“I am no kettle-brain, Dinks.” He lifted her rough hand to his lips. “Now I understand why Cora loves you so.”
Tears welled in the maid’s eyes. “We’ll get her, my lord.”
“I have no doubt,” he said, handing her a handkerchief and wrapping an arm around her sturdy shoulders. “Especially with you by my side.”
She batted at his chest. “Oh, now, go on with you, my lord. I’ll send Jack up with a change of clothes for you and your shaving soap.”
“Shall I have a maid prepare a chamber for you?” he asked, already knowing her answer.
“No, thank you, my lord.” She waved her hand in the vicinity of the carriage and the stable beyond. “I have a few things to take care of down here.”
“As you wish.” Guy took a few steps toward the inn and then glanced back over his shoulder. Dinks stood there, staring at the stable, looking uncharacteristically lost. “Dinks?”
She started. “Yes, sir?”
“Bingham is no kettle-brain, either.”
He knew the moment his words registered, for Dinks drew herself up and lifted her chin to a determined angle.
Guy nodded to the maid and turned back to the inn. He almost felt sorry for the coachman.
The following morning, Guy and Cora’s servants strolled into the hunting box on the backside of Latymer’s vast estate. Dinks had recalled seeing the structure and its accompanying outbuildings when she had been here as a guest of the former Lord Latymer. Since hunting season was still a few months away, the odds of discovery this far away from the main house were negligible.
Before leaving The King’s Arms, Guy sent a messenger back to Somerton, with a coded note detailing their location. Guy tried not to think about why Somerton had not met them as planned. He could only hope Specter had been able to warn the old warhorse in time.
He swiped through a thin layer of cobwebs at the entrance to the small saloon and dropped his valise on a sheet-covered sofa, ushering up a cloud of dust. “We’ve some time before evening yet,” he said to his newly appointed agents. “Let’s make this place a little bit more habitable.” Knocking down the cobwebs and airing out the sheets would give them something to focus on besides their worry.
“Yes, sir,” Cora’s servants said in unison, scurrying in opposite directions.
Being this close to Cora, his body hummed with anticipation. The next few hours of waiting would be the longest of his life. He had no way of knowing what would be awaiting him once he entered the house, or in what condition he would find Cora. She had sustained some type of injury at the Rothams’, and he feared Valère would leave it untended.
He pulled his mind away from such unsettling thoughts and used the afternoon to concentrate on Cora’s rescue.
When the sun fell below the tree line, Dinks and Bingham borrowed a pony cart from the barn and set off for the village to see what information they could collect on the new tenants at Latymer House, while Guy and Jack headed in the opposite direction on horseback.
They arrived at the edge of Latymer’s parkland and secured their horses out of sight before making their way closer to the house on foot. “Jack, I will head east and angle my way north. You take the west side. Can you do that?”
“Yes, m’lord.” The footman’s earnest face revealed he was more than ready to do his part in retrieving his mistress.
“Count the number of men standing guard and note where they are located. Keep a lookout for signs of Miss Cora and your sister. Meet back here in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Guy knelt in the bracken and followed Jack’s progress before beginning his own circuit. The young man wanted desperately to make up for his previous error in judgment, and Guy took a huge risk in allowing Jack to help gather intelligence. But, given their lack of manpower, he had few options.
Guy cut through the trees, stopping periodically to listen and count guards. After reaching the northeast corner of the house, he knelt again and waited for any sign of life inside the building.
“Cora, where are you?” he whispered. She was still alive. He felt it in his bones. If she were dead, he would sense it in the hollowness of his heart. He had to find her, had to tell her—
His attention was drawn to the second floor. To the dark outline of a woman’s silhouette pacing slowly, almost painfully, before a curtained window. His pulse leaped in recognition.
Cora.
He stepped forward, intent on going to her, until a second, more masculine silhouette stepped behind her. The man’s head bent toward the curve of her neck, setting up a roaring in Guy’s ears that deafened him to the night calls of insects chattering all around him.
Valère.
He stared at the entwined figures; a flush of fury crept up his neck. His insides twisted with conflict. Being held in a bedchamber was far more hospitable than a damp cell, but what awaited her in that bedchamber could be even more destructive.
His unblinking gaze burned from focusing on the couple for so long. From the way Cora carried herself, the injury she had sustained was to her upper body. And the goddamned French parasite was taking advantage of her weakened state. Guy’s hand stole beneath his coat, and his fingers curled around the butt of a pistol. He prayed her injuries would keep Valère at bay long enough for him to get inside and rescue her.
“M’lord?”
Guy spun on his heel and aimed dead center at the man’s chest. Blood thundered behind his eyes. The loathsome image from the window continued to dance before him, blurring reality. He cocked the pistol’s hammer.
“M’lord! It’s Jack.”
The footman’s harsh whisper penetrated the bloodlust whirring through Guy’s mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and then reopened them. Jack’s anxious features finally materialized and sharpened. Guy lowered his weapon.
“Forgive me, Jack,” he said in a strained voice. “I could not make you out in the dim light.”
The footman swallowed hard and swiped his forehead. “Any sign of Miss Cora or my sister?”
Guy glanced over his shoulder toward the house, toward the now-empty second-floor window. “I caught a glimpse of Miss Cora in one of the chambers on the second floor, three windows from the right.”
Jack followed his gaze, silently counting to himself. “What do we do now?”
Guy stood. “We’ll reassemble back at the hunting box.”
As they trudged through the forest, Guy glanced back at the vacant window one last time. Leaving her behind was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had counted a half-dozen men on his side of the house, and Jack likely counted an equal number on the west side. They needed a plan to remove the guards. Waiting for Somerton and reinforcements was now out of the question. “Hold on, Cora,” he whispered.
Two hours later, Dinks and Bingham returned from the village.
“The folks in the village are real tight-lipped about the goings-on at the Big House, as they call it,” Dinks said.
“That garden fellow didn’t seem none too quiet to me,” Bingham grumbled.
A flush covered Dinks’s face. “He did have a bit to say, but none of it had to do with Miss Cora.”
“Then why’d you waste so much time on him?”
“Isn’t that why we went there?” Dinks asked in exasperation. “To charm information from his lordship’s servants and neighbors? The gardener might not know anything at the moment, but he’ll keep his eyes and ears open now.”
Bingham plopped his hat back on his head. “I’ll be out in the barn if you need me, m’lord,” he said, glaring at Dinks on his way out.
“He’s been in a foul mood ever since we arrived,” Dinks said in frustration.
“Can you not see why, Dinkie?” Jack asked with a crooked grin.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on in that old codger’s head.” She moved about the room, straightening this and that. “It’s neither here nor there, anyway. What do we do now, my lord?”
“We must get
rid of the guards.”
“How many are we talking about, m’lord?”
“Valère has at least a score of men stationed around the house.” Guy tried to control his own impatience.
“How about we take them out one by one, sir?” Jack said.
“It might come to that, Jack.” Guy rubbed his tired eyes. “However, I’m hoping for something a bit more efficient and with far better odds of survival.”
“Come, my lord,” Dinks coaxed. “You’re running low and need to rest. We’ve established there’s nothing more to be done tonight but worry.”
“You’re right, as always, Dinks.”
“Do you plan on waiting until Lord Somerton arrives, m’lord?” Jack asked.
“I’ll give him until tomorrow evening.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll take my chances.”
Thirty-Four
Moonlight spilled through the balcony door, casting a silver beacon of light onto the bedchamber floor a few feet from where Cora sat propped against the wall. But it was the ticking of the clock on the bedside table that held her rapt attention.
She had run out of time.
When the maid brought her dinner tray, she had cheerily told Cora that his lordship would be leaving first thing in the morning.
Cora’s head fell back against the wall, and she stared at the ceiling. Other than a few taunting visits, Valère had not forced his attentions on her. That would all change tonight. How would he exact his revenge? Rape? Torture? Murder? All three? A sliver of ice ran down her spine. As if any of those options were amenable.
Good God. She wondered if the thin thread holding her sanity intact would survive the horrifying events Valère planned for her. He had begun his sensual torment last night, touching and kissing, leading her to believe her cooperation was the only thing that would keep her brother breathing. Her fingers worried the makeshift sling supporting her wounded left shoulder as images of the previous evening flashed before her eyes.
She had agonized over the possibility of Ethan being alive and under the same roof. Valère would not think twice about using her dead brother to further his goals. In the end, she endured Valère’s revolting touches, because she could not bear being the cause of another’s death. Poor Scrapper. The kitten had used his last heartbeat to give her a chance to survive.
She had survived and would continue to do so by pretending it was Guy’s lips pressed against her neck, not Valère’s.
The Frenchman excelled at prolonging her anxiety. He knew she would focus on little else but his return. His enjoyment would end soon, for all would be resolved this evening. At least, for her.
Why had she thought she could defeat Valère alone? Why had she not confided her plans to Guy? Had she really thought she could outwit Valère?
Cora closed her eyes. Since her parents’ murders, she had followed her own path for so long, certain of her course. She knew no other way.
She rolled her head to the side and shifted her gaze to the sheer curtain swaying in the evening summer breeze. Where was Guy? Did he search for her? Of course, he did. Guy was her friend. Friend. The word tore at her soul. Considering what her most recent decision was putting him through, such might not be the case any longer.
Her exhausted mind envisioned Guy hovering beyond the fluttering curtain, his broad shoulders adjusting to the narrow width of the open balcony door. With a veritable army patrolling the grounds, Valère knew door locks were unnecessary.
Guy’s hazy image solidified when he stepped farther into the room. His handsome profile, so familiar and dear, caused the backs of her eyes to sting. She had missed him—every provoking inch. A sob welled deep in her throat.
He turned at the sound, spotted her shivering in the corner, and breathed her name into the evening breeze.
“Cora, love,” he whispered, holding out his hand, coaxing her from the shadows. “I’m going to take you home now.”
“You came.”
“Did you think I would not?”
“I-I… how did you find me?”
“I will explain later,” he said, urgency cutting his words short, “but first we must get you to safety.”
“Yes. P-please.”
“Please what, mon ange?”
“Mon ange?” she asked in confusion.
“Dreaming about your lover?” Valère’s languid voice cut through the fog of sleep. She glanced around and found him sitting on the edge of her bed, not six feet away.
She scrambled to her feet, jarring her injury. Pain exploded in her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and worked to keep her body from swaying. Her gaze swept the room, looking for Guy. Was it just an apparition? No! God would not be so cruel.
“I d-don’t know what you mean.”
“You seem to have developed an unbecoming stutter, ma chère,” he said in a casual tone. Too casual.
She stared at him, shaken by the vividness of her dream.
“What? The Raven has nothing to say? You did not seem to be at a loss for words a few minutes ago.”
“Perhaps I dreamed of you.”
His silky half smile disappeared. Valère’s lean body unfolded, and he stood, menace humming around him like a swarm of bees. He tilted his head in a predatory manner, studying her. Silence stretched.
Cora reached for the wall behind her, seeking its solid strength in a miserable attempt to steady her nerves and stay upright.
“What did you dream?”
The next several hours yawned before her. She could see the revolving cycle of his revenge as clearly as if she had already lived it. In a way, she had. He would toy with her mind, touch her body, and feed her fear. But this time his attentions would be condensed to a twelve-hour period, not a fortnight.
She rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension. If she had weathered two weeks in his company, a half day—no matter how magnified—was barely worth her concern. She swallowed hard.
A false sense of courage fortified her spine, and she pushed away from the wall. Away from her haven of darkness, she realized with some surprise.
Every wile she had learned from Somerton’s former mistress, and a few she had picked up on her own, led her down the familiar path of securing this man’s attention, of using his own need as a means of control.
The rose-colored silk nightdress pressed against the outline of her body, leaving nothing to the onlooker’s imagination. She inched closer, her gaze drifting over his lean body, ensuring he felt the scorching trail of her interest.
Forgive me, Guy. “I dreamed…” Cora allowed her words to float in the air between them. Her fingertips feathered up the length of his arm, along his shoulder, and hovered over his lips. She caressed the air above, the heat radiating from her fingertips her only contact.
“What?” he rasped, reaching for her waist.
“Ah, ah, my lord, you must keep your hands to yourself.”
Valère lowered his arms, clenching his hands into ready weapons. “I do not like to be trifled with.”
“What a pity,” she purred. Her free hand tugged his coat off one shoulder and then the other, allowing it to fall about his elbows. “Because that is exactly what I intend to do.”
Thirty-Five
When Somerton failed to show the following evening, Guy knew he could wait no longer. To leave Cora under Valère’s thumb another day was unthinkable. He would have to follow through with his plan and pray Somerton arrived soon with reinforcements.
However, the wait had given him several quiet hours to work on the cipher. He was so damned close.
T 32 E 26 27 22 15 E R T 22 23
His heart thundered with the taste of triumph close at hand. Just a few more days. Maybe even hours.
“Lord Helsford!” Dinks burst through the front door of the hunting box, Bingham and Jack following behind at a more sedate pace.
“What is it? Have you heard something?”
“Yes,” she gasped. “I know how to get you into the house with
none the wiser.” Dinks pressed a calming hand against her ample chest.
Tugging on her arm, Guy settled her into a nearby chair. “Have a seat so you can catch your breath.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord.”
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“I know where they’re storing their ale casks.” Dinks beamed at him, her hands prayer-like against her bosom, as though all their worries had been resolved.
“I see,” Guy lied.
“Henry let it slip that his lordship’s servants sneak down for an extra pint or two more than their daily ration.”
Guy struggled to make a beneficial connection. “And Henry would be?”
“The garden fellow,” Bingham spat.
Dinks’s sunbeam smile turned to a scowl at Bingham’s tone.
“Why did he tell you this information, Dinks?”
“The daft man would have told her anything as long as she kept jiggling her wares under his nose.” Bingham crossed his burly arms over his chest. Bushy eyebrows dusted with a hint of gray turned down into a severe vee, giving him a sinister appearance.
“Why, you four-legged loving, shite-scooping mongrel.” Dinks rose from her chair. “I did what I had to do to help Miss Cora. And, for your information, I’d have done a lot worse than baring a bit of my melons to loosen a lonely man’s tongue. I owe Miss Cora my life, and you owe her for your own miserable existence, too.”
The two stared at each other, neither backing down an inch. Guy wondered if the two realized they were in the midst of a courtship. A volatile one, but a courtship, nonetheless. Did they even realize that’s what this was all about? He glanced at Jack. The footman wore the same roguish I-know-something-you-don’t-know look that had lit his features the previous evening.
“Dinks,” Guy said with growing impatience, “please continue.”
“As I was saying”—she threw one last dagger look at Bingham before resuming her seat—“Henry also overheard his lordship ordering preparations for their departure.”
“Departure?”
“Yes. Back to France.”
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