A Christmas Code (The Code Breakers Series Book 2) Read online

  His symptoms matched poisoning by holly berries. She needed to get to the stillroom and retrieve the mortar and pestle as proof of deliberate sabotage.

  * * *

  Kneeling on the cold brick floor, Gwyneth searched in the dark for the mortar and pestle. She couldn’t risk lighting a candle. The stillroom was easily seen from the kitchen windows. At this time of night, the kitchen was a hive of activity. The servants were cleaning up from the evening’s dinner. She had avoided the kitchen by walking through the snow-covered garden.

  She pushed against the heavy crock filled with pickles to probe for the mortar and pestle. The scent of dill hung in the air.

  The clatter of dishes and bits of conversation from the kitchen were easily audible through the closed door. The chill running through her body heightened her awareness, making her highly-strung nerves tighten up.

  Her fingers rubbed against the worn mortar and pestle. They hadn’t been moved. Exultation rushed through her as she slid them out of their hiding place. Gathering the evidence of his poisoning was the best way to help Ash.

  “Mon Dieu! What are you doing?”

  Gwyneth startled and dropped the mortar on the ground. The harsh noise of the instrument hitting the brick floor reverberated in the silent room.

  The muscular cook stood over her with a heavy candlestick in hand. Her face was contorted in rage, her eyes glazed with a wild frenzy.

  Gwyneth’s breath couldn’t make it all the way down her lungs. She just stared at Cook, paralyzed by her adversary’s violent stance.

  “No one will stop me from killing the king’s son.”

  And before Gwyneth could react, the woman swung the heavy candlestick above her head.

  Gwyneth jerked away, but the solid metal struck squarely against the side of her head. The punishing impact propelled Gwyneth backward. Writhing in intense pain, bright lights flickered in front of her eyes before the murky black descended.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ash’s head hurt like a son of bitch. He didn’t remember over-indulging, but he had an agonizing headache, his mouth was dry and his body ached. This was worse than any hangover he had experienced during his days at Oxford. He couldn’t stop the insistent burning and throbbing behind his eyes. The din from Worthy exacerbated the excruciating pain. He prayed to drift back into the empty black void and find peace.

  Bright lights flashed, penetrated, despite his closed eyes. He was going to kill Worthy for opening the curtains.

  “God damn it, man. Wake up. Gwyneth is missing.”

  Ash sat straight up, jolted awake. His heart thundered in his chest like a heavy drum with his sudden motion.

  He stared at Brinsley, trying to comprehend what was happening. “Gwyneth?” He could barely speak. His voice was parched, as if he had been on a fortnight bender.

  Worthy handed him a glass of water. He gulped down the water and pushed his legs from under the covers.

  “You need to sip the water, sir. You don’t want to be sick again.”

  Swinging his legs to the side of the bed made the room spin, and Ash felt as if he might vomit. He couldn’t remember being ill. “What’s happened to Gwyneth?”

  “Amelia and I’ve searched her room and spoken with her maid. She told Lizzie that she was going to sleep, but her bed wasn’t touched. And her pelisse is missing, as if she went out.”

  Ash stood up, naked. His legs were rubbery and weak. He had a faint memory of being dragged. “Get my clothes. I must find her.”

  “But, sir, you’re not recovered.” Worthy stood next to Ash, expecting that he might fall and prepared to assist.

  “Recovered from what?” Ash didn’t have time for illness. His symptoms had disappeared as rage pulsing through his body at the idea of Gwyneth missing or hurt. He dressed in his smalls and pantaloons.

  Brinsley stepped closer. “You were poisoned. We don’t know by whom.”

  “What the hell—poisoned?” Ash slipped on his shirt. “How long have I been out of commission?”

  “Less than a day, but Gwyneth was exhausted from taking care of you. Amelia took her to her room, expecting her maid to attend to her while you slept. Amelia came upstairs to check on Gwyneth and found her missing.”

  “Damnation. How long has it been since the maid saw Gwyneth?” Ash pulled on his boots.

  “Since dinnertime, more than two hours ago.”

  “A two hour delay.” Fear and anger swirled in a fomenting mess inside him. “We must act immediately. She could be captured or…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

  “With the snow, her captors can’t escape without leaving a trail. I’ve got men checking the grounds”

  “Snow?” Ash asked.

  “While you were out, at least two feet have fallen.”

  “Good.” A moment of relief flowed through him. “That keeps our assailants trapped. Where have you searched in the house?”

  “I didn’t want to alert the staff, so I haven’t searched the downstairs yet. I’ve searched the guest wing. Amelia is with Gwyneth’s maid. I came here to get further instructions since I didn’t know who can be trusted in the household.”

  Ash walked to his desk and pulled out his pistol. He tucked the weapon into his waistband. “My jacket, Worthy.”

  “Gwyneth was previously assaulted in the conservatory. I’m going to search there first. Find Lord Edworth and instruct him to say nothing to his staff or guests of Gwyneth’s disappearance.”

  “You should start in the stillroom. Gwyneth discovered poisonous holly berries and a red-stained mortar and pestle hidden there. She concluded you were poisoned. If it weren’t for her detection, we would’ve believed you had the grip and that assumption would’ve been deadly. She saved your life, Worthy said.

  Bone-chilling fear flashed through his body in an instant. Gwyneth was in danger because she had tried to protect him. His heart smashed against his chest in deep crushing panic. He was used to risky situations but never involving the woman he loved. He would never let her out of his sight again once this horrific ordeal was over.

  He walked briskly to the door, in command of his emotions, determined to find his beloved. “Brinsley, meet me in the stillroom after you have spoken with Lord Edworth. Draw no attention to yourself. We don’t want to endanger Gwyneth by panicking her captors.”

  He turned back into the room. “Worthy, tell Amelia to keep the maid in Gwyneth’s room. We don’t want her going to the servant’s hall and discussing Gwyneth’s disappearance. Then go downstairs and see if you can learn anything from the servant’s gossip.”

  Ash strode down the hallway. His thoughts centered on how he would punish any person who threatened or harmed Gwyneth. The calculating spy was no more; this was pure and simple revenge.

  Chapter Twelve

  They stood hidden next to an apple tree in the kitchen garden. He grabbed his wife by her arms and held her tightly. “Ne pas être dans son assiette. You are not well. Let me take you away from here.” He gestured to the giant manor house behind them.

  Her once beautiful face was contorted in pain. She would resist, but their survival depended on their escape. “We must leave.”

  She pulled away, sinking further into the snow. “I’ll not. It must be on Christmas day.” Her usual cold control was cracking, giving way to the volatile emotions that drove her. “The king killed our son. We must kill his son.”

  She shivered from her violent emotions. “His Majesty will know the black pain of losing a child. May he never escape the living torment.”

  He wanted to hold her and take away her suffering, but he was powerless to stop her grief.

  If he had not eavesdropped on Fouche’s private meetings, he would never have known that it was the English behind the assassination plot. But in rage and helplessness, he had listened at the door, heard of the fate of their only son.

  He couldn’t bear to lose his wife after losing Andre. If he didn’t get her away, he’d lose her too.

&nbs
p; Their lives had been normal until the monster Napoleon killed or exiled anyone who didn’t fit into his plans to rule the world. Andre, a young Frenchman, with all the passions for Liberté, Égalité, and Fraternité was a sacrificial lamb in the unyielding grasp of Napoleon.

  “We’ve got to leave before they find Lady Gwyneth.” He reached for her, but again she shook him off. “We’ll use our escape route and hide in London.”

  “We could kill her and hide her body until the prince arrives.” Her voice was edging to the familiar rashness.

  He couldn’t let her descend into hysteria, not again.

  “We’d be hanged.” He used his soothing voice, the one that often helped her regain her control. “We must remain focused on our goal. With this snow, the prince may not be able to make the trip. We must leave soon or we’ll be trapped.”

  “But it must be on Christmas.” Her eyes had the same wild, tormented look as the first year after Andre’s murder. “It must be just like Napoleon’s Christmas assassination plot. Our sweet, innocent Andre, taken away as a killer, when it was the British King and his minions who were the conspirators behind the plot to kill Napoleon.”

  If only he’d never told her about the British and their role in the plot, if only they had remained in France, if only Andre hadn’t been killed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ash grasped the handrail as he descended the main staircase. He was wobbly, like a midshipman finding his sea legs. An iron will and determination to find Gwyneth kept him moving.

  Ash didn’t know the way to the Edworth’s stillroom, but he assumed, like most estates, it was close to the kitchen garden. He would walk outside around to the back of the manor to avoid alerting his enemies.

  Nodding to the footman at the door, he walked rapidly out into the night. The blast of cold air jolted him fully awake. A sudden memory of being doused with cold water flashed through his mind. What had Gwyneth been forced to do to keep him alive?

  His feelings for gentle Gwyneth were overwhelming. As a spy, he could trust or rely on no one. But uninhibited Gwyneth had broken down all his hard-earned, emotional barriers. She would not let him remain alone. A crack in his cold spy heart had splintered wide open for the passionate Gwyneth.

  He slogged through the drifts of heavy snow. His tall Hessians didn’t stop the ice from soaking his breeches and socks. Alert in the quiet, he listened to the night sounds. Light from the house shone on the glistening white blanket.

  As he plowed through the kitchen garden, he saw a large wooden structure next to the main house. His stomach rolled in alarm and rage over what he might find. He had first-hand experience of the enemy’s violence, but he wasn’t sure what he would do if they had harmed Gwyneth. He pulled out his pistol. Touching the familiar cold metal steadied his churning emotions. The thought of an injured Gwyneth shattered his usual calm, detached approach to a mission.

  There were no sounds in the winter stillness other than his harsh breathing.

  He waited by the door of the stillroom, assessing the danger. The snow had been trampled by more than one set of footprints. He walked the perimeter of the building, evaluating the risk. No noises came from the completely dark shed.

  One window on the backside was blocked by snowdrifts piled high. His nerves were tight and battle-ready but his hand stayed steady on his pistol. He returned to the front of the building.

  Out of the line of fire, he kicked the door open. His heart slammed hard against his chest as he waited for a fraction of a second before turning the corner and making himself vulnerable. With his finger on the trigger, he silently slipped into the room.

  The only sound was a moan. Gwyneth?

  Gwyneth lay in the shadows, a crumpled heap on the brick floor. His hands were shaking as he tucked his pistol into his breeches.

  He knelt next to her, touching her face. “Gwyneth? Darling?”

  She moaned with the touch of his exploring fingers. A large, wet welt jutted from the side of her forehead.

  Fury rushed through his body. He’d make the bastard beg for mercy.

  He quickly ran his hands over her cold face. “I’ve got to get you back to house. We’ve got to warm you up.” His voice was tremulous, but talking aloud steadied him.

  “I’m going to lift you. This will hurt.” A silent Gwyneth chilled his heart and soul. He needed his chatty, enthusiastic Gwyneth.

  Gingerly, he lifted her into his arms. She moaned again. A good sign that she wasn’t unresponsive to the pain—an ominous sign in head injuries.

  “You’re a load, my girl.” He kissed her temple as he pressed her against his chest, his heart filled with the unfamiliar feeling of tenderness for his courageous woman.

  As he trudged through the snow, he was aware that his enemies might be close by. He wasn’t worried about protecting Gwyneth. He was primed, his muscles clenched, ready to kill anyone who might threaten them.

  Hiding an injured Gwyneth from the household was going to be trickier. He walked to the back of the manor to go through the library’s French doors. He hoped that the men had retired for the night. The library always had a fire blazing and was well lit.

  “Ash.” Brinsley moved quickly through the snow. His pistol was drawn.

  At the sight of Gwyneth with blood on her face, Brinsley said, “Holy hell.” He opened the doors to the library. “How badly is she hurt?”

  “Some bastard smashed her on the head. She’s got a nasty bump, but I’m more worried about how long she’s been out in the cold.”

  Gwyneth moaned and Ash realized he had squeezed her tightly with the force of his explosive emotions.

  “Darling, I’m sorry.” He carried her toward the blazing fire.

  “Ash?” Gwyneth opened her eyes and looked up into his.

  His cynical spy heart melted with unwavering love. “Thank God.”

  Her voice was muted. Her face was pale and bruised, her thick black hair matted with blood, and she had never looked more beautiful.

  “Brinsley, move the settee closer to the fire.”

  Gwyneth, in his arms, twisted to talk with Brinsley. “You must find the cook. She’s out of her mind. She plans to kill the prince.”

  “No need to worry about that right now.” Ash lowered her to the settee.

  “Ash, they’re going to kill the prince.” She grabbed his arm as he was tucking a pillow under her head. “You’ve got to stop them.”

  Ash tenderly pushed back Gwyneth’s hair to look more closely at her injury. “Brinsley, we need to get a doctor. Send for a footman.”

  Ash gently guided Gwyneth’s shoulder. “Lie back down.”

  Gwyneth batted at Ash’s hands. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine. Amelia and Lizzie can attend to me. You need to find Cook. She is out of her mind, and I don’t believe she plans to just bash the prince on the head like she did to me.”

  “That woman did this to you?” Ash suppressed his need for revenge. He couldn’t beat the daylights out of a woman.

  “She was crazed, insisting that I wouldn’t stop them from killing the prince. Something about the king killing their son and them getting revenge, but why would the Cook want to kill the prince?”

  “Brinsley, pull the rope so I can summon Amelia and Lizzie.”

  Brinsley walked to the fireplace and pulled the bell-cord.

  Ash directed the footman to summon Amelia and Lizzie and to bring a basin of hot water. He walked back to Gwyneth and sat on the end of the settee. “Once we’ve got your wound cleaned, I’ll carry you to your room and get you out of these wet clothes.”

  “I’m getting very toasty, Ash.” Gwyneth’s face was turning pink with the heat from the fire.

  He opened her wet pelisse, exposing her lace night rail. When he saw the sexy, flimsy nightgown she had worn under her pelisse, shock and lust made his voice loud and rough. “You…aren’t dressed!”

  Brinsley cleared his throat. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Once Brinsley closed the door, Ash de
manded, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

  “I had to change into my night clothes so Lizzie wouldn’t become suspicious.”

  “You went outside with no clothes on?”

  “Ash, forget my clothes! You need to stop Cook before she escapes.”

  Ash shook himself as if he were in a bad dream. Gwyneth, almost naked, had wandered the grounds looking for spies. “When I get back, we’re going to have a serious talk.”

  The sparkle returning to her dark eyes and her plush lips curving into a sexy smile told him that the minx knew exactly what she was doing to him. Because when he got her alone, he wouldn’t be interested in talking.

  He bent over her and kissed her tenderly. “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

  “I’m fine. Go. I’ll be here waiting for you after you’ve caught them.”

  He pressed her palm to his lips then walked toward the door.

  “And don’t you get hurt, James Henry Ashworth.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ash braved the cold night. Falling snow shimmered in the star-filled evening. Torn between duty and his concern for an injured Gwyneth, he was a tangle of extreme emotions. Most people were at home enjoying the holiday season, anticipating Christmas day, but he was forced to leave the woman he loved to pursue French spies. Battered, lying on the settee, Gwyneth, no melting debutante, had pushed him out the door to capture the conspirators. He smiled to himself. She was perfect—a perfect wife for a spy.

  His need for revenge on Gwyneth’s assailant wouldn’t be satisfied—he wouldn’t be able to achieve justice by pummeling the attacker since she was an old woman. But he’d certainly make sure she went to prison for a very long time.

  Brinsley and four of the hearty stablemen, all military, stood huddled together. Two of the men held lanterns over Foster, a military scout, who was bent over the tracks leading into the woods.