“Herrington Park? What of your aunt Phoebe?”
“She passed away last year.”
“Oh, Guy. I’m so sorry. The last time I saw your aunt she was as vibrant as ever.”
He smiled a little, enjoying this glimpse of his old friend again. “Even with fluid heavy on her lungs, she still managed to harangue me about my bachelor state.”
“As she should. The event is long overdue.”
He caught her gaze and held it until her eyelids fluttered with awareness. A flush raced up her neck and blossomed in her cheeks, and Guy felt an answering pang in his chest. “Perhaps, you’re right.”
She dropped her gaze to the food before her. When she lifted her lids, Raven the Spy had returned. “I don’t appreciate how you and Somerton have reordered my life without first consulting me.”
“Somerton and I agreed that—”
“I don’t give a fig about what you and my former guardian have agreed to,” she bit out. “I have taken care of myself for the past three years in a country filled with vanity, intrigue, and ruthlessness. Not once did I require a man to do my thinking for me.”
His jaw clenched. “And you did an admirable job of it. However, it is no longer safe for you here.”
“That may be, but I’ll be no safer at Herrington Park.”
“You will. There’s no way Valère can know of my aunt’s estate.”
Once the meaning behind his words registered, her expression dulled. “Why is that, Guy?”
Guy remained silent, unwilling to relive the debacle in the library. He didn’t believe she had divulged information that would place her family in jeopardy, but this was the only foolproof way to guarantee everyone’s safety, including hers.
When he said nothing, her chin rose. “I see.”
And she did. Guy caught the flash of hurt before she masked her emotions again.
“So you are the recipient of unwanted baggage. Do I have that part right?”
“No. It was my suggestion.”
Surprise flickered through her eyes. She tilted her head back a fraction. “As I said before, I don’t want you involved in this.”
An unbidden pang of disappointment bloomed in his chest. “I became involved the moment I pulled you off that bloody table.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
He regretted delivering the reminder. She had been through so much and didn’t need to recall such awful memories. She needed to understand, though, that their lives were irrevocably entwined for as long as Valère lived.
Her eyes narrowed. “In what capacity do you serve Somerton?” she asked, her tone harsh.
Years of forced secrecy caused him to hesitate. Only a select few knew of his gift for breaking French ciphers, and even fewer knew of his ability to go deep inside enemy lines. Secretive barriers that kept not just him breathing, but many others, as well.
He recalled the day she had caught him and Ethan sampling Somerton’s finest brandy. They had both expected a visit from Somerton, for they had denied her the grown-up treat. She had stormed away, promising retribution. But the earl never came. No, her idea of reprisal came in the form of pouring a large glass of water over each of their top sheets on a cold winter’s night.
Cora could be trusted with his secret. Of this he was certain. If he wanted her to trust him, he must extend her the same courtesy. But how much did she really want to know? Better yet, how much did he want her to know?
He had only to look at the bruises on her face to realize the answers to both questions. “You might recall my affinity for figuring out how things work?”
“I do, indeed.” Her features softened. “When we could get you to sit still, you would spend all your time tinkering with things, taking them apart and putting them back together. I remember being in awe of the way your mind worked.”
Warmth pierced his heart. “My tinkering turned into a useful commodity in our war against Napoleon.”
She tilted her head to the side, studying him with her shrewd gaze. “You are a cryptographer.”
He nodded, his chest pounding.
“Of course,” she said. “I couldn’t think of a more perfect position for you. Why would Somerton send a cryptographer on a rescue mission?” She asked the volatile question as if she were inquiring about the weather.
Guy knew his answer held far more importance than the temperature outside.
His grip tightened around the knife and fork he held. “Because breaking ciphers isn’t the only commodity I provide.”
“You mentioned a penchant for killing,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “My brother is also multifaceted, I gather.”
“Of that, you must speak to Danforth.” No longer hungry, he laid his silverware down and wiped his mouth. “We must get you away to safety, Cora. I would prefer to work with you on this, but I’m not above taking whatever steps are necessary to protect you.”
“You have made that perfectly clear, my lord,” she said. “What you don’t understand is that your interference is unnecessary and unwanted. You see, I learn quickly from my mistakes and won’t underestimate Valère again.”
Unwanted.
Guy’s temples pounded with a sudden burst of anger. Who was she to deny his help? By God, if it weren’t for him, she would be quite dead by now. The awful thought socked him in the gut. He’d be damned if he would allow her to take foolish chances with her life again.
He rose, allowing his serviette to fall heedlessly to the floor. With dispassion, he watched her eyes widen at his approach. Bracing one hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table, he bent forward until he could feel the heat from her skin and smell the fresh scent of her recent bath.
“If you were so good at taking care of yourself, I would not have had to traipse across the Channel to rescue you. Or shall I say the Raven? After all, it was the Raven I was sent to fetch.”
Her eyes widened even more. “Did Somerton tell you?”
“You’ve been at this too long, old girl, if you think Somerton capable of revealing your alias. Even to me.”
“But how—?”
“I’m good at putting the pieces together, remember?” he asked.
All the joy he had felt upon entering her chamber had disintegrated into a pile of half-truths, missed opportunities, and bitter regrets. Tomorrow, during the long ride to his country estate, he would try to reach her again. This morning, he’d had enough.
He leaned closer until the soft curls above her ears grazed his cheek. He lowered his voice. “Depending on others will not weaken you, Cora.” He pulled back until their gazes met. “You’ll still be the strong and courageous person you’ve always been.” Before he thought better of it, he placed a tender kiss on her lips. He lingered there to make sure she understood the difference between this kiss and the pecks of greeting he used to give her. He wanted her to remember how a man’s touch could bring comfort rather than pain and humiliation.
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 skill
s 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.
Ten
“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—
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