The Bride's Necklace (19 page)

Cord leaned back in the carriage seat, his chest aching, his stomach tied in knots. It was blazingly clear he had committed the unpardonable. He had allowed himself to fall in love.

It was a stupid, idiotic thing to do.

The only thing worse would be to stay married to a woman who didn’t love him in return.

V
ictoria hadn’t seen Cord all day. Supper was over and he still had not come home. She was beginning to worry. A storm was coming in and she didn’t like the idea of him being out in the rain. Then she heard masculine footfalls in the entry and felt a wave of relief.

She walked in to greet him, noticed the hard look on his face, and her relief turned into a sharp stab of fear.

“What is it, Cord? What’s wrong?”

“I need a word with you. Perhaps upstairs would be best.”

Her heart was beating oddly. She had never seen quite that look on his face. She climbed the stairs ahead of him, went into her room, and he followed her in and closed the door. She searched his eyes for any sign of what he might be thinking, but they remained shuttered and hard.

“You might want to sit down.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Her legs were shaking. Something was dreadfully wrong and she couldn’t imagine what it was. She walked over to the small settee in the sitting room and sank down onto the seat.

“I’ve been to see a man named Jonas McPhee, an investigator of sorts. I’ve worked with him a number of times before.”

“I believe you mentioned him…the man who discovered that Claire and I were Miles Whiting’s stepdaughters.”

“That is correct.”

“Why…why did you go see him?”

“There were things I needed to know…things I hoped Mr. McPhee would be able to find out for me.”

Dear God, had he discovered that she had broken into Sir Winifred’s town house? Had McPhee found out she had been with Julian Fox? She told herself to stay calm, perhaps that wasn’t it at all.

“What sort of things did you wish to know?”

Cord walked over and poured himself a brandy. “Would you like one? You’re looking a little pale.”

She moistened her lips. “I am fine.” But she wasn’t fine at all.

Cord took a drink of his brandy, swirled the amber liquid in his glass. He was so calm. Unnervingly so. Her fear inched up another notch.

“I had some questions about my wife.”

“Your wife,” she repeated, barely able to force out the words.

“Yes, and in that regard, McPhee was very helpful. To begin with he informed me you were never at Harwood Hall.”

Her stomach turned completely over. “That isn’t true!”

“Isn’t it? Jonas spoke to the butler as well as the housekeeper and one of the chambermaids. You were never there, Victoria.”

“The servants…th-they are my friends. They were sworn to keep their silence.”

He swirled his brandy. “And then there was the matter of the night I was away in Lemming Grove. You were gone that night, as well.”

She fought to draw in air. How had McPhee found out? How could he possibly have known? “I can explain.”

“Really? Why don’t you, then?”

Why wasn’t he shouting? Why wasn’t he raging at her, telling her how he meant to throttle her or at least lock her up in her room? This deadly calm was worse than anything she had ever faced before.

She took a deep breath, released it slowly. “This is all very easily explained. When I was at Harwood Hall, Greta—that is the housekeeper you mentioned—she said something about the town house my family once owned in London. She said that perhaps Mother’s journal might still be somewhere inside.”

“Ah—the elusive journal. I should have guessed.”

“The town house is in Greenbower Street, which isn’t all that far. I knew you wouldn’t approve, so I decided to go by myself. I left here just before midnight.” She looked at Cord.

Should she mention Julian Fox? If she did and he didn’t already know, he would be even more upset than he was already. Her mind spun, trying to think if McPhee could have somehow found out, thinking she owed it to Julian to keep her silence.

“I—I walked the few blocks to the town house and I was lucky enough to find a window open behind the house.” She tried to smile. “My stepfather sold the place to a man named Sir Winifred Manning, but Sir
Winifred was out of town. I made a search of the residence, but—”

“But again, unfortunately, you came up empty-handed.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a shame, Victoria. Perhaps if you’d had someone along to help you, you would have been successful. Someone, perhaps, like Julian Fox.”

She nearly swooned. For an instant, dark circles swirled in front of her eyes. Maybe for a moment she did swoon, for when she opened her eyes, Cord was pressing his glass of brandy against her lips.

“Take a drink, Victoria. In a second or two, you’ll feel better.”

She swallowed, felt the quick burn of the liquor as it raced down her throat. “This…this isn’t what you think. Julian and I—we met simply by chance. He lives in Mayfair, you see, and he was in his carriage, on his way home. He saw me on the street and he wouldn’t leave until I told him what I was planning to do and then he wouldn’t let me go alone.”

“I’m sure Mr. Fox is extremely protective.”

“Yes, he is. We are friends, after all. He didn’t want anything untoward to happen to me.”

He was standing over her, dark and imposing, looking down at her as if she were someone he barely knew. She had to reach him. She couldn’t stand the remote, completely unreachable expression on his face.

She closed the distance between them, took the glass from his hand, reached up and slid her arms around his neck. The fragrance of his cologne drifted over her. His dark hair teased her fingers. She pressed her face
into the hollow between his neck and shoulder and felt the rapid pulse beating there.

Not nearly as calm as he seemed.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done it. I should have told you the truth but I was afraid of what you would say. I knew you would be angry.” She leaned toward him, pressed her lips to the side of his neck, raised on tiptoe and kissed him. Cord made no response, just stood there unmoving, his hands hanging limp at his sides.

It was frightening.

Terrifying.

She kissed him again, coaxed his lips apart and slid her tongue over his. She pressed herself more fully against him and felt the reassuring hardness of his arousal. He wanted her. Just as he always did.

“Victoria…” he said, and there was anguish in his voice. Dear God, what had she done? She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She loved him. Somehow she had to make amends.

“I’m so sorry, Cord.” She pressed small butterfly kisses to the corners of his mouth, kissed him deeply again. Using the little erotic tricks he had taught her, she slid her tongue over his, teasing him, urging him to respond. “I should have told you the truth. I wish so badly that I had. I won’t ever lie to you again. I swear it.”

He seemed not to hear her. His body remained rigid and unyielding. She thought he meant to push her away.

Her hands were shaking. Frantically, she slid his coat off his shoulders, worked the buttons on his silver waistcoat, pushed it off and tossed it away. Capturing his face between her palms, she dragged his mouth down to hers for another scorching kiss.

Still, he seemed reluctant. She tugged his shirt from the waistband of his breeches and hastily unfastened the buttons, desperate to touch him, to break through his terrifying calm. He wasn’t helping, but he didn’t resist when she pulled off his shirt and pressed her mouth against the bare skin just above his heart.

She could taste the salty tang of him, feel the ripple of muscle and sinew when he moved. He was breathing hard, his wide chest heaving in and out. She ran her tongue around a flat copper nipple, used her teeth to nip the end.

Still, he didn’t reach for her.

Four tiny buttons closed up the front of her high-waisted gown. She swiftly unbuttoned them, lifted one of his big hands and slid it inside her chemise to cup a breast. Her nipple hardened and she heard Cord groan.

“Victoria, this isn’t going to change—”

She silenced him with a kiss, even more frightened than before. She took his hand and led him toward the bed, urged him to sit down on the edge. He seemed so weary, too exhausted to protest when she knelt and removed his shoes, then began to work the buttons at the front of his breeches. His shaft sprang free, thick and swollen, more eager for her than he seemed to be. In minutes, she had stripped him of his clothes and removed her own.

Still, he didn’t reach for her.

Dear God, he had always been so passionate, so fierce in his lovemaking. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. She kissed him and kissed him, hoping he could feel her love for him, praying she could somehow heal the pain she had caused him.

She nearly wept when she felt his hands on her breasts,
giving in to his desire for her at last. His mouth followed his hands and he began to suckle her there, filling her with heat and need and an overwhelming love for him.

Tory arched her back, giving him better access. When he made no further move to take her, she blinked against the tears that burned her eyes, urged him back on the bed and followed him down, kissing him and kissing him, determined to show him how much she loved him.

Tory gasped as his big hands wrapped around her waist and he lifted her and settled her astride him. His eyes found hers and the pain in them nearly tore her apart.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “So sorry.”

He whispered her name and the sound, filled with such sadness, was more alarming than anything that had gone before. Reaching up, she pulled the pins from her hair, let it tumble down around her bare shoulders. Cord lifted a hand and ran his fingers through it, spreading it around her.

“I always loved your hair,” he said, and she thought she heard a catch in his voice.

Lifting her again, he eased himself inside her, lowering her slowly, until he filled her completely. He was joined with her, part of her, and no matter what happened, she knew he always would be. Her hair swung forward, enveloping them in a silky cocoon as she bent her head and kissed him. She loved him. She wanted to give him the kind of pleasure he had always given to her.

She drew herself up, then slowly sank back down, trying to find the rhythm, determined to please him. She could feel the muscles in his body tighten, feel the strength of him each time she moved.

Her own pleasure built. Heat and need rushed through her, mixed with her desire and her fear of losing him. Cord gripped her hips, began to thrust deeply inside her, and pleasure washed through her, quaked through her limbs. Love for him swelled in her heart. Combined with his powerful thrusts, it sent her over the edge.

Seconds later, Cord followed her to release. Limp and sated, she sank down on his chest, praying that at last he would forgive her.

For a moment, she must have fallen asleep. When she awakened, Cord stood next to the bed, almost fully dressed. He fastened the buttons on his cuffs and dragged his jacket on over his waistcoat.

“That wasn’t necessary, Victoria,” he said coolly, his maddening calm back in place. “But I’ll admit it made for a pleasant parting interlude.”

The fear returned, so strong it threatened to choke her. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about ending this sham of a marriage. The paperwork to begin annulment proceedings is already under way. If all goes well, in a few short months, both of us will be free.”

“You’re…you’re going to set aside our marriage?”

“You should be pleased, sweeting. Once you gain your freedom, you can have your Mr. Fox.”

She swallowed, tried to make her mind work, struggled against the hot burn of tears. “I don’t want Julian. I never have. I told you, we are only just friends.”

Cord straightened his jacket and shot his cuffs. “I wish you the best, my dear, I truly do.” Turning away from her, he started for the door.

“Cord, wait!” Tory dragged the sheet around her and
raced after him, frantically gripped his arm to stop him before he escaped. “Please don’t do this. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you. I should have trusted you with the truth. I…I love you, Cord.”

His golden eyes turned to flint. “Odd that you never thought to say so before. Perhaps being a countess holds more appeal than I thought.”

“I don’t care about your title! I never did!”

A corner of his mouth edged up. “Lucky for Mr. Fox.” And then he closed the door.

Tory collapsed on the floor in front of the door in a tangle of bedsheets and chestnut hair. Great sobs tore from her throat and shook her body. She cried for hours, cried until she had no more tears. In the room next door, she could hear her husband moving around, speaking to his valet, then the closing of the door. He was leaving her, setting aside their marriage.

He could do it. He was an earl and a powerful man.

And why shouldn’t he? She had lied to him from the moment she had met him. Lied to him time and time again. The years she had spent with her stepfather had made her wary of other people and particularly of men.

But she had come to trust her husband. And she loved him more than life itself. She had wanted to make him jealous, wanted to make him love her in return. Now he believed she had betrayed him with Julian Fox.

She had to prove her innocence, had to find a way to convince him.

She would ask Julian to help her, to explain to Cord that nothing had happened. Surely Cord would believe him. But Julian had left London to visit an ailing relative in York. She had no idea when he might return, and
even if he did, she wasn’t sure what would happen should the two men come face-to-face.

Thoughts swirled like flotsam round and round inside her head. She had to think clearly, had to figure out which path to take. She was madly in love with her husband and she couldn’t bear to lose him.

Cord planned to leave town, to spend some time at Riverwoods, to forget Victoria and his failure as a husband. At the moment, he simply wanted out of the house, away from his wife, away from the memory of her kisses, of her softness, of how sweet she had felt in his arms.

Grabbing his high beaver hat on the way out the door, he climbed aboard his carriage and headed straight for his club. For the next several hours, he sat by himself and quietly got drunk.

It was sometime after midnight that he stumbled upstairs into one of the guest rooms, a place he could stay without speculation as to why he hadn’t gone home.