A Lady's Revenge (18 page)

Cora’s stomach twisted into a spidery knot. His words left her shaken and tense, heightening her senses until her skin felt abraded along every line of her soft chemise.

“I’ll be in the corridor while you finish your ablutions. I’m leaving the door ajar.” His clipped tone left no room for discussion. “Do not take too long. I would enjoy a warm bath myself.”

Cora’s fevered mind almost missed his meaning. “What do you mean by ‘enjoy a warm bath myself’? Speak to the innkeeper. He’ll have a tub sent to your room.”

“He did.” He pointed in her direction. “It’s right there.”

Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”

Ruthless determination transformed his handsome face into one of uncompromising lines. “I’ll not debate this with you, Cora. I warned you that I’m not letting you out of my sight until Valère’s dead.”

At the door, he turned back. His soft look of encouragement surprised her. “Do hurry, my dear. My bathwater is getting cold.” He left, closing the door just enough to afford her some privacy, and open enough to hear everything that went on inside.

Cora stood by the steaming tub, fuming over his commanding attitude. Did he think she was incapable of taking care of herself? Who did he believe looked after her while she was in France? Her great-aunt? Hardly. She was a dear lady but quite unable to keep up with Cora.

She jumped when Guy stuck his head around the door. “I suggest you make use of that bathwater with all due haste, my dear. I’m giving you precisely fifteen minutes, and then I’m coming in.”

She stalked toward him, slowly, seductively. Carefully keeping her eyes hidden behind lowered lids. Guy’s midnight gaze traveled the length of her, interest lighting his eyes. Cora knew the effect her body had on men, had used it many times over the years, but the intensity of his regard caused an involuntary shiver to track down her spine. When she stood close enough to feel his heightened breath waft across her face, she raised her hand as if to rest it on the door’s edge. Instead, she smacked her palm against the heavy oak panel, forcing the door to ricochet off his forehead.

“Ow!” He rubbed his injured brow. “Why did you do that?”

“That is but a sampling of what I’ll do if you don’t cease ordering me about like an underling.”

“I wasn’t ordering you around. I simply wanted to make use of the warm bathwater.”

“Then try asking me to hurry instead of barking orders at me. I’m closing the door.”

“No—”

She slammed the door shut and, when she heard a growl on the other side, she allowed a small smile to lift the corners of her mouth.

“Fifteen minutes, Cora,” came the muffled warning.

Feeling better, she yanked off her chemise and scampered back to the tub. She slowly sank into the water’s heavenly, balmy depths. A few minutes later, her head lolled to the side, and with heavy lids, she stared at the chamber door. If she were honest with herself, it felt good to know that Guy was outside her room, that he worried about her. It had been so long since someone had.

She sighed and began rinsing the dirt from her exhausted body. Because he had been so thoughtful toward her servants, she would finish five minutes early.

At least she would have, had she not fallen asleep.

Guy’s irritation over Cora’s tardiness melted away upon seeing her fast asleep in a tub full of water. Her race across country had taken its toll on her still-healing body and, of course, her recent confrontation with Valère hadn’t helped matters any. When her carriage had rumbled into the inn’s courtyard, his knees had nearly buckled under the weight of his relief. Seeing her sprite-like face appear in the window was the most glorious sight he had ever beheld.

While waiting for Cora to finish her ablutions, Guy took the opportunity to write a short message to Somerton to let him know she was safe. The information would be welcome news, even to a man whose ability to conceal his emotions was unrivaled. With Cora’s safety secured, Somerton would be able to devote his full attention again to locating Valère.

Guy’s thoughts veered toward the packet Somerton had given him in London. He had taken a moment to review the correspondence inside. From his preliminary assessment, he guessed the message was altered with a homophonic cipher, one of the most complex to breach. To create a homophonic cipher, the cryptographer generally assigned two digits, but sometimes more, to every letter in a word, creating an endless number of combinations to untangle.

His discovery was not good. No wonder Somerton handed the packet over to him. Few had the skill to break such a cipher. And Guy couldn’t be certain he was one of the few.

As he approached the tub, his gaze lit upon Cora’s nakedness, and sharp pangs of need shot through his body. She was so damn beautiful. Always had been, but her youthful innocence had shielded her against his admiring gaze. Not anymore.

When he stood at the edge of her watery haven, his eyes narrowed, cutting through the soapy surface. A macabre patchwork of fading bruises covered her torso, and one side of her face seemed to be darkening before his eyes. Guilt clawed at his stomach, scraping his soul raw.

Indicators of brutality were nothing new to Guy. In the last year, he had come upon the aftermath of violence often enough to build up a numbness against its sudden appearance.

Guy knelt at Cora’s side, easing her awake with the gentle glide of his finger along her moist cheek and over the faint bruises encircling her slender neck. A small oval cameo depicting a delicate feminine profile lay nestled in the hollow between her breasts; the ivory-colored relief rose above a deep orange background.

He leaned closer, tracing the fine craftsmanship with the tip of his finger. A Phrygian cap sat atop the woman’s wavy hair. His gaze searched Cora’s sleeping features, wondering why she would be wearing France’s national symbol of liberty.

She inhaled deeply, deflecting his attention back to her breasts. They broke the surface of the now-tepid water, almost as if they beckoned his touch. Pendant forgotten, he admired the way she awakened with languid sensuality. Her eyes fluttered open, widened, and Guy’s insides twisted with pure, animalistic desire.

Without warning, her hand cut through the air and connected with his throat, a spray of soapy water following the burst of action. An explosion of excruciating pain sent him reeling to the floor, clutching his neck. He struggled for breath, vaguely aware of water splashing nearby and the rapid patter of feet. He wheezed his next breath.

Cora dropped to her knees beside him. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize who you were at first.” She patted his cheek. “Guy—can you speak?”

He turned his head away, rolling to his side. Not only could he not speak, he could not breathe.

She touched his shoulder and peered down at him. “Tilt your head back a bit so your neck’s extended.”

He tried, but the muscles in his throat had constricted, allowing for little movement. He shook his head.

“I know it hurts.” She rubbed her fingers slowly down the length of his throat, easing the tightness. “Try again.”

He raised his chin and was finally able to draw in some much-needed air.

When his labored breaths eased, she asked, “Better?”

“Yes,” he rasped. He eased into a seated position and took a moment to get his more volatile emotions under control. Being laid low by a jab to the throat from an individual half his size was not something any man accepted with grace. When he thought he could finally look at her without murder swirling in his eyes, he lifted his gaze to find her sitting back on her heels, a distraught expression contorting her face. “I’m well, Cora.”

“Only because I pulled back at the last second.”

Pulled
back?
Jesus. If what she said was true, he was damned lucky. Had she followed through, he would be on the floor, clutching his crushed windpipe and slowly suffocating rather than sitting up and struggling with his damaged pride.

He rotated his neck around, stretching the tension from his rigid muscles. “I’m glad you did. I rather like being alive at the moment.”

Rather than the smile he anticipated, her lower lip trembled, yet the rest of her face remained unchanged. The backs of his eyes burned. She was so bloody strong.

“Cora.” He grasped her bare shoulder. “Never fault your instincts for keeping you alive. You knew not whether I was friend or foe. I should have made my presence known, but you looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bear waking you.” The fresh scent of clean woman drifted over him. He smoothed his thumb over a bead of water slipping down her shoulder.

Another droplet trailed over her collarbone, picking up speed as it dashed down her creamy, smooth breast until it met the barrier of her bath towel.

When she noticed the direction of his gaze, she fumbled with the top of the linen to make sure all was secure. She averted the injured side of her face. “Are you sure your throat is not damaged?”

Every time she sensed his interest, she hid her imperfections. He rested his weight on one hand while the other coaxed her face around. She glanced at him and then looked away.

“Yes, my throat is fine,” he answered. “Why do you hide from me?”

A muscle ticked in her jaw. “Is it not obvious?”

“Cora, your injuries do not offend me. Valère offends me, however, and he should remain far out of my sight. I told you, it is your inner light—your courage and loyal nature—that draws a man’s attention.” He brushed his thumb over the curve of her flushed cheek. “My attention,” he admitted softly.

Her eyes widened a little before they narrowed into a reproachful glare. “In order to see the light, a man must first weave his way through a tangle of gnarled branches and thorn-coated underbrush. How many men do you know who are willing to scuff their polished Hessians or rip their superfine coats?”

One.
Guy clamped his teeth around the retort, knowing she was not ready to hear such a confession, understanding she would not believe him, anyway.

When he remained silent, she made to stand. As she made to stand, she clutched her arm to her side, and her brows scrunched together.

“Cora.” He stood, grabbed a second towel and draped it over her wet hair, and then lifted her into his arms. Her body went rigid. “Easy.”

“Guy, please put me down.”

“As you wish.” He sat in an old cushioned chair near the fireplace and settled her onto his lap.

She sent him a quelling look, pushing against his chest. “This isn’t what I meant.”

He grabbed one of her resisting hands and kissed her palm. “Let me see.” He kept his voice low, soothing.

Some of the rigidity left her body, but she clutched the towel tighter to her chest and shook her head.

“Cora, if you don’t open that towel, I will, and I won’t try to protect your modesty this time.”

Once again, her icy blue-green eyes shot daggers through his skull. When he stared back with the same determination, she closed her eyes for a bracing moment and then peeled back the linen, revealing the lower portion of her torso.

It was Guy’s turn to close his eyes. The sight of her bruised body, free of the soap-clouded water, sent a violent shudder of retribution through his body.

Smooth alabaster skin blended into swirls of green, yellow, and purple where old and new injuries collided. He pulled the towel away from her left hip and leg, being careful not to reveal her most feminine center.

She had beautifully contoured legs. Legs that at any other time would conjure visions of him wrapped inside their erotic embrace. But now, all he could see was the long gash on her thigh that started on the outside of her hip and angled all the way down to the inside of her knee. An older wound, given its stage of healing. A wound that would undoubtedly leave a scar.

With trembling hands, she rearranged the linen and exposed an identical mark on her right leg. She pressed her thighs together to reveal a large, perfect V.

The fucking Frenchman had branded her. Had, in fact, marked his territory like a damn wolf in mating season.

“Jesus, Cora.” A lump the size of a billiard ball lodged in his throat. The image of a much-younger Cora frolicking in the pond that separated their two properties flashed through his mind. The world-weary woman in his arms posed a stark contrast to the innocent girl’s vitality.

Her tentative touch on his jaw brought him back to the present.

Tears spiked her eyelashes. “Do not mourn for me, Guy. The messages he leaves on my body are of little consequence.”

“They are not—”

Her fingers moved to his lips, silencing him. “They are. I knew the moment I stepped foot on French soil that I was forsaking my destiny as a viscount’s daughter. I knew no man of honor would ever accept the woman I had to become.”

“Cora.” He rested his forehead against hers and cupped her uninjured cheek. “You should never have been involved with a man like Valère.”

“It was my decision to make.”

“You were little more than a child.”

She smiled wistfully. “I was twenty when I left for France, Guy. Some ladies are well into motherhood at that age.”

He ground his teeth together, unable to argue the point.

“Do not fret for me. I’ve underestimated my foe twice. There won’t be a third time.” She sealed the promise with a hesitant kiss to his cheek.

Guy’s muscles contracted at her gentle touch. Her halting show of affection was one of the most compelling sensations he had ever experienced. He wanted to turn his head and pull her into a full, devouring kiss. One that would sate his growing desire and banish his overwhelming guilt. And show her he was not like any other man.

When she drew back, her tremulous gaze revealed a glimpse of the innocence she had lost while in France. “Be at ease, dear Guy.”

In the face of all she had endured, she still sought to take care of others. He bent and kissed her, not the devouring kiss he desired, but a melding of lips to remind her of what they had shared in the glade at Herrington Park. She returned the pressure, almost desperately at first before settling in and following his lead. They lingered in this dreamlike state for several minutes, giving and taking, learning and reacting.

Soon, she sighed and melted into his embrace. The backs of her fingers caressed his injured throat before she placed delicate, apologetic kisses along the area where she had struck him. She pulled back and met his gaze.

He lost himself in that moment. The chamber disappeared; the world beyond vanished. All he could see was Cora. The only sensation he felt was the soft warmth of her body. He sank deeper into her inviting gaze, searching for the secret thought glinting in her unforgettable eyes.

The shift from friends to lovers was not heralded by a dazzling array of fireworks, nor was the change signified by the chiming of a thousand bells. No. For them, the transformation came in the form of her teary, joyful smile.

“I am at ease only while at your side.” His confession emerged low, almost incomprehensible.

Her small hand smoothed over his hair as if she were taming a wild beast. She pressed her face into the side of his neck and whispered, “Then stay with me tonight.”

A tidal wave of lust and possession drenched his already aroused body. He wanted to toss her onto the bed and strip away every filthy memory Valère had forced upon her and replace them with cherishing caresses and love-filled strokes. He wanted to offer her tender words of encouragement and to reassure her of his devotion and support. He wanted to obliterate every layer of darkness from her life. Instead, his aching body allowed him only a single-syllable response. “Yes.”

She seemed content with his reply, for she nestled against him and gave herself over to the slumber she had forsaken the night before.

Guy closed his eyes and concentrated on her even breaths, resting his chin on top of her damp curls while he wrestled with the building pressure in his chest. Her courage and grace humbled him. Even at a young age, she had known her own mind. Seemed to have the course of her life set and followed it without fail.

Unlike him.

He had floundered for several years, not knowing his place or what he wanted. From the deBeau siblings, he had learned about family and friendship. From Somerton, he had learned about honor and duty—to his relatives and his estates and the people who worked them. But something vital had been missing from his life. It wasn’t until he returned to England, after spending some time abroad searching for his elusive happiness, that he realized what he needed.

His epiphany presented itself in the form of a mature Cora dressed in an alluring red gown and traipsing around a masked ball. The moment she removed her black silk mask, he knew what he wanted. A home. A family. Cora.

And then she left. For three long years.

A soft snore brought him back to the present. To the woman in his arms, who had given herself over to him for safekeeping.

A treasure beyond compare.