A Lady's Revenge (23 page)

Cora shared a look with Guy. “That’s not what I wanted, but please do.” She swallowed. “Don’t bury Scrapper without me.”

“Are you sure, little mite?”

“Never more so.”

Guy kissed the top of her head. “Rest first, sweetheart.”

Cora didn’t think she would ever rest again. Her mind sped through recent events with an almost inhuman speed. However, somewhere between the front lawn and the grand staircase, her body began to relax and her thoughts slowed. With Guy’s arms supporting her and his scent surrounding her, she began to drift into slumber before her head ever touched the bed.

When he heard a tentative knock on his bedchamber door, Guy paused in the act of removing his stockings. Having just extracted his timepiece from the pocket of his discarded waistcoat, he knew it was a few minutes before eleven. To have a visitor at such a late hour generally meant the deliverance of unpleasant news or the appearance of a delectable evening companion. Since Cora was presently fighting a horrible megrim in her room, Guy steeled himself for the disagreeable news.

Glancing down at his untucked shirt, bare feet, and loose hair, he briefly considered throwing on his silk banyan but discarded the notion. He wasn’t feeling particularly civilized at the moment and, besides, it was much too warm to wear the voluminous dressing gown. He braced his left hand on the door frame and opened the door wide. “Yes?”

Cora stood on the other side, looking lost and heartbreakingly frail in her wispy cream nightdress and with her sleep-rumpled hair. His heart dipped into his stomach. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Am I disturbing you?” She took in his dishabille with a mixture of chagrin and avid interest. “Please tell me if I am… I don’t wish to bother you, but I—”

He grasped her hand and drew her inside. “Nonsense. How is your head?”

Guy’s chest expanded at her slow response. From the way her gaze stayed affixed below his chin, he did not think she minded his current state of dishabille. When awareness softened her features, he was suddenly glad he did not take the time to draw on his banyan.

Closing the door, he led her to one of the two high-backed chairs curling around the low-burning fire. Instead of sitting anxiously on the edge, she sank into the depths of the soft cushions and folded her legs to the side. She looked so young and vulnerable in that moment. He liked the fact that she felt so at ease with him. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who had spent three years bedeviling the French with her wit, beauty, and keen observational skills. Her ability to adapt to her ever-changing circumstance was nothing short of remarkable.

She brushed her fingers over her forehead and along her temple. “Down to a dull ache. Thank you for asking.”

“Dinks showed me how to make her megrim concoction,” he said. “Shall I mix you another dose?” As always, the maid’s special brews contained a healthy measure of brandy.

She shook her head. “I’m tired of sleeping and do not wish to have a fuzzy head any longer.”

The subdued quality of her voice unnerved him. He knew how to deal with her anger, her fear, and even her stubbornness. But the hint of defeat he heard slipping between syllables was a sentiment he knew not how to manage.

An uncomfortable feeling of helplessness kept him silent and watchful. He studied her like a naturalist studies the mating rituals of a puffin. But she gave no sign or provided any clue as to how he could help her cope with her most recent setback. He realized then that it had always been thus with Cora. At an early age, she had experienced the staggering loss of her parents, and later, the loss of a young lady’s come-out ball. But she had not allowed those events to destroy her, although her parents’ murders had come close.

The scene of Cora digging a small grave for Scrapper seared through his mind. Although the somber ceremony had occurred several hours ago, the knot in his gut seemed as tight as ever. Other than accepting a shovel from Bingham, Cora had refused all other offers of help. So her servants and he had stood quietly by while she labored over the hole, sweating and growing weaker by the moment. They had all breathed a collective sigh of relief when the last shovel of dirt was carefully spread on top of the small grave.

Guy did not know what had possessed him to reach down and remove his boot tassels. When he had handed them to Cora to place on the grave, she had given him a grateful, watery smile before securing them with a small stone at the head of the mound. He still felt foolish about the gesture, especially after recalling Bingham’s wide-eyed stare. But Cora seemed to take comfort from the pathetic little headstone, which, in turn, brought him contentment.

He kept his voice gentle. “Did you have a particular purpose for coming to see me?”

She leaned her head back against the chair. “Not really. I just needed not to be alone anymore.”

Guy’s muscles lost some of their tension. “So you came to see me.” Perhaps redirecting her thoughts into more comfortable territory—at least for him—would remove the sadness from her blue-green eyes. “Why not Dinks?”

“She loved Scrapper as much as I.” Her lips twitched the slightest bit. “One hopes she is similarly engaged.”

Guy raised a brow. “With whom?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Apparently not,” he mused, not really liking the images circulating around his mind. There were some areas one simply did not tread. “Bingham seems the only prospect, but it can’t be him.”

“And why is that?” Her mouth definitely quirked then.

“Come now,” he said, all amusement gone. “You can’t be serious. The two can barely tolerate breathing the same air. I’ve never even heard of half the names Dinks flings at Bingham’s head.”

“Guy, you astonish me.” She tugged her rose-colored shawl more securely around her shoulders. “I would have thought a worldly man such as yourself would recognize love play.”

Love
play?
“Evidently, I’m not that worldly.”

The low chuckle she emitted strummed across his heart like a well-tuned harp. Affable silence followed while they shared a conspiratorial smile, a silent communication they had conferred on one another many times over the years while dealing with Ethan’s high-strung antics. However, this time, their amusement faded into pulsing awareness.

“Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like had we not joined the Nexus?” Cora asked softly.

Guy reclined back in his chair, matching Cora’s restful pose, though his body was anything but relaxed. A peculiar feeling of anticipation reverberated beneath his skin, heightening all of his senses. The Nexus was the conduit for her life’s ambition. The secret unit had given her the means to locate the man who had murdered her parents. For nearly a decade, she had trained for this one purpose. Somerton, and his band of anonymous spies, represented the last hope of a grieving girl’s desire for justice.

For her to now question that choice was staggering.

And it also reminded him of a situation he very much wished to forget, but he knew he could not until Cora understood the full story behind her captivity. The thought soured his stomach. Her pensive mood did not seem conducive to such confessions, though. At least that is what he told himself. He would find the right moment. Soon.

Returning to her question, he settled on a rather blurry version of the truth. “No, not really.” His involvement in the Nexus had been a natural transition from pupil to active status. Once he became an agent, he had enjoyed the rush of unraveling the enemy’s secrets and the intense gratification of thwarting Napoleon’s various dreams of conquest. He had felt necessary to the cause, vital even. Yet something had kept him from fully relishing the moment. The same something that had plagued him for most of his life—the absence of a family. Staying with the deBeaus over the years had periodically filled the void. But the craving to come home to the joyous smiles of a wife he loved and children he adored lingered in his heart like the faint memory of a beloved pet.

So the answer to her query of what his life would be like without the Nexus was carved into the very marrow of his dreams. And once Valère was no longer a threat, Guy had every intention of pursuing his long-deferred wish.

For him, the real question had always been with whom he would share his life after the Nexus. His gaze dropped to her plump lower lip, and he felt an immediate punch of desire. It was not until the masked ball that the answer had come to him in a vision of shimmering red and catlike blue-green eyes.

“Do you regret your decision to join the Nexus?” he asked, intensely curious about her answer.

She considered him for a long moment, as if she were on the verge of sharing a great confidence but undecided about how it would be received. When her expression shuttered, Guy experienced a stabbing disappointment.

But his disappointment turned to surprise when she said, “Since my imprisonment, I have given thought to many things I have done and many decisions I have made.”

“Any you care to share?”

Shaking her head, she said, “No. You might feel compelled to discuss such things with Somerton. I do not wish to disconcert him, for I am committed to my present course.”

Irritation sharpened his tone. “Did I betray you to the chief when I learned of your fear of guns?”

Her gaze jerked to his. “I don’t believe so.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, I did not. One word from me, and he would have removed you. The Nexus cannot have an agent who is afraid to defend herself with whatever means are available. Instead, I worked with you until the gun you dreaded so much became an extension of your arm.”

She flinched at the reminder. “Yes, of course. I did not mean to offend you with my caution. Your bond with Somerton and my brother is strong. I simply did not want to put you in an awkward position.”

“So you thought I would choose Somerton over you.”

She frowned. “As you should, Guy. Protecting the Nexus’s interests is far more important than the silly reflections of one woman.”

“I don’t consider your dreams as silly, Cora.” He waved his hand around the chamber. “You deserve something better than this”—he stumbled for the appropriate word—“this constant intrigue.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners in a self-deprecating manner. “Do I.” Not a question. It was a simple, noncommittal response. She continued, “The success of the Nexus depends upon the unwavering dedication of its members, Guy, and that includes me.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Forget the Nexus. I’m interested in hearing about those ‘silly reflections’ you mentioned.” Guy clasped his hands together to keep from rolling them into fists. A thundering expectation took up residence inside his chest. All of his senses were focused on her next revelation. Would her vision of a Nexus-free future equal his? He swallowed back a sudden lump of thick dread. Would he have a place in her future at all?

She gave him a cross look. “I do not regret my decision of becoming an agent. The role has filled my life in immeasurable ways.” A hiss sounded from the crackling fire, drawing her thoughtful gaze. “However, I do confess to longing for a bit of boredom. I would love to wake up in the morning with nothing worse to worry about than the day’s menu and what frippery I’m going to wear.”

The first pang of unease tapped Guy’s stomach. “Why don’t you? Resign from your position, I mean. Somerton would not fault such a decision.”

She turned and searched his face. His words had emerged harsher, more insistent than he had intended, but the stoic quality of her voice had struck a nerve.

“While Valère is still wreaking havoc, I have no intention of setting aside the Nexus, especially not until I find the murderer and see to Ethan’s and Grace’s safe return. Even then, my notion of what is normal will be vastly different from other ladies of the
ton
.”

The pang twisted into a knot. “In what way?” he heard himself ask, already knowing the answer.

“In all the ways that matter, Guy.”

He shot to his feet and strode to the window. Outside, the waxing moon glinted off a thousand leaves in a nearby elm tree, bestowing upon them a silvery sheen. Her quietly stated words could not have been clearer. She still believed that her past and the scars on her body would be an obstruction to any man’s desire. Little fool.

“Cora, I don’t know how to make you understand—”

“I was not completely honest with you earlier,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder, arching a brow. “Indeed? I take it you wish to change the subject.”

She didn’t look away, but he noticed the flush darkening her cheeks, even in the low firelight.

A gust of wind slammed against the windowpane, testing the glass’s strength. The moonlit leaves no longer hung lazily from their arboreal perches; they now clung with tenacity. With so much force working against them, it was inevitable for a few to lose their grip and fall soundlessly to the ground.

Guy closed his eyes and drew in an exhausted breath. He didn’t want to let go of the subject of her suitability. He wanted her to fight for her place in society, despite the
ton
’s wagging tongues and contemptuous looks. He wanted her to fight for a place at his side like those leaves fought to retain their spot within the arms of the enormous elm tree.

He opened his eyes once more, realizing she had gone through too much and forecasted her future for too long to see anything but a singular existence. It was up to him to show her how perfectly she would fit in his future.
Their
future.

“You win this round, Cora-bell,” He used the old endearment with a familiar threat of retribution. “But
I
have no intention of setting this subject aside.”

“Do not try to use your old bullying tactics with me, Guy Trevelyan. I’m not Ethan’s runt anymore.”

Indeed not, he thought. Circling back toward the fireplace, he allowed his gaze to skim over her body, taking profound pleasure when she burrowed her exposed toes in the crease between the chair’s arm and seat cushion. “Why do you persist in this need to challenge my manhood?”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

He grasped the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Her eyes rounded. “What are you doing?”

“Reminding you of what you are up against should you be entertaining thoughts of victory in a scuffle between us.” He tossed his shirt onto his abandoned chair.

“I have no desire to scuffle with you, Guy,” she said to his chest.

He flexed his pectorals.

The look of startled wonder on her face made him want to do it again for good measure, but he resisted the urge. Unfortunately, his cock was not so circumspect.