A Lady's Revenge by Tracey Devlyn Page A

it smelled.”
    She sent him a blistering look, then her eyes widened when he took the flask from her with one hand and captured her fingers with the other.
    He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “You’ll soon fall asleep.”
    She glanced around the carriage interior, assessing its close confines and no doubt realizing the trust she would have to place in him while she slept. No doubt thinking of their shared kiss. As was he.
    “If I joined you over there,” he said, indicating her side of the conveyance, “you could use my lap as a pillow, and I would keep you from sliding off the bench and causing yourself further injury.”
    A considering look entered her expression. She was fighting. Fighting this new compulsion of hers for flight. Pride swelled inside his chest, tightening his muscles.
    “Trying to take care of me again, Guy?”
    “Always.” He paused. Allowed her time to absorb his remark. “Whether you like it or not.”
    Her lips thinned. “ Not would be my current sentiment.”
    His lips quirked. “May I?”
    She gave him a curt nod.
    Tossing the flask aside, he maneuvered around and sat beside her, then propped his arm along the back, inviting her to lie down.
    With taut, jerky movements, she removed her hat and eased down until her cheek rested on his thigh.
    Awareness stabbed through his gut and pulsed in his cock. Guy clenched his teeth, fought the need to grind his desire against something soft and feminine. Cora. He clutched his other thigh, and his right hand grasped the seat’s back as if it were the only thing holding him in place. Sweat broke out on his brow.
    He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed she couldn’t hear the chaotic pounding of his heart. He wanted her to draw comfort from his presence, not fear.
    “Guy?”
    “Yes, Cora.” His tone sounded guttural, even to his own ears.
    “Thank you.”
    His throat closed tight, and stinging needles pricked the backs of his eyes. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
    They sat in strained silence for ten racking minutes before her body faded into a more relaxed position and her breathing deepened into a soft snore of contentment.
    A few minutes later, Dinks’s profile appeared at the window. “My lord?”
    “We’re ready,” he whispered.
    “Is the little mite resting now?” she asked with concern edging her voice.
    “Yes, Dinks. I won this round.”
    Amusement tinted her words. “Well done, sir.”
    The coach soon lurched into motion.
    Guy braced himself against the gentle swaying motion of Cora’s head. The movement matched his body’s urgings to a dangerous precision. He pulled in a deep, calming breath. Perhaps if he steadied her head, the torment would lessen. Perhaps.
    Whom was he kidding? He’d wanted to weave his fingers through the silky skeins since the moment he became aware of her as a woman. Time, distance, and a belief she was unobtainable had prevented him from assuaging his heart’s desire.
    His fingers flexed, itching to smooth over her close-cropped hair. Dare he risk waking her? The selfish bastard in him responded with a resounding “Yes!”
    He finally gave in to the impulse and ran the back of his forefinger along the snipped end of a soft curl. It sprang back after each pass, determined and buoyant, as its mistress eventually would become once her mental scars healed with time. The new style suited her. It emphasized her high cheekbones, narrow chin, and feline eyes. It symbolized her new journey, a fresh start.
    A beginning that must be delayed until Valère was no longer a threat.
    The town coach dipped hard into a rut, and Guy held his breath. When she made no move to grab her jarred ribs, when no flash of pain crossed her face, he sighed. He would be bloody glad to have this drive behind them.
    Unable to stop himself, he burrowed his fingers farther into her mop of newfound curls and savored their silky texture. Although her new look charmed him, he mourned her long brown locks. Would have loved to have