Read The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance Online
Authors: Samantha Saxon
The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance
Titles by Samantha Saxon
The Lady Spies Series
Coming Soon
THE REBEL’S ROGUE
Coming Summer 2016
The Conspiracy Series
OUTLIER
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GOV
DESCENDANTS
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Praise for Samantha Saxon
“Saxon hooks you from the very first page and keeps you up all night with her thriller romance. A cleverly executed plot, three dimensional characters, a sizzling romance and a mystery that has you guessing to the bitter end.” —Romantic Times Review
“This action-packed story line grips the audience . . . Samantha Saxon serves up a stupendous Regency romance.” —
The Best Reviews
“Dynamic historical suspense that will keep you on the edge of your seat from the first page . . . a must-read.” —
Romance Junkies
The King’s Code
(The Lady Spies Series #3)
Samantha Saxon
Tartan Publishing LLC
TARTAN PUBLISHING LLC
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Saxon
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected]
ISBN:
978-0-9971948-4-5
PRINTING HISTORY
Published as The Lady’s Code, Berkley Sensation edition, December 2005
Reissued as The King’s Code, Tartan Publishing, April 2016
Cover Design by Daniel Barajas
To all of the women in my life. I love you very much.
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Table of Contents
~
London, England
January 1, 1812
12:17 a.m.
“
Who
are you?”
Lady Juliet Pervill glanced about her cousin’s library, scanning the room for a means of escape while keeping an eye on the gentleman so determined to keep her there.
“That is of no importance, Lady Juliet.” The older man slurred his words as he rounded the settee, inching ever closer toward her while he, too, kept an eye on the library door. “What is of paramount significance, however, is why I am here.”
“Why?”
“Your father.” The gentleman paused, his brown eyes flickering with hatred. “Lord Pervill has taken rather a large sum of money from me and I want something in return.”
Juliet swallowed, seeing for the first time the level of danger this man posed. “ ‘A pound of flesh.’ ”
The gentleman grinned, creating small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, which betrayed his age if not his malice. “Something like that, yes.”
“It won’t matter.” Juliet’s backside collided with Lord Appleton’s mahogany desk and she sucked in a breath. “You have met my father. He won’t care what you do to me.”
“But you see, my dear, I care.” The man stripped his gloves from his fleshy hands and Juliet could feel the panic rising in her chest. “I care very much.”
“I’ll scream.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.” The gentleman held her eyes, his threat clear. “Furthermore, no one will hear you this distance from the ballroom. It was rather unwise of you to venture this far into Lady Felicity’s home unescorted.”
“I . . .” Juliet clutched the note from Lord Robert Barksdale in her right hand and the man laughed.
“I see you received my message.”
“You wrote the note?” Juliet asked, knowing that he had and feeling a fool.
She had been given the note from a footman and thought perhaps Robert Barksdale was finally going to make her an offer.
“Yes, cruel of me, I know, but your Lord Barksdale does need a bit of prodding, don’t you agree.”
“No,” she whispered, and the corners of the man’s mouth lifted.
“He said that you weren’t very pretty, but I disagree.”
Juliet needed no clarification as to who “he” was, her bastard of a father.
“Yes, well, that is quite comforting in my present situation, knowing that my assailant finds me attractive.”
The gentleman’s laughter lacked the sneering contempt of his early amusement.
“Attractive and amusing.” He sighed. “Pity.”
The man reached for her and Juliet bolted for the door. But her slight frame was no match for him, and he had no difficulty catching her about the waist and throwing her down on the velvet chaise.
“I’m going to enjoy this.”
“Please, don’t.” Juliet refused to cry. She could see pleasure shining in his dark eyes as he used his stout body to trap her against the vermilion cushions.
“Don’t fear, my lady,” the man whispered as he bent his head to kiss her neck, spirits wafting off him. “I’ve no intension of hurting you.” He chuckled. “Not really.”
The vengeful man kissed her collarbone and Juliet turned her head, her skin crawling. She felt his hand on the sleeve of her gown and Juliet froze. He tugged at the soft silk and then kissed the swells of her breasts, now very nearly exposed to his reprehensible view.
Juliet closed her eyes, not knowing if she would survive, when she heard a rather substantial gasp coming from the direction of the library door.
Her attacker sat up, running his thick fingers through his graying hair. Juliet turned with reluctance, her eyes growing wide when she saw Lord and Lady Winslow, the
ton
’s most infamous gossips. However, the thing that tore her heart in two was the expression on the face of the young gentleman standing behind them.
Lord Robert Barksdale.
Juliet met his wounded eyes and shook her head, saying, “You don’t understand, Rober—”
Lord Barksdale was staring at the carpet in disbelief and then turned, his crisp footsteps echoing down the wooden corridor.
Lord and Lady Winslow exchanged a significant glance and then followed, no doubt already formulating the manner in which they would spread the news of Juliet’s wanton ruination to the more interested members of the
ton
.
“Well,” her assailant said, staggering to his feet. “Good evening, Lady Juliet.” The man grinned. “Tell your father that Lord Harrington sends his regards.”
The gentleman walked toward the library door and Juliet sat up, furious. “This is your revenge on my father!” she shouted after him. “To ruin me?”
“Yes.” The gentleman grinned. “As he has ruined me.”
~
At
two o’clock the following afternoon, Juliet was still seething, in bed, with her cat and a tray full of cakes. Well, half a tray of cakes.
“Juliet?” The melodious voice of her beautiful cousin Lady Felicity Appleton rang out shrilly from the door.
“What do you want, Felicity?” Juliet barked, pounding on the pillows at her back before leaning against them.
“You’ve received two letters, dearest.”
Felicity opened the door and held out the letters, which had been sent to the Appletons’ home, the entire
ton
being aware that Lady Juliet Pervill resided with her cousin when visiting town.
“Read them.”
“Perhaps you would like some privacy while—”
“Read them, Felicity.”
“Oh, very well.”
Her beautiful blond cousin sat on Juliet’s bed as she did everything else, gracefully. She broke the seal of the first communiqué and read aloud.
“‘Lady Spencer regrets to inform you that the invitation to the Spencer ball extended to you last week has now been . . . withdrawn.’” Felicity looked up, her fawn-colored eyes clouding to an intimidating chocolate. “Well, I don’t think I like Lady Spencer any longer and I shall write her and decline my invitation as well.”
“Felicity,” Juliet sighed. “You cannot refuse every event from which I have been excluded.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No, you can’t, darling.” Juliet grabbed her cousin’s hand. “Or you shall become an old spinster like me and we will be forced to live together with nothing better to do with our time than raise . . .” Juliet lifted her tabby, and the feline protested with a low meow. “Cats. Oh, God, that is depressing. Read the other one.”
Felicity glanced at the seal and smiled. “It’s from your mother.”
Juliet covered her face with her hands, groaning, “She knows already? Do you think she has received my letter explaining about Father and Lord Harrington?”
“I don’t see how she can have received it. We’ve only sent it two hours ago.”
“Oh, just read her letter.” Juliet grabbed a cake and shoved it into her mouth.
“‘My darling, Juliet.’” Felicity smiled, her fondness for her aunt clear. “‘I was told this morning of the unfortunate events which occurred at your uncle’s home last night and I wanted you to know that you are welcome at the estate whenever you wish to visit . . . or perhaps to talk. Shall we say, this weekend? All my love, Mother.’”
Juliet chuckled as she shook her head. Her mother had never been one for subtlety. A result, she guessed, of marrying Juliet’s bastard of a father.
“In the meantime . . .” Felicity rose and walked to the window, throwing back the cobalt velvet curtains. “I thought we could take a stroll in the park.”
Juliet looked at the mountain of moist handkerchiefs littering her bed and knew that her eyes must be as puffy as the Prince Regent.
“Are you mad, Felicity? I am not going out today. We both know what is waiting for me out there.” Juliet pointed toward the exceedingly bright window, squinting. “I will be turned away from every reputable house in London.”
Felicity put her hands on her hips and in an unusual show of temper said, “Then what are you going to do, Juliet? You cannot just let the man succeed. Just sit here and let your reputation be ruined all because your father is a selfish so-and-so.”
“Bastard,” Juliet agreed with a nod.
“Yes, that’s it exactly. A selfish bastard!”
Juliet laughed, never having heard her cousin curse or speak ill of others, for that matter.
“All right,” she said. “Just give me a few days, Felicity. It’s not every day that a girl is ruined.”
Felicity’s anger turned to sympathy and she sat on the edge of the bed, brushing hair from Juliet’s bloodshot eyes. “I know, dearest. I am sorry.” Felicity embraced her and Juliet sighed, wallowing in self-pity. “That is why I am giving you two days to formulate your plan.”
Juliet lifted her head and raised a sardonic brow. “Two whole days? You are generous, cousin.”
“Yes, I thought I was quite generous, and besides”— Felicity patted her on the knee as she rose—“we both know you are only weeping because you think you ought.”
“Wouldn’t you cry if you had been ruined?”
“Oh, yes.” Felicity nodded. “I would.”
“What does that mean?
I
would.”
“It means, Juliet, that I would weep for the loss of my reputation whereas you do not give two figs about yours.”
But her cousin was wrong. Well, in part. It was true that she did not care about the
ton
’s opinion of her. However, she did care about the repercussions of ruination.
She cared very deeply.
Felicity walked to the door and looked back over her right shoulder, saying in all seriousness, “You know that you are welcome here for as long as you wish to stay.”
Juliet nodded, unable to speak, and then the door closed, leaving her alone with her withered dreams of a life she would never have.
≈
Mister Seamus McCurren sat reading the
Gazette
as his valet meticulously cut his dark sideburns to echo the sharp line of his square jaw.
He turned the page of the newspaper, the subtle scrapping away of whiskers hissing in his ear, when he came across a singular capital E, which appeared to be a printing error in the second paragraph of the news narrative. The only difficulty being that his office had noted three other such “errors” appearing in various publications in the past two months.
“Damn!” His valet struggled to pull the straight razor from his face before Seamus was nicked by the blade. He looked at his startled servant, saying in a subtle brogue, “Finish up and then call for my horse. I need to get to the Foreign Office as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
A half hour later, Seamus was standing over his enormous desk staring down at all four newspaper articles. The arithmetical odds against multiple publishers printing the same error were monumental and therefore must be assumed by his clandestine office to be intentional. Yet, he could find no other patterns in the articles in which the errors occurred, simply one bloody E.
Seamus stared with frustration at the character that should not have been there. His studies at Oxford had given him a unique perceptive of words and of their origins, their usage. But it was his subsequent research of ancient texts that had given Seamus a true understanding of the development and repetitive patterns of the written word.
It was this understanding that had enabled him to decipher two French codes in the short amount of time that he had been working at the Foreign Office. But this code . . . eluded him.
He called to his assistant, James Habernathy, and with great reluctance said, “Inform his lordship that we have intercepted another message.”
“Yes, Mister McCurren.” The shorter man bowed, leaving his office. Seamus stared at the article, knowing that another attack on British military instillations was eminent.
Shortly after his discovering the previous three articles, the French had attacked British positions they should not have known existed.
Yet, they did.
“I’m told you have found another message.” Seamus looked up to meet the inquisitive eyes of his esteemed employer.
“Aye.” Seamus nodded to himself as he tossed his pencil on the desk in disgust of his own stupidity. “But the words, they fight me.”
“There is no set pattern in any of the articles which have been identified thus far?” Falcon asked.
“None that I can see,” it pained Seamus to admit. “I have studied all four articles for similarities in length, structure, letter placement, word choice, repetitive patterns, and sequencing and have found nothing other than one anomalous letter E with which to connect them.”
“And you are sure the attacks are related to this E anomaly?”
“Aye.” Seamus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his leather chair. “The attacks on three classified military locations within a two-week period of this irregularity appearing in a London publication are too much of a coincidence to be anything but related.”
“I agree.” The old man nodded, sighing as he looked down at Seamus. “Continue working on decrypting their code. British lives hang in the balance.”
Seamus stared at the E in the
Gazette
, knowing that there was nothing to be done but wait for the next attack to occur. Nothing to be done but wait for more British troops to die.
“Aye,” Seamus said, frustrated beyond belief. “I know.”