A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) Read online

  A Cantata of Love

  Book Four in the

  Code Breakers Regency Romantic Suspense Series

  Jacki Delecki

  A Cantata of Love

  Copyright © Jacki Delecki 2016

  Excerpt from A Code of the Heart

  Copyright © Jacki Delecki 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-09863264-8-6

  Published by Doe Bay Publishing, Seattle, Washington

  Cover Art by The Killion Group, Inc.

  Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  A CANTATA OF LOVE

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A CODE OF THE HEART

  About the Author

  A Cantata of Love

  Napoleonic France is no place for an Englishman, especially Michael Harcourt, the Earl of Kendal, who is on a clandestine assignment for the Crown. Already injured and facing imminent discovery by Napoleon and Fouche’s men, Michael finds his escape made even more perilous when he is charged with the safety of a young boy who must be spirited out of Paris.

  Desperate to escape the terrible fate that awaits her if she remains in France, Lady Gabrielle De Valmont must disguise herself as a boy and rely on the cunning of a virtual stranger—an Englishman, no less—to smuggle her out of the country. When the Earl’s injury becomes severely infected, rendering him gravely ill, Gabrielle realizes it is now up to her to save them both.

  Look for more heart-pounding adventure, international intrigue, and sizzling romance with the release of Book Four in The Code Breaker Series.

  Dedication

  To my brother. Thank you for being my biggest supporter and fan. You are sorely missed!

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my astonishing team of experts. I couldn’t do it without them, and I wouldn’t have half as much fun. Thank you to Karuna, my plot partner, Kim Cannon, my amazing editor. And great thanks to my friend, the talented musician and composer, Greg Bartholomew, who shared his expertise in developing the musical code. And to my support team who keep me writing. Maria Connor, and Jen Rice. And to my lovely family who never stop believing in me.

  Prologue

  1803

  In the seaside town of Berck, France

  Gabrielle De Valmont brushed back Lord Kendal’s blond curls and applied the wet cloth to his burning brow. His long, golden waves and eyelashes accentuated his fiery red cheekbones. In their days of hard travel from Paris, the earl’s gunshot wound had festered into a nasty infection.

  At this moment, he rested. For days, when the fever spiked, he thrashed about, calling out about sending a code book to a woman named Henrietta.

  Desperate to soothe him, Gabrielle discovered that he would calm with the French songs of her childhood.

  They couldn’t hide much longer without being discovered by Napoleon’s or Fouché’s henchmen. When the earl’s condition had worsened to the point where he could no longer travel, Gabrielle had brought them, under cover of darkness, to her former mémé’s tiny village of Berck, south of Calais.

  For eight long days and nights, she had cared for the feverish earl. Their presence in the tiny town couldn’t be kept secret much longer. They must leave Berck, and France, soon. But how could they flee with the French soldiers on high alert, inspecting every boat crossing the English Channel?

  Monsieur Denby, Lord Kendal’s valet, had assured her that he had a plan to divert their attention.

  Exhausted and despondent, she beseeched the Blessed Virgin for their safe escape and the earl’s recovery.

  She also prayed that the earl would forgive her and Mother Therese for their deception. She had to believe that Lord Kendal would never abandon her to her terrible fate.

  Chapter One

  Michael Harcourt, the Earl of Kendal, woke to a soft voice and the delectable smell of a woman. She smelled like wildflowers. And her voice was soothing and sweet. Last night must have been one hell of a night of dissipation since he remembered nothing. But he had dreamed of his French mother crooning to him.

  What was wrong with him? He had been in bed with a French woman, and he’d thought of his mother. His head ached as if horses had trampled over him. He tried to remember her name—Yvette? Or was it Mimi? He cracked open one lid. Big blue eyes the color of cornflowers stared down at him, and a lush, pink lower lip pouted. How could he have forgotten this angel’s name? Yvette. Definitely Yvette. “Yvette? Or maybe Mimi?”

  He needed her again to refresh his memory. He raised his arms to pull her against him. He grabbed for her, but his arms felt weak. Thank God the rest of his body wasn’t that tired. She yelped when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him. “Yvette, darling. Don’t fight me. I need you.”

  Yvette gasped and tightened against him. He rubbed himself against her slender body. Not his usual type, he noted. Clearly not an opera dancer by the slender frame. What had he drunk last night that he couldn’t remember this delectable handful?

  “Let go of me,” she hissed.

  He whispered against her soft, tender neck, kissing her ear. “Were you this feisty last night?”

  “Let me go, you brute.” She shouted in his ear, causing his head to feel as if it were cracking wide open. She jumped back, tripping on the bedclothes and knocking the water canister from the side table. The loud crash reverberated in his head.

  Women didn’t fight him. He was a generous lover. Was he overlooking something from last night?

  Michael looked at the disheveled, bewitching woman glaring at him. Hair the color of honey sparkled in the morning sunlight, but her bright eyes were now dark and stormy.

  Damn, damn. She looked far too innocent and way too marriageable. What had he gotten himself into?

  He rearranged the bedding to hide the obvious, then lifted himself to the head of the bed.

  The mademoiselle didn’t look so much offended as just plain pissing mad. Her eyes had narrowed, and she glowered at him—the look of a woman who might impale him with the fireplace poker. He had gotten into a lot of scrapes, but this wasn’t how he imagined finding a wife.

  The door to his bedroom swung open, knock
ing against the wall. The pain behind his eyes pounding like a son of a…

  Denby, his valet, stormed into the room, swearing under his breath. “What the hell? Are you alright, Mademoiselle Gabrielle?”

  She gestured with her hands and spoke in rapid French to Denby. Had she just called him, the Earl of Kendal, a “stupid horse’s ass”?

  Denby took the irate woman’s arm. “I’ll clean up the mess. Now that he’s awake, you should prepare yourself to leave. We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

  With no word of farewell, the Mademoiselle Gabrielle huffed and left the room.

  Denby chuckled. “Barely awake and already causing problems.” He bent to pick up the water container. “It is good to see you back, my lord. You scared the hell out of me. If it weren’t for Mademoiselle Gabby’s nursing, I’m not sure…”

  “I’ve been sick?” He did feel a bit weak after his tussle with the delectable young woman.

  “You developed a fever right after we escaped from Paris.”

  The memory of fleeing Paris and Fouché’s men brought him totally awake. “My last memory is leaving Paris dressed as a nun.”

  Denby handed him a glass that had survived the mademoiselle’s spirited response. “You developed a fever from your gunshot wound, and we had to hide out here. This is where Mademoiselle Gabby’s nanny is from and the people helped us.”

  Gabby. He didn’t have any recollection of Gabby when they left Paris. “How long have I been out? And who is Gabby?”

  “I’m glad you’re ready to travel. I’ve got a bad feeling if we don’t get out of here soon, all of Fouché’s and Napoleon’s men are going to descend.”

  He only remembered Denby, and the boy, Pierre, fleeing for their lives dressed as nuns. He had stolen the code book from Le Chiffre, and everyone in Paris seemed to be after him. He wondered if Henrietta had received the book.

  “Any news from England? Do we know if Henrietta received the package?”

  “I haven’t been able to make any contact. We’ve been in hiding. I’ve arranged for a boat from Calais. They’ve been waiting for a signal that you’re able to travel. We go tonight with the tide. I want to get us out of France. I can’t breathe here.”

  “Did you shake the villain who was posted at my house in Paris too?”

  “Yes, but we can’t stay here any longer. I’ll change the bandages and get you some breakfast. You’ll rest up before we make the trip. We have to go by horseback, and I hope it won’t open your wound.”

  He suddenly was assailed with the ignominy of the location of his wound. He had been shot in the arse by an unknown assailant while fleeing after he had stolen the code book. The code book, literally, was a pain in his arse.

  He sure hoped to hell it gave England a tactical advantage against the power-hungry Napoleon.

  Chapter Two

  Gabrielle couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs had stopped momentarily. The insufferable ass had thought she was “Yvette” or maybe “Mimi.” What a giant oafish pig’s tail. After all she had done for the infuriating man, fighting to bring down his fever, singing to him in French, forcing fluids and willow bark down his throat—and that’s how she had been repaid? He had the audacity to grab Mademoiselle Gabrielle, daughter of the Marquis De Valmont as if she were a common tavern wench

  Denby, who had assisted her throughout this arduous journey, entered the small dining area. “Mademoiselle Gabrielle, I’m sorry for Lord Kendal’s behavior. I’m sure he’ll apologize once he can appreciate all you’ve done for him. He’s confused and disoriented.”

  Gabby snorted. She refrained from replying that for an ill man, he’d felt pretty healthy when he rubbed against her. If her brother ever learned about Lord Kendal’s outrageous behavior, he’d kill the English earl. Her brother was a hothead and took exception to any insult to her honor.

  “Please, I know you’ve been spared exposure to men’s baser ways, but Lord Kendal, if he were himself, would never offend you.”

  Gabby raised her eyebrows. “I have a feeling Lord Kendal causes trouble wherever he goes.”

  A grin spread across Denby’s coarse features.

  “Although my brother’s had me hidden in a convent for the last years, I am not as innocent as you believe,” she said, jutting her chin proudly. “Before Napoleon’s interest in me, I enjoyed all the pleasures of Paris life.”

  “And I hope you’ll be able to enjoy good society again in London. You need to rest. I’ll take care of his lordship. You’ll see that Lord Kendal will treat you with all the respect and decorum you deserve. He does know how to behave like the gentleman that he is.”

  Gabby didn’t try to hide her skepticism. Hopefully it would not be long before she was reunited with her brother and free of Lord Kendal. The tiniest twinge of regret tweaked her heart, but she ignored it. She would never admit to missing the way his dimples crinkled or the way his green eyes playfully schemed, or the pleasurable sensation of his hard body pressed against her. Never.

  Chapter Three

  Safely back in England and now facing a long carriage ride from Dover to London, Michael bit down on his lip, squeezed his hands into fists, and crossed and uncrossed his legs, trying to hide from Mademoiselle Gabby the agonizing ache in his arse. No small feat since they sat face-to-face and his tender arse took the impact from every bump.

  After his boorish behavior, Gabby offered none of her tender, solicitous care. He gazed at her lush, pink lips, recalling her sweet, lilting voice and the French songs she had sung. He gazed down at her tiny hands, now gloved, recalling how she had soothed and comforted him during the burning fever. He had overheard her tell Denby that any man who behaved like he had was well enough to take care of himself.

  “May I say again, mademoiselle, how truly sorry I am for my shocking behavior. We still have a long journey. Could you please try to find warmth in your heart to forgive me?” He flashed his full-dimple smile, which his sister, Henrietta, had declared capable of charming any woman over the age of twelve. Obviously not the French Gabby. “In my invalid state I was confused and mistook you for someone else.”

  Gabby stared out the window, behaving as if she hadn’t heard him. He was usually quite adept with women, but for some reason he couldn’t make this right.

  Gabby never took her gaze away from the window. “You thought I was Yvette or possibly Mimi. You couldn’t remember.”

  Michael felt the tops of his ears burning. The chit, for someone he had believed to be a child, sure had a woman’s way of making him suffer.

  “With your permission, shall we change the subject?” Michael asked.

  “Of course.” She turned back to look at him.

  “When did you and Mother Therese plan to inform me that I was not bringing a child out of France, but a young woman? I didn’t think nuns could be devious.”

  “Mother Therese is not devious.”

  Oh, he liked the way her pert breasts puffed up in indignation. “And I thought the nuns had no sense of humor. The joke is on me.”

  “Joke on you? Never. Mother Therese wasn’t playing any jokes. She didn’t laugh when you fell on your backside and spilled brandy in your shoes. She was desperate to ensure my escape from the long reach of Napoleon. She was more concerned that you might not be the man for job.”

  He wanted to defend himself, but he didn’t deserve the credit. She had been the one to rescue him from the deadly infection. “I’m most grateful for your care and hope I can repay you when we’re in London.”

  She shook her head, causing one errant curl to fall across her puckered forehead. “It is of no consequence. In England, I’ll be living with my brother, and he will take care of me.”

  “Tell me why Napoleon is after you. I can’t believe the First Consul has time for chasing down young women.”

  “Oh, you’re mistaken, monsieur. Napoleon always needs to replenish his coffers and fortify his position of power. My father was a marquis before…the Terror.” Her voice quivered.


  No wonder Mother Therese was protective of Gabby. She was an orphan.

  He reached across the carriage and took her small hands between his own. “I’m very sorry. Both your parents?” He wouldn’t make her recount the horrific circumstances of their death.

  Her body shuddered and she nodded her head, obviously fighting to bring herself under control. He squeezed her hands. He missed his own parents very much, but they hadn’t been murdered by an out-of-control, angry mob.

  “All I have left is my brother. He has protected me and will now keep me out of the clutches of Napoleon.”

  This young woman wasn’t much older than the English debutantes whose biggest concerns were their coiffures, gowns, and gossip. But, unlike the flighty debutantes, Mademoiselle Gabby had survived her parents’ deaths, the Reign of Terror, and now Napoleon. She bore her suffering with an understated grace he would have expected of a much older woman.

  “What plans does Napoleon have for you?” he asked.