A Lady's Revenge by Tracey Devlyn

Author:Tracey Devlyn [Devlyn, Tracey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-04-03T07:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Two

A few days later, sleepy contentment enfolded Cora as she lazed against one of Herrington Park’s enormous trees. The rhythmic creak of its branches in the breeze lulled her into a deep well of blissful oblivion.

Finally.

Ever since she had fallen asleep in Guy’s arms at the inn, sleep had come more easily. She was still plagued with nightmares but could generally get several hours’ rest despite them.

She scratched between Scrapper’s shoulders, prompting him to wiggle around and hang from her arm like an Amazonian sloth—only sloths did not use their long nails as tiny weapons of destruction. Cora clenched her teeth and disengaged her arm from the kitten’s painful hold. The tiny dents left in her skin were a small price to pay for escaping Guy’s persistent attentions.

“He watches me constantly, Scrap.” The kitten cocked his head as if comprehending her words. “Everywhere I turn, his eyes follow me.”

After their harsh words at the inn, she had avoided him whenever possible. The possibility of discussing her marital prospects—or lack of—was not a topic she wished to broach with him again.

She could blame only herself for arousing his curiosity. If she had stopped to think for a moment, it would have been obvious to her why the innkeeper and his daughter thought they were married. Their reference to her as his “missus” had caught her off guard. The title had felt foreign, yet its use had awakened a long-abandoned dream, catching her unawares.

Not even after their mind-shattering lovemaking at the Golden Duck and his insistence that she would never attend another man’s bed but his, had marriage entered her mind. She would not dare allow her thoughts to travel that far. The most she had hoped for was Guy’s love and affection—in whatever form he could share it. His name was far too much to hope for, but that did not stop her female need to now test it on her tongue.

“Lady Helsford. Countess Helsford. Cora Trevelyan.” She enjoyed the lyrical quality of the syllables twining together to form each grouping. If she’d had a quill and paper handy, she might have resorted to a more visual form of disillusionment.

After they had made love at the inn, she had forced herself to leave their bed. She had needed time to think and could not do that with the drugging effects of his sandalwood scent and musky, sleep-warmed skin taunting her to stay.

The few hours of contemplation away from him had helped her to see past the immediate needs of her body. As much as she adored him, she realized how their lovemaking had unbearably complicated their situation. She could not be his mistress and share him with a wife. Even the thought of such an arrangement caused her stomach to churn. And if Guy took it into his gentlemanly head to ask for her hand in marriage, she would refuse him. She must, because being the object of his social ruin would place an intolerable strain on her, and it would eventually be the death of their marriage.

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