A Lady's Revenge (10 page)

“Relax,” he said. “I’m in need of some comfort after the scare you gave me back there.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her apology emerged fragmented, nearly inaudible to her own ears.

“Do you wish to discuss it?”

She shook her head and pushed against his hold. “No.”
God, no.
How does one explain a total loss of self?

“Then leave off,” he whispered near her ear, tightening his hold. “I won’t hurt you, and you know it.”

In her mind, she knew he was not a threat. He had always protected her. From the moment her ten-year-old feet had tripped up Somerton’s front steps to her recent stay in Valère’s dungeon, Guy had been there to pick her up. Knowing all of this did not stop the sensation of a thousand worms burrowing beneath the surface of her skin at his restraining embrace.

“Take another step, Cora.”

His challenge heated her skin. Something in his tone told her the next step would be the largest one of all.

By slow, controlled increments, she allowed her body to sink against him, to melt into the cradle of his arms. To yearn for the press of his lips.

***

As Guy brushed a kiss against Cora’s silken curls and rested his chin there, the scent of jasmine reached his nose. When her body gave way and molded itself against him, he sighed a relieved breath. Yes, his Cora was a fighter.

He stared across the glade with unseeing eyes. Never would he forget the sight of her standing on that narrow deer path, her terrified eyes dilating at his approach, her hand frantically searching the depths of her skirt pocket—locked in a nightmare only she could see. He had called to her several times with no response. The moment he reached for her, her hand broke free, and the steel blade of a knife sliced through the air at him.

His quick reactions not only saved his life but likely Cora’s, as well. She would never have forgiven herself had she struck him. Her look of self-disgust was proof enough.

“It’s beautiful here.” Her quiet murmur pulled him back to the present.

Indeed, it was. A riot of early summer flowers tangled with short grasses and wispy bushes. In the distance, at the edge of the lake, a long, yellow-legged heron stalked some silvery prey that sliced back and forth beneath the surface of the shimmering water.

The tentative brush of her fingers drew his attention. Her free hand hovered over his, which were clasped securely around her waist. He held perfectly still while she made her decision. When her chilled palm finally covered his knuckles, his tense muscles relaxed.

His thumb brushed across the sling anchoring her left wrist against her chest. “Does it hurt terribly?”

“No, not really. It’s only sprained, after all. The swelling has gone down enough that I should be able to remove it soon.”

She spoke as if her injuries were of little consequence. When in reality, the damage Valère had inflicted upon her body was the worst he had ever seen. Guy changed the subject, not wanting her to fall prey to painful memories again.

“Do you remember when we were children? How the three of us would sneak off on hot summer afternoons to cool off in the lake?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Cora-bell the fish,” he teased, remembering one of the many nicknames he and Ethan had given her. “I’m still amazed at how long you could swim underwater without coming up for air.”

She snorted. “A survival technique I was forced to learn in order to escape two boys with constant mischief on their minds.”

Guy opened his hand, palm up, in invitation. When her slender fingers slid between his, his pulse leaped.

“We had many great times, did we not?” he said in a low voice.

A small smile crinkled the skin near her good eye. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

He held up their entwined hands. “Our past is woven together as tightly as our fingers.” The side of his nose rested against her hair. “And I have every reason to believe our future will be, too.” He did not disclose how closely he would like to see them entwined.

She ripped free from his embrace and put several feet of distance between them. “Please don’t.”

Guy cursed this overwhelming need of his to be near her, to comfort her. To bring warmth back to her life. He stared at her rigid back. “Don’t what?”

A lifetime passed before she faced him. When she did, her features were composed—cool.

Raven.

She used the persona as a defense mechanism, one where she could remain detached, unemotional. He was beginning to hate that particular cast to her features.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” she said. “But please don’t. I’m willing to work with you on conquering this”—she waved her hand in vicinity of her head—“this weakness of the mind, but I have no interest beyond a few chaste touches.”

If he were a gentleman, he would murmur his agreement and assure her that he meant nothing untoward by his comment: his only goal was to help her overcome her fear and keep her safe.

He wasn’t a gentleman, nor was he a liar. “Does your aversion exclude kissing, Cora?”

Wariness filled her gaze. “W-what do you mean?”

“I’m merely trying to grasp the rules of our campaign.”

She said nothing, but Guy could see her filtering through the advantages and disadvantages of her response.

He shortened the distance between them. “Is kissing forbidden, Cora?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and Guy’s gut clenched around an answering surge of anticipation.

“Cora.” He was close enough now to feel her rapid bursts of exhalation. He skimmed his mouth along the soft swell of her lower lip, mixing his breath with hers. The feathery sensation tickled and tantalized, teased and taunted, and Guy locked his arms at his sides to keep from dragging her into a more satisfying position. “Do you wish to deny yourself this small comfort?”

Her eyes closed, and she released a slow, trembling breath. “No.”

Desire surged through him, expanding his muscles and tightening his groin. He reached for her, only to be stopped by a firm hand to his chest.

“Not yet, Guy. Please. Not yet.” Tears choked her words, and violent tremors racked her body.

He rubbed her bare arms, trying to bring some warmth back into her chilled body. “Sweetheart, don’t.” When she continued to tremble, he made to pull away, to give her the space she needed to combat the nightmare overwhelming her mind, but she crashed into his chest and folded her right arm around his waist. She held onto him as if she battled gale-force winds.

He held out his arms, not knowing what to do with them. If he wrapped them around her, would she feel caged and threatened? If he continued to avoid contact, would she become self-conscious and flee his presence?

Bloody
hell.

In the end, he did what any red-blooded man would do in the face of a distressed woman. He patted her back and made shushing noises. He felt like a damned idiot, but after a few agonizing minutes, her shaking dissipated. When the stillness grew awkward, she released her hold and backed away.

Not a single tear stained her cheeks.

He glanced down and noted her first two fingers strangling her thumb in her old telltale sign of anxiety. Slowly, he reached for her hand and pulled her thumb free. He didn’t release his hold.

She sent him a wan smile. “Old habits.”

He swung her hand back and forth. “I remember how to fix it.”

“Will you never grow weary of fixing me, Guy?”

Lifting her hand to his lips, he said, “No. Cryptographers never tire of piecing things together.”

Gratitude sparkled in her eyes, and Guy’s heart clenched at the sight. He disliked seeing her weighed down by such fragile vulnerability. For a moment, he wished for the return of her Raven mien.

She needed to regain the confidence she had lost during her flight through the woods. “I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes.” He retrieved her knife from his coat pocket. “I believe you dropped this in the woods.”

She reared back. “No. I don’t want it.”

“You must.” He forced her fist open and pressed the handle into her palm.

“I can’t be trusted with a weapon. You should know that better than anyone.”

“You are safer with it than without it.”

“Whether you realize it or not, Guy, I could have done you serious harm back there.”

“But you didn’t.” He closed her fingers around the knife. “I cannot be with you every minute of the day, and I shall rest easier knowing you carry this.”

She hesitated a fraction longer, and then with expert ease, she inspected the blade’s edge before sliding it back into her skirt pocket. “Thank you.” She wrapped her arm around her middle, where her bruised ribs were no doubt protesting her recent exertions. “I think I’ve had enough fresh air for one day.”

“Come.” He held out his arm, setting aside his disappointment at having to share her again. “Let me escort you back to Dinks. She’ll brew a special tonic that will take the edge off your pain.”

Understanding glimmered in her eyes as she accepted his arm. He steeled himself against her light touch. The heat from her fingers penetrated the many layers of cloth and muscles, warming him all the way to his bones.

“Familiar with Dinks’s tonics, are you?” she asked.

“I doubt there are many around who have not benefitted from her brandy-laced brews.”

“True.”

They continued on in easy silence, each deep in their own thoughts. Each wondering what would have happened had they given in to their craving for each other’s kiss.

Two days later, Cora removed the irritating sling and made for the kitchen. Her appetite had returned in full force, and she longed for something more solid than her current diet of watery soup and clotted-cream porridge. But as her appetite increased, her sleep had fallen victim to nightmares of the past once she had stopped taking the laudanum. As much as she hated the opiate, she longed for a full night’s rest.

She rubbed her exhausted head and trudged through the sun-brightened house, experimentally flexing her hand and rotating her wrist. Needles of pain shot up her arm and, after so many days of idleness, her muscles felt leaden and useless.

She performed the exercise a few more times, shrugging off the discomfort. Regaining strength in her arm was just one more obstacle to overcome. She had lost count of how many of those she had encountered since her first introduction to Valère.

As she headed for food that she could actually cut with her teeth, she passed the library door and heard a muffled expletive. Retracing her steps, Cora peered into the room. At first she thought the room empty, until her gaze lowered and was greeted by a man’s well-shaped bottom clad in fawn-colored wool.

“Come out from under there you insufferable fur ball.” Guy made a quick grab for something beneath the burgundy chaise longue. “Dammit.”

Cora raised an eyebrow, amused to see the Earl of Helsford in such an undignified position. “Why don’t you try using some of your legendary charm to coax your friend out?”

He jerked up, smacking his head on the chaise. “Ow!” Rubbing his head, he sat back on his heels and sent her a you’ll-pay-for-that look, an expression she hadn’t seen in a very long time—and one she keenly missed.

“Do not scowl at me,” she admonished, ignoring the ache in her heart. “I had nothing to do with your current affliction.”

“Sneaking up on me doesn’t count for culpability?”

“No.”

Cora stepped closer to investigate. What would tempt Guy to get down on his hands and knees? As she bent forward, a delicate gray face with large green eyes peeked out to investigate
her
.

A kitten.

She shifted her attention to Guy. “How on earth did the little creature get in here?”

“How should I know,” he grumbled. “But it’s going back to wherever it came from.”

She watched the poor kitten inch closer. “Don’t be silly. If I can’t find its mother, I’ll care for it.”

“The fur ball’s not staying in this house.”

“Are you afraid the kitten will bother your aunt’s birds?” During one of her exploratory circuits, Cora had found a large brass-wired cage sitting atop a pedestal in the far corner of Aunt Phoebe’s rose-colored drawing room. Inside, a pair of small yellow birds flapped about their enclosure, tipping their little heads from side to side at her approach. When they realized she wished them no harm, they had extended their feathered throats and began to sing to her… at least that’s how Cora interpreted their action.

Guy’s jaw firmed. “No, I’m not worried about the birds. If anything, I might let the kitten loose inside the cage just to shut them up.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” She watched the kitten edge closer to Guy’s boot. “What’s your aversion, then? We harbored many barnyard cats in the past.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s a damned ankle-biter.”

“A what?”

“You heard me,” he said. “The little baggage thinks it’s great fun to attack my ankles while I’m sitting here. I now have some very decorative claw and fang marks on my new boots.”

Cora waved her hand in the direction of Guy’s black Hessians. “Let me see.”

Hiking his foot up on the chaise, he pointed to the offending marks around the ankle area. “There.”

Sure enough, little gouge marks punctured the expensive soft leather.

She pointed to the top of his high boot. “I suspect your tassel is more temptation than the little one could bear.” Her lips twitched.

“You find this amusing, my dear?” He dropped his foot to the floor.

“Not at all.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt unfeigned amusement. But the gouge marks, the kitten, and Guy’s expression—

“I don’t think you would find it entertaining if it were your poor ankles being attacked by ten tiny needles and a set of butcher-sharpened fangs.”

“No. No, you’re quite right.” She struggled to keep the quiver from her voice.

Picking up a quill from the desk, she knelt down. Uncomfortable with her nearness, the gray kitten wedged itself deeper into the shadows but kept its unblinking green eyes on her. Kinship for the trapped animal clamped around her heart.

Cora wriggled the quill once, twice, and, on the third time, the kitten pounced on the white feather, biting and slapping it into submission. Inch by inch, she moved the quill out of its reach, coaxing the intent kitten from its hiding spot.

She reached out and smoothed her hand over its delicate back, the plush coat more luxurious than any fur muff she had ever owned. When it showed no sign of attacking her hand, she scooped the wide-eyed kitten into her arms and, before long, a rumbling tempest sprang to life inside its small body. Needles bit into the backs of Cora’s eyes at the endearing sound.

“Damnation,” Guy said.

Cora tilted her head up and caught Guy’s lopsided smile, and then a thoughtful expression transfigured his features.

“It appears you have made a friend.”

“Force and intimidation can sometimes have the opposite result of its intended effect. Patience might prove a more effective means of getting one’s way.”

His midnight eyes bore into hers. “So it would seem.”

For several excruciating seconds, he studied her. The intensity of his scrutiny made her feel gauche and exposed. She wanted to pull the curtain of her hair over her eyes. But her long locks were gone, and she had learned long ago not to show such weakness.

He glanced at the kitten, breaking their eye contact. “Be sure to throw that menace outside when you’re done coddling it.” He turned on his heel and left, his gentle tone belying his harsh words and abrupt exit.

For a long time after his departure, Cora stared at the open doorway, absently rubbing her thumb along the downy coat under the kitten’s neck, wondering what she had revealed to Guy’s considering gaze.