Valère sent his visitor a confident smile. “Sometimes these things cannot be avoided.” He motioned to the opposite bench. “Please. Sit.”
Unable to do anything else, the other man sat stiffly across from him, balancing his walking stick against the padded bench.
Fitted with a severe black kerseymere coat covering a dark gray patterned waistcoat and topped with an elegant but simply tied neckcloth, his visitor was the epitome of a pompous English aristocrat. With no bright colors, the gentleman looked dressed for a funeral rather than an important business meeting.
“Now that our pleasantries have concluded, what news do you have?” Valère watched his visitor’s lips firm in indecision, watched him sift through which falsehood to share. He had seen it a thousand times, to nauseating degrees. All informants who still retained a bit of their morality and patriotism went through the same phases as their brethren before them.
They first assessed Valère’s physical strength, his mental fortitude, and finally his inclination toward violence. No matter their skill at such negotiations, they all eventually surrendered. The only question was when. He normally enjoyed the verbal fencing sessions, but this informant held answers that were of personal interest to Valère. He had no wish to wait for the man’s answers.
When his informant remained silent, Valère released a regretful breath. “Need I remind you of your current circumstances, my lord?”
“No.”
“Then why the delay? You have something I want, and I have something you want, yes?”
The man’s jaw tightened so hard Valère feared the bone would crack.
Finally, the informant revealed, “They are removing her to Hampshire.”
Valère had expected Lord Somerton to secret her away, but a specific location had eluded him. “Where in Hampshire?”
“Helsford’s maiden aunt left him a modest country estate in Yateley.”
“At what distance is Yateley from London?”
“A fair day’s carriage ride.” His informant’s hard gaze shifted to the milling crowd.
Valère examined the various minutiae he knew of this high-ranking official until one detail stood out above all others. “Correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but I believe you own a residence in this Oxfordshire region, do you not?”
The man returned his resigned yet furious gaze back to Valère. “Yes.”
“Ah, very good. I have one more favor to ask of you, my lord.” He took little pleasure from the starkness of the man’s features, for his mind had already turned toward the next level of his plan, which was shaping into a rather stimulating game of chess.
He loved chess. Excelled at it as he did every game of stratagem. The Raven—the Black Queen—was not the only one who could penetrate enemy lines.
Eight
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 e
xcitement 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.
Nine
“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 conta
ct. 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.”
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