“Helsford, what the hell is going on?” Danforth growled.
Guy’s teeth ground together. He was tired of the game. “Tell him, sir.”
Somerton remained unmoved. “Tell him what?”
Danforth looked from one man to the other, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Why do you continue with this pretense?” Guy asked, unable to read his mentor’s features.
“Goddammit, man,” Danforth said. “I’ve had enough of your bloody innuendos. If you have something to say, just say it.”
When Somerton remained silent, Guy came close to hating his mentor in that moment. He understood the chief’s caution, shared it, even. If the French ever uncovered and seized the leader of the Nexus, many agents’ lives would be in peril.
To Guy’s knowledge, Somerton alone held the true names of all the agents working for the Nexus. But in this instance, his friend deserved to know the truth.
He turned to Danforth. “It is my belief that the operative named Raven is none other than Cora deBeau.”
Six
The following afternoon, Cora sat with her head resting against the side of the bed. Her rapid, shallow breaths echoed through the room, and a fine sheen of sweat covered her brow and back.
Such a fuss to relieve oneself.
Just a few more halting steps and she would have been comfortably ensconced in her downy-soft bed. Instead, she sat on the hardwood floor with quivers of exhaustion wracking her body.
If she hadn’t grabbed the bedpost at the last second, she would be suffering a great deal more. As it was, her bruised ribs felt like they had finally cracked and were now piercing one of her lungs.
Cora closed her eyes. She needed a few minutes to catch her breath before beginning the arduous task of pulling herself up, one-handed, onto the bed.
The previous day’s abomination spiraled through her mind with dizzying speed, not helping her present condition. How could they have doubted her? Have so little faith in her? If she had come crawling back to them, ravaged but alive, she would have understood their skepticism. It would have been reasonable to suspect that she had given up valuable information to save herself.
Guy had witnessed her resistance. Even though he couldn’t hear the words she whispered, surely he realized her tactic. Why hadn’t he spoken up on her behalf? His was perhaps the worst betrayal of all.
Cora opened her eye and searched the room for something else to focus her mind on. Even with its limited perspective, her bandaged gaze feasted on the soothing rose-and-light green bed hangings, the satinwood writing desk. She had found peace here, once.
And then her gaze roved over the portrait on the opposite wall, painted only a few years before her family was crippled by tragedy. Her smiling mother and serious father sat on a bench amidst a profusion of multicolored flowers, with a ten-year-old Ethan standing at his father’s shoulder and a six-year-old Cora tucked into her mother’s side.
Happier times. Simpler times.
She tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the movement sent a bolt of fire through her midsection. She stared hard at her mother’s beautiful face, waiting for the onslaught to recede. She longed to feel her mother’s soft, delicately perfumed hands cradling her face once more, to experience the butterfly caress of her thumbs sweeping over her heated cheeks. And to hear her mother’s melodic words of reassurance that always bolstered her courage. My sweet girl. Always so brave and strong. One day we will find you a husband equally courageous. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered, her mother’s promise slicing through her battered heart, “I wish you were here.”
One of Cora’s greatest regrets was how little she remembered of her parents, having lost them both when she was just ten. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the image that took precedence over all others was of their last horrific night on earth, when she watched a French assassin murder her father, her mother already sprawled at his feet.
She swallowed hard against the aching sadness and rolled her face into the counterpane, no longer desirous of exploring her old bedchamber.
A perfunctory knock reverberated through the room, and Cora snapped to attention.
“Cora, may I come in?”
Guy. Dear Lord, not now.
She grabbed the counterpane in a desperate bid to save her pride. But her muscles had grown nearly useless during her captivity and could no longer support her weight. She slid back down in a heap of humiliation.
“Cora?” The door opened, and the light from the corridor cast Guy’s shadow across her bedchamber floor.
With reluctance, Cora peered around the end of the bed. With the light behind him, she could not make out his features, but his rigid posture spoke volumes.
“What happened?” he demanded, advancing toward her.
“I’m fine.” She clawed at the bedcovering again. Valère and the war had stolen most everything dear to her, everything except her dignity. That she would not relinquish quite so easily. Her fingernails snagged in the cover, bending back. With a hiss of pain, she released it and slid to the floor.
“What are you trying to do, cause yourself further injury?” Guy asked.
“No,” she said, shrinking away as he approached. “I needed to use the water closet. What are you doing here? Come to see if I’m writing missives to the enemy?”
His jaw locked a moment before he scooped her up into his arms. Her body went rigid.
“Is there not a chamber pot beneath your bed?” He placed her gently within the cocoon of bed linens, his body surrounding her, suffocating her, spiraling her mind back to another time and place.
She could not breathe, could not get far enough away. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as Valère’s hands held her immobile. His vile breath fanned her face, making her gag. Convulsions racked her bruised body. She lashed out repeatedly with her fists. No, no, no!
“Cora!”
God, no. Not again.
Never again.
In a whirlwind of movement, Cora found herself on the far side of the room where the darkness closed in around her. Blessed darkness, wretched darkness…
“Cora! It’s Guy.”
She stilled, forcing away the awful images filling her vision, drenching her mind.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Come back to me.”
The light. Where was the light?
“You’re safe, Cora.”
Safe.
No. Valère loved to feed her mind fruitless information in order to gain her cooperation. “Guy?”
“Yes, Cora-bell. It’s me.”
Cora-bell. Only Guy had ever used the endearment. She closed her eyes and pulled in a shuddering breath. The tension leached from her muscles, leaving behind an empty sort of desolation.
The fog of the past dissipated by slow degrees, muted hues of gray cast a thin shroud over the blurry room before her.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Cora.” He gestured toward her right hand. “You never did. You never will.”
She glanced down and was surprised to find her fingers wrapped around a silver-plated candlestick. Despite the pain, she had crouched into a familiar stance with her knees bent, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, and her arm raised into a defensive tilt.
Her head throbbed at the implication. She couldn’t remember picking up the candlestick, only the mind-drugging fear. Her makeshift weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thunk. Wiping her sweaty palm on her nightdress, she said, “I-I do not wish to be touched.”
“I understand.” His voice was calm, reassuring. He clasped his hands behind his back.
A shiver rippled through her body, and she stepped sideways, seeking the only ray of light in the room. Warmth cast over her bare feet, bringing with it clarity and control.
And unbearable mortification.
Keeping her gaze on the far window, she said, “Forgive me.” How could she have been so out of her mind with fear that she would mistake Guy for Valère? Her mind was
breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces of shame and guilt and dread.
“There’s nothing to forgive. My apologies for frightening you—I shouldn’t have been so rough, but I couldn’t stand seeing you in such a position.”
With reluctance, she met his concerned gaze. “It would seem I am not quite ready for company, my lord.” Cora chafed at the amount of time it was taking her body to heal. After several days of bed rest and regular meals, she should be much stronger.
“Guy,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“Before you sneaked away to France, you used to address me by my Christian name. You’ve stopped. Why is that?”
“I didn’t sneak away.”
“You never said good-bye either.”
“There was no opportunity,” she said. “Until I saw you at Mrs. Lancaster’s, I had not realized you had returned to England, and I was scheduled to leave the following morning. As for how I address you, you have a title now and—”
“And what?”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yet, I still refer to you as Cora.”
Rubbing her arm, she relented. “As you wish, Guy.”
His lips twitched and then thinned into an imposing line. “You’re cold.” He motioned her forward. “Allow me to help you back to bed.”
After what happened a few minutes ago, she didn’t trust that she could accept his touch without attacking him again. A disturbing thought, not being in control of one’s body. She nodded toward the foot of her bed. “I think I’ll stay here for a moment, but, I wouldn’t mind having my dressing gown.”
He retrieved her cotton wrap and held it out for her to step into. Such a simple, intimate gesture, one she would have welcomed prior to her imprisonment. However, today, the thought of presenting her back to Guy—to anyone—made her stomach swell with nausea.
“Let’s take this one step at a time, Cora,” he said in a soft undertone. “You know I won’t hurt you. Do you recall who kept your head above water when you were learning to float?”
She swallowed, and her eyes began to well with moisture. “You did.”
“Do you recall who taught you how to use the heel of your palm to draw a boy’s claret should he forget his manners?”
A tear crested her lower lid and trickled down her cheek. She had used the technique on Willie Benton’s licentious nose when she was fourteen. “You did.”
“Who did?”
“You did… Guy.”
The severe planes of his face softened into a gentle smile. “That’s right, sweetheart. I won’t ever let you falter.”
She drew in a shuddering breath and took three shaky steps forward, then turned to face the wall. She closed her eyes and waited for the madness to strike. Waited for the banshee to emerge and disgrace her again.
He eased the dressing gown over her free arm and then settled it around her shoulders. His hands brushed airily down her upper arms before he stepped around to face her again. “I’m going to tie your wrap now.”
She nodded, unable to speak. Her skin felt stretched tight across her bones, and her chest felt leaden and knotted. The icy fingers of the dungeon traced down her spine, paralyzing her body and sending her mind into a frenzy of self-preservation. She longed to lean into his warmth, take comfort in his arms, but the banshee had started her low, keening wail.
One more minute. To take her mind off Guy’s ministrations, she asked, “Did you have a particular purpose in coming here?”
“Yes.” Perhaps sensing her struggle, he made quick work of her sash, and then slowly, carefully, he hooked his finger inside her palm. Of their own volition, her fingers tightened around his. “We’ll get through this together, Cora. I swear it.”
“I’m almost tempted to believe you.” She squeezed his finger once before resuming her place against the wall. The surge of energy that flooded her body was dissipating at a rapid pace.
“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit.”
She nearly laughed. If he only knew how close she was to collapsing in front of him. “Your reason for being here?”
“I have two. One—I wish to apologize for yesterday.”
Why did he have to bring up their meeting? She had managed to put it out of her mind for a while. She had no wish to revisit the subject, for she feared there was nothing he could say to make up for his silence.
“Apology accepted.” Her legs began to quiver in exhaustion. She gauged the distance between her current position and the bed and knew she would never make it without falling. Instead, she leaned her weight against the wall and waited.
For him to finish studying her.
The moment stretched, uncomfortable. As her strength faded, her body pressed farther into the wall, and her knees eased out of their locked position.
“I am truly sorry, Cora.”
“Do you believe I betrayed the other agents?” The question emerged before she could pull it back.
“No, I do not.”
The sincerity of his words helped soothe the hurt she had difficulty controlling. Her lips lifted into a tight smile. “Well, that’s one out of three.”
“Cora, your brother—”
“Why did you remain silent?” she asked in a rush. “Why did you allow Somerton to believe I might have divulged the Nexus’s secrets?”
“I knew you hadn’t. We all knew, Cora, but the question had to be asked.”
“Why? Why did the question have to be asked? Why couldn’t you have trusted me?”
His jaw hardened, and his eyes closed as if in pain. When he opened them a few seconds later, they burned with a helpless intensity. “Too many lives were at stake, Cora. Somerton couldn’t take the chance that you had under torture divulged information. But he should have asked you privately.”
Her anger dissipated from one breath to the next, but the hurt remained. No matter Somerton’s logic, she wished he’d had more faith in her. But she did not walk in his shoes and could not fathom the level of responsibility he carried for his agents. She had been the recipient of his protection many times and was glad for it. So who was she to question his tactics now?
“Of course,” she said, rubbing her temple. She could actually feel her body folding in on itself. “Your other reason for being here?”
“To invite you down for something to eat, but I see your strength is waning. Will you not at least accept my arm to cross over to your bed?”
Cora’s hand dropped to her side. She wanted to give in to his strength, allow him to take her burden. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not after nearly bashing his head. All she needed was to be alone, to sort things out. To feel warm again.
She took a small step to the left, following the shifting patch of sunlight, away from Guy. “I-I can manage.”
“Would you prefer I send Dinks up?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. Privacy is all I require at the moment.”
“Very well, Cora. I’ll see you soon.”
She steeled herself when he hesitated at the door. Go, she silently pleaded. Remaining upright took every morsel of strength she possessed. Her nerve endings prickled beneath her skin, causing her muscles to tense.
“Cora.”
“Yes?”
“You’re safe. I will see to it that Valère pays for what he has done.”
“No.” The word ripped from her throat. The thought of Guy facing a man like Valère, especially on her behalf, sent a surge of raw fear through her exhausted body. “You are not to get involved.”
His gaze remained steady, resolute. “Too late.”
“I mean it, Guy. The man’s a cold-blooded killer.”
He stared at her for a heart-pounding moment before saying, “We are evenly matched, then.”
Cora stilled. “What do you mean?”
His features shuttered, as if he had realized he’d said too much. Instead of explaining his statement, he asked, “Are you sure I can’t help you?”
Disappoin
tment sharpened her tone. “Quite.”
“Rest well, Cora.”
When the door closed, she crumpled against the wall, sliding down its cold, hard surface. The welts on her feet, inflicted by Boucher’s branding iron, throbbed with fire.
She closed her eyes. The acrid aroma of burning flesh still stained her nostrils, and her throat felt as though it were lined with shards of glass.
As fatigue overtook her body and clouds rolled across the sun, taking its warmth and light, Cora prayed for a new day to arrive, one that included dainty pastries, flaring candlelight, and Guy’s strong arms wrapped around her.
She tilted her head back, reassured by the wall’s solid surface, unsurprised when her prayer remained unanswered.
***
Guy was going to be sick.
A few feet from Cora’s bedchamber, he braced his hands on the windowsill, his blunt fingernails cutting into the wood. The image of her fleeing his arms and taking up a weapon against him replayed in his mind until hot bile pushed into his throat.
My God, she’s afraid of being touched. He smacked the window frame with his hand, barely managing to keep the nausea at bay and his fury leashed.
If she only would have listened to him. His nails bit deeper into the wood.
Before he had left on his first mission, she had confessed her desire to find the Frenchman who had killed her parents. In his youth, he had lacked delicacy and tried to convince her to abandon such a hare-brained notion. She had ignored his pleas, as he would have hers had their roles been reversed. To complicate the situation, years of learning intelligence gathering techniques and self-defense training had fed her savage need for revenge, blinding her to the realities of war.
If only they hadn’t thought teaching Danforth’s little sister how to pick a lock or how to incapacitate a man twice her size was great fun.
In the beginning, none of them knew why Somerton was teaching them such unique skills. Only later did they learn that their mentor had tested them, followed their progress to see what talents he could mold and sharpen. Only later did they learn they had become weapons.
And Cora had become Somerton’s secret weapon.
Lady's Revenge Page 5
