A Lady's Revenge (8 page)

When he straightened, he was relieved to see the dazed look in her eyes. So much better than the terror he witnessed yesterday. Progress.

“Another step, Cora.”

He gulped down a final drink of coffee and then pivoted to leave. At the door, he infused as much authority into his tone as possible. “I will return for you after luncheon. Do not keep me waiting.”

A half a second after the door clicked shut behind him something crashed against the door. Dinks sat on a chair a few feet away, her wide eyes slanting from him to the door and back. As Guy passed her position, he winked and said, “Progress, Dinks.”

The maid smiled. “Slew her demons, did you, sir?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

As he continued down the corridor, he heard Cora’s door open, then Dinks’s voice. “Now what have we here, Miss Cora?”

Guy couldn’t stop the smile from breaking across his face. It had felt so damn good talking with Cora again. She had always been a worthy adversary when it came to opposing opinions. Her skills had merely sharpened in the years they had been apart.

And the kiss. Such a stimulating mixture of poignant exploration and seductive enticement. Her scent, her taste, the exquisite softness of her mouth had pushed his limits of control.

But what had intrigued him most was the fact she hadn’t pulled away. He couldn’t be sure, but, the fraction of a second before he ended the kiss he felt a shift beneath his lips. Engagement? He could only hope.

He slid his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting a hint of her morning tea.

Progress, indeed.

“Enough.” Guy struck the roof of the town coach with the side of his fist, unable to watch any longer.

When the coach slowed to a stop, he leaned out the door and addressed Dinks, who sat in the driver’s seat next to Bingham. “Get the laudanum. Now.”

“I’ll not take it,” Cora said from inside.

“You will. Even if I have to pour it down your damn stubborn throat.” He would not travel another mile watch-ing her cringe against every rut in the road, big or small.

“Here you are, my lord.” Dinks handed him a small bottle and an opened silver flask. “Two drops. No more, mind you.”

“Thank you.” Guy sniffed the flask’s contents. Water. “Dinks, why don’t you, Bingham, and Jack take a walk down to the bend in the road and back?”

“Perhaps, I should stay—”

“Yes, sir.” Bingham interrupted, tying off the horses. He clambered down and grasped Dinks’s elbow. “We’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

“Stop your manhandling, you old goat. Miss Cora might need me.”

Bingham gently but firmly pulled the maid down the hard-packed road. “Her man will take care of this. She don’t need you.”

“Of all the things to say…” The sparring couple set off on their hike, with a smiling Jack ambling along behind, his hands clasped behind him.

At any other time, the sight of Cora’s mismatched servants strolling down the middle of the road—one stocky and slightly stooped, another regal and broad-hipped, and the third lean and dark-haired—would have elicited a smile.

Not today, though. Today, he wanted them to pick up their pace, to get beyond hearing distance, so they wouldn’t feel compelled to come to their mistress’s defense should she scream.

He waited another full minute before reentering the carriage. Shutting the door, he leveled his most determined gaze on Cora. She glared back with her red-rimmed eye, the one filled with false courage and aching vulnerability. A bead of sweat edged its way over her vivid red scar, and her sheet-white face glowed in the late afternoon light. The sight of her misery stopped the harsh words in his throat.

“Save yourself the trouble,” she said. “I’m not taking any more of that poison. And you won’t bully me today like you did yesterday.”

Ignoring her, he tilted the vial of brown liquid until two drops splashed into the flask of water.

“Have you ever seen a woman who is dependent on laudanum?” she pressed.

“Cora, you won’t become an opium eater by taking measured doses for a short period of time. The women you’re speaking of have taken the opiate for months, possible years, to stave off severe headaches or unsatisfactory husbands. Neither is the case for you.” He held out the flask. “Drink it.”

Her hands remained tucked around her middle.

Disquiet pulsed below the surface of his unwavering resolve. They had several hours to go before reaching Herrington Park. She wouldn’t last another quarter hour. Nor would he.

Then something quite unexpected happened. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, and her chin wobbled with repressed emotion.

Guy scooted to the edge of his seat. “Cora.”

She shook her head, worrying her bottom lip. “My mother”—she cleared her throat—“my mother used to—”

He touched her knee, stopping her difficult confession. “I know, sweetheart.”

“You do?” she asked in a shaky voice. “How?”

He rubbed his thumb in large, soothing circles. “Men talk, too.”

“Ethan.” She stared into space. “I’ve never spoken of it.”

“Many years passed before Danforth revealed your mother’s dependence.” Guy watched her expression, gauging her reaction. “Heavy drink tends to loosen a man’s tongue.”

Her gaze focused on his left shoulder. “Until the year before her death, my mother was perfectly normal. She was loving and happy. Bigger than life in some ways.”

Guy balanced the flask between his feet and drew one of her hands between his. He waited for her to withdraw, but she never noticed his bold touch. Her thoughts had turned deeply inward.

“During that last year, she alternated between being the mother I had always known to a cruel and sullen creature. It didn’t take me long to connect the brown bottle sitting on her bedside table, the one she ripped from my hands when I dared to inquire about it, to the volatile woman who sent me fleeing for the security of my chamber at every turn.”

Guy’s throat clenched against the image of a young Cora hiding from her beloved mother. He chafed the ice from her fingers. “Hold the good memories of your mother to your heart. Those are the ones she would want you to remember.”

She nodded, her gaze falling to their clasped hands.

“You’re not your mother, Cora.”

“I know.” He heard little conviction in her tone.

He picked up the flask and wrapped her fingers around the metal container.

“If you won’t do this for you, do it for Dinks.”
And
me.
“She worries about you.”

She closed her tempest-filled eyes. “Not fair.”

Relief banished his disquiet. Even as a girl, Cora had been headstrong, but she had always favored others’ needs above her own.

When her eyelids finally lifted, he saw resignation in their blue-green depths.

“Trust me, Cora.”

Upending the flask, she downed the bitter concoction as if she raced against time, then offered the empty container back to him. “That’s vile.”

He smiled. “I wondered if it tasted as awful as it smelled.”

She sent him a blistering look, then her eyes widened when he took the flask from her with one hand and captured her fingers with the other.

He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “You’ll soon fall asleep.”

She glanced around the carriage interior, assessing its close confines and no doubt realizing the trust she would have to place in him while she slept. No doubt thinking of their shared kiss. As was he.

“If I joined you over there,” he said, indicating her side of the conveyance, “you could use my lap as a pillow, and I would keep you from sliding off the bench and causing yourself further injury.”

A considering look entered her expression. She was fighting. Fighting this new compulsion of hers for flight. Pride swelled inside his chest, tightening his muscles.

“Trying to take care of me again, Guy?”

“Always.” He paused. Allowed her time to absorb his remark. “Whether you like it or not.”

Her lips thinned. “
Not
would be my current sentiment.”

His lips quirked. “May I?”

She gave him a curt nod.

Tossing the flask aside, he maneuvered around and sat beside her, then propped his arm along the back, inviting her to lie down.

With taut, jerky movements, she removed her hat and eased down until her cheek rested on his thigh.

Awareness stabbed through his gut and pulsed in his cock. Guy clenched his teeth, fought the need to grind his desire against something soft and feminine.
Cora.
He clutched his other thigh, and his right hand grasped the seat’s back as if it were the only thing holding him in place. Sweat broke out on his brow.

He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed she couldn’t hear the chaotic pounding of his heart. He wanted her to draw comfort from his presence, not fear.

“Guy?”

“Yes, Cora.” His tone sounded guttural, even to his own ears.

“Thank you.”

His throat closed tight, and stinging needles pricked the backs of his eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

They sat in strained silence for ten racking minutes before her body faded into a more relaxed position and her breathing deepened into a soft snore of contentment.

A few minutes later, Dinks’s profile appeared at the window. “My lord?”

“We’re ready,” he whispered.

“Is the little mite resting now?” she asked with concern edging her voice.

“Yes, Dinks. I won this round.”

Amusement tinted her words. “Well done, sir.”

The coach soon lurched into motion.

Guy braced himself against the gentle swaying motion of Cora’s head. The movement matched his body’s urgings to a dangerous precision. He pulled in a deep, calming breath. Perhaps if he steadied her head, the torment would lessen. Perhaps.

Whom was he kidding? He’d wanted to weave his fingers through the silky skeins since the moment he became aware of her as a woman. Time, distance, and a belief she was unobtainable had prevented him from assuaging his heart’s desire.

His fingers flexed, itching to smooth over her close-cropped hair. Dare he risk waking her? The selfish bastard in him responded with a resounding “Yes!”

He finally gave in to the impulse and ran the back of his forefinger along the snipped end of a soft curl. It sprang back after each pass, determined and buoyant, as its mistress eventually would become once her mental scars healed with time. The new style suited her. It emphasized her high cheekbones, narrow chin, and feline eyes. It symbolized her new journey, a fresh start.

A beginning that must be delayed until Valère was no longer a threat.

The town coach dipped hard into a rut, and Guy held his breath. When she made no move to grab her jarred ribs, when no flash of pain crossed her face, he sighed. He would be bloody glad to have this drive behind them.

Unable to stop himself, he burrowed his fingers farther into her mop of newfound curls and savored their silky texture. Although her new look charmed him, he mourned her long brown locks. Would have loved to have been able to spread them over his pillow, but—

Dammit. What the hell was he thinking?

This was Cora. His friend. Someone he had always thought of as a little sister.

At least, until she turned into a desirable woman when he wasn’t looking.

The image of Cora in a black mask and scandalous red dress flashed through his mind. The erotic sensations she had stirred in him at the masquerade were definitely
not
sisterly.

Nor were his thoughts now. Even in her current damaged state, she called to him. He squeezed his eyes shut while his body waged war with his mind. He needed a distraction, something to occupy his hands, if only for a few minutes.

He released the back of the seat and stretched his fingers wide to ease the ache caused by his taut grip. Then he bent forward to find a traveling rug beneath the bench, his chest but a hairsbreadth from her cheek. He glanced down. For some inexplicable reason, he yearned to see the image of her resting peacefully in his lap.

Lingering in such a close position proved fatal.

Perhaps sensing his warmth, Cora angled her head around to nuzzle the side of her face into his chest. Had she done so an hour ago, her butterfly touch would have barely registered through his thick coat. But he had unbuttoned the garment after the last stop, electing comfort over propriety. Now only a fine layer of silk and linen protected him from her siren’s call. It wasn’t enough.

His muscles locked, and a flush of heat gripped his body and surged into his groin. His cock hardened, lengthened, until it filled the tight folds of his breeches.

Oh, dear God. He swallowed hard, fighting back the desire that was eating away at his good intentions.

Closing his eyes, he indulged the pleasurable sensation a moment longer, suffered its full, glorious effect, and then shifted out from beneath her, replacing his lap with the thick traveling rug.

With rigid movements, he made his way to the other side of the carriage, his heart pounding in his ears and a strange heat blurring his vision. What was happening to him? How could her innocent touch cause such a visceral reaction?

Goddammit, he was supposed to be protecting her, not lusting after her like some ravenous cub at the height of his pubescence. Leaning over his knees, he dropped his face into his hands. What kind of monster lusts after a woman who has been abused and misused?

He peered through his splayed fingers and stared in dismay at the object of his tangled desires; disgust and warmth swirled through his body, neither one gaining the upper hand.

Jesus, what was wrong with him?
The chant continued to echo through his mind when no acceptable answer appeared.

He
would
conquer this damned inconvenient attraction. Until Cora could master the panic that gripped her every time she encountered a man’s touch, his desire had no place in their lives.

Sliding his face deeper into the palms of his hands until his heels pressed hard into his eye sockets, he began a different chant—
I
will
conquer
my
attraction. I will conquer my attraction.
I must.