The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (9 page)

Seamus met his brother’s gaze, silently telling Daniel to sod off.

“If you will excuse me, I am expected for the next dance.” Seamus lied.

“Certainly,” his sister-in-law said. “But I shall expect you for the seventh.”

“I look forward to it as always.” Seamus bowed toward the group as a whole and shot Daniel a warning glare before making his way toward the lovely widow.

She was encircled by dandies, pups, and rogues but Seamus was undeterred.

“Our dance, I believe,” he gambled.

The widow smiled at his audacity and gave him her hand. “Yes, I believe it is.”

Seamus swept her into his arms as the next dance began, noting how pretty her pale skin looked in contrast to her black hair.

“Are you residing in town permanently, Lady Everett?” he asked seductively, pulling her slightly closer than was advisable.

“Yes, I am, Mister McCurren.” The experienced woman fluttered her lashes. “Although my town home is in desperate need of updating and lord only knows how long that will take. My late husband had absolutely horrid taste when it came to décor,” she added, making it clear that she was a lonely widow in need of companionship.

“Thank goodness I was able to secure the services of Mister Ferguson.” Seamus had the distinct impression that he was supposed to be impressed. “Mister Ferguson has already begun to refurbish the ground-floor parlor, choosing a palette of vermillion and gold. I am quite pleased with the outcome thus far and hope to host a musical as soon as the ground floor is complete.

“Unfortunately, my bedchamber will not be refurbished until the common areas have been finished.” The widow smiled, invitingly grazing his thigh with hers as they held one another in their sensual dance. “However, that should not interfere with the overall function of the room. Do you not agree?”

“I shouldn’t think that it would,” Seamus said, suddenly not interested in finding out.

The widow laughed suggestively and Seamus danced with her until he was able to return the worldly woman to her adoring hordes.

Juliet turned her head at the strident sound of a lady’s laughter as an attractive woman spun the length of the room in Mister McCurren’s experienced arms.

She stared and, much to her annoyance, found Seamus as elegant on the ballroom floor as he was eloquent in his academic suppositions.

Yet, as arrogant as he was, Juliet had to admit that the man was beautiful—stunningly, breathtakingly, ruggedly beautiful—and the woman in his arms obviously thought so, too. The lady was absolutely simpering and Juliet was sure that they would end up in bed together. The idea was somehow . . . disheartening.

A widow could do as she pleased, bed any man she wanted, and as long as she was discreet . . . the
ton
looked the other way. Yet polite society was not so blind when it came to virtuous ladies like herself . . .

“So, what have you been doing with these studies of mathematics, Lady Juliet?” Daniel McCurren asked and Juliet all but groaned aloud at her continuing interrogation.

“Nothing as of late,” she fibbed, wishing she had her cousin’s ability to mask her mood behind a polite smile.

“My God, Daniel!” Lady Dunloch came to her rescue, piercing her husband with her violet eyes. “Do stop badgering Lady Juliet and come dance with me.”

The Marquis Sheldon turned to Felicity and offered her his arm, saying, “Shall we,” with all the grace of an experienced politician.

Dipping her head as if immensely honored, Felicity conceded, “Yes, thank you.”

Sighing at her perpetual solitude, Juliet leaned back in her chair in the corner of Sarah’s massive ballroom, swinging her feet beneath her voluminous skirts. She was not a shy woman, by any means, but neither did Juliet enjoy the idle chitchat so prevalent at society functions.

And what on God’s green earth was the matter with Daniel McCurren? At one point, Juliet was sure he was going to ask her to present her mathematical papers at this very ball.

Regardless of the viscount’s annoying prodding, Juliet was relieved that the evening seemed to be going so well. Not a single person had given her a second glance, no doubt because Sarah’s husband would toss them out on their ear if they did.

Still, it was a relief, and Juliet was grateful to both the Duke and Duchess of Glenbroke, not only for this evening, but for their unwavering support of her. Juliet was contemplating ways in which to show her gratitude when someone entered the circle of chairs.

Thinking Christian had finally wandered back to the fold, Juliet looked up, smiling at her friend. “Nice to see you again, Christi . . . Oh, it’s you.”

“Your enthusiasm for my companionship is overwhelming.” Seamus McCurren glared down at her like a handsome laird.

What was it about a dark man that made him more masculine, more sensual, more utterly . . . appealing?

Flustered by just how appealing the man was, Juliet offered him her right hand, saying tartly, “My enthusiasm is directly proportionate to the quality of my companion.”

The Scot brought her hand close to his lips and then dropped it, taking the seat to her immediate left.

“You’ve quite an acid tongue, Lady Juliet,” he said, his golden eyes cold.

“How would you know, Mister McCurren, as you have only tasted my lips?” Juliet ignored the sting of his assessment and focused on her anger.

His full lips compressed into two thin lines. “I came to offer you my apology.”

“For your kiss?” Juliet raised both brows as Seamus McCurren glanced about the room, clearly not wishing the
ton
to know that he had kissed the notorious Lady Juliet.

The Scot met her eye, refusing to answer, and she sharpened her aim on the one thing men valued above all else . . . their pride.

“Yes, it was rather a sloppy kiss, now that you mention it.” His spine stiffened and she continued to torment him. “Do you apologize to all the women you kiss or just the women not in your employ?”

His eyes flashed and Juliet was pleased to have shocked him. She lifted her left eyebrow and grinned at her bawdy implication, both of them knowing that she had managed to bring him to a heated simmer.

His already impressive chest was made broader as Seamus McCurren took a calming breath before allowing himself to speak.

“I merely hoped to assure you that my . . .” He sought the appropriate word. “Actions of yesterday were not motivated by a desire to see you resign your commission at the Foreign Office.”

“Then what was your motivation for your ‘actions of yesterday’?” Juliet asked, her heart jumping from a trot to a canter.

Seamus McCurren blinked his beautiful eyes once and then said, “My ‘actions of yesterday’ were motivated by an admiration . . .” Juliet could not breathe, her heart now at a gallop as embarrassment passed over his perfectly proportioned features. “For your books.”

Her heart faltered and she sputtered inelegantly, “My books?” as if the man were not adding up.

Seamus McCurren nodded. “You have read my papers. You know that my research involves the analysis of ancient texts.”

Juliet could not believe what the man was implying. “Are you suggesting that you kissed me yesterday out of some peculiar sense of . . . appreciation?”

“I have never seen a book of that . . . age written in Mandarin. I suppose if you had been a man, I would have . . . embraced you. But as you are a woman . . .” He shrugged his flawless shoulders. “I . . .”

“Kissed me.” She nodded.

“Quite.” The Scot inclined his dark head, saying, “Therefore, I offer you my most sincere apologies and wish to assure you that my enthusiasm for my work shall never again interfere with our assignment.”

Dumbfounded, Juliet had no notion what to say to the man. She understood to some extent having passion for one’s work, understood the thrill of intellectual discovery. But this . . . “enthusiasm” for old tomes seemed a bit beyond the pale.

But then again, the man was a Scot and they tended to be people of passionate sensibilities.

“Would it be easier for you if I removed my books from the offi—”

“No.” The unflappable Seamus McCurren actually blushed. “I am confident that my enthusiasm will
never
,” he said with such emphasis that she felt a twinge affronted, “be repeated.”

Juliet paused, knowing she had but two options. One, she could resign from the Foreign Office, or two, accept Seamus McCurren’s somewhat offensive apology.

“Very well.” Juliet chose the latter, shaking her head as she shrugged. “I accept your . . . apology.” She looked at the man, and upon seeing his considerable relief, her mouth opened of its own accord. “It is not as though anything remarkable—”

“Excellent.” Seamus McCurren turned, interrupting her discourteous assessment of his amorous abilities. “I shall see you Monday morning?”

She only wished that the insulting appraisal were true.

~

Seamus
sat in his carriage wondering why in the hell he had touched the obstinate woman. It was humiliating enough that he had behaved like an ass, only to have to kiss her hand for the pleasure of that humiliation.

He sniffed his white glove for the twentieth time, knowing that the glove was ruined. It smelled so strongly of lavender that Seamus was sure the girl had a bar of soap tucked beneath her stylish chignon.

His carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home and Seamus jumped down. He scarcely looked at his butler as he walked into the entryway.

“Put these in the rubbish bin, they smell of lavender.” Courtesy of an irritating little woman with a freckled face and larger breasts than he’d given her credit for.

Before he had the opportunity to hand his butler the tainted calf-skin gloves, the man announced, “You have a guest, Mister McCurren. I have taken the liberty of placing him in your study.”

“Who is it?” Seamus asked, stuffing the gloves in his jacket pocket.

“His lordship Viscount Dunloch.”

Seamus opened the door to his study, rolling his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

Daniel rose from a chair in front of the fire, grinning like the blackguard that he was. “Can’t a man visit his beloved brother merely to—”

“Not this man.” Seamus sat behind his desk. “Now, cut line, Daniel. I’ve not got all night.”

“Need to brush up on differential calculus, do you?” His brother laughed outright and Seamus could have murdered the handsome bastard.

“If you wish to leave my home with our relationship intact, I suggest you stop right there.”

Ignoring him, Daniel resumed his seat then lifted his black Hessians to rest on the ottoman.

“I just wanted to discuss your problem now that I know the identity of the lady you’re attracted to.”

“I’m
not
attracted to Juliet Pervill!”

“Very well,” Daniel conceded. “The woman you desire, but are not attracted to.”

Seamus thought about it and decided that after two such incidents he would just have to live with that humiliating assessment. “Discuss away.”

“First of all, what in hell gave you the idea that Juliet Pervill was homely?” Daniel’s brows were furrowed with confusion.

“I don’t know,” Seamus admitted after seeing her tonight. “The first time I saw the lass was the evening she confronted her father. Initially, my attention was on Lady Felicity.” Daniel nodded, fully understanding that any man’s attention would be on Felicity Appleton. “And then my mind was on the scene, not the lady. If you take my meaning?”

“Aye, but Seamus, you’ve been working alongside the lass for the past . . . what? Three days?”

Seamus ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. “She’s been wearing these gowns . . .”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hope to God the lass has been wearing gowns. What else would she wear to Whitehall? Breeches?”

“Christ Almighty, would you just leave my house.”

“Not until we discuss the matter fully. Right.” His brother blew out a thoughtful breath. “You say you were not attracted to her, but you desired her. Was she kind to you?”

Seamus scoffed. “Uh, no.” Being long acquainted with the lady in question, Daniel snickered. “Although to be fair, I was not the most chivalrous of gentlemen when she first arrived at my office.”

“You said Lady Juliet was speaking of differential calculus when you kissed her?” Daniel eyes narrowed to turquoise slits.

“Aye, I was bored to tears. Mathematics is not my area of interest.”

His brother’s back suddenly stiffened and his eyes grew wide as he nodded, smiling. “I know what ails you, Seamus.”

Daniel rose and Seamus lifted himself from the edge of his seat. “Do tell, brother of mine,” he said sarcastically, desperate to know what his brother understood that he did not.

“No.” Daniel shook his auburn head. “I don’t think I shall.”

“What?” Seamus gave up all pretense of disinterest.

“You’re a clever man, Seamus, but at times you’re a bloody idiot. This, dear brother, is one of those rare times.”

“You pronounce me a fool and then just leave me to behave like one?” Seamus was furious and more than a little frustrated.

“Aye.” Daniel nodded, explaining, “Your admiration for Lady Juliet is something best determined by you.”

Seamus shook his head, uncomfortable. “All I need is a new paramour.”

Daniel laughed, clasping him on the shoulder. “Good night, little brother.”

Seamus let the blackguard leave, sure that his desire for Juliet Pervill was simply a result of her close proximity.

Seamus kicked off his boots and removed the lavender scented gloves from his pocket, smelling them one last time.

“Damn!” he cursed, catching himself.