A Lady's Revenge (31 page)

Two hours later, Dinks and Bingham returned from the village.

“The folks in the village are real tight-lipped about the goings-on at the Big House, as they call it,” Dinks said.

“That garden fellow didn’t seem none too quiet to me,” Bingham grumbled.

A flush covered Dinks’s face. “He did have a bit to say, but none of it had to do with Miss Cora.”

“Then why’d you waste so much time on him?”

“Isn’t that why we went there?” Dinks asked in exasperation. “To charm information from his lordship’s servants and neighbors? The gardener might not know anything at the moment, but he’ll keep his eyes and ears open now.”

Bingham plopped his hat back on his head. “I’ll be out in the barn if you need me, m’lord,” he said, glaring at Dinks on his way out.

“He’s been in a foul mood ever since we arrived,” Dinks said in frustration.

“Can you not see why, Dinkie?” Jack asked with a crooked grin.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on in that old codger’s head.” She moved about the room, straightening this and that. “It’s neither here nor there, anyway. What do we do now, my lord?”

“We must get rid of the guards.”

“How many are we talking about, m’lord?”

“Valère has at least a score of men stationed around the house.” Guy tried to control his own impatience.

“How about we take them out one by one, sir?” Jack said.

“It might come to that, Jack.” Guy rubbed his tired eyes. “However, I’m hoping for something a bit more efficient and with far better odds of survival.”

“Come, my lord,” Dinks coaxed. “You’re running low and need to rest. We’ve established there’s nothing more to be done tonight but worry.”

“You’re right, as always, Dinks.”

“Do you plan on waiting until Lord Somerton arrives, m’lord?” Jack asked.

“I’ll give him until tomorrow evening.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll take my chances.”

Moonlight spilled through the balcony door, casting a silver beacon of light onto the bedchamber floor a few feet from where Cora sat propped against the wall. But it was the ticking of the clock on the bedside table that held her rapt attention.

She had run out of time.

When the maid brought her dinner tray, she had cheerily told Cora that his lordship would be leaving first thing in the morning.

Cora’s head fell back against the wall, and she stared at the ceiling. Other than a few taunting visits, Valère had not forced his attentions on her. That would all change tonight. How would he exact his revenge? Rape? Torture? Murder? All three? A sliver of ice ran down her spine. As if any of those options were amenable.

Good God. She wondered if the thin thread holding her sanity intact would survive the horrifying events Valère planned for her. He had begun his sensual torment last night, touching and kissing, leading her to believe her cooperation was the only thing that would keep her brother breathing. Her fingers worried the makeshift sling supporting her wounded left shoulder as images of the previous evening flashed before her eyes.

She had agonized over the possibility of Ethan being alive and under the same roof. Valère would not think twice about using her dead brother to further his goals. In the end, she endured Valère’s revolting touches, because she could not bear being the cause of another’s death. Poor Scrapper. The kitten had used his last heartbeat to give her a chance to survive.

She had survived and would continue to do so by pretending it was Guy’s lips pressed against her neck, not Valère’s.

The Frenchman excelled at prolonging her anxiety. He knew she would focus on little else but his return. His enjoyment would end soon, for all would be resolved this evening. At least, for her.

Why had she thought she could defeat Valère alone? Why had she not confided her plans to Guy? Had she really thought she could outwit Valère?

Cora closed her eyes. Since her parents’ murders, she had followed her own path for so long, certain of her course. She knew no other way.

She rolled her head to the side and shifted her gaze to the sheer curtain swaying in the evening summer breeze. Where was Guy? Did he search for her? Of course, he did. Guy was her friend.
Friend.
The word tore at her soul. Considering what her most recent decision was putting him through, such might not be the case any longer.

Her exhausted mind envisioned Guy hovering beyond the fluttering curtain, his broad shoulders adjusting to the narrow width of the open balcony door. With a veritable army patrolling the grounds, Valère knew door locks were unnecessary.

Guy’s hazy image solidified when he stepped farther into the room. His handsome profile, so familiar and dear, caused the backs of her eyes to sting. She had missed him—every provoking inch. A sob welled deep in her throat.

He turned at the sound, spotted her shivering in the corner, and breathed her name into the evening breeze.

“Cora, love,” he whispered, holding out his hand, coaxing her from the shadows. “I’m going to take you home now.”

“You came.”

“Did you think I would not?”

“I-I… how did you find me?”

“I will explain later,” he said, urgency cutting his words short, “but first we must get you to safety.”

“Yes. P-please.”

“Please what,
mon
ange
?”

“
Mon
ange?
” she asked in confusion.

“Dreaming about your lover?” Valère’s languid voice cut through the fog of sleep. She glanced around and found him sitting on the edge of her bed, not six feet away.

She scrambled to her feet, jarring her injury. Pain exploded in her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and worked to keep her body from swaying. Her gaze swept the room, looking for Guy. Was it just an apparition?
No!
God would not be so cruel.

“I d-don’t know what you mean.”

“You seem to have developed an unbecoming stutter,
ma
chère
,” he said in a casual tone. Too casual.

She stared at him, shaken by the vividness of her dream.

“What? The Raven has nothing to say? You did not seem to be at a loss for words a few minutes ago.”

“Perhaps I dreamed of you.”

His silky half smile disappeared. Valère’s lean body unfolded, and he stood, menace humming around him like a swarm of bees. He tilted his head in a predatory manner, studying her. Silence stretched.

Cora reached for the wall behind her, seeking its solid strength in a miserable attempt to steady her nerves and stay upright.

“What did you dream?”

The next several hours yawned before her. She could see the revolving cycle of his revenge as clearly as if she had already lived it. In a way, she had. He would toy with her mind, touch her body, and feed her fear. But this time his attentions would be condensed to a twelve-hour period, not a fortnight.

She rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension. If she had weathered two weeks in his company, a half day—no matter how magnified—was barely worth her concern. She swallowed hard.

A false sense of courage fortified her spine, and she pushed away from the wall. Away from her haven of darkness, she realized with some surprise.

Every wile she had learned from Somerton’s former mistress, and a few she had picked up on her own, led her down the familiar path of securing this man’s attention, of using his own need as a means of control.

The rose-colored silk nightdress pressed against the outline of her body, leaving nothing to the onlooker’s imagination. She inched closer, her gaze drifting over his lean body, ensuring he felt the scorching trail of her interest.

Forgive
me, Guy.
“I dreamed…” Cora allowed her words to float in the air between them. Her fingertips feathered up the length of his arm, along his shoulder, and hovered over his lips. She caressed the air above, the heat radiating from her fingertips her only contact.

“What?” he rasped, reaching for her waist.

“Ah, ah, my lord, you must keep your hands to yourself.”

Valère lowered his arms, clenching his hands into ready weapons. “I do not like to be trifled with.”

“What a pity,” she purred. Her free hand tugged his coat off one shoulder and then the other, allowing it to fall about his elbows. “Because that is exactly what I intend to do.”

When Somerton failed to show the following evening, Guy knew he could wait no longer. To leave Cora under Valère’s thumb another day was unthinkable. He would have to follow through with his plan and pray Somerton arrived soon with reinforcements.

However, the wait had given him several quiet hours to work on the cipher. He was so damned close.

T 32 E 26 27 22 15 E R T 22 23

His heart thundered with the taste of triumph close at hand. Just a few more days. Maybe even hours.

“Lord Helsford!” Dinks burst through the front door of the hunting box, Bingham and Jack following behind at a more sedate pace.

“What is it? Have you heard something?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “I know how to get you into the house with none the wiser.” Dinks pressed a calming hand against her ample chest.

Tugging on her arm, Guy settled her into a nearby chair. “Have a seat so you can catch your breath.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord.”

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“I know where they’re storing their ale casks.” Dinks beamed at him, her hands prayer-like against her bosom, as though all their worries had been resolved.

“I see,” Guy lied.

“Henry let it slip that his lordship’s servants sneak down for an extra pint or two more than their daily ration.”

Guy struggled to make a beneficial connection. “And Henry would be?”

“The garden fellow,” Bingham spat.

Dinks’s sunbeam smile turned to a scowl at Bingham’s tone.

“Why did he tell you this information, Dinks?”

“The daft man would have told her anything as long as she kept jiggling her wares under his nose.” Bingham crossed his burly arms over his chest. Bushy eyebrows dusted with a hint of gray turned down into a severe vee, giving him a sinister appearance.

“Why, you four-legged loving, shite-scooping mongrel.” Dinks rose from her chair. “I did what I had to do to help Miss Cora. And, for your information, I’d have done a lot worse than baring a bit of my melons to loosen a lonely man’s tongue. I owe Miss Cora my life, and you owe her for your own miserable existence, too.”

The two stared at each other, neither backing down an inch. Guy wondered if the two realized they were in the midst of a courtship. A volatile one, but a courtship, nonetheless. Did they even realize that’s what this was all about? He glanced at Jack. The footman wore the same roguish I-know-something-you-don’t-know look that had lit his features the previous evening.

“Dinks,” Guy said with growing impatience, “please continue.”

“As I was saying”—she threw one last dagger look at Bingham before resuming her seat—“
Henry
also overheard his lordship ordering preparations for their departure.”

“Departure?”

“Yes. Back to France.”

Guy turned away to stare into the low, hissing fire. “Any mention of the prisoners?”

“No, my lord.”

Desperation bloomed. He could feel its tentacles crawling along the edges of his thoughts. He had one chance to save Cora and the others. The likelihood that Valère would take Cora and Jack’s sister to France was slim. Very slim. They would be a complication he could ill afford at this stage in the game.

“I can poison the ale,” Dinks said.

“What?” Guy swung around. His gaze slashed between the three servants; each sported a devilish grin of satisfaction.

“Well, not exactly poison, but they might wish for the Almighty to take them away.”

“How so?”

“Horehound, my lord.”

“Horehound?”

“Oh, yes. It’s good for cleaning out the system, if you know what I mean.”

He felt the first stirrings of a smile. “I’m beginning to.”

Dinks’s grin turned evil. “If I can gather enough horehound leaves, I can create a purging brew to slip into the casks.” She clasped her hands in glee. “It will have them guards sitting in the shiter for the rest of the evening.”

The trio held their collective breaths while Guy sifted through this new scheme. His slow smile of agreement had them all grinning from ear to ear and elbowing each other in the ribs.

He swooped Dinks into a celebratory whirl. “Well done, my wily Dinks.”

She shrieked her delight before exclaiming, “Put me down, you mad man, you’ll break your back acting like such a fool.”

He settled the maid back on her feet and, with a loud smacking noise, kissed her on the cheek.

Guy rubbed his hands together. “Now, let us get down to business, shall we?”

Later that night, Guy hunkered down to observe the stillness surrounding the grounds of Latymer’s house. Not a guard in sight.

His lips curled into a triumphant smile. Their plan had worked. They had sent Dinks to charm the gardener—much to Bingham’s consternation—into showing her where the casks were stored. A suggestion for an evening nip had given her an opportunity to empty her homemade concoction into the barrels.

Cora’s little group of misfits was more resourceful than an elite band of spies. She would be so proud of them. He relished the moment when he could tell her how the trio had helped save her life again. And he could not wait to tell her how much he—

An owl shrieked low overhead, and Guy ducked. The bird’s massive wings gracefully maneuvered the maze of limbs and branches.

The distraction refocused Guy on the mission ahead, on getting inside the house undetected. He had no way of knowing how many guards, unaffected by Dinks’s potion, were inside. The maid had given him a rough sketch of the mansion’s floor plan, along with a whispered warning of a secret room off the master’s bedchamber. There, she feared, was where that Frenchie kept their little mite.

The thought of Cora bound in such a chamber made his blood run cold. Casting away the image, he moved to take a closer look and was stopped by a distinctive click near his ear.

“I think it best if you stay right where you are, my lord,” a refined voice said.

A slender, well-dressed man edged into his line of sight. The gun he pointed at Guy’s head never wavered.

“Toss your weapons to me,” he ordered. “Slowly.”

“I have no need for weapons, sir,” Guy hedged, stalling for time.

“Indeed? Then you will not mind removing the gun tucked inside your waistband and the knife resting under your right hand.”

Guy swore. How long had the guard been observing him?

“Do you know the gentleman you work for is an enemy to England?”

The guard laughed. “Your puny attempt to tweak my conscience is wasted, monsieur. Toss your weapons. Now.”

Dread trickled down Guy’s spine. The man shifted from flawless English to pure Parisian French. His garments were not of the quality worn by hired mercenaries but ones any London gentleman would be pleased to wear.

“Lord Helsford, I would prefer not to make a mess in Lord Latymer’s woods, but I will.”

Guy narrowed his eyes. “Are you the chap who enjoys beating women?”

“Depends upon the woman, my lord.” Marcel raised the gun higher.

“What’s the matter, Marcel?” Guy nodded toward the man’s waist. “Equipment doesn’t work well anymore?”

The Frenchman’s finger curled around the trigger. “Ask your lady, English dog. She can provide great detail on how well my equipment operates.”

Guy heard the crackle of leaves right before the first loud thud rent the air, followed swiftly by a second. Marcel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his now weaponless hand hung limply by his side. His legs buckled, and he teetered on his knees a moment before falling face forward into the bracken.

A wild-eyed Jack holding a large tree branch stood above the fallen man, his handsome face contorted into something wild and savage.

“Jack?”

“Yes, sir.” He continued to stare at the Frenchman.

“You did well.” Guy nodded toward the footman’s hand still clutching the makeshift weapon. “You won’t need that any longer.”

Jack’s gaze flicked to the branch and then to the prone man on the ground before tossing the weapon away. Without warning, he plunged his boot deep into the man’s ribs. “That’s for my sister, you fecker.” He stomped his broken wrist. “And that’s for Miss Cora.”

Jack’s labored breaths rent the air. Guy kept a wary eye on the footman when he bent to retrieve the unconscious man’s gun.

“Jack.” He waited for the footman to look up. “Do you still have your rope?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let us make sure he does not cause any more trouble.”

While Jack secured Marcel’s limbs, Guy tied a handkerchief around the Frenchman’s mouth.

“Help me move him farther into the woods,” Guy said.

They stowed Marcel in a shallow den beneath a large, fallen oak tree.

“Thank you.” Guy squeezed the young man’s bony shoulder and received a jerky nod in response.

“Bingham is covering the back of the house. I need you to take the front and keep an eye on the drive,” Guy instructed. “God willing, Somerton is on his way to the hunting box, and Dinks can bring him here straightaway.”

“But, m’lord—”

“No buts, Jack. Given the lack of guards, Dinks’s concoction must have done its job. The handful of able servants inside will pose no problem.”

Jack’s scowl conveyed his displeasure at the order, but he moved to comply.

Guy surveyed the manor’s stone edifice, making his way to a side entrance. The fewer of their people inside the house, the fewer they would mourn if all went wrong.

It was his second to last thought before something solid connected with the back of his head and pain splintered through his skull. His last thought, the one that plowed through his mind a second before his face smashed into the ground, was the realization that at least one other guard had dodged the effects of Dinks’s concoction.