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.
Eleven
After sleeping away much of the previous day, Cora looked forward to exploring Guy’s new home and taking in some much-needed fresh air. From her second-floor bedchamber window, she spotted a small, inviting copse of linden and maple trees a short distance away. Far enough from the house to give her neglected muscles a good turn and close enough should she need help. Equipped with a comfortable pair of half boots, she made her way downstairs on slightly shaky legs.
As she journeyed toward the back door, she took in every morsel of her surroundings. The staircase balustrade sported a beautiful barley-twist design, and the drawing room’s fireplace surround spoke of restrained elegance with its fluted pilasters and marble inserts. Every room was decorated in warm tones and with comfortable, sturdy furniture. Perfect for the new owner.
While growing up, Guy had visited his elderly aunt quite frequently, always bringing her silk embroidery threads of every hue from his various travels and the latest edition of The Lady’s Magazine from London. Items she could not easily acquire in remote Yateley. The way Guy had doted on his aunt Phoebe had always touched Cora’s soft spot.
His aunt was the only real family he’d had. In all the years Cora had known Guy, she had met his aunt a handful of occasions but had never met his parents. The earl and countess had seemed uninterested in their only son’s whereabouts, for they were always chasing the next house party.
Cora’s heart stung. She recalled the flash of hurt that had crossed Guy’s features when she ruthlessly stated she didn’t want his help. At an early age, she had detected his need for family. For love. If not for his aunt Phoebe and Cora’s odd little family, Guy would never have experienced the tender emotion or received instructions on how to be a proper, responsible earl.
Thank God for Somerton. He had patiently answered Guy’s many questions and showed him how to keep an eye on his finances and properties. He had taught him how to be a nobleman, a gentleman.
Cora’s gaze swept over her surroundings again. Losing his aunt must have been quite devastating. She felt a twinge of regret for not having been there for him.
As she wandered from room to room, poking her head into each, she noted the furnishings and color combinations would indeed appease both male and female tastes. The drawing room held a lovely rose-colored settee that would appeal to any female, although Cora preferred the two dark brown leather chairs that sat in a small vee around the crackling fire. The room’s walls also exhibited a wide-ranging combination of hunt scenes and landscapes.
Hearing Guy’s and Dinks’s voices straight ahead, presumably from the kitchen, she veered left—away from them—and found a rear door that led to the landscaped gardens and beyond. The moment her foot crossed the threshold, two armed men stepped forward.
Cora’s training took over. She crouched low, tucked her shoulder and rolled, and came to her feet with a knife in one hand. “Stay where you are!”
“Whoa, my lady.” The big blond to her right held his hands out in a sign of peace. “We’re here to guard you, not harm you.”
Cora eyed the fair-haired man, assessing him from head to toe. Unable to detect an immediate danger, she released a pent-up breath. And that’s when the pain of her exertions seeped into her consciousness.
“Under whose orders?” Even as she barked out the question, she remembered Dinks making mention of extra guards being posted.
“Lord Helsford, my lady,” the blond-haired man said. “We’ve been instructed to escort you wherever you wish to go.”
Cora eased out of her defensive stance but kept her blade aimed at the two strangers. Anger simmered low in her stomach. Down deep, she knew Guy’s precautions were for the best. But she resented them all the same. He could have discussed this with her, or, at the very least, warned her she would be trading one prison for another.
“What are your names?” she demanded of the blond, unable to moderate her tone.
“I’m Neil. That’s Samuel.”
Cora’s gaze flicked back to Neil’s partner. A giant displaying a barbarian’s naked pate stood facing her, his hands raised, palms up. He presented an odd pairing of submissive warrior.
The last of her initial fear faded, but wariness remained. Walking in the woods with two strange men dogging her steps dampened her enthusiasm for a refreshing stroll.
Cora stashed her knife back in her skirt pocket and turned toward the wooded copse, unable to give up her outing. “Follow me, gentlemen. If you must.”
From that point forward, Cora did her best to ignore her protectors. If she allowed herself to be honest, she was secretly comforted by their presence. Valère was out there. Somewhere. Lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal himself. He would make her pay first for her betrayal and then for her escape.
And that’s why she needed to make the most of today. There might not be a tomorrow.
The trail snaked through a small meadow flaunting an abundance of spindly shrubs and wildflowers of all colors. She inhaled the clearing’s fresh s
cent while her free hand splayed over the tops of the tufted grasses, allowing their feathery heads to tickle her sensitive palm.
Steeped in training for so long, then in deception, many years had passed since Cora was able to simply absorb the outdoors, to release her worries and enjoy nature’s beauty.
While in France, she had spent few days outside the bustle of Paris. On those rare occasions that took her outside the city, the French countryside had not endeared itself to Cora’s heart as had England’s expansive dales, ridges of heather moorland, and ancient stone fences.
Not until this moment, when chattering birds sang overhead and good English soil churned beneath her feet, had she realized the power her country held over her. And she looked forward to the moment when her mind would drift and her senses would blend with all this natural wonder.
She stopped, closed her eyes, and listened.
Her patience was soon rewarded when the rapid flicker of a cicada rent the air, followed by the joyful warble of a robin and the blaring trill of a toad. The sun warmed her face even as the dappled shadows of the nearby forest beckoned her, as a flickering flame tempts a curious moth.
Thirty feet inside the shade the wariness she had not been able to completely shake grew to a fever pitch. She sought the solid comfort of her knife as she glanced over her shoulder.
Bolstered by the guards’ presence, Cora traipsed deeper into the maze of maples. The more she ventured into their depths, the more the serenity of her surroundings ebbed away.
Any sane woman would scurry back to the house and leave her guards to investigate the source of her unease. But Cora felt far from sane these days. Although she never wanted to return to Valère’s dungeon, she couldn’t bring herself to run from the bastard.
When the frenzied prattle of birds and insects quieted and the swirling breeze died, her suspicions were confirmed.
She was not alone.
The weight of the intruder’s stare pressed upon her from all sides. She slowly turned in a circle, searching the area, seeing only a tangle of leaves and branches.
No one—only her guards. Could the laudanum still be working its way through her body and affecting her mind? Causing her to sense danger where none existed?
She shook her head, trying to free her mind of the terror and confusion warring for control.
There’s no one there, she chanted to herself, only the guards Guy assigned to watch over me. That’s all.
Her reassuring words did little to stem the building panic, and her grip tightened around the rosewood-handled blade. Memories intruded, pulling her deeper into the darkness, to a place where she had been more animal than human.
Cora shivered, her torn and bloodied chemise provided little protection against the cell’s frigid dampness, and her muscles ached from being strapped to the stone slab for so long. And the darkness. Oh, God, the darkness continued to beat at her flagging sanity while the hunger clawed at her empty stomach like a ravenous beast.
A violent shiver convulsed through her body.
Above her, heavy footsteps rapped against the floor. Her gaoler’s familiar stride was unhurried, measured. Designed to elicit anticipatory terror in the prisoner below. Each step thundered in her ears like a thousand lightning storms blasting the night sky.
She jerked her hands, and the metal cuffs anchored into the slab held solid. The door leading down to this abysmal place opened, and hours of terrifying darkness gave way to splintering shards of candlelight. She closed her eyes and put every ounce of her weight behind the next pull.
The cuffs’ moorings shifted, sending a surge of excited blood pounding through her body. She pulled again. More movement. She gritted her teeth against the cold metal burrowing into the raw wounds that encircled her wrists.
The flickering light grew brighter, closer to her cell.
She yanked one last time with all her strength, and the chain popped free. Stunned, she did nothing for two full seconds before scurrying off the table. She pressed her shivering body against the wall near the cell’s open door. Bracing her feet apart, she gripped the heavy irons and waited.
His footsteps slowed.
Blood pounded in her ears. Come on. Come on. She struggled to even her breathing, to slow her heart rate. But the fear of losing this one opportunity to escape ran high, and she could not control her body’s reaction to the forthcoming footsteps.
“Cora, I brought you a present.” High-pitched squealing punctuated his promise. The toe of his boot crossed the threshold. “Cora?”
She reared back and whipped the irons at his head.
“Cora!” another man’s voice yelled.
She stared at the intruder, her gaze unfocused, her laboring breaths sawing through the air. The dank cell finally disappeared, and Guy’s harsh features sharpened into crisp—real—lines.
And pain radiated through her wrist.
Guy held her right hand aloft, far above her head. Her muddled mind could make no sense of the situation until her gaze landed on the four-inch stiletto clasped between her fingers, its gleaming blade pointing down at a deadly angle.
“Oh, no. No.” Her gaze raked over him for a spreading patch of crimson. Nothing visible. “Are you injured?” She stepped forward to pat his body, certain she had stabbed him, but his implacable hold on her wrist held firm, stopping her short. “Tell me! Did I hurt you?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.” Guy loosened his grip and nodded to someone behind her. “No harm done.”
She dropped the knife and stepped back. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the guards rapidly retreating.
“Cora. I’m unharmed.” Guy’s voice was calm, reassuring.
She shook her head, the movement sluggish. The imprint of the knife’s carved handle still burned her palm. Without thought, she rubbed her hand against her hip, much the same way she had in her bedchamber a few days ago.
“You don’t understand—” Unable to say more past the lump in the back of her throat, Cora bolted in the opposite direction.
“Wait!”
Cora ignored Guy’s plea.
She ran until her ribs screamed in protest, until she could no longer smell the decay that permeated the dungeon. She ran until the fiery rods of pain stabbing at the soles of her feet buckled her knees.
Twice now she had lost her sense of time and place and had threatened Guy’s life. Nightmares not only savaged her dreams, they were now taking control of her waking hours.
Even before her captivity, she had always traveled with a concealed weapon. The practice had served her well on a few occasions, but today she came close to killing her childhood friend.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Cora drew in deep, measured breaths through her nostrils. She pressed a hand to her rib cage to stem the pulsing ache while she climbed to her poor tormented feet. She stood there, lifeless yet alive. Aware yet devoid of conscious thought.
The world outside intruded upon her vacuous state. She stood at the edge of a small lake where enormous willow trees swayed in the breeze, their leafy fingers trailing along the surface of the dark water. Bare patches of earth near the lake’s edge released a pleasant loamy fragrance into the air. Dragonflies darted amongst the reeds, feeding upon small insects, while a swallowtail butterfly flittered drunkenly around the muddy embankment.
The peaceful scene failed to settle the turmoil inside her. How could she have become so immersed in the events of her past and transferred her response to the present? How could she be so stupid as to confuse the two?
Fearing she was about to be sick, she pressed her fingers against her lips. God, help me. Please, please help me.
Rapid footsteps approached from behind, soon followed by the ancient, alluring scent of sandalwood.
Guy.
He broke through the undergrowth to reach her. “There you are.”
“Are you sure you’re unharmed?” she asked over her shoulder.
Strong arms slid around her waist. “I’m fine.”
Cora
stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. She needed to feel his strength, hear his breathing, count his heartbeats.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m in need of some comfort after the scare you gave me back there.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her apology emerged fragmented, nearly inaudible to her own ears.
“Do you wish to discuss it?”
She shook her head and pushed against his hold. “No.” God, no. How does one explain a total loss of self?
“Then leave off,” he whispered near her ear, tightening his hold. “I won’t hurt you, and you know it.”
In her mind, she knew he was not a threat. He had always protected her. From the moment her ten-year-old feet had tripped up Somerton’s front steps to her recent stay in Valère’s dungeon, Guy had been there to pick her up. Knowing all of this did not stop the sensation of a thousand worms burrowing beneath the surface of her skin at his restraining embrace.
“Take another step, Cora.”
His challenge heated her skin. Something in his tone told her the next step would be the largest one of all.
By slow, controlled increments, she allowed her body to sink against him, to melt into the cradle of his arms. To yearn for the press of his lips.
***
As Guy brushed a kiss against Cora’s silken curls and rested his chin there, the scent of jasmine reached his nose. When her body gave way and molded itself against him, he sighed a relieved breath. Yes, his Cora was a fighter.
He stared across the glade with unseeing eyes. Never would he forget the sight of her standing on that narrow deer path, her terrified eyes dilating at his approach, her hand frantically searching the depths of her skirt pocket—locked in a nightmare only she could see. He had called to her several times with no response. The moment he reached for her, her hand broke free, and the steel blade of a knife sliced through the air at him.
His quick reactions not only saved his life but likely Cora’s, as well. She would never have forgiven herself had she struck him. Her look of self-disgust was proof enough.
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