A Lady's Revenge (25 page)

Then it did. For one brief, glorious minute, time suspended, and she lost all sense of place. It was, perhaps, the most freeing moment of her life.

And Guy, dear generous Guy, was there to unlock it for her.

Guy roused his sated body enough to glance at the unmoving woman beside him. Cora lay partially on her side with her palm tucked beneath her cheek in an adorable fashion and her left leg angled invitingly toward him. A perfect resting spot for his hand.

He stroked her thigh, feeling the thin scar of Valère’s brand. The euphoric sensation drugging his muscles vanished. How could a man brutalize a woman in such a way? He closed his eyes and took a deliberately calming breath. He would not allow thoughts of the Frenchman take this small piece of happiness away from them. There would be time enough to ponder the man’s insanity later.

Instead, while he contemplated their evening together, he concentrated on her delicate scent drifting in the air around him and the soft flesh beneath his thumb. She had taken him into her mouth. The vivid image burned through his mind with the speed of a runaway horse. Even now, hours later, his cock readied itself for another invasion.
Greedy
bastard.

One would think a gentleman of his experience would be satisfied by Cora’s gratifying and selfless offering, but no. Not him. Once he had come down from his release, all he wanted to do was burrow his face between her sweet legs and give her the same glimpse of heaven.

The genuine way in which she had responded to his touch had nearly crushed his self-control. Her trembling legs, rapid breaths, and coaxing hands had contained an air of innocence about them that had driven him a little mad. And when she exploded around his tongue, he nearly spent himself on his aunt’s embroidered counterpane.

Almost out of his mind with lust, he had been unable to deny her hesitant request to relieve his “burden” once again. His second release was even more powerful than the first. Barely able to lift his leaden arm, Guy had settled her against his chest and waited until he heard her even breathing before closing his eyes and giving into the demands of his replete body.

Now, delicate fingers glided over his hand where it rested on her thigh, bringing him back to the reassuring presence of Cora in his bed.

“What’s the matter?” she asked quietly.

He became aware of the desperate grip he had on her leg and eased his hold. “Sorry, sweetheart.” He turned on his side and kissed her forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. Is something weighing on your mind?”

She traced the edge of his jaw with a reverence that made his throat ache. After so many years of watching her single-minded and oftentimes masculine approach to her training, he liked seeing this facet of her.

He tapped the end of her nose. “Only you.”

“Are you implying I am a burden, my lord?” Her voice carried a teasing note, but even in the dim light, he could detect a slight frozen quality to her features.

“Never a burden, Cora,” he said. “If you must know, I was enjoying a rather vivid recollection of our… what did you call it? Ah, yes. Our
love
play
.”

Her eyes widened, and then she sent him a conspiratorial smile. “Were you?”

“I see you do not believe me. Would you care to feel the evidence of my excellent memory?”

She sat up, fluffing the pillow behind her and holding the sheet securely above her breasts. “I don’t recall you being so very wicked in our youth.”

Guy followed suit but did not bother to adjust the sheet when it pooled around his hips. “Do you not? I seem to recall you commenting on my mischief not but a few days ago.” For the first time, he noticed the pretty oval pendant dangling from her neck. It was the same one she wore in the bathing tub at the inn. The same one that celebrated France’s revolution.

“Indeed, I did. In your case, mischievousness equates to annoying. Like an insect. Wickedness is an entirely different matter.”

He laid his hand over his chest. “You likened me to a gnat?”

The smile she sent him was several degrees warmer than wicked. “Aye. One I wanted to swat many times.”

Guy threw back his head and laughed. This was the side of Cora he had missed. Since escaping the French, she had regained a modicum of her humor back, but her easy quips had been much slower in coming. “Impudent wench. Come here. I am getting a crick in my neck.”

He grasped her beneath the arms and helped her straddle him. The moment she settled across his lap, her searing cleft enveloped his shaft. Guy’s buttocks clenched in reaction, the small motion driving him farther into her heat. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Blast it, Cora.”

She braced her hands on his shoulders. “My s-sentiments exactly,” she panted. “Is this your idea of revenge?”

He clutched her hips in a steadying hold, being careful of the wound on her lower back. “Hardly. I merely wanted a better view.” The backs of his fingers smoothed down her flat stomach. “Which I now have.”

Awareness gleamed in her heavy-lidded gaze, and she followed his teasing caress over her stomach, ribs, and breasts. Then her attention turned to him. She raked her fingertips through the short hairs covering his chest, seemingly fascinated by their springy quality. “Yes, I see what you mean.” She straightened from her bent position, giving him a better aspect of her beautiful body and—he swallowed when her sleek center skimmed along his cock—a captivating measure on her intimate thoughts.

To distract himself from the building inferno between his legs, he touched his finger to the pendant arranged against her alabaster skin like a priceless gem in a jeweler’s display case. “That’s an unusual cameo. Do you always wear it?”

She looked down and traced her fingers over a feminine profile. “Much of the time.”

“A family heirloom, perhaps?” He didn’t think so, but the proprietary way in which she stroked the cameo drew forth a very male desire to know how she came by the piece.

“Yes and no.” Her words were low, hesitant.

Something like dread rippled through his stomach. “Which one, my dear? It can’t be both.”

“It has not been in my family’s possession long.” Her hand resumed its tortuous study of his chest. “My mother left it for me before she died. I keep it as a remembrance.”

He reflected on her words, noting her response left much to the imagination. She obviously wanted him to believe the pendant held sentimental value, and it might. However, the cryptographer in him reasoned there was much more to the story.

“I see.” A hundred questions circled around his mind, but he tossed them away one by one, deeming them all a bit too pointed. He wanted to ask who had given the necklace to her mother, and when. Why keep a trinket depicting France’s break with the
Ancien
Régime
as a remembrance of her mother? Especially when Lady Danforth’s wedding ring or her great-grandmother’s pearls would perhaps be more appropriate.

“Is there anything you fear, Guy?”

At her softly spoken question, he glanced up and found her lips parted and worry lines carved into her forehead.

The tips of her fingers grazed the line where smooth skin met a thatch of dark hair encircling his groin.
Yes
, he thought, trapping her hand beneath his.

With painful clarity, he recalled the scene in the woods, the awful moment when he saw Valère’s manservant rounding on Cora, hatred distorting his features. He recalled the moment he realized he would not reach her in time.

When he had stopped long enough to brace his feet apart and aim his pistol at the center of Marcel’s back, his hand jerked at the last second, sending his killing shot wide of its mark.

Guy gritted his teeth against the memory. What use was a protector—an assassin—who was unable to kill? He could not allow his conscience to forever hold his actions hostage. He had every intention of killing Valère, and this newfound weakness would not—must not—stand in his way.

During his ruminations, Cora’s wandering fingers wiggled out from beneath his restraining grip to tunnel into the dark patch of hair between his legs.

His head fell back against the cushioned bed frame, and his bollocks tautened. For a self-indulgent moment, he considered allowing her the freedom of discovery. But, like his current inability to slay his enemy, Guy feared the effect of Cora’s touch on his resolve. Far too easily, he could turn his back on the world outside and spend the rest of his life wrapped in the firm clasp of Cora’s loving hands. And her loyal heart.

His eyes popped open at her first tentative caress on his fully extended shaft. He grasped her wrist. “Cora.”

“You did not answer my question, my lord.”

He had to cut through his passion-fogged mind for her original query. Ah, yes. Did he fear anything? “Of course. What man does not?” Releasing her, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her down for a kiss. “What is troubling you, Cora? Why did you really come to me tonight?”

She resumed her place at his side, making Guy regret his probing questions.

“The dark.”

She spoke not to him but to her lap.

“What of the dark, sweetheart?”

The muscles in her throat pulsed before she said, “It frightens me.” Her statement, so plainly spoken, boomed through the shadow-laden room.

On one hand, his chest swelled with male satisfaction that she would seek him out to hold back the witching hour. But his unruly heart wanted her motive to be far more personal.

He seized her hand beneath the sheet. “I don’t recall you, or better yet, Ethan, mentioning this particular trepidation.”

“No.” Her eyes took on a haunted look, and she drew the counterpane up to her chin.

Bleak understanding crashed into Guy.
The
dungeon.
The underground labyrinth of fathomless darkness. “Bloody hell.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and dragged her into his embrace. “Cora—”

“The horrible images,” she said in a rush of words, “they won’t allow me a moment’s respite. I have tried to ignore them, Guy. I truly have, but they persist.” She hid her face against his chest. “My skin feels like it is crawling with insects, and I hear the patter of a thousand tiny malevolent feet stalking toward me. And now… now I can add Scrapper’s death to the macabre scene.” Air billowed between her lips as if she had run the length of the estate’s vast parkland. “There are times when I am certain I’m losing my mind. But that night at the inn, when I slept in your arms, the nightmares never came.”

Guy’s heart shattered at the aching quality of her voice. Helpless rage stung his eyes and clogged his throat. “I will keep you safe through all the nights of your life, Cora.”

She lifted her sweet, ravaged face up to his. “I know.”

There was nothing for it but to kiss her again. The volatile emotions battering his insides would not allow for a simple reassuring press of the lips. No, this kiss was designed to banish one’s demons.

When she responded with equal fervor, Guy moved between her legs and entered her. Her passage was slick, allowing him to set an urgent tempo that brought them both to a splintering release within minutes. He kissed her softly, gently, before easing away.

She exhaled a contented sigh, pulled him down next to her, and snuggled into the shelter of his arms. After adjusting the covers around them, Guy tightened his hold, giving her the peace of mind she sought from him. “Sleep, Cora. Tomorrow, we shall return to London, where I can provide better protection. Does that suit you?”

She nodded, toying with her necklace.

Guy regretted his decision to tell her now rather than waiting until the morning. Although she remained pliant, he sensed a new restlessness thrumming through her small frame. Then her next words confirmed his suspicion.

“I won’t allow Valère to take another loved one, Guy.”

He smoothed his hand down her bare arm. “We will find Ethan, I swear it.”

Both their vows hung heavily in the darkened chamber. Both held unspoken promises by the speaker.

It was some time later before either of them fell asleep.

The sun fell below the horizon as Guy stared at the cloaked figure. “Are you sure it was Danforth?” He ignored the sounds of London’s underworld coming to life, but the smell of human waste and rotten food scattered over the alleyway’s cobblestones could not be so easily dismissed. The acrid odor burned through his nose and landed in the back of his mouth, leaving a bitter, gripping taste behind. The constant drip from the roof’s eave thundered over the pounding of his heart.

“Several witnesses reported seeing a man of Lord Danforth’s description being thrown into a carriage several nights ago,” his informant said in a raspy, indistinguishable whisper.

The last snag of hope that Danforth, covertly disguised and inaccessible, was searching for Valère tore free. The intelligence his informant had passed on over the years had proven eerily accurate. And Guy had no reason to believe this time was any different.

His heart lurched with the knowledge. Cora would have to be told that Valère’s taunts about her brother were true. He wondered if she, like he, had held onto a fragment of hope.

“I have a veritable army with their ear to the ground, my lord.” The cloaked figure stood in the shadow of a nearby building. After meeting briefly two days ago to outline Danforth’s situation, the Specter had prearranged today’s tête-à-tête. “They have been instructed to bring all possible leads to my attention, no matter how small. Never fear, I will find the overeager lord.”

What Guy knew of his mysterious informant could be ticked off on one hand. They had collaborated on a number of cases over the last two years without incident. Guy sought information, and the shadowed figure asked for nothing in return, except anonymity and the occasional inquiry into Somerton’s health.

At first, Guy had been suspicious of the informant’s interest in Somerton. After all, the cloaked figure had first come to his notice during a rather harrowing back-alley discussion, where Guy had been held at gunpoint while his informant conveyed the details of a large shipment of ammunitions scheduled to disembark from an English port to make its merry way to a French shore.

But the cloaked figure never went beyond inquiring about Somerton’s health. Guy soon realized the informant was not seeking answers but rather hinting at what was already known. Quite clever and decidedly dangerous.

After the success of their first
discussion
, he learned the figure was known as Specter. From that moment on, any time he needed help, he would scribble “Specter” on a note and leave it at one of a dozen locations throughout the city. In a matter of hours, the two of them would be conversing in a darkened alcove similar to the one they currently occupied.

Honoring the Specter’s need for secrecy had posed no moral dilemmas for Guy. The informant’s web of contacts had proved to be an invaluable resource in their war against the rabid Corsican.

“You will contact me if more details arise?” Guy asked.

“Yes, my lord.” The dark silhouette shifted, taking Guy’s measure. “For the Raven, it would be my honor to dispatch the Frenchman once Lord Danforth has been recovered.”

A razor-sharp pang of jealousy punched Guy in the chest. Why would the informant be “honored” to kill a man for the Raven? Were they acquainted with each other? Had Specter also worked with Cora? Or was their relationship something more personal? Myriad questions continued to plague him until the quiet rasp of “my lord?” penetrated the territorial fog enveloping his mind.

Eyeing the black depths of his informant’s hood, Guy said in an even voice, “That won’t be necessary. We have a few questions for Valère first.”

The hood dipped, and the cloaked figure stepped farther into the shadows of the building. “As you wish, my lord. I will be in touch.”

When Specter melted into the darkness, Guy turned and headed for Somerton’s town house. He strode down the narrow alley, dodging piles of rancid offal dotting the cobblestones and watching the occupants of each abyss-like nook along the buildings’ outer walls.

The Frenchman’s ability to breach each of Guy’s safeguards had forced him to swallow his pride and return Cora to London. With Cora once again under Somerton’s roof, Guy could no longer see her on a whim. As her self-proclaimed bodyguard, he could see her during the day but not the night. Did she sleep all through the evening, or was she still plagued by images of the past?

They had to bring this mission to a conclusion soon, for all their sakes, but mostly for Cora’s. Which led him to the packet of missives Somerton had given him to decipher. With a stroke of luck, he had finally managed to break two critical letters in one of the newer messages:

T32E26 272215E34T2223

He would likely have more letters within the next few days. Excitement rumbled through him. With a disturbing certainty, he sensed the power behind the two distinct words. Why else would the French use one of the most difficult ciphers? Not for any ordinary communication between agents. No, something told Guy this message would affect England—and possibly the Nexus—in a monumental, irreversible way.

He had come to another revelation, of sorts, regarding Cora’s view on marriage. What appeared to be aversion at the Golden Duck turned out to be a rather faulty belief that her actions in France made her an unworthy candidate for a happy marriage. Although he had every intention of setting her straight on the matter, the confirmation of her innermost desire was welcome news. She yearned for a normal existence—just as he did—which meant she wanted a family. A home, friends, children, a
husband
.

The fact that she had admitted her fear of the dark and sought the safety of his arms was a significant turning point. One he would always cherish. There would no doubt be other barriers standing in the way of making her whole once again. But he would meet each one head-on and tear it down for her.

For now, he must focus on the challenge ahead. As he drew closer to Somerton’s town house, he rehearsed how he would reveal the latest details about her brother. He feared the knowledge would send her mind spiraling back to the past. The past she still refused to discuss.

***

The large clock in Somerton’s entry hall struck nine times, signaling the lateness of the hour. Cora leaned against the wall, her gaze focused on the library door. For nearly an hour, she had prowled the dimly lit corridor, waiting for Guy to finish his conversation with Somerton. She could hear their low murmurings but nothing so distinct as to warn her of what was to come, and the waiting was starting to grate on her patience.

Her intuition shrieked that this meeting did not bode well for her brother. Not for the first time, a ripple of unbidden panic ricocheted through her. Valère had picked his tool for vengeance with exquisite care. She could no more fault Jack’s instincts to protect his sister than she could turn her back on Ethan’s plight. When the talons of terror grip your heart, you will do anything you are told to save a loved one.

She blinked to dispel the menacing images clouding her mind. She must not let the past take control. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply several times. By the time the library door finally opened, Cora felt much the way she had in France when she was faced with a difficult case—controlled, determined, ruthless.
Raven.

Guy emerged, and Cora noted his troubled expression before he could mask it. She pushed away from the wall and waved in the general direction of the drawing room. “Shall we?”

Surprise flickered across his feature before resignation set in. “Indeed,” he said, waving her ahead. They managed about six paces before he noticed her attire. “What the hell are you wearing?” he asked with a trace of annoyance and admiration.

“We have already been through this, my lord. You have seen me in breeches before.”

His eyes narrowed. “Must you cavort about in them in front of
everyone
?”

“I’m hardly cavorting, Guy. And the servants have seen me in far worse costumes.” She shook her head and sat cross-legged at the end of the ivory-colored divan, hugging a silk pillow against her chest.

“Would you care for something to drink?” she asked.

“No, thank you.” He strode to the window, choosing the view outside rather than facing her.

“I assume you have news of Ethan.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“It is cruel to keep me in such suspense, Guy,” she said when he lapsed back into silence.

His shoulders sagged a fraction before he turned from the window to join her on the divan. “A reliable source confirmed footpads carted off a man matching your brother’s description several nights ago.”

She nodded, having already prepared herself for such news. “What did you and Somerton discuss in the way of a rescue?”

He hesitated, as if he were puzzled by her reaction, or perhaps he was debating whether or not to share his information.

She targeted on the latter. “Stop trying to protect me.”

He sent her an even look. “Never.”

If he wasn’t keeping information about Ethan from her, his vow would have made her womanly heart sting. But he was withholding details, which made his pledge rather annoying. “Tell me what you have planned, or I will discuss this with Somerton instead.”

“Can you not leave this to us?”

A thunderbolt slammed into her gut. “No, Guy, I can’t. We’re talking about saving my brother. Do you really think I will sit around and do nothing but wait?”

He leveled an uncompromising stare on her.

“I can be of use. There is no need for your coddling.”

“I’m not interested in coddling you, but I will do what I must to keep you safe. Valère has proven himself to be more dangerous and cunning than any of us expected.”

“All the more reason for us to work together.”

“I can’t,” Guy ground out. He knew he risked killing the fragile trust they had built in the country. But the combination of Somerton’s guards abandoning their post and the discovery of one of their top agent’s naked, mutilated body yesterday morning indicated the elusive double agent Somerton sought held a much higher position in the Foreign Office than they originally imagined. Which meant no one was safe. “The line between foe and friend has blurred significantly while we were away.”

The air around them grew thick with her quiet rage.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, my lord.” She unfurled her legs and rose from her seat. “I will do whatever it takes to free my brother and won’t hesitate to remove any obstacle standing in my way.”

“And I will do
whatever
it
takes
to stop you.” He reached for her at the same time he rose to block her path.

A flash of outrage burst forth and, in the next moment, he found himself cartwheeling through the air, and the next, staring at the ceiling. He blinked several times, surprised by his rapid change in circumstance. He attempted an indrawn breath. However, his air-deprived lungs were of no help. It was not lost on him that he had been in a similar position not long ago. His wheezing effort to breathe echoed through the room.

Cora hovered over him, as if waiting for his lungs to expand with air again. When they did, a veil of indifference coated her words.

“I will free my brother and Grace—with or without your assistance. I hope you choose the former.” She turned away.

He twisted around into a crouching position. A toxic mix of anger, humiliation, and respect churned in his gut. He had underestimated her for the last time.

In a whirlwind of motion, he extended his leg and caught the back of her ankles. She emitted a short, high-pitched shriek while her arms fought for purchase. She found none, except the hardness of his chest and the viselike anchor of his arms. She slammed into him, hurling them both to the floor. Their breaths sawed through the air, and Guy had to fight his desire to roll her over and claim a victory kiss. “Still challenging my manhood, Cora? I obviously did not make my threat plain enough last time.”

“Release me at once,” she demanded, struggling.

He lifted his head from the floor until his face was even with hers. As he spoke, his lips skimmed her flushed cheek. “Do not attempt such a maneuver on me again unless we are in a bedchamber and quite naked. As you have come to discover, I do not mind having a feisty woman in my bed.”

Her eyes narrowed on him. A tremor heaved through her body, flushing her cheeks.

Guy could no longer resist such temptation. His lips explored the silky texture of her neck, and he gentled her with long, thorough caresses down her back. When her tense muscles loosened and she sagged against him, his chest swelled in pleasure.

“Leave off with the battle skills, Cora,” he said in a soft voice. “Next time, I vow you won’t get off so easily.”

When he opened his arms, she scurried away, but not before digging one of her bony elbows into his ribs.

“Your threats do not scare me, Guy Trevelyan.” She stared down at him, her body heaving with feigned indignation. He saw the truth of her words written across her adorable, mutinous features.

He suppressed an aching smile. Cora-bell was back.

Her lips firmed as if understanding his thoughts, and she let loose a soft snort and marched away.

The door closed behind her with a thud, and Guy’s head sagged to the floor. She grew stronger every day, and he was glad of it. But her comment about freeing her brother was not an idle threat. Her ultimatum was clear—work with her or choke on her dust.

There was no way he would take the chance of her crossing paths with Valère again. The mere thought made his stomach churn with acid.

He longed for the days of old when the lord could lock his woman in her solar and set a few guards outside her door, or order the castle hag to brew up a sleeping concoction. He enjoyed the images for perhaps a bit too long before he cast them aside and sought a more civilized approach.

When none came to mind but the one Cora had offered, a wave of foreboding slithered down his spine. He would have to join forces with her.

She had survived three years in relative seclusion, fighting the French on their soil. Intelligence, beauty, and a noble cause had carried her through mission after successful mission. However, allowing her to face Valère again scraped his nerves raw. The Frenchman’s plan had been foiled one too many times now. That made him even more dangerous than normal. And, if Guy were honest with himself, he didn’t want her coming face-to-face with her ex-lover. He knew better than to believe that she would succumb to the man’s wiles, but the thought of the bastard’s knowing gaze on her made him want to rip out the Frenchman’s eyes.