding.

He grabbed her backside and drove deeper, groaning, “Can you feel how deep I am inside you?”

“Yes.”

He smiled, his lean stomach contracting as he thrust into her. “Am I a better lover than Youngblood?”

She did not reply and he squeezed her nipples, causing her to shiver. “Am I better?”

She nodded once, so close to finding her pleasure that she could hardly speak.

“Say it,” Jack whispered, holding her eyes. “Say I make you tremble harder and longer than Youngblood ever has.”

“Yes.” She met his arrogant gaze and her bodyguard smiled, devoting himself to performing his duty. “Yes,” Enigma said, encouraging him as his hips drove faster, deeper, and then she arched her back, spreading her thighs so that she could feel more of him, more of his power.

The instant he saw that she had reached her peak, Jack grabbed her waist and gave one last thrust, spilling himself with a feral groan of sublime satisfaction.

Enigma came to her senses slowly, leisurely. She opened her eyes and licked her dry lips as he watched, still inside her. She gave him one last caress before pushing him away, and it was his turn to tremble before her.

She rose to her knees on the desk, slightly taller as she faced him and then looked into his possessive eyes.

Enigma made sure that her breasts brushed his rough jaw as she whispered in his ear, “You might have a bigger cock, but Youngblood is much prettier to look at.” Mister Collin’s eyes hardened in anger as she had intended. “And if you’re very good”—she stroked his chin with the back of her fingers—“I shall let you watch the next time I ride him. Would you like that, Mister Collin?”

“No.” Jack jerked his face away from her provocative touch.

“Oh, I think that you would.” Enigma exerted her power over him. “Have you never lain in your bed when you knew that I was riding him and—”

“No!” her bodyguard growled.

“Wanting to watch what he did to me, wanting to know how he made me—”

“Does Youngblood know?” Mister Collin’s eyes fixed on hers and Enigma felt a jolt of excitement at his rebellion.

“Know what, darling?” She slid off the desk and he followed her as she gathered her clothes to dress.

“Does Youngblood know that while he is downstairs charming your customers, you are upstairs screaming for me?”

“Careful, darling.” She ran her finger over the scar she had given him, but he continued to speak in defiance.

“Mister Youngblood strikes me as the jealous type, but then you like to have men fighting over you.” Jack pulled her hard against him. “Like two dogs with the same bone.”

“One more word,” she warned, “and I shall make Seamus McCurren my new dog.” The idea was appealing. “And what do you think I will do with the old one?” Mister Collin released her, knowing full well what she was capable of.

“Now get back to work, and when I want you”—she made clear her other choices—“I will call.” She slapped him on that tight, bare ass. “Now do as your told.”