She stared down at his bent head. Sunlight sheened off his black hair, creating an illusion of moonlight dancing over dark waters. Long waves cradled his massive shoulders while he guided her foot into an awaiting red slipper. Without thought, she combed her fingers through his thick strands, taming their wild disarray, and wishing—no, longing—for the courage to bury her nose amidst all that luxury.
He stilled, as if fearing any movement would make her stop. He worried for naught. She loved feeling the silky texture of his midnight locks against her skin. Had dreamt of running her fingers through their length for days. Years.
He sat back on his heels and met her gaze, his internal struggle obvious. He, no doubt, wanted to give her some time to absorb the intimacy they had shared, but the demands of his body were at war with his strong mind. A situation she knew all too well.
In a near whisper, she said, “Turn around, if you please.”
His gaze sharpened, fired hot like a glowing cauldron. But he said nothing, simply maneuvered his body around until he faced the opposite direction, spine erect, senses alert.
She glanced down at the leather thong still wrapped around her middle finger. Its worn appearance was a testament to the many hours spent taming his gorgeous mane. She clamped the tie between her teeth while her hands smoothed over his hair.
“’Tis beautiful.”
He tilted his head back, his eyes closed. “Nonsense. Men don’t have beautiful hair.”
Leaning forward, she swept the tail she had created over her face, inhaling the faint scent of sandalwood mixed with the fresh country air. “You do.”
“Cora,” he warned.
She laughed, enjoying the peaceful moment but not wanting to push him further. He couldn’t be… comfortable.
Disturbed by the power he had over her senses, she made quick work of securing his hair.
When she finished, she patted his shoulders. “All done.”
He murmured something that sounded like “Not even close, sweetheart” before rising to his feet and extending his arm.
“Pardon?” she asked.
He smiled, a secret curling of the mouth that caused Cora’s heart to thrash against her chest. But all he said was, “Come. Let’s go home and see what culinary masterpiece Cook has in store for us.”
Her stomach growled at the mention of food, drowning out the cacophony inside her chest. She pressed her hand against her middle. “Seems my body is in agreement.”
He lifted her chin and brushed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “It appears I’m not the only one who enjoyed our Tai Chi session.”
Fifteen
Cora tumbled into the kitchen, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. A few steps inside and her humor ground to a halt. The abrupt action forced Guy to grab her shoulders to keep from colliding into her. “What the—?”
Across the room, three solemn faces met their arrival.
At first, she worried that Bingham had shared her indiscretion with the others. However, once she searched their expressions, it wasn’t disappointment she saw there but grief. Terrible grief.
Dread flooded her body. “What is it?”
Dinks and Bingham looked toward Jack, who stared at his scuffed boots. Her frowning maid gave the reluctant footman a poke in the ribs, receiving a swift glare in return.
“Tell her, boy,” Bingham demanded. “Tell her what you found out in town. You’re making it worse with your silence.”
The footman swallowed hard several times, but no words emerged.
Cora stepped in front of him and held out her hand. “Be at ease, Jack.” His haggard features surprised her. Deep lines etched between his eyebrows, and his shining bloodshot eyes darted about the room. “Tell me what’s upset you.”
He stared at her outstretched hand as if he were afraid to accept her offer of encouragement. Finally, he relented, clasping her fingers in a bone-crushing embrace.
Still he said nothing.
“Jack?”
Cora watched his chest rise on a deep breath before his furious emerald gaze snagged hers. “That bastard toad-eater nabbed your brother.”
“Toad-eater?” His statement, so unexpected, confused her. “Valère?” One word, two syllables—that’s all it took to shatter Cora’s brief reprieve.
He nodded.
“You’re sure the Frenchman has Lord Danforth?” Guy asked.
The footman nodded, and the full impact of his words finally registered somewhere in the back of Cora’s mind. Beyond the swirling black void of her consciousness, the realization that her brother was now in the hands of her enemy blocked all logical thought and eclipsed her vision. “No.” Her mind swam with torturous possibilities, each one more abhorrent than the last. “No. You must be mistaken, Jack. You must.”
Guy’s firm hands settled on her shoulders; his agile thumbs attempted to gentle the aching knots of fear that had gathered between her muscles like a thousand festering wounds. “You’re sure, Jack?”
“Yes, m’lord,” Jack said with a slight quaver in his voice. “One of his lordship’s regular messengers arrived in town soon after I did. Since we’ve exchanged information for our employers before, I figured I’d save him a trip to the house.”
Cora looked to Dinks. The older woman’s eyes shimmered in the early afternoon light. More than anyone there, Dinks understood how Jack’s news sealed Cora’s fate.
No longer able to bear the sympathy fracturing the maid’s face or the ephemeral strength she drew from Guy’s reassuring hold, Cora forced herself to release Jack’s hand and step away. “I want to hear everything Somerton’s messenger said to you, Jack—word for word.”
“Not much else to tell,” the footman said. “Other than his lordship’s ordering Lord Helsford back to London.”
It was then she felt the first shift, from fear for her brother to terror for Guy. “Just Lord Helsford?”
“Yes.”
“Not likely.”
Guy’s warning look affected her not at all. He knew nothing of her if he thought she would wait patiently in the country while he and Somerton plotted to save her brother.
“Taking Danforth is merely a ploy to draw you from hiding,” Guy said.
“Of course it is,” she shot back, although she wouldn’t be surprised if Valère already hovered beyond these walls. “But I will not sit here and do nothing while Ethan…” Her words dwindled, and her eyes lost focus. She couldn’t stand to think of the despair her brother would endure at Valère’s hands. She would not—could not—allow him to be subjected to the Frenchman’s awful vengeance.
“He will suffer, Guy,” she said in a ragged voice. “Most horribly. Could be even now.”
“Yes.” He took a step toward her. “Ethan’s my friend as well as your brother. I understand your need to rush to his aid, but I will not trade your safety for his. Your fate would be far worse than your brother’s should Valère succeed in capturing you again. You outwitted him, Cora.” His voice carried a hint of pride before it hardened. “Do not think he will be as circumspect in his methods the next time.”
A violent shiver racked her body, and she wrapped her arms around her midsection to stem its assault. She would never survive that type of living death again. Never.
Toward the end, Valère had begun to suspect she was something more than a ballroom spy. She saw it in his assessing gaze and heard it in his probing tone. By now, Valère had likely pieced all the missing links together, and he must comprehend the trophy he let slip from his grasp.
And if Valère’s superiors also figured out Raven’s identity? They would surely reassess his loyalty to Napoleon. To be outmaneuvered by a woman—une anglaise—would reveal a dangerous sign of weakness, a disruption of loyalty. Napoleon’s supporters hated the Raven and would not turn a blind eye on Valère’s mistake. If they learned he had held the Raven and subsequently lost the notorious spy, they would most assuredly sever his ambitious path to the new emperor’s side.
As
thorough as ever, Somerton had made arrangements to fetch her great-aunt, Lady Kavanagh, at the same time he sent Guy to rescue her. She trembled to think of what the madman might have done to the dear old lady in his rage. Thank goodness her great-aunt was now tucked away in the Highlands of Scotland, far away from the evil pounding its way across England.
Cora glanced up, into the eyes of her little family. Without a doubt, she knew her servants would follow her, even if she ordered them to stay. Their indomitable loyalty would see them by her side, no matter the danger to themselves.
She faced the unbearable decision of choosing between her beloved brother and her faithful, loving friends. The cruelty of the situation caused her anger to flare to life, and she vowed to cut the reins of Valère’s control over her, even if it meant her death.
“Jack,” she said in her no-nonsense voice, “word for word.”
Jack stabbed his fingers through his rumpled hair. “The man said Lord Danforth had gone off to kill the frog-eater, and now he’s missing. That Lord Helsford needs to decipher a message received by his lordship, that…” His voice trailed off, his gaze downcast.
“And what, Jack?” Cora demanded, already knowing the answer.
Sweat gathered at his temples. Meeting her gaze, he cleared his throat. “That you are to stay here until further notice.”
“Damn Somerton.” Guy began to pace the small confines of the kitchen. “What the hell was the man thinking?”
“Did he explain how you were to enforce this edict?” Cora asked.
“Yes.” Jack glanced at his two compatriots for help.
“Well?”
“To my knowledge, she’s never killed a messenger before, boy,” Bingham grumbled. “Spit it out.”
“By whatever means possible.” Jack’s words rushed forth, barely intelligible. “His words, Miss Cora, not mine.”
“Do not fret, Jack,” Cora soothed. “I’m well aware of the lengths to which my former guardian will go to get his way.”
“Miss Cora,” Dinks said into the silence. “Lord Somerton is only trying to protect you. He knows this place is well guarded. The road is no place for you right now.”
Cora knew this to be true. From the moment she crossed his threshold, Somerton had done what he could to protect her, even from herself. “Anything else, Jack?”
Beads of sweat dotted the young man’s upper lip; his gaze dropped to the floor again while his hands twisted his hat. Cora wondered at his uncharacteristic nervousness.
“Jack?”
“Just that—” He cut off, his discomfort obviously rising to new heights. He fished something from his pocket. “He sent you a personal note.”
She stared the ivory-colored dispatch, her heart constricting. She should refuse to read it and leave for London. No doubt the missive’s contents would not be to her liking. Even as the thought whispered through her mind, she broke the seal and turned away.
Dearest Cora,
You know by now of your brother’s fate and of my request for you to remain safely behind. For the moment, I need Helsford at my side. You will be well guarded until we come for you—a sennight, no longer. Do me the favor of this one small request, so that I might have both my charges safely returned to me.
Yours, Somerton
Cora carefully read the letter a second time before handing it to Guy. A vast sense of helplessness washed over her, causing her shoulders to droop from sheer weight. Should she tell him it was likely a forgery? Never had Somerton signed his name to a missive. For three years, she had relied on his style of writing alone to identify him. The way his R’s broke away from the rest of the word and how the tail of his Y’s slashed down in a straight line.
The forgery was good. Extraordinarily good. But Somerton knew better than to leave a physical trail behind. Any path leading to the chief of the Nexus was a direct line to his agents. He wouldn’t risk it—unless he was no longer concerned about the enemy intercepting his correspondence. Cora considered the possibility for a moment. The notion had merit, but Somerton was a cautious man, and some habits were difficult to break.
She also had the issue of Ethan’s captivity to consider. Did that part of the letter reveal a truth, or was the whole thing an elaborate lie? If her brother was free, his whereabouts could be easily verified. Valère would anticipate this, and that knowledge led Cora to believe her brother’s life now rested in the hands of a madman.
The thought threatened to overwhelm her with terror, but she found the strength to push it aside. She had to find a solution that would keep everyone safe. A task that seemed insurmountable from where she stood. Perhaps if she allowed Valère’s ruse to play out, he would let slip Ethan’s location. He was, at heart, a braggart, one who enjoyed waving his superiority over those beneath him.
Her strategy—and she used the term loosely—could work, but it was risky. Valère could kill her on sight, or he could take her to a location other than where he imprisoned Ethan. If she were blessed with good fortune, Valère would show her his new “trophy.” However, she hadn’t quite worked out what she would do after that revelation.
Every strategy carried its own extraordinary hazards. Determining which path to take placed an unholy pressure on her chest. One thing that niggled in the back of her mind had to do with Somerton. How had the missive’s author known of the earl’s involvement? Or of Guy’s special talent? How much more did the author—Valère—know of the Nexus? The question sent a chill down her spine.
Yet a sliver of doubt lingered. Jack knew all of Somerton’s messengers on sight. If the footman had any reservation regarding the messenger, he would not have sent the man on his way. More likely, he would have bashed the man’s head and apologized later for any inconvenience.
If the dispatch was indeed from Somerton and he had made an uncharacteristic faux pas, Guy must go. Ignoring the missive would put Ethan’s life in danger. However, if this was a clever form of redirection by Valère, then he was attempting to separate her from Guy, not the other way around. Which meant Guy would be safer away from her.
Her jaw ached from the force of her clenched teeth. One wrong decision could very well ensure the death of a loved one. But which one? Guy? Ethan? Her little family? She wanted to throw her hands over her face and hide from this responsibility. She didn’t want it. Didn’t want to be wrong, nor did she want to be right.
Oh, dear God. It was all too much. Never had she faced such an intolerable crossroad. Her path had always been clear. She’d had to weave around obstacles, for sure, but her direction had remained unaltered. And her decisions had never affected anyone so close to her.
Cora knew then, with devastating certainty, that she wasn’t strong enough to choose.
Something brushed against the back of her leg, and she angled around to see Scrapper circling for another rub. Delighted by the distraction, she scooped the kitten up and buried the side of her face against his rumbling, soft body.
At once, she felt at ease, almost as if she had a direct conduit to the kitten’s innocent strength.
Guy crushed the note. “I can’t leave you here alone.”
Cora saw his internal struggle carved on every plane of his handsome face. She understood his emotional torture, his doubts, his confusion. But she couldn’t calm his anguished soul. Her demons of judgment were ripping at her own heart again.
A soft paw rested against her right cheek, startling her. When she turned her full attention back to the kitten, his other paw came up to frame her face. They stood there, green gazes meeting only inches apart. With uncanny stillness, the kitten stared at her with seemingly ancient, sympathetic eyes. Trapped inside their unblinking depths, she imagined generations of sacrifice, tragedy, and wisdom.
One of his paws moved like a caress down her cheek, and Cora’s throat closed around the comfort she took from such an innocent gesture. Sweet girl, there is nothing you cannot conquer. Trust in yourself, as I trust in you. Her mother’s voice swirled around her, clear and melo
dic. The whole situation reeked of familiarity, a moment in time she had longed for more than a dozen years.
Cora closed her eyes, convinced her mind had finally snapped, especially when her back straightened and a new resolve lifted her chin.
“You must,” she said, coming to a decision. “Somerton wouldn’t call you away unless it was vitally important. You must think of Ethan now. I beg you.” Scrapper melted into the crook of her neck, and her chest constricted with unaccountable pride. Next stop… Bedlam.
Guy waved the wadded missive between them. “We’re not even sure this is from Somerton. This might be an attempt by Valère to get to you.”
“What if it’s not?” she countered. “What if Somerton truly needs you? Are you willing to put Ethan’s life at risk?”
Guy’s burning gaze clashed with hers. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me.”
“Rest assured, I do. But, unlike Ethan, I’m not alone.” She infused impatience into her tone, grabbing the note from him. “I’ve more than enough guards watching over me to keep Valère at bay. I can’t even use the water closet without one of them lurking nearby.”
Guy turned to Jack. “Are you sure you spoke to Somerton’s messenger?”
Jack swallowed. “Yes, m’lord. As I mentioned, I’ve worked with the chap before.”
“She’ll be fine, my lord,” Dinks interjected, elbowing Bingham.
“Right.” Bingham squared his bent shoulders, looking slightly uncomfortable but no less determined.
Dinks continued, “You go read his lordship’s message, my lord, and save that hothead. We’ll see to things here.”
He eyed her servants but didn’t yield. It was then that Cora realized he wouldn’t, or perhaps he couldn’t, leave.
He was choosing her over his best friend.
An ache so keen pierced her heart that one might mistake it for a dagger. His unspoken acknowledgement was one of the most beautiful moments of her life.
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