A Code of the Heart (The Code Breakers Series Book 3) (4 page)

Of course she was pale—not from shock but from absolute humiliation. She was on the verge of laughing and crying simultaneously. Ash had been protecting her, acting like her brother, but he had bared her childhood infatuation with Michael to a virtual stranger. She felt violated.

Lord Brinsley’s hands were warm and his eyes filled with compassion. She wanted to lean into his comfort and strength. With both her friends moving forward with their lives, she felt left behind. But this is exactly how she had ended up in his arms in the first place—her loneliness and her need for comfort.

He leaned toward her as if he might kiss her again when the noise of the door opening alerted them both.

“Amelia, Amelia.” Edward, Henrietta’s younger brother, ran into the room with Gus, his yellow Labrador. “I’m just back and Brompton told me you were here. Did you remember to bring your breeches?”

Edward looked exactly like his older brother—his curly yellow hair, the blue eyes, and the charming and irresistible Harcourt smile. His resemblance to her childhood infatuation, Michael Harcourt, wrenched something inside Amelia and the memories and youthful fantasies she’d clung to after her world careened out of control with her mother’s death, flooded to the surface.

Amelia jumped up from the settee, wrenching her hands free. Lord Brinsley stood as she did, but instead of stepping away, he stepped protectively close.

Edward stared up at Lord Brinsley. “Wow, you’re big.” And without taking a breath, the next question rushed out of Edward’s mouth. “Do you play cricket?”

Amelia couldn’t help but chuckle. Lord Brinsley turned and gave her the most irresistible crooked smile. She felt the familiar breathlessness he created in her. It took a minute to look away from this captivating smile on the face of the man who was always scowling.

Remembering herself, she scolded, “Edward, where are your manners?”

“But Amelia, this is perfect weather for us to practice. You promised.”

“Edward.” Amelia raised her voice, projecting the same commanding tone she used with all her brothers. “This is Lord Brinsley. Lord Brinsley, this ill-mannered young man is Edward, Henrietta’s younger brother, and as you can guess, a cricket fiend. And his companion, sitting there all prim and proper, is Gus.”

Edward bowed his head toward Lord Brinsley. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Lord Brinsley bowed deeply to Edward as if meeting a duke. “The pleasure is all mine. And I don’t blame you at all for wanting to be outside on such a fine day.” He knelt down on one knee and rubbed Gus’ head. “Do you fancy cricket as well, old boy?”

“Gus’ talent is stealing the ball and making us chase him to get it back.” Edward shifted his weight impatiently. “Amelia, can you practice today?”

“Miss Amelia is a cricket player?” Lord Brinsley sounded impressed.

“Amelia is an amazing wicket keeper. If she weren’t a girl, she’d be unbeatable.”

“Thank you, Master Edward.” Amelia curtsied. “Such strong praise indeed.”

“But she is a girl.” Lord Brinsley’s gravelly voice close to her ear sent ripples of sensation down to her toes.

Despite his young age, Edward was very observant, much like his gifted older siblings. He glanced back-and-forth between Lord Brinsley and her. “Does my brother know about him?”

“What?” Amelia’s voice came out high, strangled with indignation.

“Michael won’t like him paying attention to you, even if Lord Brinsley looks like he could easily pummel him.”

“Of all the most ridiculous…”Amelia blustered. She couldn’t believe every gentleman, even the young ones, felt compelled to protect her today.

“Edward Michael Harcourt—Silence!” she shouted. Her red-haired temper flared. Drawn by her agitation, Gus came around the table and sat at her feet, placing a giant paw on one of her feet as if trying to calm her.

Edward looked crestfallen, his innocent smile now sheepish. “But…Amelia, you know you’re going to marry Michael.”

“I know no such thing. And it is not for you to discuss with anyone. It is between Michael and me.”

Lord Brinsley had gone utterly immobile. This morning was turning into a nightmare.

“But how will I get to have you as a sister if you don’t marry Michael?” Edward’s voice was wretched and sincere.

Now she felt like an incredible ogre. Tears burned behind her eyes. She stepped around the table and pulled Edward close to her. “I will always consider myself, first and foremost, your sister, no matter who I marry.”

Edward’s voice cracked. “Gosh, Amelia. You don’t have to go all sappy on me. How will I be able to play cricket if you aren’t around?”

Now, Amelia almost burst into a hysterical laugh. She covered her mouth with her hands, but she couldn’t prevent the giggles from escaping.

Lord Brinsley chuckled, a low and gruff sound.

Amelia looked up into his laughing eyes. His harsh, angular face had softened, making him look years younger.

Caught in his gaze, she struggled to pull herself together.

“Now that we’ve aired everything private about me…” Seeing his appreciative look, Amelia didn’t feel as embarrassed or exposed as she had earlier.

Edward leaned over the table to pick up the last two biscuits. “Who ate all the food? Gus and I are starved.”

“I’m the guilty party,” Lord Brinsley said.

“You must eat a lot…with your size.” Edward inspected Lord Brinsley carefully. “Are you a bowler?”

“I’ve played that position.”

“Will you play with Amelia and me today? I bet you have a wicked arm.”

“Edward, I can’t practice today. I’m here to help Gwyneth with her wedding plans.”

“How long can wedding plans take? And where is Gwyneth? Is she with Ash again?”

“Yes, she’s with Ash. And when she returns, we have to go over details.”

Edward also channeled the persistence and doggedness of the Harcourt family. “What about tomorrow? Will you join us, Lord Brinsley? I bet I can get Cord to play. That is, if Henrietta is feeling better. I wish Michael would return home. He’s the best bowler. Isn’t he, Amelia?”

Where was Michael? Henrietta had told her he was recovering from the bullet wound he sustained in Paris. “How can Michael be on a journey? He’s supposed to be at his estate resting from his wound.”

Aware of Lord Brinsley’s close presence, she heard his sharp intake of breath. Since he already knew that Michael was someone special to her, she didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t interested.

“I don’t know. Henrietta won’t tell me. She told me to stop badgering her about him. She said she’d let me know when he returned. Will you play with us tomorrow, Lord Brinsley?”

“I’d be happy to play cricket with you tomorrow, Master Edward—as long as Miss Amelia is willing to join us.” The corner of his lip, twisted into a smug smirk.

Edward jumped in place. “Stupendous. Gwyneth will play and I bet if Gwyneth plays we can get Ash to play. It is too bad that Hen can’t play, she’s an amazing fielder.”

Amelia was trapped. She couldn’t deny Edward. His enthusiasm was contagious. She tried to give Lord Brinsley what her brother’s called her wicked, mean look, but it fizzled upon seeing his roguish grin. She had no choice, but to grin back at him.

“Tomorrow should be an interesting game.” His suggestive tone caused her skin to tingle hot and cold. “Will you be wearing breeches?”

Color rose up into her face for the hundredth time today. “No, I will not. But I will plan on my team winning.”

And with that challenge, she lifted her chin and marched out of the room in search of Gwyneth.

Chapter Three

Amelia followed Madame De Puis into the large storage room in the back of the modiste’s shop to view the newly arrived smuggled treasure.

With England and France at war, the fabulous silks and lace essential for dressmaking couldn’t be obtained from France. The contraband bolts of silks, lace, and velvet stretched across the polished wooden worktable.

A singular joy filled Amelia as she took in the rainbow of colors and textures on display. She reverently stroked a supple, pale pink silk with a hue as delicate as the gossamer wings of fairies.

Amelia turned to her friend. “Helene, this feels like Christmas all over again.”

Ladies never questioned where the fabrics come from or how they were obtained, but Amelia’s frequent visits to the shop and her close relationship with the modiste revealed the full details. Smugglers were the suppliers.

“Yes, Maurice has done well with this shipment.” Helene, known to the ton’s ladies as Madame de Puis, was the finest modiste in London.

Amelia was surprised by the mention of a name of the smuggler. Helene had always been most discrete.

“The timing of this shipment is perfect for Lady Gwyneth’s wedding.” Amelia walked around the table. “I want the dress to be in the red palette for the perfect Valentine wedding.”

Helene unrolled a bolt of a soft, rose-colored
Peau de Soie
. “
Un tissu q’elle adore, oui
?” When excited, Helene forgot herself and spoke in French.

Amelia leaned closer to inspect the material called
skin of silk
or
Duchess Satin
. “It’s the perfect hue for Lady Gwyneth’s wedding ball gown.” Amelia was designing yet another gown for another close friend’s wedding. She tried not to give in to the melancholy that she wasn’t a bride and didn’t see becoming one in the near future—she was resigned to designing the wedding dresses, never wearing one.

Helene unrolled the fabric. “The
Peau de Soie
has just the right stiff drape for the design you’ve drawn, don’t you agree?”

Amelia arranged the material over her arm, testing the weight and fold.

“I couldn’t be more pleased. Lady Gwyneth will look beautiful in this.” Amelia pictured her friend’s dramatic black eyes and ebony hair contrasting with the pink-toned dress. Lady Gwyneth was going to make a gorgeous bride.

Amelia’s lonely life stretched out in front of her. Soon she’d be designing wedding dresses for Gwyneth’s and Henrietta’s daughters.

She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t usually one to dwell on unhappiness. She knew exactly where to lay the blame for her conundrum—Lord Derrick Jeremy Randolph Brinsley’s ardent, vehement kiss. Now she understood why her friends always had a silly smile on their faces—passion.

Amelia pulled out the pastel pink chiffon silk that she had first found. “This would be delightful. This chiffon silk is supple and will make a beautiful drape for the veil.”

“And what about your dress? We must have you look as beautiful as the bride.” Helene’s eyes and voice had softened as if she had read the proper reason for Amelia’s melancholy.

Amelia attempted a smile. “As only the designer, I can’t outshine the bride.” But in her heart, she wanted to shock and tantalize a certain gentleman out of his complacency—Michael Harcourt, the Earl of Kendal, her childhood obsession. She expected him to attend the wedding ball. But why was she having difficulty remembering what he looked like? And why did her mind keep circling around to the ardent embrace with Lord Brinsley and his dazzling smile yesterday at tea?

She had planned to use her dress designs to entice Michael Harcourt in the same manner she had helped Gwyneth capture Ash’s attention.

“I want to wear red,” Amelia said. She sorted through the pile, looking for the right shade of reddish-purple. As a redhead, she had to be very careful in her selection of reds.

Helene widened her eyes and raised her eyebrows. “
Rouge
?”

“Not deep red.” Amelia did fantasize arriving at the ball in a ruby red dress with a revealing décolletage. It obviously worked for Gwyneth, and there wasn’t any reason it couldn’t work for her. Except Gwyneth had a voluptuous figure and dramatic looks. Unlike her friend, Amelia was tall and thin with very little cleavage. Her mother had called her “willowy,” but her brothers, less tactful, called her “beanpole.” She did have womanly curves, just not the kind that gentleman found irresistible.

“More the color of raspberries,” Amelia added.

“Yes, more on the pink side.” Helene concurred.

Amelia hated that she was more of a pastel woman, implying a girlish color versus a bolder red, the color of a passionate woman. Except, with Lord Brinsley. The color in her face began to rise as she remembered her electric response to his demanding hunger.

Helene smiled. “Thinking of someone you’d like to impress, yes? You are a beautiful woman and a stunning artist. Whomever you choose, will be very fortunate to have you as a wife.” Helene patted her arm.

Her shared love of all things related to design and fabric had forged a unique friendship with Helene. Ladies were never friends with women who worked in trade, but Amelia had great respect for Helene, both as a designer and a woman who survived terrible things that had occurred in France. Not that Helene ever spoke of her past except to contend that it was “best forgotten.” She had made a new life in England.

“Thank you, Helene. I wish I were as confident as you.” Her feelings remained confused—she had always dreamed of Michael as her husband, but her thoughts kept returning to Lord Brinsley’s hands on her body, and his gruff moans as he pressed against her. She couldn’t believe she had allowed the rake to kiss and fondle her as if she were one of his accommodating women. If her brothers ever found out, she’d promptly become bride to a man spurned by society or he’d be found wounded on some dueling field somewhere. The man was not husband material, so why couldn’t she forget him?

As Helene turned to speak with one of the shop girls, Amelia explored through the rolls of fabric on a side table. “Helene, you’ve received fashion dolls in this shipment.” Amelia held up two small packages wrapped in silk.

Helen whirled around. “You found them?”

“Yes, they were tucked under this roll of muslin.” Amelia rested a hand on the bolt of flower-print cotton.

Helene’s manner was clipped and business like. “I received only two dolls. I hope the war will end soon; it is so difficult to stay abreast of French fashion. My ladies care more about fashion than Napoleon conquering the world.”