A Lady's Revenge (11 page)

The occupants in the house had long since retired upstairs for the evening, leaving the lower level in eerie silence. With book in hand, Cora curled up on the brocade chaise lounge where Guy had knelt earlier in the day, displaying his fabulous bottom and a hint of something more forbidden.

The boy from her youth had made an appearance this morning. She had enjoyed their interplay, seeing his beautiful, long-lashed eyes narrow, promising retribution if she didn’t tread carefully. Memories of her time in France hadn’t existed during those precious moments. Cora’s heart had gloried at the feeling of freedom. The guilt and shame, her yearning for revenge and justice had slid away, making room for the comfort of an old friendship.

A small, furry paw swatted her arm, startling her from her contemplations. She glanced down to find Guy’s ankle-biter hunkering down on the floor. “What are doing down there? I thought Dinks built you a warm nest in her room.”

The kitten stared intently at the ribbon hanging from her elbow, a predatory gleam in his green eyes. “In the mood to play, I see. You had best not bother the earl. He’ll not be happy that I didn’t turn you out.”

“What the hell are you wearing?” a shocked voice demanded from the doorway, sending the kitten scurrying for cover.

Cora turned to see Guy eyeing the lower half of her body. Bewildered, she looked down to see one bare foot hooked onto the back of her makeshift bed and the other burrowed beneath a pale yellow woolen coverlet. Nothing to cause such a rumpus, although the pose was less than ladylike. Guy had no doubt seen worse from her over the years.

Cora heaved a sigh. So much for everyone being asleep in their beds. “I believe they’re called breeches, my lord. Have you not heard of them?”

His eyes narrowed. “Those are not breeches.”

Cora shook her head, exasperated. After all these years, men were still a mystery to her. Her
pai
jamahs
covered every inch of her body—except her feet. A pair of ordinary feet, if one ignored the burn marks. By Guy’s reaction, one would think she danced around the room naked.

“Yes, they are—just not your typical English style.”

“Why are you running around the house with them on?”

“Do go away, Guy.” She waved him off. “I’m trying to enjoy my book, and I can’t do that with you standing there ogling me.”

Instead of leaving, he moved forward, hovering over her like a bird of prey sighting a plump hare.

Her teeth clenched, knowing he wouldn’t stop pestering her until she answered. “I came across these a few years ago in an Indian bazaar and have begun wearing them to bed, as I find them to be more comfortable and warmer than a nightdress.” He made her feel nine years old again, answering to her father for some minor misdeed.

“Move your feet out of the way.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to sit down.”

“You’ll do no such thing—”

Grasping her ankles, he shifted her legs enough for him to slip beneath and then placed her feet on his solid thigh. Cora swallowed, the intimacy of the contact making her heart lodge in her throat.

She tried to pull her feet out of his grasp, not wanting him to see or touch her burns. “If you need a place to sit, I’ll be happy to read in my bedchamber.” Even though her insides clenched with embarrassment, nervous excitement thundered in her chest.

“As you can see, that’s not necessary,” he said in an unperturbed tone. “You may continue to read while I help you relax.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?”

He answered by kneading between her toes.

Bliss shot up her leg, and tension locked her muscles. The juxtaposition of the two sensations sent her mind reeling. His strong fingers manipulated the soreness from the pads of her feet, careful not to touch her wounds. Her body wanted to melt into thought-numbing ecstasy, but her mind wouldn’t release her.

She waited. Waited in silent horror for him to come to his senses, to pull away in disgust.

“Relax, Cora.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You can. Now, breathe.”

She tried and failed.

“Again,” he demanded.

His fingers skimmed carefully over the half-dozen circular burns dotting the soles of her feet. She closed her eyes, her body tensing even further.

“That’s not helping,” she ground out.

He ignored her. “Do these still cause you pain?”

Enough
, her mind raged. She pulled at her foot.

“Do be still.” He tugged her foot back in place. “Answer my question, if you please.”

Jaw clenched, Cora glanced down at where his hands continued their masterful manipulation. “No. Just tender.”

When he lifted one savaged sole toward his lips, her eyes rounded in horror, and her body turned into a block of cold, unmovable marble.

“Oh, God,” she choked out, her toes curling. “No, Guy, please don’t—” His lips pressed against first one burn mark and then the other. Tears threatened. “P-please stop.”

With the greatest care, he rested her foot across his thigh and cupped the bottom of her foot with his warm palm. His other hand smoothed over the tops of both her feet. “I will do everything within my power to give you ease, Cora.”

Gratitude flooded her body, but she had to struggle to enjoy the sensation. She wanted to follow his lead, allow him to help her through this dark hour. But the emotions were trying to choke her. There were so many of them to grasp and control and to set free.

She gathered her tumultuous thoughts together and focused them on his strong hands, on the exquisite pleasure spiraling up her spine. Nothing else. Only the hedonistic joy of the moment.

He continued his gentle assault, rubbing every muscle and crease of her foot. Within minutes, her eyes fluttered shut and her body melted into the cushions of the chaise. She idled in this half-aware state until an odd throbbing against the side of her foot brought her back to full awareness. She glanced down and noticed her foot now rested against his groin.

His hard, pulsing groin.

“Guy—” She made to sit up, but her chest met his staying hand.

“Ignore it.”

It
drew her attention again. While she stared down at his lap,
it
lengthened and stretched to an impressive and painful-looking size. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Do your best. I can’t control my body’s response to your nearness, especially dressed as you are, but I can control how I react to such temptation. So relax and allow me to do this one kindness for you.”

Cora searched his eyes for a secret meaning and found nothing save sincerity. When the nightmares remained locked away in her mind, she eased back, giving her silent consent.

Approval shone in his dark eyes, and Cora felt a ridiculous amount of satisfaction at her accomplishment. He began working on her other foot, and then those amazing hands kneaded their way up her calf.

She emitted a low, approving groan, certain there was a special place in heaven for hands as skilled as his. He had a wonderful knack for hitting all the right spots. She thought of all the beautiful women for whom he had mastered the technique, shocked by the stab of jealousy that shot through her heart.

How many feminine calves had it taken for him to learn the exact amount of pressure to exert in order to arch a woman’s back? Her mind shied away from such useless questions.
Concentrate
on
the
pleasure
, she chided herself.

She gave it her most valiant effort, but her mind veered back to Guy. In his youth, he had been a handsome lad with a decided bent toward mischief. Even now, in unguarded moments, she could detect a sparkle of the boyish charm that had saved him from numerous lashings. But the glimpse of her old friend wasn’t what compelled her to spy on him beneath her lashes.

It was the rugged perfection of his sculpted features. Every line on his striking face seemed carved by the hand of the great Bernini. If not for the end-of-the-day stubble on his chin and the disheveled sweep of his hair, he would be too damned perfect for her taste.

His hair.

Aching to feel the silky texture of his long locks, she twisted her fingers together before she succumbed to such enticement. Thick strands of black hair had escaped his leather thong, making him appear as though he had just stepped off the deck of a two-masted brigantine. Piratical. Dangerous. Seductive.

When she drew in a calming breath, his scent—an exotic combination of sandalwood and musk—filled her nostrils. Her pulse stuttered, and her stomach clenched. Out of sheer torture, she indulged in another deep inhalation. Her body grew languid, her eyelids heavy.

“If you continue to stare at me in such a way, Cora, I may have to rethink my earlier statement about controlling myself.”

Her eyes widened, and heat crawled up her chest and into her face. Who would believe that Cora deBeau, British agent and seductress, remembered how to blush? She disliked her loss of control. She had worked hard over the years to mask her emotions. Emotions that could get her—and others—killed. What was it about Guy that made her forget years of training and discipline?

And yet, she was tempted to burrow beneath the Raven’s persona and see where things led.

“Is that a challenge I see in your beautiful eyes?” he asked, his tone drenched in male desire.

For a charged moment, she allowed his question to hover in the air between them. Then she dug her foot into his thigh. “Yes, I can see how I would inspire uncontrollable lust in my present state, especially with a man of your experience.”

He looked down at his arousal. “I believe my current state of discomfort belies the first part of your comment. As for the latter part… what do you know of my experience?”

She glanced away, her unease returning. Their conversation had crept over the invisible line of what she could tolerate. Her hand rubbed over the area around her heart. It felt like a ball of slithering snakes resided within. She needed to move, needed to escape.

This time when she tried to remove her feet, he released them without comment. Placing a supportive hand against her rib cage, she sat up and planted her damaged feet firmly on the floor. She stared at the worn carpet fibers, fighting the compulsion of her own mind.

He touched her shoulder. “Cora.”

The contact pushed her over the edge. She stood.

“Don’t run.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “More like a strategic retreat.”

She wanted to stay but needed to go. She hated this weakness, hated Valère for ruining her chance at love. Hated herself for caring about something she had forsaken years ago.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened her mouth to apologize for her cowardice, for not being strong enough to be his friend. Before she could say a word, a grimace shot across his features, and his eyes widened in pain.

“Damn man-eating tiger,” he growled, bending over. “I’m going to turn you into a hand muff.”

Before he blocked her view, Cora caught sight of the kitten wrapped around his bootless ankle, claws extended, fangs exposed. He disengaged the kitten and raised him in the air by the scruff of his little neck. The incredulous look on Guy’s face and the swatting kitten dangling in midair was too much. A gurgle of amusement started low in her stomach, building steadily until it finally emerged on a snort of laughter.

Guy’s stunned gaze locked with hers across the short distance, her laughter having caught them both off guard. A warm smile lit his face, even as he dodged the small beastie’s sharp claws.

Cora’s heart lodged in her throat at his display of tenderness.

She had revealed too much.

Again.

His upturned lips transformed into a stern, thin line. “It’s not funny, Cora. His attacks were bad enough while I wore leather boots, but razor-sharp needles penetrating my stocking-covered ankle ceases to amuse.”

Grateful for the distraction, Cora responded, “You’re right, of course. Here”—she reached for the kitten—“let me take Scrapper to my bedchamber, so he won’t cause you further injury.”

“Scrapper? You named the damned cat
Scrapper
?”

“It was either that or Fang, and I think Scrapper has a certain poignancy to it, wouldn’t you agree?” She turned to leave.

“Cora, come back here. I’m not through with you yet.”

She continued her escape with the kitten hooked over her shoulder. “I believe that’s enough comfort for one evening. Good night, my lord.”

Cora couldn’t contain the huge grin and accompanying chuckle any longer. She dug her fingers into Scrapper’s velvety fur and climbed the stairs to her room on feet lighter than when she had descended. She barely felt the pinpricks of pain each step caused.

It wasn’t until later, when Cora lay in her bed, staring at the darkened canopy above her and the kitten purring contentedly atop her chest, that she permitted herself to bask in the warmth of Guy’s smile.

***

Guy’s attention narrowed on the furry menace draped over Cora’s shoulder as she dashed from the room. Was that a twinkle he saw in the damned cat’s eyes? Before Cora turned the corner, the little feline baggage stretched out a paw toward him, claws extended.

How the hell was he supposed to interpret that? Probably trying to get in a last bloodletting swipe before being carted off.

Cora’s soft chuckle reached his ears. The pure beauty of the sound left him reeling with joy, his furry nemesis forgotten. This morning, when she noted
Scrapper’s
claw marks on his Hessians, her smile nearly broke free, and he had mourned the loss. But tonight… tonight she had laughed, actually laughed for the first time since they had retrieved her from France.

His mood darkened.

She had been nothing more than a bundle of bones when they had found her. Not an ounce of femininity could be found. If not for her unmistakable eyes, he might have left her behind. Guy pulled in a ragged breath to stem his churning stomach.

Thanks to Dinks’s encouragement, or rather, her bullying, the hollows in Cora’s cheeks had already begun to fill in, and the skin stretching across her narrow fingers no longer looked so stark and colorless. Although her recent merriment was short-lived, it signaled yet another area Valère failed to destroy and heralded another step closer to her recuperation.