The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance (22 page)

“Really?” Seamus asked, knowing there was no getting out of this truss. “How’s that?” he asked, grinning.

“Marry her.”

“Marry Juliet Pervill?” Seamus laughed, leaning forward and snatching Christian’s drink from his hand. “Right. If you had not been imbibing at such an early hour, you would recall that you, along with three very large and powerful gentlemen, determined not a half hour ago that offering for the girl was my only course of action.”

“Oh, I remember.” Christian nodded, snatching his brandy snifter back. “But I mean
really
marry her. Not out of a sense of obligation or because you are being forced to do so, but because you want to marry her.”

“What difference does it make?” Seamus bent down and pulled on one boot. “We will be man and wife either way.”

“Come on, Seamus.” Christian sounded irritated, which was so rare that Seamus looked up to hear him out. “It makes a huge difference to a woman whether her husband marries her out of love or obligation.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Christian, but I don’t want to marry Lady Juliet.”

“Why not?”

Why not? A simple question, which should have been easy to answer. But it wasn’t.

“Juliet is from good stock, if you disregard her father.” Christian waved the man away. “And the lady has the added bonus of being a great deal of fun.”

“It’s not that simple, Christian.”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever thought about your place in life, Christian?” Seamus tried to explain. “I mean who you are in this world, who others perceive you to be?”

“That’s easy.” Christian lifted his brandy. “I’m the spare.”

“Right, precisely so, and I’m—”

“The clever one.” Christian nodded, understanding.

“Yes,” Seamus sighed, knowing Christian would not take that declaration as arrogance. “I’m the clever one, always have been.”

“Oh, I think I take your meaning.” Christian stared at the carved wooden ceiling, trying to put his thoughts into words. “You don’t want to marry a woman more clever than yourself?”

Seamus froze, ashamed at the implication when put in those unflattering terms. “That was not precisely my mean—”

“Challenges your place in the world, so to speak?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Seamus muttered and Christian laughed at him like the good friend that he was.

“Good God, Seamus.” Christian was shaking his head. “I pray to God that I marry a woman a good deal more kind, more clever, and bloody well more handsome than me.” Christian grinned. “Although if my wife were a better lay about than I, I might myself feel the sting of competition.”

“You’re making me feel rather petty, St. John.”

“You are being rather petty, and arrogant, and at the moment . . . bloody stupid. The girl is your perfect match, Seamus.” Christian hit his temple twice with his forefinger to illustrate his point.

“You are in love with Juliet Pervill and you have fallen so hard that you cannot even see it. If the girl is more clever than you, then you will bloody well just have to swallow your pride and find a new place in life beside your bloody brilliant wife.”

Seamus was speechless, struck dumb by the truth behind Christian’s unexpected wisdom.

He was in love with Juliet Pervill, knew in his heart of hearts that was the reason why he had made love to her last night; to claim her as his, his match, his lover, and his future wife.

Not bloody Barksdale’s.

“Thank you, Christian,” he said, the weight of an unexpected proposal lifting from his shoulders.

“Your welcome, you stupid bastard.”

~

Juliet
sat with her cousin in the library, waiting like a condemned woman for the inevitable call of the gentleman being forced to ask for her hand.

She paced the musty rows of books that lined the walls of the site of her ruination and looked down at a Latin copy of
The Odyssey
, which seem wholly appropriate to this situation.

She glanced at Felicity, who was laboring over an intricate drawing, trying to avoid making awkward conversation.

They had fought again about whether to inform the countess of Mister McCurren’s eminent proposal. Juliet could not look her mother in the eye and confess that she was as wanton as the
ton
believed her to be.

She curled her feet beneath her backside and stared at the Latin words blurring before her eyes. She was so filled with the dread, embarrassment, and anticipation of seeing Seamus again that she could not think clearly.

“Are you all right?” Felicity asked, watching her.

“No.”

“I know you, Juliet.”

“Meaning?” Juliet asked, offended.

“Meaning, I can see you struggling with your decision. Don’t forget I have seen you with Mister McCurren.”

“So.”

“You’re in love with him.”

“I am not!”

“You took the man to bed, Juliet. You’re not
that
reckless unless your heart is involved.”

Was she in love with Seamus?

She had wanted him and in all honesty wanted him still, but she was not so naive as to confuse lust with love.

“You will not understand this, Felicity, being the paragon of virtue that you are.” Felicity glared at her. “But I wanted the man. It is as simple as that.”

“Juliet!”

“What? Are you telling me you’ve never wanted a man, never dreamt of being in a man’s bed?” she asked, more of an accusation than she had intended.

“Of course I have.”

“You have?” Juliet looked up, shocked.

“On more than one occasion, but I realize that if we were all to give in to our baser instincts, the social structure of Britain would collapse.”

“And I would wager half the
ton
’s marriages are a result of ladies giving in to their baser instincts.”

“Half?” Felicity looked at her with skepticism. They were interrupted by a knock at the library door.

“A gentleman requests an audience.” The dignified butler bowed, handing Felicity a calling card.

Her cousin set down her sketch and, without reading the name on the white card, nodded. “Very well, send Mister McCurren in.”

Juliet rose to her feet and straightened her jade morning gown while her stomach performed somersaults of apprehension.

“Juliet?”

“What?”

“Just because you are being forced to make this decision does not mean that it is not the correct decision to make.” She stared at Felicity, unable to believe the extent of her betrayal.

“Nor does it mean that it is.”

“It is the only decision you have, Juliet.” Felicity did not even blink.

“Is it?” Anger overcame her trepidation, and by the time the handsome Scot had entered the parlor, Juliet was feigning a welcoming smile.

Seamus bowed toward Felicity, who had resumed her drawing, and then turned to Juliet.

“Good afternoon, Mister McCurren,” she said as if they had never met. “I must say I am surprised to see you here. I would have thought we had seen quite enough of one another last night.” Juliet ignored Felicity’s gasp, noting with a great deal of satisfaction that Seamus’s confident stance faltered just a bit.

Seamus held her eyes with that steady golden stare and she could see the muscles in his jaw pulsing below neatly trimmed sideburns.

“I was hoping to speak with you in private, Lady Juliet.”

“What on earth for, Mister McCurren?”

Seamus stared at her, clearly not knowing what to say when Felicity came to his aid, suggesting, “Perhaps a stroll in the garden will provide you the privacy you require, Mister McCurren.”

Seamus offered Juliet his arm and she hesitated, fearful of touching him, afraid it would further muddle her mind.

“Do you think it advisable for us to be alone, Felicity?” Juliet asked with exaggerated sincerity.

Seamus’s face colored in what she would ordinarily label embarrassment.

“We could always call on the countess to chaperone,” Felicity threatened, forcing Juliet to concede.

“The garden is just this way.” Juliet took his arm and the ensuing jolt bore a hole straight through her stomach.

They walked to the back of the house in silence. Seamus escorted her through the French doors, placing his hand on the small of her back. Juliet stiffened, recalling the feel of those hands on her bare flesh.

“Why are you here, Seamus?” she demanded ungraciously as he ushered her outside.

“You know why,” he said to the trees. “I have spoken with . . .” He glanced at her, revising. “I wanted to speak with you about what occurred . . . last night.”

“What about it?” Juliet asked as if they had shared nothing more than a fine glass of wine.

Frustration crossed over his face. “Juliet.”

“Why
are
you here, Mister McCurren?” Juliet said with utmost formality.

“You may not be aware, Lady Juliet, that in addition to my work with the Foreign Office,” Seamus began as if swallowing an unpleasant tonic, “I am also the second son of the Earl of DunDonell and have acquired several estates of my own.”

“How nice for you.” She smiled brightly.

Annoyed, Seamus raised his voice. “Stop making this so damn difficult, Juliet.” They walked on and he made a second attempt. “The point is, I am well landed with a rather substantial inheritance.”

“So?”

“I have come to ask for your hand in marriage,” he all but growled.

“You mean you were ordered to ask for my hand.” She held his eye and watched guilt contort his handsome features. “I know all about your little . . . meeting this morning.” Juliet walked farther down the narrow path.

“I do hope our friends did not injure your arm when they twisted it.”

“It was not like that, Juliet.”

She ignored him. “So the question before me is whether or not to marry the man that had me dismissed from the Foreign Office before taking me to bed?” Juliet studied Seamus as if he were one of her mathematical equations.

“I don’t recall being the only one bent on seduction last night,
Lady
Juliet.”

She felt as though he had slapped her. “No.” She composed herself, hiding her wounded pride. “I suppose you were not.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “That was . . .”
Cruel?
“Uncalled for.”

Juliet lifted her chin and stepped into the gazebo at the far end of the garden. “If I were to agree to marry you, Mister McCurren, what duties would I be expected to perform?”

“Duties?” His brows furrowed. He followed her into the wooden structure. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Yes, that is a problem, but I suppose if I were to speak slowly, we might manage to communicate.” Seamus rocked back on his heels as insulted as she had hoped he would be. “What will I be required to do as your wife?” she rephrased, speaking as if the man were a simpleton.

Seamus chose to overlook her slight.

“The usual, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Manage the domestic affairs at the town house, the manor house, the cottage at the seaside. Raise any children we may produce.”

“And how large a crop do you anticipate?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” He completely missed her sarcasm. “My mother produced seven children.”

Produced!
Seven!

“Any other duties?”

“Nothing more than you’ve already performed.” He grinned and bent his head to kiss her but Juliet took a step backward.

“Yes, last night was rather nice,” she agreed. “However, as you are the first gentleman I have made love to, I really have nothing with which to compare.”

Seamus’s mouth fell open at the possibility of being refused. “I’m afraid I am more interested in pursuing my research than tending your domestic garden.”

“You could be carrying my child, Juliet!”

“The
ton
is littered with the bastards of its libertines.”

Furious, Seamus looked Juliet in the eye. “I am no libertine, and you know it.”

“Nor do you wish to be a husband. After living through my parent’s blessed union, you will understand if I am not too keen on the idea of marriage.”

“You’re refusing me?” Seamus asked, incredulous, his gold eyes molten.

“Yes.”

“I’ll not beg you, Juliet.” They stared at one another. Juliet bit her lip, praying that, in a moment of weakness, she would not change her mind. He bowed, adding curtly, “Good afternoon.”

≈

Seamus entered Angelo’s fencing club the following morning and quickly found himself looking down his cork tipped foil at his fencing instructor, ready to begin a match.

“En garde,” his opponent said, taking a defensive stance.

Seamus watched the dexterous swordsman carefully, seeking any advantage as they circled one another. Eager for a fight, Seamus attacked in a series of three short thrusts that put the instructor on his heels.

He was just going in for the kill when from the side of the room he heard someone yell, “McCurren.”

He lost his concentration long enough for his instructor to parry, striking him in the chest.

The instructor laughed, saying, “You did very well, Mister McCurren, up until the moment when I killed you.”

Annoyed, Seamus turned his head to see who had so rudely interrupted his match. His eyes widened when he saw the dangerous look in Christian St. John’s focused eyes.

“Has something happened?” Seamus asked, wiping off the sweat that trickled down his chest.

“No.” He was caught off guard when his friend hauled back and belted him in the jaw.

The room dimmed and Seamus lost his balance, falling to the floor. He looked up in shock and stared as Christian stripped from the waist up.

“Get up, McCurren!” Christian unsheathed a foil with a metallic hiss.

“What the hell are you doing, Christian?” Seamus asked, pushing himself upright.

“I’m challenging you to a duel, you blackguard,” his friend growled through clenched teeth.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why?”

Christian glanced round at Angelo’s busy fencing room and took a step forward so that they would not be overheard. “I spoke to Lady Felicity this morning and she informed me that there would be no wedding.”

Seamus stiffened, not taking kindly to his private affairs being discussed in public. “That is none of your concern, St. John.”

“Like hell.” Christian took a step back and uncorked his foil, raising it as he warned, “En garde.”

“Are you mad?”

St. John took a step forward and swiped at Seamus’s chest. A hint of blood seeped from the shallow wound.

“En garde,” Christian repeated with a raised brow and a deadly tone.

A crowd began to gather. “Very well, Christian.” He uncorked his own foil.

Christian’s anger betrayed him and he lunged before he was in position and Seamus countered easily, scratching his friend’s arm to bring the man to his senses.

Unfortunately, it seemed to have the reverse effect.

“You bastard.” Christian lunged a second time, and if Seamus had not jumped wildly to his right, the foil would have run him through.

Stunned, Seamus parried each vicious blow until his lungs were burning.

“St. John,” someone called out from the crowd, but Seamus dared not take his attention off Christian’s deadly foil.

“Christian!” he heard a familiar voice shout. Seamus stole a glance to his left and watched as Juliet grabbed an onlooker’s foil and stabbed Christian in the backside.

“Oww!” Christian turned around abruptly, his large eyes going wide when he saw Juliet standing there. “Juliet! What on earth are you doing here?”

Christian glanced around at the half-dressed members of the exclusively male club, rightfully appalled.

“Felicity told me you were coming here.” Juliet took Christian’s arm and pulled him to one side. “And why you were coming,” she said meaningfully, as Christian rubbed his backside.

The show ended, and the other gentlemen in the room dispersed, allowing them to speak freely.

“Felicity should never have told you. This is a matter of honor between gentlemen and—”

“I refused him, Christian.”

Seamus closed his eyes and locked his hands behind his head.