spoke volumes.
“What happened?” he demanded, advancing toward her.
“I’m fine.” She clawed at the bedcovering again. Valère and the war had stolen most everything dear to her, everything except her dignity. That she would not relinquish quite so easily. Her fingernails snagged in the cover, bending back. With a hiss of pain, she released it and slid to the floor.
“What are you trying to do, cause yourself further injury?” Guy asked.
“No,” she said, shrinking away as he approached. “I needed to use the water closet. What are you doing here? Come to see if I’m writing missives to the enemy?”
His jaw locked a moment before he scooped her up into his arms. Her body went rigid.
“Is there not a chamber pot beneath your bed?” He placed her gently within the cocoon of bed linens, his body surrounding her, suffocating her, spiraling her mind back to another time and place.
She could not breathe, could not get far enough away. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as Valère’s hands held her immobile. His vile breath fanned her face, making her gag. Convulsions racked her bruised body. She lashed out repeatedly with her fists. No, no, no!
“Cora!”
God, no. Not again.
Never again.
In a whirlwind of movement, Cora found herself on the far side of the room where the darkness closed in around her. Blessed darkness, wretched darkness…
“Cora! It’s Guy.”
She stilled, forcing away the awful images filling her vision, drenching her mind.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Come back to me.”
The light. Where was the light?
“You’re safe, Cora.”
Safe.
No. Valère loved to feed her mind fruitless information in order to gain her cooperation. “Guy?”
“Yes, Cora-bell. It’s me.”
Cora-bell. Only Guy had ever used the endearment. She closed her eyes and pulled in a shuddering breath. The tension leached from her muscles, leaving behind an empty sort of desolation.
The fog of the past dissipated by slow degrees, muted hues of gray cast a thin shroud over the blurry room before her.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Cora.” He gestured toward her right hand. “You never did. You never will.”
She glanced down and was surprised to find her fingers wrapped around a silver-plated candlestick. Despite the pain, she had crouched into a familiar stance with her knees bent, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, and her arm raised into a defensive tilt.
Her head throbbed at the implication. She couldn’t remember picking up the candlestick, only the mind-drugging fear. Her makeshift weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thunk . Wiping her sweaty palm on her nightdress, she said, “I-I do not wish to be touched.”
“I understand.” His voice was calm, reassuring. He clasped his hands behind his back.
A shiver rippled through her body, and she stepped sideways, seeking the only ray of light in the room. Warmth cast over her bare feet, bringing with it clarity and control.
And unbearable mortification.
Keeping her gaze on the far window, she said, “Forgive me.” How could she have been so out of her mind with fear that she would mistake Guy for Valère? Her mind was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces of shame and guilt and dread.
“There’s nothing to forgive. My apologies for frightening you—I shouldn’t have been so rough, but I couldn’t stand seeing you in such a position.”
With reluctance, she met his concerned gaze. “It would seem I am not quite ready for company, my lord.” Cora chafed at the amount of time it was taking her body to heal. After several days of bed rest and regular meals, she should be much stronger.
“Guy,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“Before you sneaked away to France, you used to address me by my Christian name. You’ve stopped. Why is that?”
“I didn’t sneak away.”
“You never said good-bye either.”
“There was no opportunity,” she said. “Until I saw you at Mrs. Lancaster’s, I had not
“What happened?” he demanded, advancing toward her.
“I’m fine.” She clawed at the bedcovering again. Valère and the war had stolen most everything dear to her, everything except her dignity. That she would not relinquish quite so easily. Her fingernails snagged in the cover, bending back. With a hiss of pain, she released it and slid to the floor.
“What are you trying to do, cause yourself further injury?” Guy asked.
“No,” she said, shrinking away as he approached. “I needed to use the water closet. What are you doing here? Come to see if I’m writing missives to the enemy?”
His jaw locked a moment before he scooped her up into his arms. Her body went rigid.
“Is there not a chamber pot beneath your bed?” He placed her gently within the cocoon of bed linens, his body surrounding her, suffocating her, spiraling her mind back to another time and place.
She could not breathe, could not get far enough away. Her eyes burned with unshed tears as Valère’s hands held her immobile. His vile breath fanned her face, making her gag. Convulsions racked her bruised body. She lashed out repeatedly with her fists. No, no, no!
“Cora!”
God, no. Not again.
Never again.
In a whirlwind of movement, Cora found herself on the far side of the room where the darkness closed in around her. Blessed darkness, wretched darkness…
“Cora! It’s Guy.”
She stilled, forcing away the awful images filling her vision, drenching her mind.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Come back to me.”
The light. Where was the light?
“You’re safe, Cora.”
Safe.
No. Valère loved to feed her mind fruitless information in order to gain her cooperation. “Guy?”
“Yes, Cora-bell. It’s me.”
Cora-bell. Only Guy had ever used the endearment. She closed her eyes and pulled in a shuddering breath. The tension leached from her muscles, leaving behind an empty sort of desolation.
The fog of the past dissipated by slow degrees, muted hues of gray cast a thin shroud over the blurry room before her.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Cora.” He gestured toward her right hand. “You never did. You never will.”
She glanced down and was surprised to find her fingers wrapped around a silver-plated candlestick. Despite the pain, she had crouched into a familiar stance with her knees bent, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, and her arm raised into a defensive tilt.
Her head throbbed at the implication. She couldn’t remember picking up the candlestick, only the mind-drugging fear. Her makeshift weapon landed on the floor with a heavy thunk . Wiping her sweaty palm on her nightdress, she said, “I-I do not wish to be touched.”
“I understand.” His voice was calm, reassuring. He clasped his hands behind his back.
A shiver rippled through her body, and she stepped sideways, seeking the only ray of light in the room. Warmth cast over her bare feet, bringing with it clarity and control.
And unbearable mortification.
Keeping her gaze on the far window, she said, “Forgive me.” How could she have been so out of her mind with fear that she would mistake Guy for Valère? Her mind was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces of shame and guilt and dread.
“There’s nothing to forgive. My apologies for frightening you—I shouldn’t have been so rough, but I couldn’t stand seeing you in such a position.”
With reluctance, she met his concerned gaze. “It would seem I am not quite ready for company, my lord.” Cora chafed at the amount of time it was taking her body to heal. After several days of bed rest and regular meals, she should be much stronger.
“Guy,” he murmured.
“Excuse me?”
“Before you sneaked away to France, you used to address me by my Christian name. You’ve stopped. Why is that?”
“I didn’t sneak away.”
“You never said good-bye either.”
“There was no opportunity,” she said. “Until I saw you at Mrs. Lancaster’s, I had not
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