The King's Code (The Lady Spies Series #3): A Regency Historical Romance Read Online Free

as if it were a rope strung fifty feet off the floor. And at times his work did seem a tightrope, an intricate show of balance. Knowing which steps would propel Britain toward victory and which of his decisions would prove fatal to the country and the war.
    He had agents carefully dispersed throughout Europe gathering information, and it was his job merely to interpret their findings. The problem for him came when the puzzle was incomplete, when he knew there was a vital piece of information missing, which rendered any speculation or recommendations he might provide Wellesley . . . useless.
    This was the case with the most recent of French codes.
    For the most part, the French were careless and their codes elementary in nature. It had taken his cryptographers no time at all to intercept and decode their messages, thus allowing him to provide Wellesley with valuable information in a timely manner. Yet, while each code had its own style and flavor, this new anomaly was proving elusive.
    The writer of the E code, Falcon feared, was not your typical French cryptographer. This code, he was sure, was concealing a level of complexity that his men had yet to crack. But how did one crack an anomaly?
    By deviating from the normal patterns of cryptography .
    A knock at his office door interrupted Falcon’s tortuous deliberations, and he returned to the dignity of his desk before looking up and saying, “Yes.”
    His secretary entered the room with a deferential bow.
    “Lady Juliet Pervill wishes an audience, my lord.”
    “Send her in,” Falcon said, remembering clearly the intriguing young woman.
    The lady had proved exceedingly helpful some months ago in identifying a French assassin working in London. He had been struck then by her composure as she described in detail the horrific scene she had stumbled upon.
    The girl had instantly understood the significance of what she had seen, had known instinctively that the murders were not the work of footpads, and had come to the only person to whom her information would be useful.
    Him.
    The lady walked into his office, interrupting his recollection, her pale yellow morning gown and elfin stature giving her the appearance of a schoolgirl.
    Just as he remembered her.
    Falcon rose to his feet, saying with a polite bow that would not aggravate his back, “Good afternoon, Lady Juliet.”
    “Good afternoon.” The girl smiled nervously, which immediately piqued his already honed interest.
    He indicated a sturdy wooden chair facing his well-worn oak desk and then asked, “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
    “No, thank you.” The lady sat, her blue satin slippers scarcely touching the floor as Falcon nodded for his assistant to leave them in privacy.
    The door clicked closed and he seated himself in his leather chair, taking a moment to reassess the woman. Light brown hair, shimmering with health and an intelligent face dusted with faded freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were an unusually vibrant blue and she had an overwhelming air of competence that seemed to come as naturally to her as breathing.
    “How might I be of assistance?” Falcon asked, sure that her visit had in some way to do with the unfortunate episode surrounding the girl one week ago.
    Lady Juliet fidgeted in her chair, obviously attempting to decide which path to take as they proceeded down the road of conversation.
    “Were you aware, my lord, that I have received honorary recognition from Oxford University?”
    Falcon shook his head. “I was not aware that women were bestowed recognition, honorary or otherwise,” he said, impressed and wondering how this was pertinent to their conversation.
    “They’re not,” she confirmed. “The assumption was made that J. Pervill was male and—”
    “And . . . you did nothing to clarify that assumption.” The girl inclined her head, neither confirming nor denying his assertion. He continued, asking, “For what was your honorary recognition