“I won’t allow Valère to take another loved one, Guy.”
He smoothed his hand down her bare arm. “We will find Ethan, I swear it.”
Both their vows hung heavily in the darkened chamber. Both held unspoken promises by the speaker.
It was some time later before either of them fell asleep.
Twenty-Five
The sun fell below the horizon as Guy stared at the cloaked figure. “Are you sure it was Danforth?” He ignored the sounds of London’s underworld coming to life, but the smell of human waste and rotten food scattered over the alleyway’s cobblestones could not be so easily dismissed. The acrid odor burned through his nose and landed in the back of his mouth, leaving a bitter, gripping taste behind. The constant drip from the roof’s eave thundered over the pounding of his heart.
“Several witnesses reported seeing a man of Lord Danforth’s description being thrown into a carriage several nights ago,” his informant said in a raspy, indistinguishable whisper.
The last snag of hope that Danforth, covertly disguised and inaccessible, was searching for Valère tore free. The intelligence his informant had passed on over the years had proven eerily accurate. And Guy had no reason to believe this time was any different.
His heart lurched with the knowledge. Cora would have to be told that Valère’s taunts about her brother were true. He wondered if she, like he, had held onto a fragment of hope.
“I have a veritable army with their ear to the ground, my lord.” The cloaked figure stood in the shadow of a nearby building. After meeting briefly two days ago to outline Danforth’s situation, the Specter had prearranged today’s tête-à-tête. “They have been instructed to bring all possible leads to my attention, no matter how small. Never fear, I will find the overeager lord.”
What Guy knew of his mysterious informant could be ticked off on one hand. They had collaborated on a number of cases over the last two years without incident. Guy sought information, and the shadowed figure asked for nothing in return, except anonymity and the occasional inquiry into Somerton’s health.
At first, Guy had been suspicious of the informant’s interest in Somerton. After all, the cloaked figure had first come to his notice during a rather harrowing back-alley discussion, where Guy had been held at gunpoint while his informant conveyed the details of a large shipment of ammunitions scheduled to disembark from an English port to make its merry way to a French shore.
But the cloaked figure never went beyond inquiring about Somerton’s health. Guy soon realized the informant was not seeking answers but rather hinting at what was already known. Quite clever and decidedly dangerous.
After the success of their first discussion, he learned the figure was known as Specter. From that moment on, any time he needed help, he would scribble “Specter” on a note and leave it at one of a dozen locations throughout the city. In a matter of hours, the two of them would be conversing in a darkened alcove similar to the one they currently occupied.
Honoring the Specter’s need for secrecy had posed no moral dilemmas for Guy. The informant’s web of contacts had proved to be an invaluable resource in their war against the rabid Corsican.
“You will contact me if more details arise?” Guy asked.
“Yes, my lord.” The dark silhouette shifted, taking Guy’s measure. “For the Raven, it would be my honor to dispatch the Frenchman once Lord Danforth has been recovered.”
A razor-sharp pang of jealousy punched Guy in the chest. Why would the informant be “honored” to kill a man for the Raven? Were they acquainted with each other? Had Specter also worked with Cora? Or was their relationship something more personal? Myriad questions continued to plague him until the quiet rasp of “my lord?” penetrated the territorial fog enveloping his mind.
Eyeing the black depths of his informant’s hood, Guy said in an even voice, “That won’t be necessary. We have a few questions for Valère first.”
The hood dipped, and the cloaked figure stepped farther into the shadows of the building. “As you wish, my lord. I will be in touch.”
When Specter melted into the darkness, Guy turned and headed for Somerton’s town house. He strode down the narrow alley, dodging piles of rancid offal dotting the cobblestones and watching the occupants of each abyss-like nook along the buildings’ outer walls.
The Frenchman’s ability to breach each of Guy’s safeguards had forced him to swallow his pride and return Cora to London. With Cora once again under Somerton’s roof, Guy could no longer see her on a whim. As her self-proclaimed bodyguard, he could see her during the day but not the night. Did she sleep all through the evening, or was she still plagued by images of the past?
They had to bring this mission to a conclusion soon, for all their sakes, but mostly for Cora’s. Which led him to the packet of missives Somerton had given him to decipher. With a stroke of luck, he had finally managed to break two critical letters in one of the newer messages:
T32E26 272215E34T2223
He would likely have more letters within the next few days. Excitement rumbled through him. With a disturbing certainty, he sensed the power behind the two distinct words. Why else would the French use one of the most difficult ciphers? Not for any ordinary communication between agents. No, something told Guy this message would affect England—and possibly the Nexus—in a monumental, irreversible way.
He had come to another revelation, of sorts, regarding Cora’s view on marriage. What appeared to be aversion at the Golden Duck turned out to be a rather faulty belief that her actions in France made her an unworthy candidate for a happy marriage. Although he had every intention of setting her straight on the matter, the confirmation of her innermost desire was welcome news. She yearned for a normal existence—just as he did—which meant she wanted a family. A home, friends, children, a husband.
The fact that she had admitted her fear of the dark and sought the safety of his arms was a significant turning point. One he would always cherish. There would no doubt be other barriers standing in the way of making her whole once again. But he would meet each one head-on and tear it down for her.
For now, he must focus on the challenge ahead. As he drew closer to Somerton’s town house, he rehearsed how he would reveal the latest details about her brother. He feared the knowledge would send her mind spiraling back to the past. The past she still refused to discuss.
***
The large clock in Somerton’s entry hall struck nine times, signaling the lateness of the hour. Cora leaned against the wall, her gaze focused on the library door. For nearly an hour, she had prowled the dimly lit corridor, waiting for Guy to finish his conversation with Somerton. She could hear their low murmurings but nothing so distinct as to warn her of what was to come, and the waiting was starting to grate on her patience.
Her intuition shrieked that this meeting did not bode well for her brother. Not for the first time, a ripple of unbidden panic ricocheted through her. Valère had picked his tool for vengeance with exquisite care. She could no more fault Jack’s instincts to protect his sister than she could turn her back on Ethan’s plight. When the talons of terror grip your heart, you will do anything you are told to save a loved one.
She blinked to dispel the menacing images clouding her mind. She must not let the past take control. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply several times. By the time the library door finally opened, Cora felt much the way she had in France when she was faced with a difficult case—controlled, determined, ruthless. Raven.
Guy emerged, and Cora noted his troubled expression before he could mask it. She pushed away from the wall and waved in the general direction of the drawing room. “Shall we?”
Surprise flickered across his feature before resignation set in. “Indeed,” he said, waving her ahead. They managed about six paces before he noticed her attire. “What the hell are you wearing?” he asked with a trace of annoyance and admiration.
“We have already been through this, my lord. You have seen me in breeche
s before.”
His eyes narrowed. “Must you cavort about in them in front of everyone?”
“I’m hardly cavorting, Guy. And the servants have seen me in far worse costumes.” She shook her head and sat cross-legged at the end of the ivory-colored divan, hugging a silk pillow against her chest.
“Would you care for something to drink?” she asked.
“No, thank you.” He strode to the window, choosing the view outside rather than facing her.
“I assume you have news of Ethan.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“It is cruel to keep me in such suspense, Guy,” she said when he lapsed back into silence.
His shoulders sagged a fraction before he turned from the window to join her on the divan. “A reliable source confirmed footpads carted off a man matching your brother’s description several nights ago.”
She nodded, having already prepared herself for such news. “What did you and Somerton discuss in the way of a rescue?”
He hesitated, as if he were puzzled by her reaction, or perhaps he was debating whether or not to share his information.
She targeted on the latter. “Stop trying to protect me.”
He sent her an even look. “Never.”
If he wasn’t keeping information about Ethan from her, his vow would have made her womanly heart sting. But he was withholding details, which made his pledge rather annoying. “Tell me what you have planned, or I will discuss this with Somerton instead.”
“Can you not leave this to us?”
A thunderbolt slammed into her gut. “No, Guy, I can’t. We’re talking about saving my brother. Do you really think I will sit around and do nothing but wait?”
He leveled an uncompromising stare on her.
“I can be of use. There is no need for your coddling.”
“I’m not interested in coddling you, but I will do what I must to keep you safe. Valère has proven himself to be more dangerous and cunning than any of us expected.”
“All the more reason for us to work together.”
“I can’t,” Guy ground out. He knew he risked killing the fragile trust they had built in the country. But the combination of Somerton’s guards abandoning their post and the discovery of one of their top agent’s naked, mutilated body yesterday morning indicated the elusive double agent Somerton sought held a much higher position in the Foreign Office than they originally imagined. Which meant no one was safe. “The line between foe and friend has blurred significantly while we were away.”
The air around them grew thick with her quiet rage.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, my lord.” She unfurled her legs and rose from her seat. “I will do whatever it takes to free my brother and won’t hesitate to remove any obstacle standing in my way.”
“And I will do whatever it takes to stop you.” He reached for her at the same time he rose to block her path.
A flash of outrage burst forth and, in the next moment, he found himself cartwheeling through the air, and the next, staring at the ceiling. He blinked several times, surprised by his rapid change in circumstance. He attempted an indrawn breath. However, his air-deprived lungs were of no help. It was not lost on him that he had been in a similar position not long ago. His wheezing effort to breathe echoed through the room.
Cora hovered over him, as if waiting for his lungs to expand with air again. When they did, a veil of indifference coated her words.
“I will free my brother and Grace—with or without your assistance. I hope you choose the former.” She turned away.
He twisted around into a crouching position. A toxic mix of anger, humiliation, and respect churned in his gut. He had underestimated her for the last time.
In a whirlwind of motion, he extended his leg and caught the back of her ankles. She emitted a short, high-pitched shriek while her arms fought for purchase. She found none, except the hardness of his chest and the viselike anchor of his arms. She slammed into him, hurling them both to the floor. Their breaths sawed through the air, and Guy had to fight his desire to roll her over and claim a victory kiss. “Still challenging my manhood, Cora? I obviously did not make my threat plain enough last time.”
“Release me at once,” she demanded, struggling.
He lifted his head from the floor until his face was even with hers. As he spoke, his lips skimmed her flushed cheek. “Do not attempt such a maneuver on me again unless we are in a bedchamber and quite naked. As you have come to discover, I do not mind having a feisty woman in my bed.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. A tremor heaved through her body, flushing her cheeks.
Guy could no longer resist such temptation. His lips explored the silky texture of her neck, and he gentled her with long, thorough caresses down her back. When her tense muscles loosened and she sagged against him, his chest swelled in pleasure.
“Leave off with the battle skills, Cora,” he said in a soft voice. “Next time, I vow you won’t get off so easily.”
When he opened his arms, she scurried away, but not before digging one of her bony elbows into his ribs.
“Your threats do not scare me, Guy Trevelyan.” She stared down at him, her body heaving with feigned indignation. He saw the truth of her words written across her adorable, mutinous features.
He suppressed an aching smile. Cora-bell was back.
Her lips firmed as if understanding his thoughts, and she let loose a soft snort and marched away.
The door closed behind her with a thud, and Guy’s head sagged to the floor. She grew stronger every day, and he was glad of it. But her comment about freeing her brother was not an idle threat. Her ultimatum was clear—work with her or choke on her dust.
There was no way he would take the chance of her crossing paths with Valère again. The mere thought made his stomach churn with acid.
He longed for the days of old when the lord could lock his woman in her solar and set a few guards outside her door, or order the castle hag to brew up a sleeping concoction. He enjoyed the images for perhaps a bit too long before he cast them aside and sought a more civilized approach.
When none came to mind but the one Cora had offered, a wave of foreboding slithered down his spine. He would have to join forces with her.
She had survived three years in relative seclusion, fighting the French on their soil. Intelligence, beauty, and a noble cause had carried her through mission after successful mission. However, allowing her to face Valère again scraped his nerves raw. The Frenchman’s plan had been foiled one too many times now. That made him even more dangerous than normal. And, if Guy were honest with himself, he didn’t want her coming face-to-face with her ex-lover. He knew better than to believe that she would succumb to the man’s wiles, but the thought of the bastard’s knowing gaze on her made him want to rip out the Frenchman’s eyes.
He rubbed his hands over his face, realizing what he must do and not liking it one whit. At least this way he could keep an eye on her and continue to assault her senses.
Guy sighed. How did she manage to turn the tide of control to her advantage with every encounter?
Pushing himself into a sitting position, he shook his head and relived her graceful exit. How did one glide in a pair of breeches? He recalled how her silken pai jamahs had molded over her rounded bottom and swished around her long legs. She had managed the feat somehow, and damned if his body didn’t stir just thinking about it.
Twenty-Six
Cora closed the drawing room door with a trembling hand and an explosive anger that threatened to break free of her iron grip. She stared at the oak panel for several seconds, certain her fury would burn a hole in the thick wood.
Damn the man! How could he turn a battle of wills into sexual longing? She briefly considered storming back inside and giving the idiot earl a swift kick in the ribs for making her want him while she was mad at him. Barely recovered from their last wondrous night in the country, she did not need him to remind her of how quickly their bantering could
turn into hours of intoxicating pleasure.
Oh, such pleasure, she thought and then scowled upon remembering she was supposed to be angry with him.
Instead of damaging his ribs, she headed for the grand staircase and scrambled up two flights of stairs until she reached her bedchamber. She darted inside to grab a couple items from the trunk at the foot of her bed before proceeding up another flight of stairs. After a few more strides, she stood before the attic door.
Fond remembrance surrounded her, quelling her anger to a low simmer. She turned the knob and eased her way in, and then waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the enormous room filled with decades of memories.
At the far end, moonlight streamed through an oval window, providing a small amount of illumination. She weaved her way through a mountain of trunks and various types of furniture until she found Winnie. Nostalgia clenched the deep recesses of her throat when she lifted the Holland cover to find her old friend.
She smoothed her hand over the velvety fabric of the faded red chair and braced herself for the wave of remembrances to hit. The chair had belonged to her father, who had refused her mother’s constant urgings to dispose of it. When Somerton came to collect her and Ethan all those years ago, he’d had to pry her from the depths of Winnie’s bosom. A few days later, her brother had brought her to the attic and presented her with this quiet alcove of her own, compliments of their guardian.
Not everyone would appreciate such a gift, but for Cora, it was perfect.
She slipped around to the front and eased into her old friend’s embrace. “Hello, Winnie.” Why she gave a chair a name, she could no longer recall. It was one of those pieces of memory that had faded with time.
She made a table with her lap and placed in the center the small lacquered box she had plucked from her room. Made of sturdy, fine-grained walnut from the Orient, the beautiful box was decorated with an ivory overlay that depicted a Siberian tiger hunt scene. With reverence, her fingers skimmed across the familiar pattern, an image that made her feel alternately happy and sad. The artist had spent a great deal of time on the hunt scene. The level of detail carved into the ivory still amazed her, even after a decade of admiration.
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