A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1) (18 page)

He bent on one knee next to her. “Henrietta?”

She tried to jump to her feet but her skirts got tangled. Cord caught her and gathered her close to him. He breathed in the lilac scent of her hair and pressed a fallen curl behind her ear.

“They hurt Gus, too.” Her eyes were bright with tears. Blood was streaked down her evening gown. “He must have tried to protect my uncle.”

“I’ll take a look at him, but Labradors are a sturdy breed.”

“After they carried Uncle Charles…” Her voice shook, she swallowed and tried again to speak. “I found him here with a large bump on his head.”

Cord didn’t want to let go of Henrietta, but he needed to reassure her about her dog. He stooped over the dog. “I’ll try not to hurt you old boy, but let’s make sure you don’t have any other sore spots.” He ran his hands along the dog’s back, stomach, and legs. The Lab didn’t react to the exam.

“Gus has no other injuries—only the bump on his head. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Henrietta nodded.

He wanted to kiss away the tears on her flushed cheeks, to hold her in his arms until the shattered look on her pale face disappeared. Instead he handed her his handkerchief.

“Hen, where are you?”

Her body stiffened against his side when her younger brother entered the library.

“Edward, I’m here with Gus.” Her tone changed with a false cheerfulness.

“Everyone’s in an uproar. They won’t tell me anything,” the young boy said.

Henrietta handed Cord the handkerchief. She smiled at her brother. “Someone broke into the house and surprised Uncle Charles in the library.”

“Mrs. Brompton sent me to say Doctor Hadley has finished with his examination of Uncle Charles. Why does Uncle Charles need a doctor?”

“Uncle Charles was injured by the thieves.” Her voice quivered and her chest moved in painful breaths, as if each word was an effort.

Cord couldn’t watch her excruciating struggle to appear calm for her brother. “Dr. Hadley has reassured us your uncle will be fine, except for a headache.”

Henrietta gave him a grateful glance over Edward’s head. The young boy nodded but said nothing until Gus whimpered.

“What’s wrong with Gus?” Edward dropped to all fours to talk with his dog. “Gus, why are you under the table?”

Henrietta bent over her brother. “The thieves must have tried to stop Gus.”

“They hurt Gus?” Edward’s voice trembled, his green eyes widened with horrified shock.

Henrietta’s face contorted in pain for her brother’s anguished plea. She gave a deep exhalation. “I’m sure Gus attacked the men. You know what an amazing watchdog he is. He’s very protective of you and Uncle Charles.”

Witnessing Henrietta and Edward’s suffering caused Cord’s rage to surge. No one would get near them or hurt them again. He would do a better job of protecting them. “Edward, can you help me get Gus to the kitchen.”

Gus sat up at the mention of the word
kitchen
.

Edward laughed. “Look, Gus is ready to go to the kitchen. He knows he’ll get a bone.”

Gus thumped his tail with the promise of a treat.

Henrietta put her arm around her brother’s shoulder. Her face was soft with nurturing tenderness. “Gus is going to recover nicely.”

An area around Cord’s heart, an area he didn’t know he had, filled with longing.

“It falls to us men to take care of Gus since your sister needs to attend to your uncle.” His voice was husky with emotion.

“Thank you.” Her smile was wan, her hair had come loose and strands hung around her face. He thought she never looked more beautiful—a warrior woman who battled to protect her family.

“I can’t let Gus be alone when he’s injured. May I stay with him?” Edward asked.

“It will be a great help to me to know you’re taking care of Gus,” Henrietta said.

She brushed at her blood-smeared gown then her eyes darted around with panic. “I’ve misplaced my reticule in the chaos.”

She started to search, behind the chair, under the cushions, on the desks, under the cushion again. Speaking to herself in rapid French, “
Ah, Zut alors, où est mon sac?
” Unaware of him or her brother, she continued to hunt frantically for her bag. “
Oh que c’est penible
.”

“Is it possible you left your reticule in the carriage or at the ball?” Cord asked.

She startled at the sound of his voice, as if she had forgotten he was in the room.

“Shall I send a footman for it?” He asked.

She searched his face. “I’m sure it was on my wrist when I came into the library. In all the excitement, I seem to have misplaced it.”

“I’m sure the maid will locate it tomorrow.”

Her eyes narrowed and two bright red spots appeared on her checks. “I don’t want the maid to find it. I need it now—not tomorrow.”

Her anger over a missing reticule packed with a handkerchiefs and hairpins was out of proportion but she had endured a traumatic evening. If finding the missing reticule would relieve her distress, he would find the bag. In less than a minute, he spotted the green reticule under an armchair by the fireplace.

He picked up the flimsy silk bag. “Here it is.” Surprised by the reticule’s weight and oblong shape, he ran his hand over the bag. There was a book inside the reticule. Why would she bring a book to a ball?

Henrietta rushed toward him and grabbed the bag out of his hand. “Thank you, Lord Rathbourne, for all you’ve done tonight.” She didn’t meet his eyes as she touched the reticule. “I must go to Uncle Charles.”

She turned toward Edward. “I’ll come to the kitchen to check on Gus once I’m sure Uncle Charles is settled.” Her voice got shaky and she swallowed hard. “Uncle Charles and Gus are tough. Both will soon be fine and ready for military strategies and scones.” She departed the library without looking at him.

* * *

Cord spoke with the staff, after settling Edward with his dog in the kitchen. He wasn’t taking any further chances concerning Henrietta and her family. He posted men to guard the house.

Assaulting an old man and a dog was the work of thugs. But the thugs were definitely looking for something in Harcourt’s work. His years in the business had taught him to listen to his gut and his gut was twitching with suspicion. He wished Harcourt was well enough for him to question. Sir Ramston, a family friend of the Harcourts, could answer some of his questions about the family’s potential enemies.

He departed without getting to say good-night to Henrietta.

Traffic across Mayfair was clogged with society, retiring in the early hours of the morning. He sat in the carriage, impatient to speak with Sir Ramston. In all his years of spy work, he could think of no evening quite as tumultuous as tonight. Hard as it was for the seasoned campaigner to accept, he teetered close to the edge of losing control over a green-eyed enchantress.

At the ball, seeing Wycliffe and De Valmont touch Henrietta, Cord had wanted to beat the men into a heap and claim her for himself. He had come close to ravishing her on a balcony when she’d responded passionately to his kisses. Then seeing her vulnerable, crying over her dog, he wanted to be her protector. Within minutes of possessing strong chivalrous feelings toward her, he wanted to wring her neck for keeping secrets from him. He had never experienced such a see-saw of emotions. And his little code breaker was hiding a book in her reticule. What was so important about the book that she had taken it to the ball and was there any connection to the break-in?

He should have set aside his feelings for Henrietta and acted like an intelligence officer. He should’ve questioned her when she was most vulnerable. Instead, he had been agitated to see her upset and all he could think about was how to comfort and protect her. In the morning, he would insist on answers, answers about the mysterious book.

Chapter Twenty

Cord stood outside Sir Ramston’s house, waiting for Kemble to answer the door. He was eager to review the evening’s events with Sir Ramston but expected a long wait to talk with his mentor. The lateness of the hour shouldn’t be an imposition since Sir Ramston barely slept. Agents, diplomats, and ambassadors called upon Sir Ramston at all hours of the day and night.

The energetic and solidly-built butler and Sir Ramston’s body guard greeted Cord as if it were mid-afternoon. Kemble’s exacting manners and pressed black suit couldn’t disguise his bowed legs or his past in the cavalry.

Kemble led Cord into a small drawing room away from the main hallway. The location allowed for ultimate discretion as neither arrivals nor departures could be viewed. As Cord had expected, Sir Ramston was meeting with someone. He’d have to wait.

The delay was fortuitous as it gave him time to rethink the evening’s events. When he presented his report, he wanted to be precise and logical about Charles Harcourt’s assault. His thoughts were muddled all due to a combustible red haired, green-eyed lady.

Cord was surprised when Kemble returned immediately to lead him to Sir Ramston’s library. Cord’s Hessian boots tapped crisply down the brightly lit corridor hung with epic paintings of battle scenes. Familiar with Sir Ramston’s taste, he gazed at the mix of bloody Roman battles and English triumphs.

Kemble announced him in a cultured, aristocratic voice, barely betraying his Yorkshire roots. Sir Ramston stood at the fireplace, the fire to his back.

Cord moved toward Sir Ramston. “I apologize for the late hour, sir.”

He was so focused on making his way to Sir Ramston that he almost overlooked the figure seated on the couch. Noting the back of a woman’s head, he felt self-conscious that he had interrupted what appeared to be a romantic interlude. Fumbling for words, he was shocked to hear a familiar voice.

“Cordelier, my boy, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Aunt Euphemia?” His aunt was seated on the couch, one leg crossed over her knee, in a very unladylike posture. His face heated with the implications of his aunt’s presence alone with Sir Ramston at this late hour. Red-faced and embarrassed, he felt like a young boy caught snitching tarts out of the kitchen.

His aunt sat with a wide grin on her face, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Ramsey, dear, I think we’ve done it. I never thought I’d see the day this arrogant buck would be speechless.”

“Effie, don’t torment the boy. He’s obviously uncomfortable and must have important matters to discuss.”

His aunt and Ramsey?
And they spoke of him as if he were a lad of fifteen years.

“I apologize, Cordelier, for enjoying your confusion, a little revenge for all the years of your mischief.”

“Aunt, I’m surprised to find you out at this late hour.”

“You can’t hoodwink me. I know what thoughts are racing through your mind and they aren’t related to the time of night.” His aunt’s belly laugh dislodged the lace fichu that decorously fluttered with each guffaw.

Sir Ramston moved away from the fireplace. “Cord, a brandy?”

“He looks like he could use a large one. Ramsey, I could do with a wee bit more myself.” His aunt’s voice had a warmth that he had never heard before.

Sir Ramston handed Cord a snifter of brandy.

“Thank you, Ramsey…uh, I mean Sir Ramston.” Cord coughed to hide his mistake.

He had just called Sir Ramston
“Ramsey.”
Could this night get any more bewildering? He sat across from his aunt in his usual chair

Sir Ramston walked to the table to pour himself brandy.

It was the same library, the same chair, the same excellent brandy; everything was exactly the same as all the other evenings he conferred with Sir Ramston. All the same except his world and his stomach were now spinning out of control.

“Ramsey and I were just discussing that it was time to reveal our secret when Kemble announced your unexpected arrival. As the new Head, I hope that you’ve come to the correct conclusion about my late hour presence.”

He had come to the correct, shocking conclusion. Using the French word
affaire
didn’t make it less shocking that his aunt and Sir Ramston were romantically involved.

“Aunt Euphemia, I’m sure I don’t know what conclusion you expect me to make by your presence here.”

“Dear boy. I work for you. I mean I would work for you if I weren’t retired.”

“What?”

“I’m a spy…was a spy.”

“You’re a what?” He tried to sound reasonable, but his tone came out outraged. “How can that be? How can I not know?”

Still spinning from the thought of his aunt as Sir Ramston’s paramour, he now had to digest that his aunt had been a secret agent. His mind wouldn’t work. He couldn’t believe what his aunt was saying.

Sir Ramston patted him on the shoulder before sitting next to Aunt Euphemia. “I know it comes as a shock, but Effie just returned to town. I felt it was important that she be the one to tell you of her work.”

He knew his aunt to be a voracious reader and traveler with great insight into the political realm, but a spy? He gulped the brandy, enjoying the fast burn down his throat to his stomach. He waited for the heat to soften his agitation and shock.