The Bride's Necklace (11 page)

There were sacrifices to be made in any game.

She only wished it didn’t have to hurt so badly.

Over the last few days, Cord had kept himself busy. After his conversation with Rafe, he’d made a second fruitless trip to the magistrate’s, then paid another visit to Jonas McPhee, instructing the runner to look for any information that might be useful against the baron, hoping it would provide the leverage he needed to free Claire.

He had hired the best attorney in London to look for
avenues his position as her soon-to-be brother-in-law might supply. He had arranged for a special license and bought a wedding gift. A very special wedding gift.

Wedding.
Cord frowned at the thought. He had wanted to marry an heiress. Instead, he was wedding a penniless young woman—his
housekeeper,
for God’s sake! Part of him couldn’t help feeling angry and duped. But the deed was done and there was no changing the result.

Which was why he had returned to Harwood Hall for his necessary but entirely distasteful meeting with the baron. Cord sighed as he crossed the bedchamber he had been assigned, mentally replaying the conversation they’d had that afternoon.

They had met in Harwood’s study. Cord had begun by stating his interest in a match between him and Victoria, which seemed to surprise the baron.

“When you requested this meeting, I thought perhaps you meant to make an offer for Claire.”

Harwood assumed every man found her as irresistible as he did. Which only proved what a fool he was.

“Your younger daughter is extremely beautiful, as you well know, but she’s young and incredibly naive. It’s your older daughter who has captured my interest.”

Harwood lifted a small porcelain pitcher off one of the Sheraton tables and held it up to examine it. As he had been before, the baron was dressed a bit foppishly, in a blue satin tailcoat and ruffled black cravat. Whatever Cord thought of him, it was obvious he thought himself a handsome man.

“I’m not sure that is a good idea. Victoria is young and not yet completely prepared to become a wife.”

Words Cord translated as,
She runs my household without payment and I enjoy having her under my control.

“Yes, well, she is nineteen, after all, and we both know there are extenuating circumstances. A young woman who has lived unchaperoned in a bachelor household. Sooner or later rumors are bound to surface. Should the gossipmongers get wind of the story, her reputation will be ruined. Yours and mine will suffer as well. A marriage between us would head off any possible scandal.”

Harwood set the pitcher back down on the table. Both men were standing. Neither wanted to be at a disadvantage.

“I shall have to give it some thought.”

“You do that. While you’re at it, you might also give thought to the fact that you’ve another daughter to consider. As an earl and Claire’s brother-in-law, the younger girl’s reputation will also be protected.”

Harwood toyed with the cuff on his satin coat. “There is still the matter of the necklace. Victoria must remain here long enough to make reparation.”

Cord had known this was coming and he was prepared. “I’ll gladly pay for the necklace. As her husband, I would, of course, be responsible for her debts.”

Harwood’s face immediately lit with interest, as Cord had been certain it would. For the next half hour, they haggled over the value, Cord finally agreeing to the baron’s ridiculous claims of the pearls’ worth.

“There is no limit to the value of such an object,” Harwood said. “It is irreplaceable.”

Not entirely, Cord thought, since he had already managed to find and purchase the necklace himself. Victoria had mentioned the moneylender in Dartfield
who had bought the pearls for a miserly sum. As there was only one such man in the village, it hadn’t been difficult to track the necklace down. Paying far more than the moneylender had for the piece, he had eventually struck a deal.

As Victoria’s future husband, righting the matter of the theft was the honorable thing to do, and at first Cord had meant to simply return the necklace to the baron. In the end, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he had decided to keep it.

As he watched the gleam of greed enter Harwood’s dark eyes, he was glad of his decision. The beautiful antique necklace was far too precious to belong to such a man.

“You are willing to pay me for the necklace. Are you also willing to take Victoria without a dowry?”

Cord’s jaw tightened. Financially, he had done very well in the last few years. But he had vowed to increase his family’s worth to an even greater extent. He hated the reminder of his failure.

“I am not asking for one.”

In the end, Harwood agreed to the marriage almost gleefully. More, Cord figured, from the realization that once Victoria was gone, he would be rid of Claire’s watch-dog rather than any real concern for the girls’ reputations.

Cord paced the bedchamber, the memory slipping away as he sipped the brandy that had been left for him on a silver tray atop the bureau. The room he’d been provided was surprisingly nice, though the dark green damask draperies were far from new and the counterpane slightly worn. Still, everything was clean and the furniture well polished. Victoria’s doing, he imagined, trying not to be amused.

He drew back the counterpane, pulled back the freshly washed linens and was surprised to see a small white note, carefully folded and sealed, lying on his pillow. He picked up the message, broke the seal and skimmed the feminine, finely penned script.

As the words sank in, images of Victoria, naked and writhing beneath him, swam into his head. Desire pulsed through him. Heat pooled heavy in his groin and he went hard beneath his robe.

Sweet Jesus.
She had only reluctantly agreed to the marriage. Knowing how stubborn she could be, he hadn’t expected such a reversal, but he was glad to see that she had come to accept her situation, and thinking of the way she had returned his kiss he knew her desire for him was not feigned. She wanted him. And God knew he wanted her.

It was getting late. Cord blew out the lamp beside the bed and crossed the Aubusson carpet to the door. Barefoot and naked beneath the robe, he checked to be certain no one saw him, then stepped out into the hall. His blood was pounding, his arousal almost painful.

Cord reached Victoria’s bedchamber and quietly opened the door.

T
he wind blew noisily outside the brick house, but still Tory could hear his familiar footsteps striding down the hall. She pressed her ear against the door and listened to the soft closing of the door to her sister’s bedchamber. Her pulse was racing, thundering in her ears. And there was a soft ache in her heart.

You have no choice,
a little voice said.

Claire would be better off with the earl. With him, she would be safe. And Tory believed that Cord was a good man, the sort of man who would be kind to Claire. She thought that he would be patient with her sister, give her time to adjust to the idea of marriage. She remembered how gentle he had been the night that they had made love.

The pain expanded, seemed to fill her chest. Tory ignored it. Cord would be furious at being bested, but she didn’t believe he would take it out on Claire.

And like most of the men of his class, having a wife wouldn’t necessarily change his life. The earl had several estates. Perhaps he could remain in the city and
leave Claire in the country. Tory could come for long visits and Claire would be happy there.

Tory told herself all those things as she stepped out into the hall. She said them again as she moved along the corridor, holding up a small brass lamp to light the way. The master’s suite was just down the hall. It wouldn’t take much to wake the baron.

Tory took a deep, steadying breath, opened Claire’s door and started to scream.

Bloody hell!
Cord jerked away from the figure asleep in the bed and whirled around. Victoria stood in the doorway dressed in her night rail, long brown hair plaited into a single thick braid. She was shouting, pointing her finger at him, bringing half the servants down the corridor at a dead run, led by no less than the baron himself.

Cord turned back toward the bed, his mind spinning, trying to grasp what was happening. A sleepy-eyed Claire jerked upright and stared at him with a completely bewildered expression.

If you want to marry someone, marry Claire. She is the one who needs you.
In an instant, Cord realized what Victoria had done.

His jaw clamped, his fury so great he felt as if the top of his head might blow off. He wanted to strangle Tory. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. He wanted to shout at her until his voice went hoarse.

The baron had reached the doorway. He stood there in his nightclothes, a half-dozen servants clustered behind him in the hall.

“I—I can’t believe it,” Tory said, a hand dramatically at her throat. “I heard a noise in Claire’s room. I opened
the door and…and there was the earl, leaning over Claire’s bed.”

She wouldn’t look at him, just kept her eyes on her stepfather’s mottled, angry face. “He has compromised her, my lord. Ruined her completely. Her reputation will be in tatters.”

“Tory…?” Claire’s voice trembled.

Victoria cast her sister a soothing glance. “It’s all right, darling. Everything is going to be fine.”

Cord turned his attention from Claire to Victoria and some of his temper receded. He could see the desperation in her face, her terrible fear for Claire. And there was something more, something of pain and regret, something that caused an odd pain in his chest.

She was trying to save her sister, no matter the cost to herself. What the baron would do to her if he discovered her scheme didn’t bear thinking about.

Cord went over all that had happened since his arrival at the house. He had made a calculated move in forcing the marriage and Victoria had neatly countered, outmaneuvering him completely. He couldn’t help a hint of admiration.

He could make this easy for her or hard. He looked from her to the baron, saw the ruthless glint in his eyes, the fury barely contained.

“Miss Whiting is entirely correct,” Cord began. “Entering her sister’s room happened completely by accident, I assure you. I merely forgot which bedchamber was mine. Still, the damage has been done. I shall, of course, do the honorable thing.”

The baron bristled, his tall, whipcord body snapping completely erect. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Oh, but it is. I shall simply marry Claire instead of Victoria. The result will be the same. As an earl and Victoria’s brother-in-law, your older daughter’s reputation will also be protected.”

“I—I can’t possibly allow it. Claire is too young, too naive. Besides, nothing happened—you said so yourself. Victoria arrived in time.”

Cord looked over the baron’s shoulder, saw the row of servants gawking in at them. His chest was exposed in the vee of his robe, his legs and feet bare. “I don’t see you have any choice.”

The baron’s gaze followed his, and the man’s face turned redder than it was already. Cord tossed Victoria such a cold smile her lips trembled.

“Arrangements will need to be made,” he said. “You may leave that to me. Good night, ladies.”

He brushed past the baron, tipped his head to the servants and continued back to his room. His temper rose again, climbed until he was seething, so furious it was difficult to think. Victoria had duped him, made a fool of him again.

He wouldn’t stand for it. If he was trapped, then by God, so was she!

His mind whirled, spun with possible solutions. One stood out from the rest. He latched on to it with grim determination, and the edge of his mouth faintly curved. She thought she had won the game, but the match was far from over.

It might take several tricky moves, but when the play was ended, Cord intended to possess the queen.

The London weather shifted, grew damp and still, casting a thick, sooty pall over the city. There wasn’t
much time, Cord knew. Every minute Tory and Claire remained at Harwood Hall put them in danger. He prayed the not-so-veiled threats he had made against the baron would keep the man in line until the wedding.

Cord paced the floor of the duke of Sheffield’s study, a library two-stories high with walls lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound books. Two brass-and-frosted-glass lamps hung down over a long, ornately carved wooden table lined with high-backed chairs. Sheffield’s desk sat in the corner, surrounded by comfortable leather chairs.

“What time is it?” Cord looked up at the ormolu clock on the mantel.

“Ten minutes past the last time you asked. Take it easy. The boy will be here.”

It seemed like hours, but soon there he was. Blond and fair, rosy cheeked and slightly nervous, a little gangly and amazingly shy. At twenty-four, Percival Chezwick hadn’t completely grown into his narrow face and lanky frame. Cord thought that once he did, he would be an extremely handsome man.

The duke welcomed him in. “Good afternoon, Percy. Thank you for coming.”

“Good afternoon, your grace…your lordship.” In the weeks after the dinner party, Percy had dropped by Cord’s town house three or four times, ostensibly to see him on one matter or another, but in truth just to catch a glimpse of Claire.

Once Cord had found them talking together, both of them blushing and stuttering. Percy had caught Cord’s hard look of warning, excused himself and left the house.

The boy appeared nervous even now, as if Cord had summoned him there just for having secret thoughts about Claire.

“Thank you for coming, Chez.”

The use of the familiar nickname seemed to relax him. “It’s always good to see you both.”

Sheffield beckoned him farther into the room. “Actually, our invitation was for more than just a casual visit. Cord has a matter he wishes to discuss. He thought you might need a little moral support, which is why you are here instead of at his house. He believes, once you hear the tale, you might decide to help.”

“Of course. Whatever I can do.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” Cord warned. “This matter is the sort that could affect the rest of your life.”

A fine blond eyebrow went up. “You have certainly managed to pique my curiosity.”

“I’m glad to hear it…since it concerns a certain lady of your acquaintance. Her name is Claire. I believe you know who I mean.”

The rose in his cheeks went brighter. “Your chambermaid?”

“Yes, well, as it turns out, Chez, she is not a chambermaid at all, but the daughter of a baron. That is where the trouble lies.”

Worry entered the young man’s features. “Has something happened? Has something happened to Claire?”

“Not yet,” Cord said. “But if we don’t act quickly, there is every chance that something will.” He motioned toward the chairs grouped in front of the desk. “Why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Sheffield offered. “I think you’re going to need it.”

Percy swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Thank you. Perhaps I will.”

It was nearly two hours later that Cord and Rafe were alone in the massive study again.

“Well, I guess that’s settled,” Rafe said.

“Looks that way.”

Rafe chuckled. “The lad was positively beaming. He’s obviously smitten with the girl. He couldn’t seem to believe his good fortune when you suggested a match between them. I thought he was going to come out of his chair when he learned what Harwood had in mind for her.”

“Chez will have to speak to his father, but with your support as well as mine, I don’t think Kersey will give his son any trouble.”

“What about the girl?” Rafe asked. “Will she agree?”

“She’s extremely naive, but she isn’t stupid. She’ll understand that she has no other choice. She can’t stay there in the house—not once Victoria is gone. And she seemed to like Percy.”

“He won’t push her.”

“No.” Cord had explained how innocent Claire was and Chez had agreed to give her all the time she needed, once they were married, to accept her role as his wife.

Rafe smiled. “As shy as he is, he may never get the deed accomplished.”

Cord chuckled softly in agreement. They talked a bit longer, then Sheffield and Cord both rose from their chairs.

“Well, I suppose you have any number of things yet to do,” the duke said.

Cord nodded. “Sarah is taking care of the details, a small wedding at Forest Glen, just a few friends and family. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He grinned. “I can scarcely believe you’re finally about to get leg-shackled.”

Some of the satisfaction Cord had been feeling slid away. “No,” he said darkly. “I can’t believe it myself.”

It was a dismal day. It had been a dismal week, overcast and windy, the baron bursting into flights of temper, condemning Lord Brant as a lecher, all but pulling out his already thinning black hair. At least he hadn’t figured out the truth of what had happened—that it was Tory who had manipulated the night’s events.

Wishing she could block the memory, she began to climb the stairs leading up to the third floor of the house. Carrying a small brass lamp, she continued up another, narrower flight that led to the attic, determined to complete the task she had set for herself.

The wedding would take place two days hence. The thought made her stomach churn. Claire had cried and begged not to marry the earl, but Tory had finally convinced her.

“Claire, darling, you must do this. It is the only way that you will be safe. I know there is little you’ve learned about…about what happens between a man and woman, but you remember what happened the night the baron came to your room. You know he meant to hurt you. He’s an evil man, Claire. Deep down, you know that is the reason you are afraid of him.”

Her sister’s lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “I hate him. I wish Mama had never married him.”

“So do I, dearest, but once you’re away from him, the earl will take care of you. He’ll be kind to you.” He would be, she told herself. Cord had a terrible temper,
but Tory had never been truly afraid of him. And she didn’t believe he would ever hurt Claire.

Her throat tightened. She loved him, but it was Claire he was being forced to marry.

“What about you, Tory? What will happen to you if you stay here?”

A shudder rippled through her. She had no idea what Harwood might do. The man was vicious and unpredictable. Still, she was far more able to defend herself than Claire.

“I’ll be all right,” she replied. “In time, I’ll find a way to make a life for myself.”

They had spoken only yesterday morning, yet it seemed more like weeks. She couldn’t keep track of time, couldn’t seem to concentrate.

Still carrying the lamp, she reached the top of the stairs and opened the door to the attic. Only a dim afternoon light shone through the narrow dormer windows. As she entered the room, the lamp cast an eerie glow on the walls, and dust motes swirled up from her feet.

She had come in search of her mother’s trunks, used each year when her parents had journeyed to London. On their return, the trunks were often stuffed with gifts and toys they had purchased for their daughters.

After her mother’s funeral, Tory had meant to go through them, sort through the clothing the servants had packed away, give some of the gowns to the vicar for distribution to the poor. But the thought of sifting through her mother’s possessions had simply been too painful. She had never quite worked up the courage.

Now Claire was getting married. A young woman should have something of her mother’s to wear on her
wedding day. Tory ignored the pain that came with the thought and continued farther into the attic.

Her mother’s jewelry was stored in one of the trunks. Her stepfather had taken anything of real value, but pretty pins and brooches, things her mother had liked to wear, remained. Tory thought of the pearl-and-diamond necklace she had stolen and imagined how lovely it would have looked at Claire’s throat. The necklace was gone, but hopefully she would find something else for her sister to wear.

Tory tried not to think of the man Claire would wed. She didn’t want to remember how quickly Cord had accepted the situation he found himself in and acquiesced to marrying Claire. She tried to ignore a feeling of betrayal.

After all, it was her fault this was happening—she was the one responsible, not the earl.

Still, it hurt. She had thought that he cared for her at least a little.