The Bride's Necklace (10 page)

Her passage was hot and slick, throbbing in a way she had never experienced. Cord eased his hardness a little inside her, preparing her to accept him. He kissed her long and thoroughly, caressed and teased until she was writhing beneath him, whispering his name, trying to press herself more fully against him. Then he drove himself deeply inside.

For an instant, pain stabbed through her. He had breached her maidenhead. From this day forward, she would be forever changed. But the thought quickly faded, and with it, the pain. She was filled with him, linked in a way she couldn’t have imagined.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding himself rigidly above her. “I tried not to hurt you.” But there was triumph in his eyes and a look of fierce possession. In truth, he had claimed her. She couldn’t let him know how thorough a job he had done.

“The pain is fading.” And the pleasure yet remained, the sweet ache returning, the throbbing need just out of reach. Tentatively lifting her hips, she allowed him to penetrate more deeply and heard him groan. Then he was moving, slowly at first, easing the way, stirring the passion to life and making her tremble.

Tory picked up the rhythm, began to move with him as he drove himself on, moving faster, surging deeper, taking her harder. Something was building inside her, something hot and wild.

It tore through her so keenly she cried out his name. Arching upward, her fingers digging into his shoulders, she felt as if the world had suddenly shattered into pieces.

Cord’s muscles tensed a few seconds later. He groaned as he followed her to release.

The ship’s clock chimed. Still linked together, they began to spiral down, the soft throbbing pleasure slowly fading. For several seconds longer, Tory lay still, sorting through the emotions she was feeling.

“That was quite something,” she said, and heard the rumble of laughter in his chest.

“Quite something, indeed.”

She turned to look at him, saw the lazy satisfaction in his eyes. “I had no idea…”

“And for that I am eternally grateful.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but before she could ask, he was kissing her again. The heat returned and he slid into her again, more easily this time. She couldn’t have guessed how wonderful making love with him would be.

And whatever happened on the morrow, she knew she would never regret it.

C
ord had to be objective. He had to be certain Victoria had told him the complete and utter truth. Not that he didn’t trust her. Well, mostly he did.

Thinking of her, now that they were returned to the house, reminded him of the hours they had spent together onboard the ship and he felt the pull of a smile. She was as passionate as he had imagined, more so, perhaps. He had hated to awaken her as the
Nightingale
neared port, but he didn’t want her sister to find her gone and discover where she had spent the night.

Claire would learn the facts of life soon enough, once Tory was installed as his mistress, a situation that couldn’t occur until both women had been cleared of the charges against them. To accomplish that end, he needed to know what Jonas McPhee might have found out about Harwood and his two wayward employees.

Of course it had only been a few days since McPhee had received Cord’s message, two days since his return from France. The investigator had been given only a brief time to work. Still, the runner might have turned
up something. Once Cord was armed with the facts, he planned to go directly to the baron.

According to Sheffield, Harwood was as tight as the hide on a drum. Money to replace the necklace—along with the threat of scandal—ought to be enough to convince him to drop the charges.

Which would return Victoria to his bed.

As he walked out the front door, he smiled to think of her working in his house, pretending nothing had changed between them, unable to hide a blush whenever she found him looking in her direction.

Though that had rarely happened in the past few days.

Victoria was avoiding him, he knew, uncertain exactly how to proceed. He had promised her he would find a way to straighten out her problems, but that only seemed to make her more nervous. He thought that there was more to her story, something else she wanted to confide in him, but so far she hadn’t come forth.

Perhaps McPhee could fill in the gaps.

Cord hoped so. He thought of Victoria and felt the hot pull of desire as he shoved open the front door of the runner’s office on Bow Street—and was greeted by a very serious Jonas McPhee.

“You have to tell him the rest of it, Tory.”

Tory had told her sister that she had been forced to confess most of the story the night they had stowed away in the hold. “I know.”

“The earl said he was going to help us, didn’t he?” They were working in one of the bedchambers upstairs, Tory oiling the rosewood furniture while Claire swept the floor.

“He said he would help and I am fairly certain he’ll do what he can, but…”

“But you have left out one of the most important parts. You haven’t told him Lord Harwood is our stepfather—our true and legal guardian.”

“That’s because I don’t know what will happen when he finds out.” Whatever it was, Cord certainly wouldn’t be pleased. Not when he realized she was Victoria Temple Whiting, daughter of the late Baron Harwood, a member of the aristocracy.

Miles Whiting, the man next in line for the title, had arrived at Harwood Hall just weeks after her father’s murder. He had generously allowed them to remain in the house, then spent the next twelve months wooing her distraught mother into believing he was her savior and finally convincing her to marry him. A n’er-do-well who had lived by his mother’s largess, he had wound up with the Harwood title, estate and modest fortune, along with Lady Harwood’s inheritance and fabulous ancestral home, Windmere.

Whiting had got exactly what he wanted. Tory believed he would have gone to any lengths to get it.

Including murder.

“The earl could speak to the baron,” Claire suggested, “convince him we will find a way to pay back the cost of the necklace.”

“Harwood wants more than money. He wants you, Claire.” Just as Lord Brant wanted Tory. And the earl would be furious when his plan to make her his mistress vanished like smoke—once it was known she was the daughter of a peer.

“Whatever happens, you still have to tell him. It’s only fair.”

Tory stopped rubbing the spot she was polishing on the Sheraton table and turned to look at Claire. “All right. I’ll tell him tonight, as soon as supper is over.”

She cringed to think of it. For the past two days, she had avoided him as much as possible, which he seemed to know and somehow find amusing. On the rare occasion she ran into him, it was clear what he was thinking. She could see the heat in his eyes, the sensual curve of his lips. She remembered the exact feel of them moving over her skin, and an answering warmth stirred in the pit of her stomach.

Claire turned to the door. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Tory’s gaze followed Claire’s.

“It sounds like someone is calling you.” Claire looked over at Tory, her eyes growing big and round. “I think it’s the earl.”

Tory heard it, too. She recognized the outraged bellow and a chill swept through her.

“He really sounds angry. You don’t think—”

“That’s exactly what I think. You had better stay up here.” Wishing her heart would stop that ridiculous clatter, Tory lifted her crisp black skirt up out of the way and walked out the door, heading for the stairs leading down to the entry.

Lord Brant stood at the bottom of the staircase, his jaw clenched, a slight flush rising beneath the bones in his cheeks.

“My study,” he said as she reached the last stair. “Now!”

Her pulse picked up even more. He was beyond furious, she could see. Sweet God, she should have told him the whole of it before it was too late! Lifting her
chin, she preceded him down the hall and into his study. The earl followed her in and slammed the door.

“You lied to me.” His voice was tight, his anger barely contained.

She forced herself to meet his furious gaze. “Only by omission. The rest of what I told you is true.”

“Why? Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

“Because you are an earl and Harwood is a baron. Because there are rules among members of the aristocracy and I wasn’t certain you would be willing to break them.”

One of his hands fisted. “So you believed I would turn you over to Harwood.”

“I thought it was possible, yes.”

His jaw went even harder. “I can tell you one thing I likely wouldn’t have done. I wouldn’t have spent the night making love to you!”

She winced. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps he would have refused the comfort of her body. She wondered if that were part of the reason she hadn’t told him who she was.

“I don’t regret what happened between us. Do you?”

“For God’s sake, of course I regret it! You are the daughter of a baron! Do you realize the consequences of what you have done?”

She opened her mouth to answer, to assure him that she would never mention what had transpired between them, but a sharp rap cut off her words. Cord frowned at the interruption, turned and strode to the door. The instant he opened it, two uniformed watchmen swept in, followed by a tall, lean, black-haired man Tory had hoped never to see again.

Her stomach knotted. Cord must have sent for him. Dear God, she should have known better than to trust
the earl. Why hadn’t she listened to the warnings in her head? Why hadn’t she taken Claire and fled the moment the ship arrived back in London?

Tears burned her eyes but Tory blinked them away. She refused to show weakness in front of her stepfather. She stiffened her spine as the watchmen approached, but before they could reach her, the earl stepped in front of them.

“You can stop right there,” he said, freezing them in place. He turned a hard gaze on the baron. “I presume you are Harwood.”

He managed a small, haughty smile. “At your service, my lord.” He was tall and whipcord thin, his face carved in hard, unforgiving angles. He was selfish and ruthless, and yet for the year he had been wooing her mother, he had seemed kind, almost gentle. He was the sort of man who would do whatever it took to get what he wanted and she hated him for it.

“Before this progresses any further,” the earl said, “I want you to know Miss Whiting and her sister are under my protection.”

“Is that so?”

“I only just discovered their connection to you this morning. I planned to send word, try to work all of this out.”

The smile, such as it was, remained in place. “There is nothing to work out. My wayward daughters will be returned home, where they will make restitution for the necklace they stole, and all of this will be over. I apologize, Lord Brant, for the trouble they have caused. If there is anything I can do to—”

“You can leave them in my care until this matter is resolved. My cousin and her husband, Lord and Lady Aimes, will stand as chaperones. Victoria and Claire can
stay with them at Forest Glen, their Buckinghamshire estate.”

Tory’s heart beat with a faint ray of hope. Cord hadn’t betrayed them. He was trying to help them, just as he had promised.

“You don’t seem to understand,” the baron pressed. “There is nothing to resolve. The girls are going home with me, their legal guardian.”

Frustration crept into the earl’s features, and something that looked like desperation. He wasn’t going to be able to help them, just as she had feared. Her face felt bloodless and her knees began to tremble beneath her taffeta skirt. Sweet God, she could only imagine the punishment the baron would mete out for what she had done.

It would be less than nothing compared to what he intended for Claire.

She heard her sister then, coming down the hall, crying as one of the watchmen led her into the study. She looked at the earl, crestfallen with disappointment, certain that he was responsible.

“I thank you for seeing to their care,” Harwood was saying. “Since the scandal of residing in a bachelor household all of these weeks would be ruinous to my daughters’ reputations, I trust you will keep the matter private.”

“No word will come from me.”

Harwood focused his attention on Claire. “Come, my pet. It is time we went home.”

Cord pinned him with a look of warning. “As I said, these women are under my protection. Should they be mistreated in any way, you will personally answer to me.”

The baron made no reply, but his lips thinned as he fought to control his temper. “And should I discover they were harmed in any way during their tenure here, you, sir, will answer to me!”

As if he cared, Tory thought. But perhaps he was concerned that the earl had stolen Claire’s virginity, as he himself had planned to do. That would surely upset him. He would, no doubt, be amazed to discover it was his elder stepdaughter who had fallen prey to the earl.

Harwood urged Claire out the door and Tory started after them, but the earl caught her arm.

“I won’t leave you there. I’ll come for you. I’ll find a way to help Claire.”

He would try, perhaps. He would do his best to aid them. But the courts were strict in matters of family and there wasn’t the least chance he would succeed.

“I’ll be all right. It’s Claire who needs you.”

“I’ll come,” the earl said even more fiercely, his eyes dark and hard. Worry tightened his jaw as he reached out and touched her cheek.

Tory looked at him one last time, memorizing the handsome lines of his face, thinking of the night they had shared, admitting to herself for the first time how much he had come to mean to her. In truth, she realized, she was in love with him.

And if Harwood had his way, she would never see him again.

“T
hen it’s true.” Cord paced the Oriental carpet in the China Room of the duke of Sheffield’s town house, a palatial residence in Hanover Square that dominated most of the block. The China Room was equally grand, with ceilings of black and gold, deep sofas in brocaded Oriental silk, black lacquer furniture and carved cinnabar vases.

Rafe shrugged his shoulders, moving the fabric of his dark blue tailcoat. “We can’t know for sure, but Madame Fontaneau is a very reliable source for this kind of information.”

“And she says when it comes to matters of the flesh,” Cord added, “Harwood’s appetites include everything from very young women to boys and anything in between. On top of that, he is known to be somewhat sadistic. This is the man who has control of Victoria and Claire.”

Rafe took a sip of his brandy. “What will you do?”

Cord raked a hand through his hair, dislodging several dark strands. “What I was honor-bound to do from
the moment I carried her into my cabin aboard the ship. I took her innocence. Victoria is the daughter of a peer. I’ll have to marry her.”

Rafe eyed him above the rim of his glass. “I don’t believe she expects it. I got the impression she is quite an independent young woman.”

“Perhaps marriage is
exactly
what she expects. Perhaps that is the reason she encouraged my attentions. She wanted out of her stepfather’s grasp. Once she is married to me, she will certainly have accomplished that end.”

“What about her sister? You’ve told me how protective she is. Do you really think she planned to marry you and leave her younger sister in the hands of a predator like Harwood?”

He couldn’t make himself believe it, not in a million years. “No. I don’t think she would ever do anything that might hurt Claire.” He sighed as he picked up his glass and started for the sideboard. “I could use another drink.”

“I think you’re definitely entitled.”

Cord lifted the stopper off the crystal decanter and poured a goodly amount of brandy into his glass. “I’ve already been to see the magistrate. He says his hands are tied. As Harwood is legally their guardian, there is nothing I can do.”

“Except offer marriage.”

He took a long sip of his drink. “Exactly.” He shook his head. “I hoped to expand the family holdings. Lately, I was seriously considering making an offer for Constance Fairchild.”

“The Fairchild whelp is a green girl barely out of the schoolroom. She would bore you in a thrice.”

“There are ways to entertain oneself beyond home
and hearth.” He glanced off toward the window. “I can’t believe I am failing my father again. He must be turning in his grave.”

Rafe just smiled. “From what I’ve seen, I think your father would approve your choice.”

He scoffed. “Victoria will come to me penniless. She has no land, no inheritance.” He laughed then, a bitter, grating sound. “God’s blood, I never thought to marry my housekeeper.”

Rafe chuckled softly. “Hardly that, my friend.” A big hand settled on Cord’s shoulder. “I think she may very well suit you. Money or not, your life will never be dull.”

Cord made no comment. Victoria had lied to him, tricked him and ruined his plans for the future. He had hoped to repay the debt he owed his father. He had made a promise and now he could not keep it.

He was doomed to fail.

Again.

The door to her bedchamber creaked open. “Tory?” Dressed in her night rail and long quilted wrapper, Claire crept into her bedchamber. The lantern next to the bed cast her slender form in shadow. Worry etched lines into her forehead. “Are you all right?”

They had made the overnight journey from London and arrived at Harwood Hall late in the afternoon. After supper, the baron had summoned Tory into his study and brutally repaid her for the theft of his precious pearl necklace and all the trouble she had caused.

She winced as she sat up in bed. “I’m all right. I’ll be better in the morning.” But her back burned with the angry red slashes her stepfather had inflicted. The caning she had received was no more than she had ex
pected and she had managed to suffer it without crying out.

She hadn’t fought him. She had learned he enjoyed it more if she did. Neither would she let him break her.

“I brought you some salve.” Claire closed the door and walked toward her. “Cook says this will help heal the marks and take away some of the pain.”

Tory sat up straighter in the bed. Pulling the bow at the neck of her gown, she slid it off her shoulders, exposing the welts. A sound of sympathy whispered from Claire’s throat as she sat down on the bed beside her and began to gently dab the ointment on the vicious-looking marks.

“Why does he always beat you and not me?”

Claire still didn’t really understand. She didn’t realize it was her perfection that drew him. He wouldn’t do anything to destroy it. At least not yet.

“He didn’t beat you because he knows you don’t deserve it. I am the one who took the necklace. I am the one who encouraged you to run away.”

“I’m frightened, Tory.”

So was she, but not for herself. “Perhaps…perhaps the earl will find a way to help us.” She couldn’t help wishing, praying that he would. She didn’t really believe it would happen.

Claire’s face brightened. “Yes, I am certain he will,” she said firmly, her mind sliding away as it usually did, into a place where there was light and hope and never any pain. “Lord Brant is a very resourceful man.”

An image of Cord appeared, strong and impossibly handsome. Tory forced back memories of hungry kisses and heated flesh, of wild desire and drugging passion.

She pasted on a smile. “Yes, he is, and I’m sure he’ll think of something.”

Perhaps he would, but how much time would it take? How long would it be before Harwood went after Claire? As soon as he had finished his assault on Tory, he had left the house, called away on business for the balance of the week, she had heard him tell the butler. Once he returned… Dear God, she refused to think of it.

Claire dabbed the last of the salve on her shoulders.

“Thank you, darling. That feels much better.” Pulling her night rail up where it belonged, Tory retied the bow at her neck. “Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? For now Lord Harwood is gone and we are safe.”

Claire nodded. She had changed in the months since they had left Harwood Hall. Some of her innocence was gone, and if the baron had his way, soon all of it would be.

Tory heard the door softly close as Claire slipped quietly away. In the darkness, she lay on her side and began to count the shadows on the wall. Outside the window, the leaves on the branches of a big sycamore tree shifted against the mullioned window, making a soft scratching sound.

Tory closed her eyes, but she couldn’t fall asleep.

“Excuse me, miss.” The butler, a brittle little man in his seventies who feared for his job and worked for less than normal pay, hurried toward her down the hall, pausing next to the linen closet, where Tory busily took inventory. She wasn’t a housekeeper any longer, but her duties had little changed.

“You’ve a visitor, miss. The earl of Brant is here. I’ve shown him into the drawing room.”

Her heart pinched, began a painful throbbing.
Cord was here. She hadn’t completely believed he would come.

“Thank you, Paisley. The journey from London is a long one. Instruct one of the chambermaids to prepare one of the guest rooms for his use.”

Removing the apron tied over her apple-green muslin gown, she headed down the hall to the drawing room. Just outside, she paused to smooth her hair, wishing it weren’t pulled back in such an unflattering coil, wishing her hands would stop trembling.

The earl stood with his back to her in front of the hearth, his long legs braced a little apart. For an instant as she entered the room, she simply enjoyed the sight of him, the wide shoulders and trim waist, his neatly groomed dark brown hair.

Then he turned toward her and all the emotions she had been fighting rose up at once, threatening to overwhelm her. Her eyes burned. It took sheer force of will to keep herself from rushing into his arms.

“My lord.” The words came out more softly than she expected, but her voice sounded fairly even, hiding the turmoil she felt inside.

He strode toward her, his gaze filled with worry and something more. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed. Her back still burned. She was stiff and sore from the thrashing she had received, but the baron was always careful to make sure the marks didn’t show.

“I’m fine. We both are. The day after our arrival, Lord Harwood was called away.”

“When will he return?” His eyes were a darker golden brown. There were secrets in them. She wondered what they were.

“He should be home today.”

He nodded. “Good. In the meantime, we need to talk.”

She smoothed the front of her gown, took a steadying breath. “Shall I ring for tea?”

“Perhaps I’ll have something later.”

Crossing the room in front of him, she indicated they should take a seat on the green velvet sofa and they sat down next to each other, a respectable distance apart.

Cord didn’t bother with formalities. “First, I need to tell you that I have been to see the magistrate. Unfortunately, he says where your guardianship is concerned there is nothing he can do.”

A faint sound of distress escaped and Cord captured her hand, holding it gently between both of his.

“That doesn’t mean this is over. I’m working on several other options. We’ll find a way to help Claire.”

She tried to remain optimistic, but her chest squeezed with fear. “How?”

“I’m not yet certain. But that is not the reason I am here.”

She frowned, wondering at the change in his thoughts. “Why then?”

He let go of her hand, straightened a bit on the sofa. “I came here to propose.”

“Propose?” Her mind didn’t seem to be working. “Surely you realize I can’t become your mistress. Not now.”

The edge of his mouth barely curved. “I am not offering an indecent proposal, Miss Whiting. I am making you an offer of marriage.”

Tory swayed a little on the cushion, for an instant, feeling light-headed. The earl was asking her to wed.
Dear sweet God.
She hadn’t known how much she wanted that to happen until that very moment.

Then it dawned on her. He had taken her innocence. She was the daughter of a baron. He had no choice but to marry her. She hoped the crushing disappointment didn’t show.

“I realize you feel it is your duty…under the circumstances…to make such a proposal. I assure you, I never expected marriage when we…when I accompanied you to your cabin. We both know I am not what you want for a wife.”

“What I want is no longer important. Fate has intervened and there is no other choice except for us to wed.”

She shook her head. “You planned to marry an heiress. Even should the baron feel obligated to provide a dowry, it would be of meagerest proportions, certainly nothing that would strengthen your family holdings.”

“Be that as it may, our course has been set. I have already obtained a special license. On the morrow, we will wed.”

She couldn’t believe it. Did he really believe she would simply agree, that she would marry him knowing he didn’t want her? Squaring her shoulders, Tory stood up from the sofa.

“I have not agreed to marry you, my lord, and I don’t intend to. My answer to your proposal is no. I don’t want a man who doesn’t want me.”

Cord stood up right next to her. “Oh, I want you. I can assure you, sweeting, one night with you in my bed was scarcely enough.” Gripping her shoulders, he drew her toward him, bent his head and very thoroughly kissed her. Tory tried to push him away, but his hold
only tightened. Her back still stung, but the heat was so overwhelming she forgot about the pain. Instead, desire swept through her, weakening her resolve, coaxing her to return the kiss.

She leaned toward him, gave herself up to him, felt a stab of disappointment when Cord pulled away. When she opened her eyes, there was a hint of triumph in his expression.

“We’re going to be married. You might as well get used to it.”

Tory tried to find her voice, then simply shook her head. “I won’t do it.”

His eyes flared. “You will, dammit!” Cord caught her shoulders again. “Listen to me, Victoria. You need to get out of this house before your stepfather seriously hurts you. Aside from that—have you considered the possibility that you may be carrying my child?”

She blinked. The thought had never crossed her mind. “Surely it takes more than once.”

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “It happened more than once, if you will recall, and even if it hadn’t, the possibility would remain.”

She pondered that. If things were different, she would love to have Cord’s child. If he loved her. If he weren’t being forced into a marriage that he didn’t want.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I won’t marry you. I don’t believe I am with child and there are other things to consider.”

“Such as?”

She flicked a glance toward the rooms upstairs. “My sister. If…if you want to marry someone, marry Claire. She is the one who needs your help.”

The earl made a harsh sound in his throat. “It wasn’t Claire whose innocence I took that night on the ship. It wasn’t Claire whose luscious little body wept for me, trembled for me, sang for me. And it isn’t Claire I intend to wed—it is you, Victoria!”

Tory swallowed but said nothing more. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Half of her wanted to marry him so much an ache throbbed in her heart. The other half knew she had stumbled upon the answer to how she was going to save Claire.

“All right, you win,” she finally agreed. “If you are certain that is your wish, then I will marry you.”

An odd emotion flickered in his eyes. If she hadn’t known him better, she would have sworn it was relief.

“I’ll speak to Harwood as soon as he returns. Once matters between us have been settled, we can be wed.”

Tory watched him leave the room. There was purpose in his strides and a confidence about him he wore like a cloak. She couldn’t help thinking of the chess games they had played. In this match, she had made the first move when she had gone to his cabin. Today he had countered. It was her turn next.