The Bride's Necklace (14 page)

Over the next several weeks, the foursome attended the theatre, the opera and an endless stream of soirees, house parties and ridottos. Tonight they were attending a ball in honor of the mayor’s birthday. Occasionally, she noticed someone looking their way, but it never crossed her mind that people might be gossiping about them.

It wasn’t until later she realized she was traveling the road to perdition.

Percy stood next to his wife in the ballroom.

“Where is Tory?” Claire’s gaze searched the room. “I don’t see her anywhere about.”

“She is probably in the gaming room with Julian. Or perhaps they are dancing.”

“Your cousin and my sister have become such dear
friends,” Claire said. “Still, I know she would love for Lord Brant to accompany her. Perhaps you could speak to him, tell him how happy it would make her if he joined us some evening.”

Percy’s pulse increased as her lovely blue eyes came to rest on his face. He nodded noncommittally but made no reply. It wasn’t his place to interfere between a man and his wife. Besides, he had more than enough problems with his own marriage.

Claire took his hand. “Could we dance? Please, Percy?”

“If that is your wish, sweetheart, I shall make it my command.” He smiled and led her off toward the dance floor. He agreed to anything she asked, gave her anything she wanted, though she rarely asked for much. He was head over the mark for her, completely dim-witted where his wife was concerned.

Not that she was his wife in truth. The marriage had yet to be consummated, and though he thought of little else twenty-four hours a day, the time was not yet right to press his suit.

His wife knew nothing of the physical side of marriage—though if kissing were an art form, she had become a female Michelangelo. So good, in fact, that he dared not kiss her overlong for fear he might lose control and ravish her.

He forced the worrisome thought away and smiled at her. Letting her lead him onto the dance floor, he took her hand and led her into the steps of a contredanse, enjoying the sweet way she smiled back at him whenever he took her hand. Each time she touched him, his manhood stirred and his face heated up. He worried about the snug fit of his breeches and tried to think of some
thing besides the soft swells of her breasts above the top of her mauve silk gown.

He watched her make a graceful pirouette, her gown floating softly around her calves. For an instant, her beautiful eyes locked with his and a blush rose in her cheeks. Percy forced himself to look away and prayed with every ounce of his strength he could continue to control himself where his utterly delectable wife was concerned.

The evening progressed. Tory wandered out of the card room, wondering where her sister had gone. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over.” Julian Fox walked toward her, smiling as he captured her hand. He was as tall as Cord, with thick black hair and stunning blue eyes, and he cut a dashing figure in his perfectly tailored burgundy tailcoat and light gray breeches.

“They are starting the entertainment out in the garden,” he said. “I thought you might like to see it.”

“I was playing whist and not very well. I should far prefer watching the entertainment than losing all of my money.”

“Dancing Cossacks from the Steppes of Russia.” Julian leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Probably no more than wandering Gypsies, but who cares?” He straightened. “Come. If we hurry we can still find a seat.”

Julian led her through the doors leading out to the terrace. Tory knew he felt safe with her, able to dodge the throngs of women who vied for his attention. Aside from his good looks and charm, Julian had money and social position. He would be considered a very good catch for one of the young women in the marriage mart.
But Julian seemed to have little interest. Tory wondered if perhaps a woman had hurt him in the past and now he guarded his heart very carefully.

Certainly, he had no interest in
her,
which was why she also felt safe with him. They were friends, nothing more, and, in truth, she would much rather be with her husband.

And yet marriage to Cord had been far from the sort of which she had dreamed, the kind her father and mother had shared, doing things together, enjoying each other’s company more than anyone else’s.

She sighed as she let Julian seat her in a chair at the end of several rows. He wasn’t Cord, but he was excellent company. Tory settled back to watch the show.

Cord pushed away from his desk. It was well past one and Victoria had not yet returned. These evening affairs were beginning to annoy him.

Still, wives often attended
ton
functions without their husbands, and it was through no fault of Victoria’s that he hadn’t the time to go about with her in Society. He should be grateful his brother-in-law had taken on the job of chaperone. Thank God the young man enjoyed that sort of thing.

As for Cord, he was busy with the purchase he was about to make on a block of real estate in Threadneedle Street, an empty building in an area of prestigious offices. With a little renovation, the structure would be worth double his investment.

It was highly unfashionable for a member of the aristocracy to do any sort of work, but Cord had discovered he enjoyed it. To appease the
ton,
he had passed his interest in finance off as a hobby, which seemed perfectly credible to them.

Mostly, though, his mind was preparing for the upcoming attempt to free Ethan.

Two nights ago, Colonel Pendleton had received news that Ethan had been moved inland, to a prison east of Nantes. The place wasn’t nearly as accessible as the prison in Calais, but the Loire River flowed past Nantes into the sea at St. Nazaire, and if freeing Ethan could be managed, the colonel believed Max Bradley could see it done.

And, as before, Cord intended to have a ship waiting to bring Ethan home once the men reached the coast.

He pulled the gold chain from the pocket of his waistcoat, flipped open the lid of his watch and checked the time. It was half past one. He snapped the lid closed and his gaze snagged on the chessboard sitting in the corner. He hadn’t played chess with Victoria since they were wed. He simply hadn’t had time.

Or perhaps that was just an excuse.

Staying busy kept his mind off his wife, kept him from getting more deeply involved with her than he was already. She’d had her hooks in him from the beginning, though he didn’t think she knew. The last thing he wanted was to fall more deeply into the female trap she posed.

God’s breath—he didn’t want to wind up like that young fool, Lord Percy.

Cord liked things exactly as they were—Victoria pleasing him in bed while their lives ran on parallel, but separate, courses.

He heard movement in the hall and rose from his chair. Victoria was home and it was about damned time. Striding down the corridor, he spotted her in the
entry, a slender, feminine vision in saffron silk and cream lace.

“I expected you sooner,” he said darkly as he approached. She turned at the sound of his voice and her chin went up.

“Claire and Lord Percy wished to stay a bit longer tonight. As I was their guest, I had no choice but also to remain. Perhaps if you had come with me—”

“I was busy—as you damn well know.”

“Then, it would seem the problem would be yours and not mine.”

His eyes narrowed. He started to say something more, but he knew in a way she was right, and besides, she looked so delectable with her cheeks flushed and her nose in the air that his body stirred and his loins filled. She gave a little squeak of surprise as he scooped her up in his arms and started climbing the stairs.

They could discuss her late hours on the morrow. Tonight he needed his wife and he meant to have her.

Her arms slipped around his neck, her soft breasts pillowed against his chest, and his body throbbed to be inside her. There were advantages to being married he hadn’t thought of before. As long as he maintained a certain distance, as long as he thought with his head and not his heart, he could enjoy himself.

Cord vowed that was exactly what he would do.

T
ory was beginning to tire of the endless social whirl. There were nights she wished she could simply stay home, but if she did, she would wind up sitting alone in the drawing room, reading a book or working on her embroidery. Cord would be squirreled away in his study and wouldn’t wish to be disturbed.

Tory sighed. She might as well go out.

Crossing the room, she tugged on the bell pull, ringing for her lady’s maid, Emma Conklin, to help her select a gown for the night’s affair.

“Gor, milady, but this one surely is fine. ’Tis one of me personal favorites.” Emma had been a serving maid when Tory worked as housekeeper. Broad-hipped, with kinky blond hair and a faint cockney accent, Emma had once revealed her dream of becoming a lady’s maid, a highly unlikely circumstance, considering her background.

But Emma loved clothes and it turned out she was a very competent seamstress. When Tory became Cord’s wife, she decided to give Emma the job as her maid.

“You don’t think the pearl satin would be better?”

“’Tis handsome and no doubt. But the rose silk with the pale pink overskirt and those lovely little oak clusters up the front—’tis exquisite, milady.”

Tory smiled. She enjoyed Emma’s company and her refreshing candor. “Then the rose silk it shall be.”

Emma helped her into the dress and fastened the buttons up the back, then Tory selected the jewelry she would wear.

Digging into the jewelry box, her hand brushed the slick white satin wrapped around her father’s ring. A little chill went through her as she lifted the ring out of the box and unrolled the satin.

Set in heavy gold, the bloodred garnet flashed up at her, dredging up painful memories and all her niggling suspicions. For weeks, she had forced her suspicions to the back of her mind. She’d had Claire to protect—and herself. She’d been busy trying to keep them both out of prison. Now, along with the constant worry about her marriage, the nagging questions about her father’s murder had returned to plague her thoughts.

How had the ring come to be in her mother’s possession?

Why had her mother never mentioned finding it?

Tory felt more and more certain the answers lay in the diary her mother had kept—if it still existed. Tory believed her mother had found the ring among her second husband’s possessions. Miles Whiting must have had the ring, and if he did, he was the man responsible for her father’s murder—as Tory had for years suspected.

If only she could prove it.

The diary was the key. Somehow she had to find it. She needed to return to Harwood Hall and go back up
to the attic. She wished she could speak to Cord, ask for his help, but he was always so busy and she had caused him enough trouble already.

She rewrapped the garnet ring and put it back in the box, then reached for the blue velvet case, pulled it out and opened the lid. The diamond-and-pearl necklace gleamed up at her. She found herself picking it up, draping it around her throat.

It looked perfect with the rose silk gown. The pearls felt cool and reassuring against her skin. The diamond clasp came together with a softly muted click. She remembered the night Cord had demanded she wear only the necklace to bed, then made passionate love to her. She wished he were going with her tonight.

Ignoring a feeling of hopelessness, she cast a glance at the clock. Her sister and brother-in-law would be arriving any moment, her usual escorts for the evening. Accepting the richly embroidered, white silk India shawl Emma handed her, Tory headed for the stairs.

The week dragged past. In return for their care of her, Tory gave a dinner party in her sister and brother-in-law’s honor. If her husband wouldn’t accompany her in Society, she decided, she would bring the party to him.

Their guests would be arriving any minute. Tory glanced down the hall to see their very efficient housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, hustling toward her, carrying a list of last minute details. Tory answered each of her questions, then made a final check of the seating in the dining room.

Cord was upstairs dressing, but he wouldn’t be down for a few more minutes. He had returned late from a
meeting with Colonel Pendleton. The men were still not ready to make the attempt to free Captain Sharpe, but they were hoping for a chance very soon.

She spotted her husband coming down the stairs just as the first guests arrived, and for an instant, she simply stood there admiring him. He was so tall and broad-shouldered, his features so strong and male. He took her arm and his gaze swept over her. She caught his look of approval, along with the gleam of desire.

The latter disappeared as they walked over to greet the first arrivals, Dr. and Mrs. Chastain and their daughter. Lately, at one party or another, she and Grace had been able to spend a good deal of time together.

“Mama is determined to marry me off to some decrepit old fool with gobs of money,” Grace had said. “So long as the man has a title—that is all she cares about. You should have seen her last week at Lord Dunfrey’s soiree. She insisted I sit next to Viscount Tinsley at supper. The man is blind in one eye and so ancient he couldn’t remember whether he was eating baked herring or roasted goose.”

“I gather you are still determined to marry only for love.”

Grace’s chin went into the air. “If I can’t have love, I refuse to marry at all.”

But so far, Grace had yet to find a man who interested her.

Not even Julian Fox.

He arrived a few minutes later, in company with Claire and Percy. Though she had spoken of Julian to Cord several times, the two of them had yet to meet.

She smiled as he walked in. “Julian! I’m so glad you could come.”

He made a very gallant bow over her hand. “The pleasure is mine, Victoria.”

“It is well past time you met my husband.” She led him to where Cord stood next to his friend, Rafael Saunders. “Cord, this is Julian Fox.”

“Mr. Fox.”

“Lord Brant.”

“I believe you know his grace, the duke of Sheffield.”

“Yes,” Julian said. “We’ve met on several occasions.”

Appropriate responses were made, but Cord seemed strangely remote. She could tell her husband was sizing Julian up as men did and wondered what he was thinking.

It didn’t take long to find out. He cornered her on their way into the dining room, drawing her down the hall away from their guests.

“So…I finally get to meet your elusive Mr. Fox.”

“Yes, I am happy he could come.”

“You never mentioned how charming he was.”

She didn’t like the way he was staring at her, the way his eyes looked harder than they usually did. “I told you he was a very nice man.”

“You also never said he was six feet tall, exceedingly well-built, and one of the best-looking men in London.”

Her chin went up. “I didn’t think the way he looked was of any importance.”

“Is that so?”

“I hoped that you would like him.”

“Oh, I like him just fine.” Cord didn’t say more, simply took her arm and wove it through his and rather firmly guided her into the dining room.

Once she was seated, she began to relax. Cord chatted amiably with their guests, and she thought that when he wished, he could be even more charming than Julian. He seemed the perfect host, relaxed and laughing, yet she felt his eyes drift toward her again and again.

Dr. Chastain told a disturbing story about a pair of Siamese twins he had delivered.

“I dare say, you should have seen them. Joined at the head. Never seen anything like it. Died before they were two weeks old. Blessing, it was, to be sure.” He was about to launch into another equally unpleasant medical tale when Julian smoothly cut in.

With a glance at Tory, he smilingly relayed the story of the cossacks who had entertained at the mayor’s birthday ball, a group that turned out to be Gypsies.

“They were actually quite good entertainment,” he said, “even if they were utter frauds.” Everyone laughed at the story and Tory flashed him a grateful smile.

Then he mentioned the opera they had attended,
Don Giovanni.
“It was by far the best production I’ve seen in years. Wouldn’t you say so, Victoria?”

She smiled. “It was remarkable. Of course, I hadn’t been to an opera since my parents brought Claire and me to London years ago. This was even more wonderful than the performance we saw back then.”

“It was lovely,” Claire put in. “You should have come with us, my lord,” she said to Cord. “You would have enjoyed yourself.”

Cord’s eyes burned into Tory. “I’m certain I would have.”

Dr. and Mrs. Chastain, who had also seen the production, remarked on the quality of the perform
ance, though Grace hadn’t attended with them. Grace and her father had never been close, and in the past few years, they had grown even further apart. It bothered Grace, but there seemed to be nothing she could do.

The conversation remained lively through supper. Cord nodded and smiled, but fell more and more silent. The men remained in the dining room for brandy and cigars while the women retired to the drawing room.

Once the men rejoined the ladies, the group seemed cordial enough, yet Cord remained strangely quiet, and by the time the last guest departed, his mood was completely black. He ushered Tory upstairs and followed her into her bedchamber, closing the door behind him, then lounged back against the paneled wood, his arms crossed over his chest.

“So you enjoyed the opera, did you?”

She didn’t like his tone. “Yes, I enjoyed it very much. You suggested I go, as I recall. You were busy—as usual—or you could have come with me.”

“There were things I needed to do. Unlike your good friend, Julian, I have a number of responsibilities.”

“Julian knows how to enjoy life. There is nothing wrong with that.”

He came away from the door. “I don’t want you going out with him again.”

“What are you talking about? I have never been out with Julian. He has been kind enough to make us a party of four instead of three, for which I am grateful.”

“You heard what I said. I don’t want him escorting you anywhere. If he is joining his cousin and your sister for the evening, you will stay home.”

Her temper began to rise. “You are not my jailer, Cord.”

“No, merely your husband…in case you have forgot.”

She clamped her hands on her hips. “What is it about him you don’t like?”

“I told you I like him fine. I just don’t want him out with my wife.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I’m concerned that seeing him as much as you have been will begin to rouse the gossips. I don’t want my wife’s name dragged through the mud.”

“Julian is merely a friend. Beyond that, he has no interest in me and I have no interest in him.”

“I’m damned glad to hear it.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Good Lord, you’re not jealous, are you?”

“Hardly. As I said, I am merely concerned with protecting my wife’s reputation.”

But he was still angry. She realized he
was
jealous, and more than that, it thrilled her that he was. Except for his amorous attentions, Cord had mostly ignored her since the day they were wed. It wasn’t the recipe for a happy marriage as far as Tory was concerned, but perhaps at last she had found a way to stir his interest.

Excitement bubbled through her. She should have thought of this before.

She started for the bell pull above the bed to ring for her maid, but Cord caught her arm. “Turn around,” he said darkly. “You won’t be needing your maid tonight.”

She didn’t argue as he turned her back to him and began to undress her with swift, sure movements that made it disturbingly clear how familiar he was with a lady’s wardrobe.

Once he had undressed her to garters and stockings, he pulled the pins from her hair, slid his fingers into the heavy strands, tilted her head back and very thoroughly kissed her.

She was breathless by the time he finished, her body pulsing with heat. Lifting her into his arms, Cord carried her through the door adjoining their two suites, over to his huge four-poster bed.

They had never made love in his room before. He had always come to her bed and left before the servants arrived. Now he didn’t bother to pull back the dark blue velvet counterpane, just settled her in the middle of the deep feather mattress, came down on top of her and began to plunder her mouth.

Their lovemaking was savage, Cord taking possession of her body more thoroughly than he ever had before. He’d been disturbed by Julian’s presence. Perhaps she meant more to him than he realized.

If he did, there was still a ray of hope.

If only she could find a way to make him see.

“Good night, Claire.”

“Good night, Percy.” Claire smiled, but as soon as the door softly closed, she threw her hairbrush against it.

“My lady!” Her maid hurried forward, bent and scooped up the brush.

Claire sighed. “I am sorry, Frances, I don’t know why I am angry except…”

“Except what, my lady?” Frances was ten years older than Claire, a short, dark-haired woman with pockmarks on her face from a childhood disease.

Claire turned on the stool and looked up at her. “Do
you and your husband…do the two of you sleep in the same bed?”

The maid flushed. “Aye, that we do. And pleasurable it is, I can tell ya.”

“Sometimes I wish…I wish Lord Percy would stay with me. We are married. My father and mother slept in the same bed. If Percy were here, I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night feeling so lonely.”

The maid was frowning. “’Tisn’t my place to ask this, my lady, but I been thinking…. I know your mother has passed on, God rest her soul, and I was wondering if…” The maid shook her head. “’Tisn’t my place.”

Claire caught her arm. “You were wondering what? Tell me, Frances.”

“Well…I was wondering if…well, if you and his lordship have got round to making love?”

Claire shrugged, reached for her silver-backed hairbrush, pulled it through her hair. “I suppose we have. He kisses me all the time.”

“Well, kissing is part of it, that’s for sure, but there is a good deal more goes with it.”

The brush paused midstroke as Claire whirled to face her. “There is?”