A Code of the Heart (The Code Breakers Series Book 3) (9 page)

“Miss Amelia, are you comfortable?” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

She tried to lighten his serious mood. “My injury doesn’t warrant bed rest, but Lady Gwyneth and the doctor were quite fearsome.”

“Of course, you must rest. You lost a great deal of blood, and you’re quite pale.”

“I doubt greatly that I’m pale. This is my normal skin color. I suspect you look worse than I do.” There was purple bruising below his eye, covering his strong cheekbone almost back to his ear. “I stopped a ball, but by the looks of it, you stopped a very large fist. We make quite a pair; now we’re matching.” She teased, but the gorgeous man stared at her as if she were on her deathbed.

He stepped closer and she got a whiff of his scent—lime and male muskiness. “I’m truly sorry. This was my fault. If I had stayed quiet, you wouldn’t be injured.”

The way he looked at her, with such concern and care, she couldn’t look away. Butterflies danced a fast tempo in her stomach. She was captured again in his all-consuming stare.

He clasped her hand gently, as if cradling a flower. Growing up with brothers, she had never been treated delicately. “That you could’ve been seriously injured will always weigh on me.”

This man couldn’t be the rogue he was reputed to be. He was gentle and caring. The heat of his hand and his total attentiveness was causing her heart to thump in irregular beats against her night rail. “Please, you mustn’t berate yourself. I’ve had much worse injuries from playing cricket with my brothers. My brothers are hell-raisers, and if they were here, they wouldn’t believe I was in bed over a minor knock on the head.”

“Your brothers should be horse-whipped for mistreating you. I’d never hurt you or want to see you hurt.” He leaned closer as if to kiss her.

Amelia couldn’t force air into her lungs. Her mouth was dry, and she licked her lips.

He watched her tongue, entranced. He withdrew his hand to his side. “Miss Amelia, is there anything I can do to make amends?”

Feeling heady from this enormous male’s devouring stare and intense attention, she contemplated his riveted concern. “I want to know what you said before I got hit with the ball.”

His eyes widened in surprise and his posture stiffened.

Her curiosity grew. Whatever he had said, he was obviously hesitant to share.

“What I said isn’t important. I was wrong to distract you.”

“You did ask what I needed.” Bantering with the serious and very attractive Lord Brinsley was definitely helping her headache. “What did you say?”

The golden chips in his green eyes darkened. He opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking.

Definitely an interesting reaction. She couldn’t untangle her own reaction to the dazzling man. Interacting with Lord Brinsley was challenging and stimulating. She wanted to tease him and comfort him at the same time. He looked desperate for tenderness.

“Your silence makes the remark more interesting and mysterious. I love mysteries. I won’t let you escape until you tell me.” She used her charming voice—the one that usually could soften her brothers and her father.

“It isn’t a mystery.” He stared at her. His face tight, his lips held into a grim line. “I actually didn’t say anything. I…I just moaned.”

Amelia sat up in the bed, dislodging the bandage. It dropped down below her eye. “Moan? You were hurt?”

Lord Brinsley leaned over her and adjusted the bandage away from her eye. “I wasn’t hurt. I moaned because of the enticing way you stood in the batting stance.”

He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the touch of his fingers sent exhilarating pulsations throughout her body. “But I stand like everyone else.”

“But you’re not everyone else.” His voice was gravelly as he tenderly tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear.

It took Amelia a moment to understand what Lord Brinsley meant. Her mouth made the shape long before the sound came out. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” His face softened and his lips curled into a smile as he watched her face flush scarlet.

With his lips curved upward into a tantalizing smile, he was the most enthralling man of her acquaintance.

“You could beat any men in cricket just by standing in the batting pose.”

His words, and the way he said them, were turning her body into a burning inferno. She felt the heat slide down her throat, to her breasts, to her stomach…and beyond.

She wanted him to kiss her again—the same way, with his tongue deep in her mouth. She wanted to feel him pressed against her.

Neither of them moved or breathed—both frozen by the forceful attraction between them.

Chapter Ten

The next morning Amelia and Gwyneth stood in front of Helene’s shop. Amelia hesitated to open the door, her reticule containing the two dolls stuffed with diamonds clutched to her chest. Her stomach fluttered and her head throbbed. She hadn’t slept last night, kept awake by her tantalizing experience with Lord Brinsley and her nervousness about this visit. Could she actually lie to Helene, her close friend? With her tendency to turn beet-red when agitated, she wasn’t exactly the best candidate for subterfuge.

Gwyneth lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s going to start to look suspicious if we continue to stand in front of the shop. We should go in.” By the animation in her voice, Gwyneth wasn’t worried about the deception, only excited by the chance for adventure.

“You’ll follow my lead? You’ll not make Helene uncomfortable?”

“My goodness, Amelia! You make me sound cruel.”

Amelia sighed. “I’m sorry, but Helene is a friend, and she’s been through so much. When you get enthusiastic, you sometimes forget everything else.”

Gwyneth linked her arm in Amelia’s and they entered the shop. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll try to curb my eagerness. And, like you, I really do value my friendship with Madame de Puis.” Gwyneth then giggled. “She is the best modiste in London.”

The strong scent of roses and cinnamon filled the fashionable space. Amelia loved Helene’s élan for turning this very basic square room into a gorgeous cocoon of decadence and simplicity. With billowing white silk on the walls and drapes accented with gold, and the scent of roses, the shop was an enticing retreat for the crème of society’s ladies.

At the tingling of bells above the door, Helene emerged from the back room. “Lady Gwyneth and Miss Amelia, you’ve come early?”

Amelia studied Helene’s face, trying to reconcile whether her face was one of the French smugglers. She accepted that Helene had to buy from the smugglers to keep her business alive, but it would be a totally different proposition if Helene were herself a smuggler dealing in diamonds.

Gwyneth nudged Amelia with her elbow.

“I hope not too early, Helene. I wanted to show Lady Gwyneth the fabrics that have just arrived.”

“Of course, you’ve brought the dolls?” As Helene stepped closer, she gasped aloud. “Miss Amelia, mon Dieu! What has happened to your face? Should you be out of bed?”

Amelia curled her lips into a smile of sorts. If she heard from one more person that she should remain in bed, she’d scream aloud. It had been hard enough to convince her father that the injury was nothing serious. Jack, her oldest brother, would arrive today and he’d be worse than her father in scolding and attempting to protect her. Like another forceful gentleman whom she’d been unable to put out of her mind since his tender care after the accident.

“I’m fine, Helene. I was hit with a cricket ball. The bruising looks a lot worse than the actual injury.” She repeated her mantra. “I’ve never felt better.”

Helene curtsied to Gwyneth. “Lady Gwyneth, the fabrics that Miss Amelia has chosen will look wonderful on you. You’ll make a most beautiful bride.”

“Thank you, Madame. I was so impatient to see the materials that I called on Miss Amelia early. I wanted to arrive before any other ladies.”

Helene’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I understand…an impatient bride. Please be seated, and I’ll have Elodie bring out the fabrics. May I get you champagne, tea, biscuits?”

They had planned to catch Helene off-guard. Amelia was to speak in a blasé manner. “Lady Gwyneth loves the dress design on the doll.” Amelia’s hand shook as she untied the knot in her reticule. She removed the dolls, wrapped in their silk and handed them to Helene.

“You’ll look ravishing in that gown, and the veil is magnificent especially with the red accents, Lady Gwyneth,” Helene said.

Amelia scrutinized the modiste’s face for any hint of deception or artifice. Helene remained calm and composed. There were no obvious signs of anxiety at the appearance of the dolls. Amelia worried that Helene would notice the slight wrinkles in the fabric from Gus’ drool.

“Thank you, Miss Amelia, for their prompt return. Lady Stamford has requested to view the newest dolls. She wasn’t pleased at not having first priority.”

Gwyneth’s dark brows shot up in surprise.

Amelia ignored Gwyneth. It was preposterous to consider that Lady Stamford might be involved in smuggling. She was one of the ton’s most respected ladies.

“I’ll have Elodie take these dolls immediately to Lady Stamford,” continued Helene.

Amelia nodded her understanding at Helene’s urgency—Lady Stamford could be very demanding.

Helene unfolded each doll and inspected them carefully. Amelia’s heart thundered up her chest, roaring into her ears. With Helene’s attention to detail, she’d certainly notice that the doll’s heads had been manipulated.

Amelia couldn’t look at Gwyneth since she knew Gwyneth’s expression mirrored their shared anxiety.

Satisfied with their appearance, Helene re-wrapped the dolls, and then opened the white silk drapes that parted the show room from the work area. “Elodie?”

Elodie was one of the young French women recently hired to work in the shop. Helene employed many seamstresses throughout the city who worked on all the garments in their own rooms, but only two assistants worked on-site in the small shop.

A willowy girl with her dark hair pulled back in a heavy bun appeared at the curtain. “Yes, Madame.”

Helene handed the girl the wrapped dolls. “Take these to Lady Stamford, and be quick about it.”

“Yes, Madame.” The young French girl kept her eyes downcast and her face averted, as she curtsied. Amelia saw nothing suspicious in the young woman’s behavior since she was not more than eighteen years old and obviously nervous to be in front of ladies.

The young girl scurried out of the shop without looking back, the dolls clasped tightly to her breast.

Surely if Helene were involved, she would not have allowed the diamonds to leave her shop. Helene’s composed expression gave no hint of guilt or worry.

Amelia hadn’t wanted to let the diamonds out of her sight. How could they keep track of the diamonds now that they were leaving the shop?

As if their plan hadn’t totally been changed by the fact that the dolls were gone, Gwyneth placed her hand on Helene’s arm. “May I go to the back room to see where you work? Amelia has described the brilliant splendor of the fabrics, laces, and ribbons before they become your fabulous creations, and I simply must see them with my own eyes.”

Helene’s eyes narrowed, her voice severe. “My lady. It isn’t proper.”

“Proper?” Gwyneth’s haughty tone, sounded like an outraged Aunt Euphemia. “I’m not allowed to see a room filled with fabrics and women sewing? Pray tell, why not?” Gwyneth had hoped to scrutinize the back room for clues to the mystery of the diamonds, but Amelia feared she was getting into her dramatic role a bit too much and would raise suspicions by her uncharacteristic curiosity.

Helene’s face was enigmatic. The poor woman must be confounded by Gwyneth’s sudden interest in pursuits much below her station. Amelia watched Gwyneth’s black brows come together in a severe line so like her brother’s. A determined Gwyneth wouldn’t be easily thwarted.

Amelia needed to act fast. She swayed and reached for a chair. “I suddenly feel faint. Perhaps it was unwise to come out this morning.”

Gwyneth grabbed her arm. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have dragged you out of bed this morning. I’m going to take you straight home. Jenkins is waiting out front.” Gwyneth’s voice was so compassionate that Amelia wasn’t sure if she caught on to the ploy or if she was truly concerned.

Amelia felt badly about acting a damsel in distress, but she must follow the smugglers to help her friend and her country. A fortune in diamonds could wreak havoc on England’s safety. On the brink of rumored invasion by the French, the English were suspicious of the French already in the country. And if the ladies of the ton suspected that Helene’s shop was the center of a smuggling ring, her business would never recover.

Helene’s hazel eyes narrowed in question. “You do look pale.”

Amelia had to swallow the retort she almost blurted out to defend her fair skin. “I am not…”

With a steadying arm around Amelia’s shoulders, Gwyneth hustled her toward the door. “The sooner I get her home, the better.”

Amelia turned back as Gwyneth guided her out the door. “Thank you, Helene. I’m sorry to have caused you worry. Lady Gwyneth and I’ll return when I’m feeling better.”

Gwyneth kept a firm grip on Amelia’s arm and whispered. “Keep acting ill, in case we’re being watched.”

Amelia jerked her head up to look around. “Have you seen someone?”

“No, but from our experience at Christmas time, it is possible, and acting as if French spies were watching us makes our adventure much more exciting.”

Amelia scoffed. Gwyneth was incorrigible, but also very sensible and capable—well beyond what her brother and Ash imagined.

Gwyneth maintained a brisk pace to the carriage. Jenkins hastened to put down the step and helped them ascend.

Amelia sat back against the cushioned seats and let out a deep sigh. “We’ve got to get to Lady Stamford right away before Elodie gets there.”

“I assumed that was the plan behind your sudden fainting spell. You’ve never fainted in your life, have you?”

“No, only knocked un-conscious.” Amelia touched her bruises, already turning purple and yellow, like Lord Brinsley’s.

“Right. Sorry. But once we get to Lady Stamford, what then?”