Free A Lady's Revenge by Tracey Devlyn Page A

not. Serenity had visited him only once during his thirty-three years, and that was at the command of a sable-haired English spy.
    No other woman had ever been brave enough to seize control of his bed, to demand of him absolute obedience. And to punish him when he failed. He failed often.
    The image of a particularly satisfying session pulsed seductively through his mind, his body stirred, and he released a slow, uneven breath.
    As he had done so many times since her escape, he pulled a delicately embroidered handkerchief from his coat pocket. Even after weeks of handling, the silk still held the faint scent of jasmine.
    Cora. Before he could will them otherwise, his eyes closed so he could absorb the full effect of her exotic scent.
    Besides his constant pursuit of power and money, few things held his attention beyond a passing glance. Everything and everyone had their place and use.
    Until the English beauty crashed into him at the Comédie Française theater.
    From the moment he had peeled her off his chest, she had become an obsession. Her exquisite beauty, unrepentant intelligence, and lack of apparent interest in his position had fueled his unprecedented desire to possess her.
    Instead of furthering his ambitions, he had spent hours contemplating how to entice her into his bed, and then he had spent hours entertaining her in said bed. If there were times when she had seemed less than enthusiastic about their entertainments, he had ascribed her feminine sensitivity to inexperience, which he knew how to remedy.
    For a blinding moment, a mere second of agonizing time, he had considered ignoring her betrayal. His need for her special skills was that great. He would never forgive her for taking away his finest pleasure or for tempting him to forsake his duty to his emperor. Never.
    He crumpled the handkerchief into his hand. His obsession with her had cost him the trust of his superiors and the respect of his men. He could buy more men, but it would take him years to cultivate such powerful allies again. Years he did not have.
    Once he had deduced that she was not only a filthy English spy but also the menace Raven, he knew the only way to earn back his superiors’ favor was to kill anyone who threatened the expansion of French ideals. If he succeeded, he would be lauded a hero. His actions would catch the notice of the emperor himself, who would no doubt seek Valère’s counsel on future campaigns.
    Valère released the square of silk and smoothed out the wrinkles. Unfolding it, he slid his forefinger along the silky item inside.
    A smile played over his lips when he recalled Boucher’s knife severing the first lock of Cora’s sable hair. Soon after, handfuls of her thick, lustrous hair fell in cheerless clumps around her feet. She had not uttered a sound of protest or a whimper of distress. Her show of courage made him yearn for her more. So he did what any man in his position would do—he removed every bit of her allure.
    The memory released a wave of regret. Before Boucher had alerted him of her perfidy, Valère had begun making plans for a more permanent alliance. Not marriage, of course. He couldn’t have his children tainted by such inferior blood.
    But a mistress, whose ambition equaled his own and who would prove a powerful ally… and well-trained bedmate.
    A shadow cast over the booth. Valère carefully folded the handkerchief over the lock of hair and returned it to his pocket before welcoming the newcomer. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
    “I do not care to be summoned, Mr. Taylor.”
    Valère sent his visitor a confident smile. “Sometimes these things cannot be avoided.” He motioned to the opposite bench. “Please. Sit.”
    Unable to do anything else, the other man sat stiffly across from him, balancing his walking stick against the padded bench.
    Fitted with a severe black kerseymere coat covering a dark gray patterned waistcoat and topped with an elegant but simply tied neckcloth, his visitor was