A Lady's Revenge (34 page)

She blinked several times to clear her vision. Valère stood across the room, a calculating expression on his face. He tossed the empty slop bucket into the corridor, where it splintered against a far wall.

And that was when she heard the squealing.

Her gaze shot to the large burlap sack lying at Valère’s feet. The top was tied with a narrow rope. The sack writhed with the activity of several bulbous bodies.

Cora’s heart nearly exploded with terror. She glanced down at her fetid, wet body, and then to the sack of squirming rats, and finally, to Valère’s triumphant, evil mien.

He produced a knife; the blade sparkled in the lantern’s light. “Your friends have arrived,
mon
coeur
.”

Guy clenched and unclenched his fingers to restore feeling to his bound hands. After Valère hauled Cora from the room, the guard smirked at Guy’s awkward position and left him to rot on the floor. But that did not stop the guard from taunting him about what “his master” was doing with “his lordship’s woman.”

While furtively searching for the penknife with his gaze, he noticed a forgotten letter on the floor beneath Latymer’s desk. The sight reminded him of his unfinished cipher. He had run out of time, yet his instincts continued to assert the message was somehow vitally important. He had only a few more letters to go. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on what he had deciphered thus far.

T 32 E 26 27 O 15 E R T O 23

His mind ticked off each letter, one by one, over and over and over. Various combinations slid into place, and when they did not suit, Guy quickly banished them, making room for others.

T_EZ _O_ERTO_

And then, like a painter transferring a landscape onto canvas with a single stroke of his brush, the blanks filled in almost simultaneously.

TUEZ SOMERTON

Sweet
God, no.

Why the combination became so clear to him now, while he was fighting for his life and Cora’s, he would never know. Perhaps he needed the swell of immediate danger to help his mind focus with a diamond-point accuracy.

In the end, it did not matter, for he had deciphered the message too late. Too damnably late.

“
Dites-moi, anglais.
” Furious with Guy’s lack of response, the guard kicked at Guy’s knee and missed. But his boot connected with the chair, and both Guy and the chair tilted onto their side.

The new position allowed him to search the floor for the missing penknife while keeping an eye on the circling guard. After what seemed like hours but was only a matter of seconds, his fingertip caught on cool metal.

With a terrified single-mindedness, he attacked his restraints, sawing through rope and sometimes flesh.

Becoming suspicious of his movements, the guard pulled a pistol from the depths of his coat. “What are you doing behind your back?”

Guy ignored the guard, feeling the rope growing weaker with each slice. So close. Just a little—the binding gave way, and Guy pushed off the floor in one smooth motion.

The guard’s momentary disbelief gave way to ferocity. He lifted his weapon and aimed it at Guy’s chest.

Time slowed.

With uncanny clarity, Guy watched the guard’s finger curl around the trigger and squeeze.

Guy dove to the side; the whiz of the bullet sliced through the air near his ear. His shoulder slammed against the hard floor, jarring his body. The penknife flew from his hand.

Throwing the spent gun away, the guard jumped on top of Guy like a feral cat pouncing on a field mouse. They were well matched in size, but Guy’s strength was potent, sharper, and far more desperate.

With two well-connected jabs to the guard’s jaw, Guy reversed their positions. Incredible power surged into his muscles, and Guy attacked the guard like a man possessed. Even consumed by bloodlust, he made sure each blow served to incapacitate his enemy.

His mission remained clear—save Cora.

With that in mind, he smacked both hands against the guard’s protruding ears, eliciting a roar of pain. The guard crumpled, hitting the Aubusson rug hard and holding his ears.

Guy scrambled to his feet and grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. He smashed the gilded clock over the guard’s big head.

The guard sprawled across Latymer’s expensive carpet, unmoving. Guy used his shirtsleeve to swipe away a stream of blood oozing from a scalp wound before it reached his eye. Satisfied the priceless clock had done its job, Guy retrieved Cora’s knife and sprinted from the drawing room. He turned the corner and collided with Jack.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Guy said in a harsh whisper. “I ordered you to keep an eye out for Somerton.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Jack bent over his knees to catch his breath, pointing toward the entrance door. “Coming up the drive.”

No!
“Keep him away from here,” Guy demanded.

“Pardon, sir?”

“Get Lord Somerton to safety. Use any means necessary to get him off this estate. Is that understood?”

Jack nodded. “Yes, m’lord.”

“Excellent, Jack. Hand me your pistol. Did Somerton bring any men?”

The footman handed over his weapon. “Yes, sir.”

“Send someone to secure the guard in the drawing room.”

Guy checked to make sure the pistol was loaded, and made for the staircase.

Dinks skidded to a halt in front of him. “My lord,” she panted, “did you find our little mite?”

Brimming with impatience, Guy said, his words clipped, “No. I can’t seem to get out of the damned entrance hall without bumping into someone.” He turned to the footman, hardening his gaze. “Jack, go! Do not let Somerton in this house.”

Jack rushed out the door, and Guy turned once again toward the staircase. Dinks huffed along by his side. He stopped. “No, Dinks.”

“I can lead you to Latymer’s bedchamber, my lord, a lot faster than you can find it on your own,” Dinks insisted. “Spent enough time there that I could locate it with my eyes closed.”

“That may be, Dinks. But I don’t know what we are going to find up there, and I would as soon not to have to worry about Cora
and
you.” At the bottom of the staircase, he paused. “Tell me, Dinks. Tell me where to find her.”

The maid was not happy with being left behind, but he did not have time to reason with her. “Second floor,” she relented, “turn to the left and follow the corridor until it ends. The master’s suite is the last door on the right.”

He kissed her cheek and then took the stairs two at a time.

When Guy was about fifteen feet from the master suite’s bedchamber door, a woman in servant’s garb exited the room. Given the number of keys jangling from her waist, he guessed this was Latymer’s housekeeper.

She glanced at his bloody wrists with solemn eyes. “You won’t find her up here, sir.”

He stepped forward, his finger sliding over the trigger. This was Valère’s household at the moment. Guy knew better than to blindly trust anyone here.

“If not here, where?” he asked, moving closer.

Her lips thinned. “The cellar.”

Guy’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach, recalling the awful image of Cora’s frail body shackled to a bloody table in Valère’s dungeon. Throwing caution to the wind, he stormed past her to see for himself that Cora was not within. In one wide sweep, his gaze took in the massive bed, the high windows, and the masculine accessories strewn about. To the right of the bed, he noticed a door standing ajar.

Conscious of time sifting away, he hurried to the door and pushed it wide. A blast of incense struck his nose a second before nausea engulfed his stomach. He took in the opulent room designed for all manner of sophisticated, and not-so-sophisticated pleasures, and felt his knees weaken.

“She has not been here since the first night, sir,” the housekeeper said quietly.

“You are sure?” he asked, unable to wrench his astonished gaze away from the high-mounted swing.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “I moved her myself.”

He whirled around to face the housekeeper. “The cellar?”

“Back the same way you came, my lord. Turn left at the bottom of the staircase. The cellar is off the kitchen.”

He wasted no more time. Turning on his heel, he ran.

When he stormed into the kitchen, he found Dinks standing next to the table, wielding a wrought-iron pan, with tears bubbling in her eyes. “I didn’t know, my lord,” she whispered. “I sent you up there… wasted time. I didn’t realize—” Her words choked off.

He squeezed her shoulder. “You could not have known, Dinks.”

Dinks swiped her nose and kicked at something on the floor. “Thanks to Lydie, I took care of this blighter. Come morning, he’ll wish he drank the poisoned ale.”

Guy noticed two things then—a little black-haired maid standing near a low-framed door and a pair of men’s boots peeking out from beneath the worktable. He peered around the corner for a better look and found a rather thin man, unconscious, with his mouth agape.

“You’d better make haste, sir.” The little maid quietly opened the small door and pointed down the dark stairs.

“You kill that rat-bastard, my lord,” Dinks said in a cold voice. “You kill that Frenchie for what he’s done to our little mite.”

Dinks’s chin trembled with suppressed rage and heart-wrenching grief. He recognized her turmoil, because he could feel his own emotions cracking under the burden. “You may count on it, Dinks.”

Guy slipped into the cellar. After only a few cautious steps, he was instantly immersed in darkness so thick he could not see his own hands.

He paused a moment for his eyes to adjust. It took an interminable amount of time, but finally, shadows shifted into more pronounced lines.

Continuing his descent, he tested each stair before putting his full weight on it. The last thing he needed was a creaky board heralding his arrival.

Before long, he was able to see into the vast room. Much was cloaked in darkness, but a halo of light near the back drew his attention. With excruciating care, he moved toward the light, careful not to bump into anything while taking time to search behind every corner for a waiting guard.

About twenty feet from the chamber housing the flickering light, his boot caught on something. He sensed it falling and grabbed for it. His heart skidded to a halt when he missed, and then jolted to a start after his next attempt stopped the broom only a few inches from the floor. Pausing to catch his breath, he measured its sturdy weight and long length, and decided to hold on to it.

“Your friends have arrived,
mon
coeur
,” Valère said.

Guy’s muscles locked, certain Valère had heard his approach, despite all his caution. The knowledge that Cora might be around the corner sent his pulse hammering through his veins. When this was over, he would spend the rest of his life surrounding her with safety and love.

“You do not look happy to see them,” Valère taunted. “They sound quite anxious to make your acquaintance.”

Guy frowned. The Frenchman’s words made no sense.

He edged closer to the door, easing forward until he spotted Cora, her body flattened against a wall, wearing nothing but her chemise. Her eyes were wide, staring at something across the room. Something he could not see. Her pale skin glistened in the wavering light, and he realized she was soaked from head to toe.

A foul odor reached his nose. He glanced around the corridor and found a bucket a few feet away, splintered and leaking a watery substance. Then he heard the distinctive squeal of rats from inside the chamber. Understanding dawned. His gaze slid slowly to Cora, and a heavy dread sat in the pit of his stomach.

“Nothing to say,
mon
ange
?” Valère asked, amusement tinting his voice.

“It’s a shame,” Cora said, standing a little taller.

“What is?” the Frenchman asked.

“All that keen intelligence being wasted on childish games.”

Valère went silent. When he finally spoke, malice oozed from his lips.

“You think me childish,
ma
petite
?”

Valère moved around the room as he spoke. Guy tensed, wishing he could see the blackguard. At the moment, he knew not what weapons the Frenchman possessed or whether another guard was inside.

All he had to measure the activity within the room was Cora’s shifting expressions. And at that precise second, she projected keen distress.

His grip tightened around the broom handle, and his finger smoothed over the trigger of his gun.

“All this for a woman who betrayed you,” she said. “If you do not call that childish, what do you call it?”

“
Pour
l’Empereur.
”

Her brow furrowed, and Valère laughed. “You did not think I traveled to this miserable English island for you alone, did you?”

When her eyes widened, Valère’s amusement increased. “How precious.”

His circuit continued. “Although I had a personal interest in making you suffer and… partaking of a few of your talents, you were nothing more than a means to an end.”

Guy’s gaze sharpened on Cora, already knowing what Valère would say.

“I don’t understand,” she said, inching away. “If you did not come to England to kill me, why are you here?”

“To kill your hero,
bien
sûr
.”

TUEZ SOMERTON

Kill
Somerton.

“What?” she asked in a disbelieving whisper.

Valère’s laughed boomed again. “The chief of England’s Secret Service is a far greater threat to the emperor’s plans than a ballroom spy, do you not think? When I leave you here with your friends, I will go upstairs to finish your lover and then wait for Lord Somerton to come riding to your rescue. I expect that happy event any minute.”

Guy closed his eyes. Everything fit together beautifully—Valère’s constant taunts to Cora and his association to Latymer, Jack’s recruitment, Danforth’s disappearance, and finally, Cora’s abduction—all carefully plotted to lure Somerton to this remote location.

From the look on Cora’s face, she had pieced it all together, too.

“How will Lord Latymer explain Somerton’s death?” she asked.

“Latymer’s ready to swear that he invited Somerton and his family to his country estate and, while here, they attempted to stop a group of thieves from stealing the baron’s priceless collection of oil paintings and perished in the process. For who would not give their life to protect a Raphael? Tragic, really.”

“And highly implausible.”

The Frenchman’s lips thinned. “People die during robberies every day.”

“Why the elaborate ruse, Valère?” Cora asked, anger lacing her words. “Why not just go to Somerton’s town house and shoot him in his bed?”

“My instructions were to make it look like an accident,” Valère said, his voice growing impatient. “An execution-style death would have raised too many questions.”