A Code of the Heart (The Code Breakers Series Book 3) Read online

  Brinsley was disgusted with himself that his stomach curled with longing at the mention of a woman who had made it clear she wanted no part of him.

  “They’re examining fabrics. I know how much you enjoy discussing fashion with the ladies.” Lord Rathbourne bent over the table and poured a glass full of ruby red liquid. He looked up at Brinsley. “Would you care for a drink?”

  “Thank you.” Brinsley nodded.

  Ash offered his glass for Lord Rathbourne to top off his brandy. “I’m happy to discuss anything that makes Gwyneth happy. How is Lady Henrietta feeling today?”

  Rathbourne chuckled. “I’m unable to convince her to rest. She is used to taking care of everyone. I had to employ my skills of persuasion to get her to take it easy today. When needed, I can be very convincing.”

  Brinsley couldn’t believe his ears. The Head of British Intelligence was admitting that he had difficulty negotiating with his wife.

  Rathbourne ran his fingers through his black hair and looked at Brinsley. “We’re very excited by the birth of our first child, but the doctor was very clear that my wife needs to rest each day.”

  Brinsley didn’t know what to say or where to look as his superior discussed his wife’s condition. He nodded his head.

  Rathbourne took a big mouthful of the brandy. “Excuse me. You’ll understand when it’s your wife.” He raked his hair back again. “Let’s get down to business.” He walked to his desk and opened a file.

  “I received information late last night that there was a man with a great deal of funds in Ship’s Aground tavern. Surveillance says he’s been asking a lot of questions about the Navy’s secret weapon.”

  Ashworth sat down on a chair in front of the desk. “We aren’t going to be able to dismiss this information if we don’t know anything about the secret weapon.”

  Lord Rathbourne gestured to Brinsley to take the empty chair. “I’ve been cleared to give you the information.”

  “A little late, don’t you think?” Ash turned to Brinsley. “It’s a bit ironic. The Navy wants our protection, but doesn’t trust us enough to tell us what we’re protecting.”

  “They’re quite adamant about keeping their plans hidden from the French. Now that they realize the threat is credible, they are much more forthcoming,” Rathbourne added.

  “Great. Do tell.” Ash leaned back in his chair.

  “The Navy has been working with an American inventor, Robert Fulton. Do you remember Ash, when we discovered he was working for the French on an underwater boat? He changed allegiances last year.”

  Ash laughed. “To the highest bidder?”

  “There is a story there for another occasion,” Rathbourne said.

  “You’re telling us our secret weapon is an underwater boat?” Ash was incredulous.

  “No, that invention failed miserably, but it has evolved. He kept the closed design device, weighted it with lead so it will ride low in the water, and stabilized it with wooden pontoons. It will be filled with explosives. A man maneuvers it with a paddle.”

  Ash scoffed. “So the man steers a floating bomb with a paddle! And we thought our work was dangerous.”

  “The operator is camouflaged, wearing dark clothes and a black cap.”

  “That makes it sound even riskier.” Ash laughed.

  “These are difficult times with difficult jobs for everyone. We have our job; protect the secret of this newest weapon.” Lord Rathbourne’s lack of humor was stark by comparison.

  The playful mood dampened with the reminder of the very real and very close threat of French invasion.

  “We are sure the French know of our secret weapon?” Ash asked.

  “We have to assume the worst and work from there. We’ve been spreading misinformation about the project.”

  “Misdirection?” Ash sat forward in his chair.

  “Exactly. With the number of men working on the project, it’s near impossible to hide that we’re building a special boat.”

  “Did the Navy devise any safe guards for the boat’s secrecy?” Brinsley asked.

  “The work was subdivided in the earlier stage so no group knew the final project, but now, with final assembly and an impending launch date, the need for our involvement is vital.”

  “Back to the man paddling a bomb in the dark, deep Channel water. Does he jump in the water and try to swim away?” Ash asked.

  “He first must attach the boat to a French ship with a grappling hook. The launch has a timing device to detonate the explosives so he has the time to make a speedy exit. Of course, that is all assuming the French don’t see him and blow him out of the water.”

  Ash exhaled slowly through pursed lips. “Amazing. But tricky for them to get close enough to attach the ‘secret weapon’ to the ship, right?”

  “Exactly, but the Navy assures me that it can be used decisively against the ships Napoleon is amassing in Boulogne. Our job is to keep the knowledge of the weapon and the timing mechanism out of French hands. Nothing about the ship building should alert suspicion, but we can’t be sure if the French are after the design of the weapon, the timing mechanism, its current location and impending launch date, its planned target, or how many are being built.”

  “Do we know what the man tried to buy?” Brinsley asked.

  “My source said he offered jewels for any projects Robert Fulton was working on.”

  “Interesting. But he might just be on a fishing expedition,” Ash said.

  “That’s the most likely conclusion. The French might be throwing around a lot of money to see what they can get. But the more disturbing possibility is that they’ve discovered the secret weapon and are trying to buy the plans.”

  “Does the Navy suspect any breach of security?” Ash asked.

  “No, they reassured me that Fulton and his assistants haven’t been compromised.”

  “Our job is to find the man trying to buy secrets?” Brinsley asked.

  “Exactly. I want you to find the buyer and negotiate to sell the secrets, Brinsley. With your body size, you look like you could work on the docks. And from what I know about you, you know how to handle yourself in the seedy taverns.”

  Brinsley’s spine stiffened. He didn’t like the idea that Lord Rathbourne knew about his disreputable past, but of course he did. He was Head of Intelligence.

  “What description do you have of this man?” Brinsley asked.

  “He spoke like a gentleman, but had his hat pulled down so his face couldn’t be totally seen in the shadows.”

  “Why is he negotiating with jewels?” Brinsley continued.

  “It is easier to smuggle jewels out of France than silver. That he’s using jewels makes me believe this is not a government-sanctioned plan, but rather an independent smuggling ring,” Rathbourne said.

  “I don’t follow why you don’t think Napoleon’s behind the plot,” Brinsley said.

  “Napoleon wouldn’t bother with jewels, he’d send silver directly to his agents. Jewels have a way of disappearing.”

  Rathbourne looked squarely at Brinsley. “Ash has spent some time on the docks and bars in the East End. He’s checked out the tavern.”

  “Ship’s Aground is the place for our traitor to sell secrets. It’s the center of underground business transactions,” Ash said.

  “Ash can make the connections for you to start your surveillance. Of course, totally incognito,” Rathbourne added.

  The door flew open. Lady Gwyneth strode into the room with Miss Amelia Bonnington following. Of all his luck, Brinsley was forced to see Amelia when he was starting to settle into his new, risky assignment. The men rose with the ladies’ entrance.

  “Brompton just told me that my wayward fiancé was in the house and didn’t come to greet me,” Lady Gwyneth said.

  Ash took Lady Gwyneth’s hands between his, bringing them up to kiss her knuckles. “Darling, I was coming to you as soon as we finished.”

  Amelia hung back from the couple. Brinsley’s skin prickled with
a sudden hypersensitive awareness of Amelia’s proximity. Her honeysuckle scent filled his senses, threatening to blank out all else in the room. She had a gardenia pinned to a hairband that held her flowing copper hair away from her face. The white petals of the flower were like her skin: translucent, delicate…beautiful.

  They stared at each other, unable to look away. Amelia’s porcelain skin colored and a flush rose on her chest and up her neck. He remembered how soft her skin had felt and how he had sucked on the hot, soft flesh.

  Ash, as if understanding Amelia’s discomfort, wrapped his arm around her, planting a kiss on her cheek in a brotherly fashion. “Amelia, how are the designs coming?”

  Possessiveness surged through Brinsley. His body tightened with Ash touching Amelia. What the hell was wrong with him? He hadn’t really come to grips with the fact that Amelia wasn’t his.

  The way her eyes had darkened and her lips parted when she saw him, convinced him that she remembered their kiss. If that’s what you could call their kiss—the incredible, blustering heat that exploded between them in the darkened hallway was far more than just a kiss.

  “I hope we’re not interrupting anything important, Cord,” Lady Gwyneth said coyly. “What are you gentlemen working on? French spies conspiring to kill Ash?”

  “Gwyneth,” Ash scolded.

  She hid a lady-like snort behind her fingers.

  “Completely boring stuff. Nothing as exciting as Elwood’s house party.” Rathbourne winked at his sister. “We’ll return to business once you’ve confirmed that your affianced is in no danger.”

  “You promised that Ash would have no more dangerous assignments before the wedding.” Lady Gwyneth looked at her fiancé. Her face shone warm with obvious adoration.

  Emptiness filled Brinsley. Witnessing the love shining in Lady Gwyneth’s face, he suddenly felt envious of Ash.

  Lady Gwyneth released Ash’s hands and offered her outstretched hand to him. “Brinsley, this is a pleasant surprise to find you here.”

  Brinsley bowed over her hand. “It is a pleasure to see you, my lady. And looking so well.”

  “Cord, I don’t believe I’ve shared with you how incredibly helpful Brinsley was in assisting me when Ash was ill. Without his cool, steady manner, I’m not sure what we would’ve done. Isn’t that so, Amelia?”

  Amelia’s violet eyes widened as she bit down on her full pink lip. “Yes, he was most helpful.” She avoided looking at him, keeping her eyes on Rathbourne.

  Brinsley couldn’t stop staring at her lips. “Your sister and Miss Amelia would’ve handled anything that needed to be done without me, but I’m glad that I could be of assistance.”

  Not allowing him to escape, Lady Gwyneth clung to Brinsley’s hand. “You must join us for tea, Lord Brinsley. Amelia and I are working on my wedding dress, but when you men are finished with this important meeting, please come to the morning room. Uncle Charles and Edward have gone off to their reading club, The Odd Set of Volumes, so it will be only us. Henrietta will be up from her nap by then.”

  Brinsley bowed over Lady Gwyneth’s hand, his mind racing for a plausible reason to decline. “Thank you, my lady, but…”

  Lady Gwyneth placed her hand on his arm. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. After our experience together I feel as if we are well acquainted; you simply must join us.”

  Ash pulled Lady Gwyneth close to him and whispered in her ear, loud enough for Brinsley to hear him say, “You don’t need to keep touching him.”

  Lady Gwyneth stared into Ash’s eyes. Her look of longing was painful for a lonely man to watch.

  Rathbourne cleared his throat.

  Lady Gwyneth laughed merrily.

  Ash turned to Brinsley. “We will understand if you have other commitments.”

  Brinsley had planned to decline, but was now determined to accept after Ashworth’s attempt to cut him away. “I couldn’t disappoint the ladies.”

  The look Ash gave him was very clear. He was not to get any ideas about Miss Amelia Bonnington.

  Chapter Two

  Amelia’s heart beat a vicious tattoo against her chest. The incessant hammering had persisted since she had first learned that Lord Brinsley was at the Rathbourne house.

  After her inexplicable, impulsive, uncharacteristic behavior, she’d hoped to never cross paths with the rogue again. She had completely blocked out his work as an agent. Besides being a rake, the man was a spy.

  The conversation around afternoon tea had remained polite, although Amelia couldn’t ignore the prickly awareness of the gargantuan man who dwarfed the chair across from her. He leaned back, insolently crossing a broad leg over the other.

  “Amelia has outdone herself with the design of my wedding ball gown,” Gwyneth gushed to Ash.

  Ash whispered to Gwyneth, “You look beautiful in anything.”

  The intimacy in his look and the way his voice deepened made Amelia look away from the couple.

  Gwyneth caught her lower lip between her teeth in a delicate nip that was unable to hide her mischievous smile. The charged tension between the couple shot like a bolt of lightning through the sunny morning room.

  Henrietta, still pale after her nap, with dark circles under eyes, sipped her tea, ignoring the heated looks and sparks between the couple. “With Gwyneth’s tall stature and deportment, creating her wedding gown must have made it much easier than designing mine.”

  Gwyneth turned in her chair. “But Henrietta, you looked like a tiny fairy princess on your wedding day. I’ll never forget the look on my brother’s face. I would never have thought that either of these gentlemen, what with their rakish reputations, would finally fall in love.”

  Henrietta laughed. “I’m afraid I’m no fairy princess. But you are correct about Cord. He did have quite a reputation.”

  “Cord should be here to defend himself.” Ash coughed behind his hand. “You know much of his reputation was attributable to his work.”

  Gwyneth rolled her eyes and turned to Ash. “Was your reputation part of your cover too?”

  “Gwyneth…” Ash pleaded. Seeking to change the subject, he turned to Amelia. “Please tell us how you go about designing a gown?”

  Gwyneth snorted then coughed into her tea. Between sputters, she teased Ash. “James Henry Ashworth, you know you have no interest in the stitch and tuck of dress making. You’re just trying to change the subject from your devilish past.”

  Ash shook his head. “I was simply engaging in polite discourse with Miss Amelia.”

  Henrietta passed the tray that had been filled with finger sandwiches, cookies, biscuits, cheese, and slices of apple. Mrs. Brompton had sent a hearty repast knowing the gentlemen would be present.

  With four brothers, Amelia was very aware of men’s hearty appetites. The thought of Lord Brinsley’s voracious appetite was speeding up her heart again. He and Ash had almost cleared the entire tray of food except for a few lonely biscuits and cheese.

  “Brinsley, please, you must finish the rest of the biscuits. Mrs. Brompton will take it as a personal affront if any food remains.”

  “Thank you. You have an amazing cook.” His broad hand moved the two biscuits and cheese to his plate in one graceful move.

  Amelia’s chest tightened with the memory of how he had rubbed her lower lip with that massive hand before he kissed her. She took a slow breath and pressed her hand against her chest, trying to ease the constriction on her lungs and speeding heart.

  “Brinsley, I’m sure wedding gowns are of no interest to you. Ash has to pretend since he’s an affianced man. Do you have any sisters?” Gwyneth asked.

  Amelia wasn’t sure if Gwyneth remembered the scandal surrounding Lord Brinsley—that he didn’t appear in good ton because of his reputation. Gwyneth probably did remember, but disregarded the rumors about him running off with his brother’s fiancée, or she simply didn’t care now that she’d included him in her inner circle of friends.

  Amelia wasn’t as forgiving. She had no troub
le believing the seduction rumors after the way he had kissed her. A familiar heat stole up from her stomach, to her chest, to her face. She hated that her pale skin reflected all her emotions. Right now, the cad was watching her over the rim of his teacup and appeared to know that the memory of their inflamed embrace had caused her skin to turn the color of a pomegranate.

  Henrietta also watched, knowing that something was afoot.

  Amelia had wanted to spare her closest friend from her turbulent feelings surrounding the Christmas house party, knowing that Henrietta was suffering badly from morning sickness.

  “I’ve no sisters. Only an older brother.” Lord Brinsley showed no difficulty speaking about his family and no discomfiture specifically speaking about his brother.

  “Well, we’ll have to make up for your lack of sisters, won’t we, Henrietta, Amelia?” Gwyneth asked innocently.

  Sisters? What game was Gwyneth playing? Was she trying to be a matchmaker? Gwyneth blissfully ignored the harsh look Amelia hurled at her friend.

  Gwyneth had wanted all the details of their romance after witnessing their embrace—as if one embrace counted for a romance, even one long, lingering, unforgettable moment.

  Damn it. With Gwyneth’s intense, questioning look, the heat came in waves again. The idea that both Gwyneth and Ash had observed the intense dalliance appalled her. She’d never ask how much they’d seen—not that Gwyneth wouldn’t be thrilled to discuss every delicious scintillating moment in glorious detail.

  Henrietta leaned forward in her chair. “I’d be pleased to have another brother, Lord Brinsley. Gwyneth has told me all about your heroic role at Christmas time. I don’t know what Cord would’ve done if anything had happened to Ash.”

  “Henrietta, you’re embarrassing Ash. Men never admit to their feelings about each other,” Gwyneth teased. “Can you imagine Cord declaring his love for Ash?”

  Henrietta laughed out loud, as did Gwyneth.

  Usually Amelia would’ve joined in, but she sat stiff, unable to banter while Brinsley watched her every move, noting her every reaction. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him.