The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (15 page)

And then she remembered their work.

“I forgot to tell you that I’ve begun a statistical analysis of—”

“Stop talking, Juliet.” His breath was ragged as he spoke.

“But this is quite pertinent to the code.” Juliet leaned back so that she could look up at him. “I’ve been formulating an equation based, ironically enough, on a French mathematician’s recent findings—”

Seamus scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Juliet.” Seamus stared down at her as she lay on the coverlet, his eyes a hot flash of gold. “I really need you to stop speaking, lass.”

“Am I boring you?” she asked. “I sometimes forget that the majority of people have no interest in mathematical theories, but I thought that perhaps you were differ—”

Juliet inhaled sharply as he yanked at the bodice of her gown, exposing her breasts. The cold in the room hardened her nipples into pink peaks.

Nervous, she licked her lips, trying to concentrate on something else.

“Perhaps I could help you with the sequencing portions of the code. Have you tried the Cavelli method, although finding the correct combination of . . . Oh, God.”

His mouth was covering her left nipple, sucking in rhythm while his right hand traveled up her stocking covered leg. Seamus was so gentle, so sure of where he was going, that Juliet found her body turning toward his large hands, trusting him to find his way.

She moaned at the feel of his mouth on her body and his attention turned to her other breast. Her right hand rose to caress the back of his neck then descended to the power of his naked back.

Encouraged, he lifted his head and settled on top of her, the heat of his hard chest pressing against her bare breasts. He tried to look at her, but then his beautiful eyes drifted closed and his arms tightened around her as Seamus pulled her closer into his body. He gave a masculine sigh that she would have missed if his mouth were not caressing her ear.

Her stomach flipped at the sound of his satisfaction and then she felt his lips on her neck.
Oh, my
. She could not think, could not remember what she had been so determined to tell Seamus about the code.

“The commonalities . . .” Juliet said to the world in general and he looked up. “Are rarely . . . found . . .”

She had to stop talking. She could not breathe from the pure pleasure of having Seamus McCurren lying on top of her, looking down at her. His large right hand closed over her breast and he searched her face, gauging her reaction to his touch, to him.

She was shaking, her mind unable to contain her own desire while staring into his eyes. His muscular thighs were heavy and Juliet spread her legs to accommodate his larger frame.

The moment she moved, his golden eyes closed and he gritted his teeth, but it took Juliet a moment to realize why. She had seen pictures of the male form, had even felt his erection against her. But not until his length was pressing her into the mattress did she understand the enormity of the situation.

Juliet felt a moment’s panic and then Seamus kissed her and her legs turned to jelly, making the entire endeavor much more plausible. She lifted her shaky legs, wrapping them around the strength of his torso, and the feel of him between her thighs sent a moist heat to her very core.

“Oh,” Juliet said, lifting her hips so that she could lock her ankles at the small of his back. “That’s much better.”

“Good God, woman,” Seamus whispered over her head, forcing Juliet to arch her back so that she could look up at him.

He groaned again and she could feel him shaking as he braced himself on his forearms. “Are you all right?” Juliet asked, concerned.

“Stop . . .” Seamus looked down at her. “Moving, lass,” he finished with considerable effort.

Juliet stilled until he recovered, watching as the muscles of his chest expanded with each heavy pant of discomfort. And then he was pushing himself off her, coming to settle on the side of his bed. He ran his finger through his dark hair and stared at the floor.

“Go home, Juliet,” Seamus said, closing his eyes.

Juliet had never seen a man struggling with temptation before and the thought that she was the source of that struggle made her feel . . . exhilarated.

“All right, Seamus,” she said to his beautiful back as she slid the sleeves of her gown up over her shoulders. “I will speak to you at the office—”

“No,” Seamus turned to her, shaking his head. “You will not speak to me at the office.” He stood, the flat plains of his stomach taut with tension. “I meant what I said. I’ll not work with you, Juliet.”

“Because I’m a threat to you?” She was furious.

“Because you distract me!”

They stared at one another and she had to admit that he was a bit distracting himself. However, they were both full grown and certainly able to control themselves for the security of their country. Tonight might not be a good example, but surely in the office . . .

“Surely—”

“No.” His mind was set. She could see it in his striking eyes as he looked down at her.

How could a man who was so handsome be so cruel?

“Go to hell, Seamus McCurren,” she spat, devastated.

~

On
Saturday morning, Juliet lay in bed thinking.

She had been thinking about Seamus McCurren for hours when she should have been thinking about the code.

Men were dying in battle and she dreamed of the man who had gotten her dismissed from the one place where she could help them. She should be furious with him, but after last night, seeing him . . . feeling him on top of her, touching him . . .

What was she going to do with herself now? Do needlepoint until her fingers bled, paint until her eyes crossed? Of course, she could always go to the theater and be ignored by every member of polite society.

Oh, that would be enjoyable.

So, if she could not work on deciphering the French code what was she going—

Wait! Why couldn’t she work on the code? Why was it necessary to work on decrypting the code at the Foreign Office at all? Could not a private citizen investigate suspicious activities and report them to the Foreign Office if any information came to light?

Juliet swung her legs over the side of her bed and stared at the intricate pattern of her carpet.

And wouldn’t it be wonderful if her investigation yielded information before his? Excited, Juliet jumped out of bed and called for her lady’s maid, writing out her instructions.

“I want you to have a footman run out and buy these publications.” She handed her lady’s maid the list of the four newspapers that had printed the markers. “Every day.”

“Yes, Lady Juliet.” Anne curtsied and began to turn when Juliet thought better of it.

“And don’t tell anyone,” she said. “Particularly my mother. Just bring the papers straight to my bedchamber.”

Determined, Juliet got dressed and went down to the conservatory to meet her mother and cousin for luncheon.

“Good afternoon,” Juliet said, the last to arrive.

“You’re looking very bright-eyed this morning, darling,” her mother observed before placing a napkin across her lap.

“Yes, I am in fine spirits today.” Juliet smiled, not about to tell her mother why.

“I’m so glad.” Felicity smiled back at her, having listened to Juliet’s angry rant for half the night. “I was actually quite concerned for your safety when you were at the Foreign Office. So, I am rather pleased that you shall be spending your days at home with us.”

“Mmm.” Juliet nodded and her mother looked at her with suspicion in her eyes.

“Yes, I thought you would still be very angry about your dismissal.” Her mother watched her carefully, thoughtfully.

“I thought I would be, too,” Juliet said, having learned a thing or two about dealing with her mother. “But after speaking with Felicity, I realized that working at the Foreign Office was getting a bit”—Juliet looked at the glass ceiling—“boring, really.”

“And was Seamus McCurren getting boring?” her mother asked, still suspicious.

“No,” Juliet said, in too good of a mood to be bothered by the reference to her kissing Seamus. “Just insufferable.”

“Oh, I quite like Mister McCurren,” Felicity said to the room, adding, “He is a bit dark, though. I seem never quite able to determine what he is thinking.”

“Yes, dark, brooding, and mysterious is loads of fun, Felicity,” Juliet quipped. “No, I would much prefer a gentleman as easy to interpret as Christian St. John.”

“Christian?” Felicity asked, “I’d no idea of your interest in him.”

“Nor I.” Her mother met Juliet’s eye, knowing damn well that she was not interested in Christian St. John.

“Yes, well, something to think about if I get desperate for a husband.” Juliet sighed. “Somehow I don’t think Christian would mind if his wife were ruined. In many ways, I think he would prefer it.”

“Oh, my darlings.” The countess grinned at their naïveté. “Don’t be fooled into thinking that what a gentleman says he wants is what he really desires. It is true the majority of the time. I grant you, but not when it comes to women, nor children for that matter.”

“This is a pointless conversation.” Juliet shook her head. “As no gentleman bar Christian would marry me.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” Felicity raised both delicate brows. “There will be many eligible bachelors at Lady Dunloch’ s ball, which we have all been invited to attend.”

“Oh, how lovely.” Her mother took a sip of tea. “It will be the perfect opportunity to further your cause.”

“And another perfect opportunity for me to look a desperate fool.”

“That is not at all true, Juliet.” Felicity shook her head. “All the ladies of my acquaintance do not believe for one moment that Lord Harrington . . .” Felicity blushed.

“Dishonored you,” Lady Pervill finished, coming to her niece’s aid.

“Felicity, none of the gossips are going to gossip to you, now are they?” Juliet argued.

“No, I think Felicity is correct. None of my friends believe the charge either and they would most certainly gossip to me or rather they would hound me until I told them the truth of the matter.”

Juliet smiled, seeing a ray of sunshine behind the dark clouds of her ruination. “Perhaps in a few weeks this will all be behind us.”

And in the meantime, she would dedicate every waking hour to breaking the E code before Seamus bloody McCurren.

~

Madame
Richard sat at her desk eating an apple as she read the morning newspapers. She read the papers in the quiet hours of the mornings while her whores still slept and before the afternoon customers began to arrive.

This was her time to be alone, to think, to plan her future. She had amassed quite a large fortune and was beginning to feel the itch to move on, but not just yet.

She still had unfinished business in London.

And increasingly that unfinished business took on the stunning appearance of Seamus McCurren. She stared at the pages of the newspaper and pictured the one man in all of England with the ability to match her, best her mind.

No doubt, that was why she lingered in London longer than she should, to be bested by a man as capable and alluring as Seamus McCurren.

Enigma turned to the second page of the
London Times
and skimmed the article she had written to verify that her marker had appeared as scheduled. But as she continued to read the innocuous commentary, Enigma rose to her feet, furious with what she saw.

“Collin!” she shouted, and hearing her anger, her bodyguard quickly opened the door. Enigma looked up at the man, forcing her temper beneath her smile. “Have a seat, Mister Collin.”

He did as he was told and she walked to his side dropping the newspaper atop his large lap.

“Mister Collin,” she began softly, “did you deliver the article I wrote to the
Times
last week as I requested?”

“Yes.” He nodded warily. “I delivered it exactly as I always do. Was there a problem?”

Enigma pulled a dagger from the sheath on her right ankle as she stared down at the man. “How many markers were to appear in the article?”

Mister Collin’s forehead creased with confusion. “One marker, same as always.”

“Mmm.” She tapped her chin with the fingers of her left hand. “One. Yes, that’s right. One marker. But shall we count the number of times that an E
actually
appears in the article I entrusted to you?”

“Yes.” Mister Collin nodded, knowing there was no other possible answer.

“One.” Enigma stabbed at the first E with the tip of her dagger and he grunted as the knife pierced his right thigh. “Two.” She stabbed again. “Three,” she whispered in his ear before the dagger dropped. “Four.” She jabbed. “Five, six.” She let the sixth linger in his leg, the newspaper crinkling as she moved it from side to side. “Now, how many markers were scheduled to appear in the article?”

“One,” her bodyguard said, his teeth clenched in pain.

“And how many markers did appear?”

“Six.”

She removed her dagger from his thigh and pressed her breasts against his back.

“How do you suppose Napoleon’s currier will retrieve all that lovely information I have worked so diligently to gather if he does not know where to go to get it?”

“He can’t retrieve it.” Collin breathed through the sting of his wounds, crimson slits turning his brown trousers black.

“That’s right, he can’t retrieve the information, which means that I . . .” she ground out. “Will not receive all that lovely money the French pay me.”

“I’ll go to the
London Times
straight away and have a little talk with the man who—”

“Damn right you’ll find out who is interfering with my code.” She walked in front of him, dragging her index finger along his shoulder as she did. “But first, I’m afraid you will have to be punished.”

“Yes, Madame Richard,” he said. Enigma knew just where to hit him.

“Now, call Mister Youngblood to my office, will you.”

Jack Collin met her eye but he knew better than to voice his complaint. He walked evenly from the room and she admired his ability to hide the pain his leg must be causing him.

A few moments later the door opened and Youngblood strolled in. “You wanted to speak with me?” her front man asked, his roguish smile firmly in place.

“Oh, I don’t want to speak with you, darling.” Enigma laughed, slapping him on the backside while meeting her bodyguard’s dark eyes. “Mister Collin, do wait at the door to keep us from being interrupted.”

The door closed and her smile was solely for Youngblood. The key to keeping his interest was to give the man an occasional taste, leave him wanting her all the more. It had been two weeks since she had taken Youngblood to bed, but Mister Collin did not need to be made aware of her preference.

No, what Mister Collin needed to know was that he was not the only bull in the pasture. He needed to learn his place and his duty.

Enigma stared at the handsome Youngblood, at his pretty green eyes and beautifully masculine features.

“Get undressed, darling,” she ordered and his eyes flared, his excitement increasing the more she ordered him about.

He grinned, taking his time in removing his shirt so that she might better view his bare chest and flat stomach. Youngblood did like to perform.

“Oh, but you are pretty.” Enigma looked him up and down, meaning every word. “Now, hurry up with your buckskins so that I can see all of you.”

Youngblood striped himself of everything and waited for her next order. She walked up to him, still fully clothed, and pressed her silk gown flush to his nude body. His eyes drifted closed at the feel of her hands on his chest as his erection settled against the folds of her soft gown.

“Sit down,” Enigma ordered, making him sit in the chair where Mister Collin had been. “Now, darling,” she said, lifting her skirts and settling on his lap, facing him.

“Yes,” Youngblood breathed.

“You know how much I like to hear you beg?” She kissed his neck, rubbing her body against his erection. “How much I like to hear you moan?”

“Yes.” Youngblood nodded, so very eager to be ridden.

“Louder, darling.”

“Yes.” He could scarcely talk.

Enigma lifted herself and teased him as she stared into Youngblood’s eager green eyes. “Yes,” he begged.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, sure that Collin was listening.

“Ride me, I want you to—” Enigma sank down on his rod and Youngblood groaned with the pleasure as she did. “Oh, God, yes.”

His hands cupped her backside as she moved up and down him, shifting her hips to prolong each stroke, each masculine moan of anticipation.

“How do I feel?”

“You feel so . . . damn . . . good,” Youngblood said and Enigma smiled, watching the shifting shadows beneath her office door.

“So do you, darling.” She closed her eyes to concentrate on her own satisfaction and rolled her hips, taking him deeper.

“Oh, yes, ride me. That’s it.” Youngblood stopped speaking and just grunted with each delightful thrust and then with a declaration of intent, he screamed, “I’m peaking,” loud enough for all of Dante’s to hear, let alone Mister Collin.

Enigma felt him go rigid and she looked down at him, increasing her carnal pace. The man was beautiful, and as she watched Youngblood climax, she ran her hand along his pretty cheek.

She closed her eyes and felt her own burgeoning satisfaction cresting. But as Enigma thought of Jack Collin standing in the hall, her fulfillment was altogether disappointing. Youngblood was indeed handsome, but he in no way compared to the raw power of Collin that excited her so.

However, Mister Collin still had to be punished.

“Oh,” she moaned, imitating her level of excitement with Collin, and then let out one last feigned whimper of gratification that made Youngblood smirk with masculine conquest.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“You’re an excellent ride, Mister Youngblood,” she said, leaving him with the notion that she had reached her pinnacle. “But perhaps you should get dressed and welcome our afternoon customers.”

He smiled, strutting like a peacock as he retrieved his garments, and she enjoyed watching him put them on.

“Right away, Madame Richard.” He swept her a bow, opening the door and looking back at her as Mister Collin watched. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Oh, you’ve done quite enough already, Mister Youngblood.” They stared at one another as if her bodyguard were not standing at the door. “But rest assured that I will call if I want more of you.”

Youngblood grinned before going downstairs to play the part she had hired him to fulfill.

“Come in, Mister Collin,” Enigma said, the room still lingering with the scent of lovemaking. Her guard walked toward her, his jaw set in angry granite. “How is your leg?” she asked, caressing the outside of his wounded thigh.

“How do you think?” he said, his eyes meeting hers.

“I would imagine that it hurts,” she whispered seductively. “Shall I make it feel better?” Her hand moved to caress his cock and Enigma could see the he was resisting her. But as she continued to stroke his long length, she could see his chest expanding more fully, more frequently.

“Now, go find out who is interfering with my code, Mister Collin.” He nodded, his eyes closing. “Or shall I send Youngblood to do that task for you, too.”

Collin’s large hand wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her hard against his chest. “Why send Youngblood when we both know that you prefer my work to his.”

Enigma felt a stab of desire that conflicted with her pecuniary need to control her bodyguard.

She grinned. “I might prefer your work, Mister Collin, but don’t delude yourself into thinking that I did not enjoy riding Mister Youngblood. Or,” Enigma added, “that there might be a third man I would prefer even more.”

Jack glared, his jealousy evident. “Perhaps I should bend Chloe over your desk.”

A flash of fury shot through her but she hid it.

“Chloe knows that I will slit her throat if she takes you.”

“Jealous?” He grinned.

“No, Mister Collin.” Enigma laughed as if he had the mind of a child. “I would slit Chloe’s throat for doing something she was not told to do, just as I would slit her throat for failing to complete a task I had given her.” His grip on her wrist eased and she let it fall to her side. “Now, go and find out what happened to that article.”