Shrugging off the dark memory, he trudged up the stairs to their chamber to finish dressing. Ten minutes later, when he entered the parlor, he still pondered the question of her disappearance. Spotting Dinks and a veiled Cora at the back of the room, Guy weaved past several of the inn’s guests, taking note of each one. A young woman dressed in serviceable linen attended to two young children, who seemed intent on breaking free of her ironclad hold. Three disheveled young men sat in a darkened corner with their heads propped up on their hands.
Guy smiled, remembering many mornings when he and Ethan could barely hold their heads up after a long night of drinking and gambling. As he approached the ladies’ table, he nodded to a gray-haired gentleman reading a paper in a booth at Cora’s back.
He transferred his attention to Cora’s veiled features. “Good morning, ladies.”
“Morning, my lord,” Dinks responded and stood to leave.
He held out a staying hand. “No need to scurry off. Please stay and break your fast with us.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I’ve already had my fill.” She patted her stomach with a contented smile and then glanced at Cora. “I need to check my chamber to make sure our Scrapper has left the place intact, and then I’ll start preparations for our trip back to London.”
Guy scanned the room again, caution compelling him to lean forward. “We’re not going back to London, Dinks.” He felt the slice of Cora’s blue-green eyes.
Dinks dropped her voice. “Miss Cora?”
A full minute passed before her mistress spoke. “Please ask the innkeeper’s daughter to pack a basket for our midday meal.”
Understanding her mistress’s unspoken request for privacy, Dinks nodded. “Might take me a bit of time. Got to stay clear of Seven Hands Malone and his annoying tendency to plump my bum.” She scowled toward the door leading to the common area. “Them days for me are over. He tries that nonsense again, and I’ll cut off those sausages he calls fingers and feed them to the stray dogs outside.”
Guy leaned toward the maid and said, “If he touches you again, Dinks, you’ll bring your grievance to me. Understood?” A peer could get away with bodily harm to another far more easily than a servant. Unfair, but in this instance, he relished an opportunity to defend Cora’s steadfast maid.
Her full cheeks reddened. “Pardon, my lord. I shouldn’t have spoken so. I know how to deal with the likes of the innkeeper.”
“So do I. Promise me, Dinks.”
She glanced down at Cora and then nodded. “Thank you, sir.” The maid shuffled from foot to foot, seeming hesitant to leave.
“The basket,” Cora reminded her.
“Right away. It’s just that”—she cleared her throat—“until that Frenchie came and destroyed everything, I rather liked his lordship’s pretty estate.” She twisted her weathered hands together in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “The place was cheery, like me mum’s home.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Well, like it was before she took to the gin.” Straightening her spine, the maid’s face scrunched up as if she were annoyed by her confession. “Never you mind me, Miss Cora. Nothing but the ramblings of an old woman. I’ll be getting that basket now.”
When Dinks turned to leave, she either winked at him or had something lodged in her eye. He held back a smile. Seems our Dinks missed her calling on the stage. Would her ruse work? Cora’s success as a spy was due in large part to her ability to detect small nuances in an individual’s speech, tiny details most people missed.
“Your estate is no longer safe, Guy,” Cora said softly, interrupting his analysis of the maid’s subterfuge. “No matter how pretty or comfy.”
Ah, nice try, Dinks.
He settled in the maid’s spot in time to receive a heaping plate of eggs, ham, bacon, and three slices of toasted bread brought in by a serving girl.
“There you go, m’lord,” the girl said, sliding the plate in front of him. “Your missus didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for this morning, so I brought you a little of everything.”
Guy peered at the pile of food and wondered how any man could eat so much in one sitting. “This will do quite well. Thank you.”
She dipped into a curtsy and scurried away.
He downed a slice of ham and a piece of bacon before addressing Cora’s comment. “Correction. My estate is no longer a secret.”
She lifted her veil, careful to leave one side hanging low enough to keep the curious at bay. “I fail to understand the distinction.”
“The distinction,” he said in the same quiet tone while slathering strawberry jam onto his toast, “is that Valère might be aware of our location, but he no longer has the advantage of surprise. I took the liberty of dispatching a message to Somerton to inform him of your safety and to request a half-dozen men posthaste.”
“And you think he will be able to honor such a request? It would be rather difficult to amass that number of guards on such short notice.”
“Somerton can be quite resourceful when provoked.”
She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the table. “You may return to Herrington Park, Guy, but I must press on to London.”
He stopped chewing. “Why is that?”
She stared back at him, her gaze defiant yet scored with resignation. Valère. He read her intention in the piercing depths of her eyes as clearly as if she had said the Frenchman’s name aloud. Never one to sit around, she was obviously ready to take a more offensive position with her tormentor. Not that he blamed her, but they had to give Somerton’s plan time to work, which suited Guy fine, because he wanted to keep her away from Valère.
“You’re not going anywhere near that bastard again.”
“Is that so?”
Dammit. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt. It was exactly the wrong approach with his headstrong woman. He knew this, but that knowledge didn’t prevent the words from flowing. “Yes.”
Her nails brightened to red crescents with the force of her grip on the table. “He must be stopped.”
“Rest assured, he will be.”
“Somerton cannot find him on his own. Valère’s too canny to leave any sort of trail.” A dark curtain lowered over her features. “I know him, Guy. I know he hates crowds and loves the slick texture of oysters sliding down his throat. I know he can’t survive without servants or in small places for extended periods of time.” She squared her shoulders and hardened her gaze. “I know, despite his torture and hatred, he loves me.”
The eggs attempted to make their way back up his throat. He swallowed hard and waited a second, not positive he had won the battle. When the burning sensation dwindled to a simmer, he said, “Don’t be ridiculous. A man like that has no concept of love.”
“You’re wrong.” Her tone was quiet, confident. “His version might be a damaged and ugly form of the emotion, but he feels it, all the same.”
Guy was experiencing an ugly emotion of his own. Jealousy roared through him like a lion bursting across the plains of Africa to ward off an approaching nomadic male interested in assuming control of his cherished pride.
Like the lion, Guy would crush Valère’s throat before ever allowing him near his mate again, and the notion of Cora seeking her gaoler’s company conjured equally violent thoughts.
“I can’t… permit it, Cora.”
“You can’t stop it, Guy.”
Her calm assurance stood out in stark contrast to the volatile emotions roiling inside him. She seemed to accept this dangerous path as her fate, uncompromising in her belief, unwilling to fight. Fight? Guy shook his head. Where the hell did that come from?
Cora had done nothing but fight since the moment she had lost her parents. He knew this, but knowing it did nothing to diffuse his anger. What did he want from her? What was it that he expected her to fight for?
For them.
The words flashed through his mind clear and vibrant and warm. He wanted more from her than a few trusting kisses and a handful of exquisite nights. He wanted her, al
l of her, but something kept her at arm’s length, something besides her quest to stop Valère.
He wished he knew what was going on in that intelligent yet sometimes impetuous mind of hers. Was she trying to protect herself from a perceived future hurt? Or was she protecting him? And if so, from what?
The only thing he truly knew in that moment was if he allowed her to search for Valère, he would lose her.
The loud crackle of paper broke through the silence. Guy glanced behind Cora’s shoulder to find the old man battling his newspaper into submission and mumbling something about dim-witted hunters. The disturbance was enough to lessen the tension between them.
She reached across the table and grasped his hand. “I don’t want to argue. I simply want to finish my mission. We still don’t know who has been leaking information out of the Foreign Office.”
He stroked her fingers with his thumb. “And you think Valère’s going to just present you with the man’s name?”
“Don’t be absurd. If I can find Valère, there’s a chance Somerton can persuade the information from him.”
“And perhaps avail you of a bit of justice, or do you have revenge on your mind?”
She released his hand and sat back. “Do you have any idea of what it’s like to be ten years old and unable to avenge your parents’ murders?”
“Even if you were older, no one knew the killer’s identity.”
“I knew enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Her lips thinned, and her gaze clouded in remembrance. A few seconds later, awareness flickered, and he saw the half-truth she would deliver before the words ever seeped between her lips. Disappointment slashed his chest.
“A bauble, an accent, a murder scene. Enough information to send me to France, and when Somerton suspected Valère of being responsible for the missing British ships, my life’s purpose narrowed down to one man.”
An image of Cora soaking in the tub, with an ivory and orange pendant resting between her breasts, flashed through his mind and sent a deep ache to his groin. He briefly wondered if the symbol denoting France’s freedom accounted for her “bauble,” but something else she said distracted him from that fascinating puzzle.
“I thought you were assigned to Valère to discover the double agent.”
“I was.”
“Which came first, Cora?” He heard the harshness in his own voice, felt the throbbing at his temple.
Wariness entered her gaze. “Why does the order matter?”
He scanned the room, settling on every inhabitant, every dish, every piece of furniture, in an attempt to give his sickening sense of dread time to abate. It didn’t help. His skin flushed with heat, and the bacon beneath his nose turned his stomach.
Ships. The answer to his question was as clear to him as the small freckle in the hollow beneath her ear. The message he had deciphered brought Valère to Somerton’s attention and, therefore, Cora’s.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
He dropped his cutlery in his plate. “Somerton should not have told you about Valère’s culpability.” He lifted his gaze to hers, hardly able to maintain eye contact. In a thick, soft voice he said, “You were always too curious for your own damn good.”
“Somerton acted appropriately.” Her tone was stiff, defensive. “I was the lead agent for the region. Keeping intelligence of that magnitude a secret could have gotten me killed.”
“Telling you nearly got you killed.”
She studied him for a long, careful moment. “But it didn’t. Thanks to you.”
He closed his eyes. Gratitude was the last thing he deserved. He should tell her about the dispatch. Now was the perfect time. He could never hope to win her full affection with this kind of deception between them.
His eyelids were heavy, oddly sluggish when he lifted them. “Cora, I—” He swallowed back the thick knot clogging his throat. The confession was there, right on the tip of his tongue. If not for me, you would never have spent time in Valère’s dungeon. She would be upset, at first. Maybe even hate him. But he could win her over, as he always had. She knew him well enough to understand that he would never intentionally hurt her. Say it, Helsford! “Cora, I-I almost left you.” Bloody coward.
“Pardon?”
“In the dungeon. I came close to leaving you behind.” Every word he said was the truth, but nothing more than a skirt to hide behind. He had missed his opportunity, the ideal time to remove this hidden barrier. Now he must prepare himself for the ultimate sacrifice of losing her. Forever. “We were there to retrieve a female spy, the Raven. Spread out as you were on that bloody table, with shorn hair, filthy limbs, and a swollen face, I thought you were a boy.”
“Yet you still saved me.”
He leaned forward, humiliation packing his voice with an uncalled-for roughness. “Stop making me sound like a goddamned hero. I’m the furthest thing from it.”
“Perhaps in your mind.” She reached up to pull the filmy veil down, but before she did, Guy caught the shimmer of tears in her beautiful eyes. “In my heart, you shall always be my savior.”
Before he could say a word, a new voice intruded. “There now, Miss Cora.” Dinks padded to their table. “The innkeeper’s daughter packed a right big basket for our trip back to—?”
“Herrington Park,” Cora finished.
Guy’s heart lurched at her capitulation. Despite all the warning bells sounding in his head, he asked, “You’re sure?”
She gathered her gloves and reticule, and then stood. “Yes.”
He made to join her, but she placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. Her fingers felt confident and calm. Not at all like the mass of earthquakes ricocheting through his body.
“One more thing.” She bent forward so only he could hear. “Did you tell the innkeeper that I was your wife?”
“No.” He hated that damned veil, wished he could see her expression.
“Then why are the Malones referring to me as your ‘missus’?”
“Might have something to do with my carrying you through the inn and sleeping in your room.” God, he would kill to go back to that moment.
She nodded and straightened. “Yes, of course, that would make sense.”
“Does it bother you?” Guy cursed his idiocy. Why ask a question whose answer might carve a section from his heart?
Her silence drew the first cut.
“Does it?” he pressed.
“I don’t know how to answer such a question,” she said in a low tone. “I have not contemplated marriage to any man.”
He slid his hand over and curled his fingers around hers. They were cold now, trembling. “Do you find the idea distasteful, Cora?”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you ever considered it?” He rubbed warmth back into her fingers. “I thought all females dreamed about being swept off their feet by a handsome prince and living happily ever after.”
By the tilt of her head, she appeared to be staring at their entwined fingers. She said nothing for several seconds.
“No, Guy.” She gently disengaged her hand. “Not all girls have the luxury of believing they will have a happily ever after. I’ll meet you at the carriage in ten minutes.”
He reached for her. “Cora—”
She swept out of the room, leaving him with his barely touched plate of breakfast and a gut full of regret. Dinks sent him an unreadable look before following her mistress, an enormous basket laden with food hanging from her capable arm.
Guy shoved the plate away, wondering, if she ever had dreamed of a happily ever after, whom she would have picked for her handsome prince.
His heart skipped a beat when he imagined himself in the role. He might not be princely material, not after the grief he had caused her, but he could make sure she got her happy ending. She deserved so much more—like the truth, you idiot—but he would begin by removing Valère from her life.
I’ll meet you at the carriage in ten minutes. An eternity.
/> To take his mind off the slow tick of time, Guy pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and smoothed it against the table. The cipher was never far from his thoughts. Such was the case any time he began a new assignment. Number and letter combinations constantly flowed through his mind until repetitions became apparent and patterns surfaced.
For certain, the message was short, decisive, and likely deadly, as indicated by the two blocks of numbers. Two words. One command.
78325026 2722153134012223
As with any cipher, he searched for the most common letter arrangements like th, ing, er, and a few others. When they reached the house, he would have to start graphing different possibilities. The code was far too complicated to unravel with mental willpower alone.
The crackle of paper struck the air. Guy looked up to see the older gentleman folding the daily news in half before tossing it on the table.
Turning, the gentleman caught Guy’s eye and rasped, “Good morning.”
Guy kept his greeting short, not interested in conversation. “Sir.” He slid the missive back in his coat pocket.
With considerable effort, the gentleman levered himself from the bench. “The way these old bones are creaking, I daresay it’s going to rain today,” the stranger said. “Do you have far to travel?”
“A fair day’s ride, sir.”
“You and your lady wife take special care, then. One can never tell what perils await us when traveling nowadays, especially with those daft, careless hunters running about.”
Guy’s gaze narrowed. Something about the man’s tone struck a discordant note with him. “Thank you for the warning, sir.”
He studied the old man’s features, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary except a bad haircut and the frailty of a man beyond his prime. He released an irritated breath. He was now seeing threats where none existed. “We shall stay extra vigilant.”
The gentleman tipped his hat and shuffled out of the common room and labored down the two steps leading to the inn’s courtyard. His manservant assisted him into the waiting carriage and shut the door behind them after he settled a blanket across his master’s legs.
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