The Bride's Necklace (20 page)

In the world of the aristocracy where marriages were mostly arranged, couples often felt little real affection for each other. They lived separately so each could carry on his or her private affairs.

Surprisingly, Cord had no desire to begin such an affair. His heart was badly battered, and after losing Victoria he didn’t feel the least desire for a woman.

Except his wife, of course, and she was the one woman he could not have. He tried not to think of their last frantic coupling, the desperation, the sadness that seemed to surround them both as their bodies joined one final time. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, never considered that it would.

But he was attracted to Victoria as he had never been to another woman, and her innocent seduction had been impossible to resist.

He envied Fox.

Thinking of Victoria’s lover, his hand balled into a fist. The image arose of Julian caressing her beautiful breasts, spending himself in her luscious body, and Cord’s stomach churned. He closed his eyes to block the image and crossed his small, rented, upstairs guest room to the dresser. Lifting the stopper off a decanter of brandy, he poured himself a glass.

He was drinking too much, but he didn’t care. He drained the glass and filled it again and took another long mind-numbing swallow. The liquor dulled the pain, but only a little, not enough to make him forget.

The week crept past. It was time he went home and got his things together, made plans for his stay at Riverwoods. He tried not to think whether Victoria would be there at the house or if she had gone off with her lover.

Lucky for Fox, the man had been away during those first wild moments when Cord had discovered his wife’s affair. According to McPhee’s report, Fox was on his way to his family estate in York. If the man had been in London, he would have been facing a duel, or a horsewhipping at the very least.

Fortunately, Cord’s common sense had finally returned. He had accepted the unpleasant fact that he was the one who had betrayed Victoria, not the other way around. He had left his bride alone and lonely, keeping her at a safe distance, except when they were in bed.

If only he could do things over. He would tell her the
way he felt, admit that he loved her. Better still, he would show her. He would spend every second he could with her, do whatever it took to make her happy and erase the lonely expression he had so often seen on her face.

Why had he done it? Why had he been so afraid to let himself love her?

But in his heart he knew. He’d been thirteen years old when his mother had died, a slow, agonizing death that took weeks and had nearly destroyed him. He’d been tortured by her suffering and his inability to help her. He’d hated himself for not being stronger, not being tougher. He should have been able to handle the loss instead of letting it tear him apart.

But he had learned his lesson. In the years that followed, he had learned to insulate himself from his feelings, to protect himself so he wouldn’t be hurt that way again. He had taken the easy way out. He had indulged the wild side of his nature, immersed himself in his hedonistic pleasures. He had become so wrapped up in himself that he had failed his father when he needed Cord the most.

Now he had failed his wife.

Cord made his way downstairs to the card room. It was time to go home, to leave the sanctuary of the club and prepare for his trip to the country.

Soon, he told himself.

But instead of leaving, he headed for one of the big overstuffed leather chairs in front of the hearth. He was about to sit down when he spotted the duke of Sheffield walking toward him. He wasn’t certain if he should be glad to see his friend, or dread the coming conversation.

“I went by your house,” Rafe said. “When no one seemed to know where you were, I figured I might find you here. Mind if I join you?”

Cord nodded his head. “Though I should probably warn you, I’m not the best company.”

Rafe signaled to a waiter, and a few seconds later had a glass of brandy in his hand. They sat down in the big leather chairs, for the moment by themselves.

“You look like hell,” Rafe said, swirling the liquor in his glass.

“Thanks.”

“There’s talk on the street. Rumor has it you are filing annulment papers.”

Cord sat up straighter in his chair. “How the hell could anyone know that?”

“A talkative clerk, perhaps. Or one of your servants overheard something that was said. I presume you’ve told Victoria.”

“I’ve told her.” Cord looked down at the brandy he held in his hand but didn’t take a drink. “You were right about Fox and Victoria. I had Jonas McPhee look into the matter.”

Rafe’s blue eyes narrowed. “Are you certain? I rather thought your wife was in love with you.”

Cord glanced away, wishing it were true. “It’s my fault. I virtually ignored her. I practically drove her into the arms of another man.”

Rafe took a drink of his brandy. “Damned women. They get at you one way or another.” Cord knew he was thinking of Danielle, the girl he’d been engaged to marry. Rafe had found her in one of his closest friend’s bed. He had never gotten over the betrayal.

“As I said, the fault was mine. From the start of the
marriage, I handled things poorly. Hell, even before we were wed.”

“Perhaps. Still, I can’t credit a woman giving up on a man so soon. Particularly one with whom she seemed so thoroughly in love.”

“Victoria never loved me. Perhaps, for a time, she thought she did.”

“What about you? Did you love her?”

He sipped his drink, thinking of the night he had confronted her in his study over moving the pieces on his chessboard and she had soundly trounced him in the match.

“I loved her almost from the start. I was a fool, Sheffield. I deserve exactly what I got.”

Rafe made no reply.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go on up and get some sleep.” It was only nine o’clock, but he felt bone-tired.

“This will pass, my friend,” Rafe said gently. “There are other women to love.”

But Rafe had yet to find one.

And Cord didn’t think he would, either.

Tory tried to pretend her life was normal. She had been lonely before, even with Cord in the house.

She was completely miserable without him.

Little more than a week had passed since he had moved out, but it seemed more like years. She hadn’t told anyone about the annulment. Not Gracie, not even Claire. Eventually, she would have to say something. Once the filing was posted in the newspaper, everyone in London would know.

When Claire burst through the front door unexpectedly that afternoon, Tory was certain her sister had
found out. Dear God, the filing must be public. He stomach squeezed as Timmons announced her sister’s arrival. Tory pasted on a smile and went to greet her.

“Tory!” Claire was grinning so broadly, a dimple appeared in her cheek. “The most wonderful thing has happened!”

It was hardly the greeting she had expected. It was stupid to feel relief that the end had not yet truly come.

“Calm down, darling.” She took Claire’s hand, led her into the drawing room and closed the door. With Cord away, there was enough gossip in the house already. “All right, now. Tell me what has got you so excited.”

“It’s Percy. He loves me! I was so afraid he had only married me out of pity.” She released a tinkling laugh. “Last night he said he loves me so much sometimes he simply can’t breathe. He said he looks at me and love fills him to overflowing. I told him I loved him, too, and he kissed me, and it was so wonderful, Tory.”

Tory opened her mouth to tell Claire how happy she was for her, but a choking sound came out instead. Her eyes filled with tears and a great sob tore loose from somewhere deep inside her. Her legs went weak and she feared they would buckle beneath her.

“Tory!” Claire caught her round the waist and helped her over to the sofa. Tory sank down, holding on to her sister for support.

“What is it, Tory? Dear God, what has happened?”

The tears just kept coming. Claire hastily dug into her reticule and pulled out one of her pretty lace handkerchiefs.

Tory accepted the cloth and wiped at her tears, trying to find the right words. “Cord has left me.”

“What are you talking about? Cord is your husband. He can’t just leave.”

She closed her eyes, but moisture leaked from beneath her lashes. “I wanted to make him love me. I thought if I made him jealous…if he believed other men found me attractive, perhaps his affections would grow.” She sniffed back a fresh round of tears. “Julian agreed to help me. We both…both thought it was a good idea at the time.”

She told Claire all that had happened, how Cord believed she had never gone to Harwood, how the servants had lied to protect her and wound up convincing him that she had never been there at all. She told Claire about going to their old family town house in Greenbower Street and how she had run into Julian and he had gone with her and how Cord had found out they were together and thought it was a lovers’ tryst.

Claire squeezed her hand. “It’s going to be all right, Tory. You can straighten all of this out. You just have to find a way to make Cord see you are telling the truth. Go to Harwood and bring Greta back. She can tell Cord that you really were there.”

“He won’t believe her. He’ll think I paid her or something.”

“Perhaps Percy and I could speak to him. We could tell him you and Julian are only just friends.”

“He would simply think you were too naive to see the truth.”

“Then you must write to Julian. Ask him to come back and explain.”

Tory only shook her head. “At first, I considered doing all of those things. I believed I could find a way to prove my innocence and everything would be all right. Then I realized that maybe this happened for a reason.”

“Reason? What kind of reason?”

She dragged in a shaky breath. “Don’t you see? Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity for Cord to escape the marriage. He wanted to marry an heiress, not a woman who came to him without a farthing. This is his chance, Claire.”

She had known the truth from the start. If he hadn’t been forced to marry her, Cord would have wed Constance Fairchild or any of a number of eligible women. Half the young ladies of the
ton
had been devastated to learn the earl of Brant had married a nobody from the country.

“Once he has his freedom,” she finished, “Cord can have the woman he wanted before I trapped him the way I did.”

Claire put her arms around her. “You didn’t mean to trap him. Sometimes things just happen.”

Tory rested her head on her younger sister’s shoulder. Claire was growing up. She was a woman now. A wife. If felt good to have someone to talk to.

“I have to let him go, Claire. Cord deserves to be happy. He was never happy with me. He did everything he could to stay away from me.” Tears welled again. Tory cried against her sister’s shoulder and felt Claire’s slender body shaking.

Tory knew that her sister was crying, too.

I
t was late in the afternoon, a gray, cloudy day that hinted at the coming of a storm. The dismal weather exactly fit Tory’s mood.

She sighed as she walked out of the drawing room, trying not to notice how empty the house felt without her husband’s presence. She was headed for the entry when the sound of men’s voices drifted toward her. For an instant, she thought it might be Cord and her heart took a leap.

Instead, Timmons spoke to Colonel Pendleton, who stood stiffly in front of him. The colonel turned at her approach and his face looked grim.

“Lady Brant.” He made a polite bow, the light of the chandelier reflecting off his silver hair and the gold epaulettes on his shoulders. “I apologize for the intrusion, my lady. I come in search of your husband.”

Her insides painfully twisted. In the weeks ahead, how many more times would she face such a moment?

“I’m sorry, Colonel. At present, my husband is not at home.”

“Do you know where I might find him? I bring urgent information regarding Captain Sharpe.”

She shook her head, not having the slightest idea where her husband might be. Or with whom.

“I’m sorry, Colonel. You might look for him at the home of his friend the duke or perhaps he is at White’s, his gentlemen’s club. You may certainly leave word for him here.” Not that he was likely to get it, since she had no idea when or if he might return.

“Thank you. I would appreciate if you would tell him the news is urgent. Ask him to get in touch with me as soon as he possibly can.”

“Of course. Is there anything else I can do?”

“I’m afraid not, my lady. Except, perhaps, to remember the captain in your prayers.” Turning, the colonel strode out of the house, leaving Tory to worry what terrible things might be happening to Cord’s cousin.

It was evening, a light drizzle dampening the ground outside the house, when she heard Timmons speaking to another man. She recognized her husband’s deep baritone and her heart leaped, his familiar masculine drawl filling her with longing.

She stood frozen in the hall, drinking in the sight of his tall, athletic frame and beloved features, aching to feel his arms around her.

Then she remembered the colonel’s urgent news and forced her feet to move along the passage. Cord started up the stairs, his foot pausing on a step near the bottom when he saw her.

“Good evening, my lord.”

“I won’t be here long. I only stopped by to pack a few things. I’m leaving for the country in the morning.” He started climbing again.

“Colonel Pendleton was here,” she said hastily. “He is looking for you. He has urgent news of your cousin.”

Cord turned and came back down the stairs. “Did he tell you what the news might be?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I think he wanted to impart the information himself.”

The muscles across his shoulders subtly tightened.

“I don’t think Captain Sharpe is dead,” she told him, reading his thoughts. “I think it was something else.”

“I pray you are right.” He turned toward the door, and she had never wanted anything so much as to go with him.

Cord lifted the latch and started out, but stopped abruptly as he spotted Rafe and the colonel striding up the walk. Stepping back, Cord waited as they moved past him into the entry.

“Thank God you’re here,” Rafe said.

“I’ve been trying to find you,” the colonel explained. “I stopped by to see His Grace in the hope he might know where you were. He had only just left you at the club. He said that he thought that you were on your way here.”

“Ethan’s in trouble,” Rafe said, cutting to the point. “We haven’t got much time.”

“What’s happened?”

Colonel Pendleton answered. “I’m afraid the captain is scheduled to be executed the day after the morrow.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Word from Bradley should have arrived two days ago, but a storm blew up and the ship was delayed. The note just got here this afternoon.”

“We’ll have to sail tonight,” Rafe said. “Fortunately, the
Nightingale
is in port. We swung by the docks on our way over here. The good news is Ethan’s been re
turned to the prison in Calais. If we can get him out, he won’t have far to go to reach the ship.”

“That is good news. He may not be in shape to make too long a journey.”

“We’ll take the surgeon along, just in case,” Rafe said. “He came in handy the last time.”

The men continued speaking, their conversation so urgent they seemed to have forgot that Tory was there.

“I’m afraid there’s another problem,” the colonel said. “In his former efforts, Max Bradley always had a plan. The decision to execute the captain came up so quickly we have no choice but to make the attempt without the usual preparations. He says he is going to need help. A couple of men and someone who can provide a diversion.”

“A diversion,” Cord repeated. “What the devil kind of diversion?”

“Someone to distract the guards so that Bradley and the men can get inside the prison.”

“Perhaps we can find a woman,” Rafe suggested. “Nothing diverts a man’s interest like a pretty bit of muslin.”

“She would have to speak French and be someone we could trust,” Pendleton added.

“There isn’t time to find someone like that,” Cord said. “We’ll have to think of something once we’re aboard the ship.”

“I could do it.” Heart pounding, Tory stepped out of the shadows, drawing startled looks from the men.

Cord scowled in her direction, obviously unhappy to find her still there. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It isn’t the least ridiculous. I speak flawless French. I could dress as a young woman in from the country, a
lady who wishes to inquire of…of her brother, perhaps. She is desperate. She pleads with the guards to let her inside the prison or at least provide some information as to his welfare.”

“What if they agree to let you in?” Rafe asked, eyeing her with speculation.

“Then I shall have to stall them until one of you can come to my rescue.”

“No,” Cord said flatly. “I’m not about to put you in that sort of danger. Not even for Ethan.”

“Please, Cord, I can do this. I want to help.”

“I said no and that is the end of it.”

Tory gently touched his arm. “You don’t have time to find someone else, Cord.” She wanted to do this, to give him the one thing he truly wanted. “So much has happened these past few weeks. Give me this chance to make things right.”

He started to shake his head, but Rafe clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We need her, Cord. One of us will keep an eye on her. If anything goes wrong, we’ll get her out of there in a hurry and back aboard the ship.”

A muscle ticked in Cord’s cheek.

“It’s Ethan’s life,” she reminded him softly. “It’s worth the risk.”

It was clear he didn’t want her along, but finally he nodded. “All right, she can come, but I stay close enough to make sure she doesn’t get hurt and that she gets back safely.”

“Done,” Rafe said.

The colonel offered the use of a couple more men, but Cord declined. This was Ethan’s last chance. Too many men might be worse than too few, and Cord and
Rafe believed they could handle the job better themselves.

“At least you’ll have Bradley along. He knows every nook and cranny of that prison. He spent nearly a year there before he was able to escape.”

And he had risked himself again in his efforts to save Ethan. It said a good deal about Max Bradley’s character.

“Well, that’s it, then,” Pendleton said once everything was settled. While Cord went to change and collect the gear he needed, Tory ran up to her room and began to dig through her trunks, looking for the worn, dove-gray gown she had been wearing the day she had come to the earl of Brant’s town house.

Emma hurried in to help her. “Be sure to take your cloak,” the maid reminded her, stuffing the clothes into a tapestry satchel along with a pair of brown leather shoes. Tory took the satchel and her cloak and started for the stairs.

In minutes, they were ready to leave. In the carriage on the way to the docks, the men reviewed the information Max Bradley had sent in his message and began to formulate plans. When they arrived at the ship’s berth, they found the
Nightingale
fully crewed, ready and waiting to sail.

Cord led Tory across the deck, down the ladder to the cabin they had shared the time she had stolen aboard the ship, and memories washed over her.

He had made love to her here in this cabin. He had claimed her innocence—and her heart. She would never forget the tenderness he had shown her, or the pleasure. She had never thought to marry him, never thought to fall so completely in love with him.

Never known how badly it would hurt to lose him.

“I can stay in the cabin next door,” Cord said. “Or if you are worried what the crew might think, I can stay in here and sleep on the floor.”

She swallowed. Once they returned, he would leave her. She should distance herself, protect her heart from more pain. But she wanted this time with him, wanted these last few precious hours.

“I would rather you stayed in here.”

For an instant, Cord’s tawny gaze searched her face. Then he simply nodded. “Very well.”

Brushing past her, he tossed his satchel onto the berth, turned and strode out the door. He was dressed as he had been before, in snug brown breeches, knee-high boots and a full-sleeved white lawn shirt.

He paused for a moment in the doorway. “I’ll give you some time to get settled, then come back and take you down to the galley. We’ll need to go over what will happen when we get to the prison.”

Tory nodded. But she was more concerned with what would happen when Cord returned to the tiny cabin they would share for the hours that lay ahead.

Cord gripped the starboard rail, letting the cold night wind wash over him. The last thing he needed was another torturous night in company with his wife. He didn’t want to hear her soft breathing as she slept, didn’t want to watch the rise and fall of her breasts, or remember the silkiness of her skin as he had taken the rose-tinted crest into his mouth.

His body hardened with desire just to think of the night ahead, and he knew the throbbing ache would not leave him.

Still, part of him craved her nearness, felt almost
sick with need of her. Cord tried to imagine Victoria with Fox, but the image would not form and his desire for her remained. He wanted her. Worse yet, he loved her.

His fingers tightened around the rail. He needed to think of Ethan, not Victoria. His cousin’s life was at stake and Cord vowed he would not let the bloody damned French take it without a fight.

Once the ship was under way and the three of them were settled, Cord returned to his cabin to escort Victoria down to the galley. Their meeting took several hours, but the plan they developed seemed a good one. According to Bradley’s information, there were only two guards at the front gate of the prison, though a number of others prowled the corridors in front of the cells.

If Victoria could succeed in drawing the guards’ attention, then he, Rafe and Bradley could get inside. Once they were there, they would post a guard to give them cover. There was a good chance they could get Ethan out without raising the alarm.

Confident each understood their roles, Rafe and Victoria had retired to their cabins. Cord had stayed on deck, dreading the moment he would have to be alone with her. But the night was slipping away and he needed to get some rest. Perhaps the cold floor would numb his lust enough he could manage a couple of hours of sleep.

Cord sighed as he turned from the rail and started toward the ladder leading down to his cabin.

Tory couldn’t sleep. With every creak and groan of the ship, her eyes flashed to the door in search of Cord. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come down to the cabin?

Their meeting in the galley had ended sometime earlier. The ship was quiet now, except for the heavy spray of the ocean against the hull, the shrill of the wind, and the clatter and clang of the rigging.

The seas were getting rougher. The
Nightingale
plunged into one trough after another, then battled its way up the opposite side. But the captain remained optimistic that the storm would not worsen. He kept the ship under sail and driving toward their destination—the inlet off the coast of France just south of Calais that they had used before.

Tory stared up at the ceiling above her berth, thinking of Cord, her heartbeat increasing at the sound of the cabin door creaking open. In the low-burning light of a ship’s lantern swinging in the passage, she caught a glimpse of her husband’s beloved face as he stepped inside and closed the door.

She heard the rustle of fabric, then the sound of his knee-high boots hitting the floor. He swore at the noise, magnified in the confines of the cabin.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“You should be. We’ll reach France on the morrow and begin our journey inland. You’re going to need your strength.” He reached up and pulled a blanket down from a shelf above the teakwood bureau, began to spread it out on the floor.

“The floor is cold,” she said, surprised at the words but somehow unable to stop herself. “The bed is wide enough for both of us to share.”

He turned to her and she thought that his breathing seemed to quicken. “I don’t think that is a very good idea.”

She remembered the way she had practically at
tacked him the last time they had made love and was glad for the darkness that hid the color in her cheeks.

“You will be perfectly safe,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice. “I promise I won’t ravage you, my lord.”

She could almost imagine the faint curve of his lips.

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” But he finished undressing and climbed up beside her and she scooted closer to the wall to give him room.

Her heart was pounding. She prayed he could not tell. They lay there in silence, careful not to touch each other. Each time he shifted on the bed, Tory imagined the muscles moving beneath his skin, the sinews in his long legs flexing and tightening. She wanted him to turn to her, to reach out and touch her. She ached for him so badly she almost relented and begged him to believe the truth.