A Lady's Revenge Read Online Free

Helsford.”
    “I am,” he gritted out.
    Nestled inside the stone façade sat a heavy iron door. The slab must have weighed as much as a horse, for his muscles stretched and groaned and strained. Earlier in the evening, with the two of them pushing it wide, the barrier had challenged his strength, but not like this gut-ripping test of pulling the damned thing open unassisted.
    After what seemed like an eternity, he straightened and then squeezed through the twelve-inch gap. “Hand her to me.”
    Silent until now, Cora shoved against her brother’s shoulders. “You needn’t toss me from one pair of hands to the next like a sack of grain. I can walk.”
    Guy glanced at the stubborn set to her jaw, so familiar and dear. She never liked feeling weaker than them and would always push herself to try and match their strength, sometimes beyond what her body could bear. As she was now. Unfortunately, they didn’t have time for his usual cajoling methods to soften her hard head. He held out his arms. “The burns on the soles of your feet tell me otherwise.”
    She turned her head away while Danforth maneuvered her through the narrow opening and handed her off to Guy.
    When she stiffened in his arms and a soft whimper escaped past her lips, sweat broke out on his forehead.
    “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered against her burning temple.
    Another shout from behind reached them, this time closer. Much closer.
    “Go on,” Danforth said. “I’ll get the door.”
    Guy wasted no more time. The narrow tunnel opened on the far side of the stables, a clever escape route built hundreds of years ago during one of France’s many religious wars. Whatever the reason for its existence, he was thankful for it.
    And he was glad to be partnered with Danforth on this particular mission. The viscount’s special talent lay in his ability to charm secrets from the most skittish female, a trait Somerton had put to good use over the years.
    Every powerful, self-serving man generally aligned himself with one of three types of women—a submissive woman, an embittered woman, or a stronger, more intelligent woman. Danforth had a way of flushing out a wife’s hidden desires and turning them to his advantage. The women divulged their husbands’ secrets, and Danforth satisfied their craving for a handsome, virile, attentive man’s devotion. His talent was both ruthless and effective.
    Cora pressed her insubstantial weight against his arm, straightening her back. “How much farther?” she whispered.
    Even in the dim light, he could see the battle she waged against an unseen foe. Had she sustained some type of internal injury? Broken rib? Punctured organ? Could she even now be bleeding to death? “Where are you hurt?”
    She started to laugh, but it was cut short by a swift intake of breath. After a moment, she managed, “An easier question might be—where am I not?”
    Unable to share her humor, he said, “Be specific.”
    She sent him a cross look. “Ribs. Broken or bruised, I’m not sure which.”
    Pausing midstride, he adjusted his hold. “Better?”
    She nodded, releasing a breath. “Thank you.”
    “The draught grows stronger, warmer—a good indication we’re nearing the entrance to the tunnel.” He resumed his ground-eating pace, terror prodding him to greater speeds. The sound of metal against rusted metal reached his ears, indicating Danforth was making progress. Incapable of completely setting aside his original mission, he asked, “Have you seen other Englishwomen here?”
    The ends of her butchered hair brushed the underside of his chin. “No.”
    He grew more and more weary of this damn espionage business. The out-and-out lies, the half-truths, the realities that were distasteful but necessary. Not knowing friend from foe. The life no longer held the glamour it once had. If not for a pair of anguished blue-green eyes, he would have moved on a few years ago.
    He shook off the thought. His reasons for becoming a