And the darkest, for she couldn’t allow him to stay.
Forgive me.
She called forth the Raven.
“Go, Guy.” She made sure her tone had the perfect amount of indifference. “I don’t need you here.”
For as long as she lived, Cora would never forget the flash of hurt that crossed his face before it blanked. Her fingers wrapped around her thumb, squeezing.
His gaze flicked to her side, and Cora hid her hand behind her back. She held her breath, hoping she hadn’t given herself away, hoping she hadn’t hurt him for no reason.
Then he turned to her servants. “Do not let your mistress out of your sight. Not even for a second. Understood?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
To Cora, he said, “I need to know you’ll stay put.”
Releasing a slow breath, she smoothed her fingers over the wrinkled missive’s words. The paper crackled in the silence like a crystal chandelier smashing against a marble floor.
“Where would I go?” She sent him an unconcerned look, handing the missive back to him. “Do not dally, my lord.”
With a heavy heart, she pivoted and began her slow retreat back to the lake, to the only sanctuary she had known since returning to England. To the place that had just become another prison.
Sixteen
“What the devil are you doing here?” Somerton demanded near midnight.
Guy froze in the act of removing his dust-covered overcoat. The warning voice he had heard since leaving Cora at Herrington Park turned into a full-fledged roar at his mentor’s question.
“You didn’t send for me?”
Somerton’s features hardened. “No, I did not. Please tell me Cora is with you.”
Guy shook his head, a flash of heat swept over him. His chest felt weighted down by fifteen stone, and nausea boiled low in his stomach. He should have listened to his instincts; he should have stayed by Cora’s side. Goddammit.
Somerton closed his eyes, and his lips pressed into a grim line. “Come with me.”
Pulling his coat back on, Guy made for the front door. “No. If you didn’t send for me, that can mean only one thing, and I don’t have a moment to waste.”
“Helsford,” Somerton said in a commanding voice. “You can spare me five minutes to explain your presence in town, especially given the fact I expressly ordered you to stay in the country with Cora.” To his butler, he said, “Rucker, see that a fresh horse is brought around for Lord Helsford.”
“Consider it done, my lord.”
“Tell me what’s happened,” Somerton barked the moment the study door closed.
Guy pulled out the crumpled missive. “I received this from one of your messengers.”
“I sent no one to you.” Somerton scanned the note. “What does this mean by Danforth’s ‘fate’?”
“According to Jack, Valère has him.”
His mentor’s hard gaze returned to the missive. “Describe the messenger.”
Guy spread his legs and clasped his hands behind his back. “I didn’t speak with him. Cora’s footman intercepted the man in town.”
“Jack gave you this?”
“Yes, sir. He said he recognized the man.” He should have verified the source before racing off to London, but he had no reason to distrust Jack’s word, nor had Cora shown any signs of questioning her servant or the note’s authenticity. Otherwise, he would never have left.
“He was either mistaken, or he lied.” Somerton’s face grew taut. “Find out which.”
“Are we finished?” Guy had to get back to Herrington Park. To Cora. The need rose inside him like a volcano about to erupt. It sucked the air from his lungs and lodged fiery bile in the back of his throat.
“Not quite.” Somerton’s steady gaze locked with his.
“What is it?”
“I haven’t heard from Danforth since before you left,” his mentor revealed. “We have to consider that part of the dispatch possibly correct.”
“It would not be unlike Danforth to go it alone.” Damned hothead. The epithet Dinks had used proved quite accurate. More times than not, the viscount allowed his actions to be directed by emotion rather than logic. “Have you had any success in tracking down Valère’s whereabouts or movements?”
“No specific sighting of Valère.” Somerton paced behind his massive oak framed desk. “Given our current situation, one can only assume Valère is closer at hand than any of us realized.”
“How the hell did he find my country estate?”
“I don’t know,” Somerton said. “I’ll visit the Undersuperintendent of Aliens today to see if there are any new developments on the possible leak within the Foreign Office. Hopefully, Latymer has made some progress on that case while I’m occupied with this one.”
“You think the two are linked?” He knew the answer before finishing the sentence. Valère would be a fool not to secure information from his informant while on foreign ground.
Guy held up his hand to forestall Somerton’s affirmation. “Never mind. Of course they’re linked.” He prepared to leave. “Please send word as soon as you hear something.”
“Helsford.”
Guy steeled himself before turning back. “I’ve told you everything I know. I must get back now.”
Somerton eyed him. “You know she’s no longer there, don’t you?”
He suspected as much, but he had to assess the situation with his own eyes. “Yes.” The single word tore from his aching throat.
“Where are you going, then?” Somerton asked. “It would be best to wait here until my men pick up Valère’s trail, or until the bastard sends word of where we can find Danforth and Cora.”
“Her servants—”
“Are likely dead.”
Guy closed his eyes. Dear God.
Suffocating emotions boiled inside him, making it difficult to breathe. If by the grace of God Cora survived this, she would never forgive him the loss of her servants. They were as much family to her as Danforth.
He rubbed his aching chest. “I have to do something. I can’t sit here twiddling my thumbs while waiting for news that will be, at best, intolerable.”
“You won’t be idle. There are other leads to check on, correspondence to review.”
Guy strode to the fireplace. He braced both hands on the mantel and watched the flames flicker with eyes that burned hot as coals. “Give me what you have, and I’ll be off.”
Somerton opened a drawer and pulled out several letters. “These dispatches came in this morning. One is believed to be from Valère, but the cipher is too complex for my skills. Rather opportune, wouldn’t you say?”
Guy accepted the packet; acid churned in his stomach.
“It’s not your fault,” Somerton said into the silence.
“The hell it’s not.” Guy stared at one of the few men whose opinion of him mattered. He had failed to protect Cora, and she may very well pay with her life for his incompetence. “Don’t you understand? I knew. I knew something wasn’t right about the situation when I left.”
“Even so, you may not have been able to protect her,” Somerton said. “Valère is determined to have her. If anyone is to blame, it is I who made the mistake of misjudging his resourcefulness on English soil.”
“I have to go. I have to see for myself how things stand.”
“Do what you must,” Somerton relented. “Send word if you find something of importance in the letters. I will continue my search for Valère from here. When I speak to Latymer about the leak, I’ll apprise him on this case, too. Not surprisingly, he was rather outraged by what happened to Cora and has authorized additional resources.”
From Guy’s perspective, Lord Latymer was the closest thing Somerton had to a friend. The two had gone to Cambridge together, and both began by assisting the Foreign Office right out of university. According to Somerton, Latymer had his eye on the Foreign Secretary position and, as the current Undersuperintendent of Aliens, he could very well attain
his goal one day, whereas Somerton was content to oversee the affairs at the Alien Office—and more specifically, the Nexus—as its chief. Although Somerton now reported to Latymer, the two still worked in concert with each other.
Guy searched Somerton’s eyes for a sign of the disappointment he must surely be feeling. He had not only let Cora down, but his mentor, too. Even though he didn’t agree with all of Somerton’s tactics, he still admired and respected the man. Would Somerton ever trust him again?
And more importantly, would Cora?
Seventeen
The bedchamber door eased open, and two figures slid inside Cora’s darkened room. She pressed farther into the shadows, her heartbeat nearly shattering the silence. Her muscles wound into taut readiness, waiting for the right moment. She had anticipated this visit since reading Somerton’s so-called missive this morning. Being right about the forgery didn’t make her feel proud, only regret for having sent Guy away. He might never forgive her for this breach of trust.
One of the men stayed near the door while the other crept across the room on silent feet. The masculine shadow drifted past the window, and a sliver of moonlight reflected off six inches of Spanish steel.
She flicked a glance at the man standing by the door, who followed his partner’s progress. The man’s anticipation was a palpable presence in the room, as was his tension. Dismissing him for the moment, she returned her attention back to her more immediate threat, now standing by the bed, his black-gloved hand reaching for the edge of the counterpane—
Cora pushed off the wall and slashed the fireplace poker through the air with all her might, connecting with the intruder’s skull. A sickening crack resounded through the room before the man fell with an audible thud to the floor.
She whirled around to face the silhouette standing by the door. “Looking for me?” she asked.
Valère stepped into the moonlight. “I hope you have not killed poor Marcel, ma chère. I am running out of trained assassins.”
Cora’s blood pumped heavily within her veins. Her first sight of the man responsible for her torture severed her concentration for a brief second. She was transported back to her dank, cold cell, to the rats and rancid water, to the agony and humiliation. She recalled the fear and the moments of hopelessness. She remembered the hatred. For this man and all he represented.
Then Valère smiled. A beautiful smile, a charming smile. A malevolent smile that snapped her back to reality with the force of a slamming door.
Glancing at the bed, he gave the misshapen lump beneath the covers a derisive look before prowling toward her, a demon of death in an angel’s façade. Cora widened her stance, battling her instincts to flee.
“You seem very thoughtful this evening, Cora, or do you prefer Raven?”
She wasn’t fooled by his affable tone. He had hated the Raven as much as any of Napoleon’s supporters. Discovering her secret identity must have sent him into a violent rage, especially if his superiors also learned of whom he had allowed to slip from his grasp.
She wondered what Guy thought about her alter ego. Would he embrace her as the Raven or try to destroy the connection? He had said little the day he’d revealed his awareness. Simply looked upon her with his unsettling gaze.
“Where are my servants?”
His smile broadened. “Quite indisposed, I’m afraid.”
Fear sliced through her chest. Had he killed her friends? Or incapacitated them? Unwilling to share her concerns about the missive, she had nonetheless warned them all to be at their most vigilant. An unnecessary warning, for they had already spoken to the guards and made arrangements for shorter intervals between watches in order to better stay alert.
He angled his body a little to the right, trying to force her into a vulnerable position. Years ago, she had been taught by—and trained with—the very best to deflect such obvious maneuverings. If Guy couldn’t back her into a corner, a sniveling Frenchman wouldn’t succeed.
“Whatever could be stirring inside that beautiful head of yours, ma chère? I suppose you may be wondering if I killed your servants. Is that it? Do you wonder how long your maid held out before she submitted to her first scream of agony? Perhaps you question whether your old coachman died from inhaling too much smoke, or if the flames consuming the barn got to him first?”
Her insides quavered at the images he wove. She prayed Valère had showed them mercy by locking them up somewhere. Someplace where they wouldn’t do anything stupid—like try to save her.
Unfortunately for Valère, his experiment to discover the elusive chink in her indifference failed. She cast her mind to the sun-drenched grove near the lake where she and Guy had practiced their Tai Chi. His fluid movements had impressed and stirred her, reawakened lost memories and budding dreams. The memory helped her body relax, but her awareness remained centered on the madman at her feet.
“Quite the little ice queen, aren’t you? Perhaps news of your brother would thaw that frigid façade of yours.”
Cora knew as soon as she saw Valère’s smile turn triumphant that she had slipped. Using her servants’ welfare to force her hand was something he had attempted, although unsuccessfully, in the past. So she knew to prepare herself for his idle threats, but his casual reference to Ethan was most unexpected. Valère’s intrusion confirmed the dispatch was a forgery. She had no reason to believe the missive’s contents contained a grain of truth, so she had given the letter no further thought. She hoped the bastard was toying with her mind again, because the alternative was unthinkable. Oh, Ethan.
“Ahh, I knew there had to be something that would melt England’s perfect little spy.”
Cora allowed him to see her true feelings then. She allowed him to see, not her fear, but her absolute loathing. She allowed him to see her for the first time.
Her revelation wiped the smile off his face.
He drew a thin-bladed dagger from the depths of his sleeve, signaling flight was no longer an option. She switched the poker to her left hand and slipped her fingers beneath the white sash wrapped around her tunic.
“Put your weapon down, Valère.”
“I think not.”
Cora didn’t bother to ask twice. She pulled back her arm and fired off one of her concealed knives. Moonlight caught the flash of steel as it sliced through the air, through the exact place Valère’s throat had been moments ago. The thud of her knife embedding itself into the opposite wall barely registered past her disbelief. How could he have moved so quickly to avoid her blade? Or anticipate her target in the dark?
The Frenchman straightened from his awkward angle. Fury transformed his face into something far too feral to comprehend. His breaths pounded through the air, and she was certain he would rush her. But he surprised her yet again by sliding his dagger back up his sleeve.
“That bit of insolence won’t go unpunished, ma chère.” His quietly stated promise frightened her more than any physical attack. “Renaud!”
Cora heard scuffling in the corridor. The sound grew louder until two struggling silhouettes appeared in the doorway. One masculine, one feminine.
“Perhaps we might shed some light on our new arrivals.” Valère cocked his head to the side and waited.
Blood pounded in Cora’s ears. Without a doubt she knew the feminine silhouette belonged to Dinks. She longed to see her friend’s face to assure herself the maid was well. But she dared not let down her guard, not even to light a candle.
“Do you not wish to see how your beloved maid fares?” Valère taunted.
“What do you want?” Cora’s confidence cracked. One wrong move and they would both surely die.
“An apology would be a good start.”
She crossed her arms over her midsection and rubbed her fingers along the sash until she felt the comforting hardness of steel. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah, but I didn’t feel it, mon ange.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I want to experience the depth of your regret along with you, so that we might be one
again.”
As within his dungeon, what Valère said he wanted was nothing more than a precursor to debasement. He loved giving his captives hope and then laughing uproariously as he snatched it from their grasp. The Frenchman was cruel and unpredictable, which made him a very dangerous man.
“I’m not so trusting any longer, sir.”
“Stubborn, stubborn, spy.” He chuckled, as if pleased by her response. “You are very much like your father, did you know?” he asked. “Brilliant, cunning, and unwisely courageous. You have proved yourself more courageous than he, I think. But you are foolish to challenge me.”
Cora’s gaze sharpened. Did he just say…?
Valère’s bark of laughter rent the air. “Poor orphaned Cora. Still haunted by your bastard father’s and beautiful mother’s deaths after so many years?”
“Murders,” Cora corrected through stiff lips.
“Had your father followed instructions, he would still be alive and able to betray his country again and again.”
Her heart constricted. “That’s a lie.” Was he toying with her again? She couldn’t see his face clearly enough to judge. She hoped so. The alternative would be unbearable.
“If you wish to think so, who am I to disillusion you?”
Impotent rage fired through her veins. Her father was not a traitor. He loved England. He had instilled the same devotion in his children’s hearts from the cradle. She would not allow this man to taint her childhood memory of her loving sire.
Another thought struck her. “You knew who I was?” Surely he hadn’t known all along.
His gaze turned cool. “No, my little betrayer. I trust no one, especially une belle anglaise. After I found out who your parents were, I had my men follow you. You’re quite adept at losing a trail, but I prevailed in the end.”
She swallowed hard. “How long?”
His head canted to the side, a knowing smile on his lips. “Ma chère?”
Cora’s gaze darted to where Dinks stood, struggling in earnest now. She dropped her voice. “Did you know who I was before…?”
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