A Lady's Revenge (7 page)

While peering into the looking glass above her dressing table, Cora removed the bandage hiding the right side of her face. When the last strip of linen fell away, cool air pressed against her flesh, and dismay tightened her throat.

Three inches of angry red stitching closed the deep gash made by Valère’s ring. The cut began below her temple and curved along her cheekbone.

Even though the doctor had used small, even stitches, a scar would mar her face forever, a constant reminder of her incompetence, of her extreme arrogance. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. How had she so thoroughly failed her country? And her parents?

“Here we are, Miss Cora,” Dinks said, carrying a small jar of salve provided by the doctor. “I’ll dab a bit of this on your cheek before setting your hair to rights.”

“There’s little to be done with it, I fear.” Cora ran her hand over the back of her head. “Trim up the ends so it doesn’t appear as though I just stepped out of Bedlam. A hat and veil will serve to conceal the rest.”

As Dinks worked her magic, Cora searched her mind for a way to avoid her impending breakfast with Guy. Humiliation from yesterday’s debacle still sat in the pit of her stomach like a mass of uncut gems, sharp and heavy. She feared her imprisonment had affected something elemental in her mind. What sane person reacted with such virulence after being touched?

Guy’s calm patience in the face of her attack left her flabbergasted, even now. She could still envision his dark eyes filled with understanding and a burning desire to help her. Oh, God, how she wanted to accept it, and perhaps she would, but she was the only one who could fix this irrational fear of a man’s touch. She was the only one who could conquer the demons that inhabited her mind when a man drew near.

Damn Valère for turning her into this skittish, broken creature. She swallowed, fighting back the tears that threatened her composure. She had to be strong—for her sake and for those around her.

She shifted her attention to the looking glass, where a small breakfast table set for two reflected back. The aspect appeared so welcoming, so normal. But the next hour would be far from normal. With the exception of her captivity, the next sixty minutes would likely be the most interminable of her life.

Anxious flutters beat inside her chest.

Guy would press her for more information about her time in France. She realized his need to know more would eventually win out over his attempt to respect her privacy. The thought of sharing such sordid details with him caused a swell of nausea to bubble into her throat.

How could she reveal such things? Having him look upon her in disgust would tear at her soul. He had been a hero to her from her earliest years, always watching over her, ever her courageous champion.

Even though four years separated them, they had been dear friends, especially after Somerton began her training regime. And, on that long-ago night in a private sitting room, her twenty-year-old heart had recognized something more between them. Something essential. Promising.
Carnal.

Cora closed her eyes against the bittersweet memory. Much had changed since then. If what Guy said was true and he had become an assassin for the Nexus, then they had both sold their souls for England’s cause. She wondered whose was most lost.

She bent closer toward her reflection, at the hideous creature staring back. The bruises on her face were beginning to fade, yet swirls of yellow, green, and deep violet remained stubbornly behind. She examined the tightness surrounding her eye. The swelling had reduced enough that she no longer looked over a mound of purple flesh. When she canted her head to the side, she spied a blood red circle surrounding her iris.

Perfect.

Now she resembled a demonic bedlamite.

Cora dropped her gaze, no longer able to tolerate the sight of her destroyed countenance. She really needn’t worry about fending off a man’s intimate touch. Valère had made sure no man would ever want her again.

“Now, now, Miss Cora, none of that.” Dinks tsked. “We’ll have you back to your beautiful self in no time.” A few minutes later Dinks patted her shoulder. “There. Let’s have a look at you.” When Cora hesitated, Dinks coaxed her to lift her gaze. “Haven’t I always taken good care of you, Miss Cora?”

“Yes, Dinks. Yes, you have.”

“Chin up, little mite. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Unable to put off the deed any longer, Cora turned back to her reflection and gawked.

Without the weight of her long locks, her hair lay in a halo of soft waves around her head, decorated with an artfully looped pale blue ribbon tied at the back of her neck. Cora couldn’t believe the effect. Somehow, Dinks had changed her deranged bedlamite appearance into a sophisticated sprite, although her demon-eye remained.

With the help of Dinks’s masterful touch, Cora could rejoin society soon, a notion both welcome and repugnant. She needed her body to be whole again in order to defeat Valère, but the prospect of taking up her former role of seductress sat heavily on her conscience.

Her fingers hovered over the gash near her eye. Even though Valère had been drawn to her looks, she knew he would see her disfigurement as a trophy to his superiority, and a perverse excitement would follow. An excitement she would use to her advantage.

But the irony of her damaged face was not lost on her. The same marks that would help her destroy her enemy would limit her future use to the Nexus. An easily identified secret service agent was a useless agent.

If she came out of this battle alive, what would she do? Continue searching for the man who murdered her parents, surely. That was a certainty. She would not stop until she gazed into the killer’s eyes.

Without the Nexus, she had no purpose, no reason to leave the comfort of her bed every day. The Nexus was her life. She knew no other way and, even if she did, it was no longer open to her.

“Do you not like it, Miss Cora?” Dinks asked, her tone uncertain.

Cora shook off her melancholy. As usual, she would do what must be done. For now, she must eliminate Valère as a threat. She would see to the rest later.

She made a show of admiring Dinks’s handiwork, for the maid had truly done wonders with her appearance. She stood to embrace her friend. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so very much.”

“You’re welcome.” Tears choked the maid’s words. A handkerchief materialized from the depths of Dinks’s skirt, and she dabbed Cora’s tears away and then her own. “That rat-bastard won’t get the best of us.”

“Never.”

“We must be vigilant.”

“Yes. He’ll not stop until he finds me.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

“I won’t let my arrogance place you, Jack, and Bingham in danger again.” Cora clasped Dinks’s hands. “I’ll take better care of you this time—I swear it.”

“Is that what you think? That it’s your fault things turned out as they did? Are you daft?”

Cora blinked. “Pardon?”

“Are you a mind reader, now? Perhaps, you’re kin to the Almighty and can be in several places at one time?”

“No, of course—”

“Now, you listen here, missy.” Dinks’s eyes narrowed. “The three of us knew what we were getting into when we followed you to France—Lord Somerton made sure of it. The only people at fault here are that miserable Lord Valère and his toad-eating lackey.”

“Dinks, I’m sorry—”

“None of that, now,” Dinks said, the heat leaving her voice. She busied herself around the room. “His lordship will be here soon, and I need to tidy up.”

Cora’s fist pressed against the unexpected lump lodged in her chest. The guilt of her incompetence eased a bit with Dinks’s fierce defense. She still blamed herself for the botched mission, but it helped to know that Dinks and the others didn’t.

She looked around her childhood room with longing. How nice it would be to go back to those simpler times.

Cora glanced back at her reflection and wondered if Guy would like her hair.

“Good morning, Dinks,” Guy said.

The maid curtsied. “That it is, my lord.”

Guy stepped into the bedchamber—and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh!” Dinks exclaimed, crashing into his back. “I’m right sorry, my lord. Didn’t expect you to be standing in my path like that.”

Guy ignored the maid’s rebuke. His nostrils flared as the fragrant, moist air of a recent bath reached his nose. But it was the sight of Cora standing near the breakfast table that held him captivated.

A silky blue dressing gown hugged the contours of her body, concealing the effects of her captivity, and a matching ribbon wound through her shorn hair. The effect was stunning in its simplicity. With her regal stance and fading bruises, she reminded him of a wounded angel.

“Your hair.”

Turning her damaged cheek away, she lifted her hand to tug on the ends of her hair. “It will grow out… eventually.”

“It’s beautiful.”

She stared into his eyes. “W-what?”

He moved to stand before her and, without thinking, reached out to touch her rich brown waves. The soft locks slid through his fingers like the downy end of a feather.

Bending forward, he kissed her cheek. “Beautiful.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw her stiffen and lean away. “Guy, I—”

His hand fell to his side. “Do not trouble yourself, Cora.

Little by little, touch by touch, he would help her overcome her trepidation. Valère had taken more than her innocence. He had stolen her confidence. “One step at a time, remember?”

She nodded and chanced a glance at him.

Her vulnerability washed over him, and Guy’s stomach clenched against the impact. He recovered enough to send her a feigned smile. “I have no doubt cropped hair will soon be all the rage amongst the
ton
ladies once they see you. It’s quite becoming, Cora.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need to say such things. I’m quite aware of what a mess I am.” She indicated the table. “Shall we eat?”

Her carefully controlled expression gave nothing away, other than her emotional retreat. Unlike yesterday, when shock over her reaction to his touch left her a little uneasy, she now faced him with protective reserve. As hard as he tried, he could not detect a trace of his former friend or a hint of the easy affection they had once shared.

“Certainly.” He pulled out a chair for her and then moved to take his own. “I did not compliment you out of charity, Cora.”

“Out of charity or by rote,” she said with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Both meaningless and unwelcome.”

Guy bit back a sharp rebuttal. She would not believe he thought her more beautiful for having survived an ordeal that would have broken the strongest of men. She would not believe her beauty encompassed more than the creamy perfection of her skin or the lushness of her sable locks. And she certainly would not believe her beauty lay in the vivid intelligence sparkling behind her blue-green eyes.

Dinks lifted the covers from the serving trays and inhaled deeply. “Ah, Cook out-cooked herself this morning.”

“Indeed, she did, Dinks,” Guy responded when Cora said nothing.

“Is there anything else you need before I leave you to your meal?”

“No, that will be all,” Cora said. “Thank you.”

The maid rubbed her stomach and winked at Guy before exiting the room and leaving the door ajar.

Cora stared at the entrance to her bedchamber long after Dinks had left the room.

“Is something wrong?” Guy asked.

“I don’t know why she bothers.”

He followed her gaze to the open door. “She bothers because she loves you and wishes to protect you.”

Cora snorted. “There is nothing left of my reputation to safeguard.”

Guy held his tongue. It was true Cora would be ruined if the paragons like the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s found out about her work for the government and her time with Valère. Guy was never good at following the dictates of the
ton
, though. Her decision to go to France revealed a depth of character and courage that few in polite society would understand.

“Forgive my sharp tongue, Guy. I-I don’t understand what’s happening. I—” Without warning, she bent forward and grabbed his hand where it rested on the table. “I want you to know, no matter what I might say or what I might do, I shall never forget that precious moment when you revealed yourself to me in the dungeon. Never. I was so close to giving in to Boucher’s demands, so close to giving up. You saved me in more ways than one.” Gratitude shimmered in the depths of her unusual eyes. Her final words emerged on a choked whisper. “Thank you, Guy.”

He knew her well enough to know that revealing such a perceived weakness was a tremendous concession on her part. At this budding sign of trust, his heart swelled to painful proportions, forcing him to take a moment before he spoke. “You are most welcome, Cora.”

Her features lightened into what some might label as a smile before she released her hold and began loading their plates with an array of food. Guy stared at his hand, at the place where she had made her first voluntary contact. Although her action filled his heart with encouraging hope, he experienced a stab of regret when cool air replaced her warmth.

Lifting his coffee cup, he followed the preciseness of her movements. Every time she swallowed, she lowered her eyes as if in concentration. His gaze dipped down to the faint imprint of fingers still evident on her neck.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, keeping his voice devoid of the helpless anger eating at his gut.

“Better.” She raised a rasher of bacon to her mouth. “Any news on Valère’s whereabouts?”

He set the cup down on its saucer, and it rattled into place. “Nothing for certain. The likelihood that he would brave England’s shores is debatable.”

She sipped her tea. “He’ll come. Despite Somerton’s best efforts to watch the ports and coastline, Valère will find a gap.”

Her faith in the Frenchman struck a sensitive chord. This was the second time she had sung the bastard’s praises, and Guy liked it not one whit.

“So sure?”

“Quite.” She returned her cup to its saucer before meeting his gaze. “Evidently, I have something none other of my ilk possesses. He will come, either to acquire it or to terminate it.”

My
ilk?
What the devil did she mean by that remark? And what did she have that was so valuable to a man like Valère? He ached to ask the questions, but the closed set to her features indicated any attempt to learn the answers would not end in his favor.
Damn
stubborn
woman.

As was his wont, Somerton had assessed Cora’s situation with blinding accuracy. And Guy was suddenly anxious to be away. He had to keep Cora safe. Keep her away from Valère and out of the bastard’s control. No one could survive the Frenchman’s style of interrogation a second time. Not even the Raven.

“It is good we won’t be here when he arrives, then.”

She stared at him, her fork suspended in midair. “Excuse me?”

“This afternoon I will escort you to my country estate.”

“Is that so?”

“It’s all been arranged.” He ignored the cold realization hardening her gaze. “Somerton’s notifying your servants as we speak. We’ll leave for Herrington Park around luncheon.”

“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.