The Bride's Necklace (5 page)

Teddy grinned and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “I love puppies. ’Specially little black fuzzy ones.”

Tory smiled. “Come on, then.” Still holding on to his hand, she started leading him through the garden. “Why don’t we have a look?”

They were just walking into the shadowy interior of the carriage house, Teddy clinging to her hand, when she spotted Lord Brant on his way out.

He paused just in front of them. “Well, I see you two have become acquainted.”

Mrs. Rathbone’s words came rushing back, sending hot color into her cheeks. She wanted to shout at him, tell him the gossip was entirely his fault, but in truth it was her fault as much as his, since she never should have accepted the housekeeping job in the first place.

She kept her features bland. “Yes, we met out in the garden.” The words came out a bit sharply. She wished
she had the nerve to quit. She couldn’t possibly do that. She had to think of Claire and what would happen to them if she did. “Teddy and I have come to look at the puppies. If you will excuse us, my lord.”

But he made no effort to move, just stood exactly where he was, tall and broad-shouldered enough to easily block their way.

“I heard the coachman’s mongrel had a litter. If you don’t mind the company, I would enjoy seeing them myself.”

Oh, she minded. She minded a very great deal. The servants were already gossiping about them. Seeing them together would only fuel the wagging tongues.

Still, she could scarcely order him out of his own carriage house. She and Teddy started forward and the earl fell in beside her. She stiffened at the feel of his warm hand settling at her waist, guiding her through the shadowy interior, past a shiny black carriage parked at the far end of the building.

She could hear the faint rustle of her skirt against his leg and her heart kicked up. When his arm lightly brushed her breast as he helped her through the doorway into another, smaller room filled with harnesses and hay, a rush of heat slid into her stomach.

They reached the enclosure where the puppies lay sleeping next to their mother, a thin, black-and-white-spotted hound, but the earl didn’t move away. She tried to widen the distance between them, but there simply wasn’t room.

“They’re only a few days old,” he said softly, his warm breath fanning her cheek. Embarrassingly, she trembled.

“Could I hold one?” Teddy asked, staring down at the mongrel pups as if they were purebred.

“They’re too little yet,” Brant said, reaching down to affectionately ruffle the little boy’s dark hair. “Perhaps the next time you visit.”

“Do you think I could have one?”

The earl chuckled softly, and Tory felt an odd lift in her stomach. “If your mother says it’s all right. Why don’t you go in and ask her?”

Teddy grinned up at him, turned and tore out of the carriage house, running pell-mell back inside and leaving her alone in the shadows with the earl.

“I—it is time I went back in. I have a great deal of work yet to do.”

“You’re looking a little flushed,” he said, his golden eyes fixed on her face. “Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Temple?”

He was standing so near she could measure the beats of his heart, study the sensual curve of his bottom lip, see the way his mouth faintly lifted in one corner.

“It’s…it’s a bit close in here. I believe I could use a breath of air.”

His lips curved even more. “Of course.” He stepped away from her so quickly she nearly lost her balance. The earl’s hand shot out to steady her. “You seem a little faint. Here, let me help you.”

“No! I mean…I’m fine. Really I am.”

“At least let me help you outside.”

Sweet Lord, Brant’s help was the last thing she needed. Mostly, she just wanted to get as far away from him as she possibly could. Why did that seem such a difficult task?

She tried to ignore his nearness, the strength of the hand at her waist, guiding her out of the mews, into the sunlight behind the fountain in the garden, but she
couldn’t dismiss the flush in her cheeks or the soft heat in her stomach.

She felt a little better outside, a little more in control. The earl very politely stepped away.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, much, thank you.”

“Then I shall leave you to your work. Good afternoon, Mrs. Temple.”

Tory watched him walk away, her heart still pounding, her knees weak beneath her skirt. The man had played the perfect gentleman and yet she could barely catch her breath. Dear God, if he did, indeed, have intentions toward Claire—

Tory walked back to the house, more worried about her sister than she had ever been before.

A summer storm rolled over the city, thick black clouds blocking the thin slice of moon. Thunder rumbled outside the mullioned windows as Tory made her way through the shadowy darkness to the earl’s study. The grandfather clock in the entry began the twelve chimes of midnight.

It was the Season in London. Lady Aimes was attending a house party with friends and, as was his custom, the earl had gone out for the evening.

Earlier, most of the servants had retired to their rooms, Tory among them. As she had lain in bed, she told herself to stay exactly where she was, to ignore the earl’s latest chess move. But the challenge was simply too great.

As soon as the house fell silent, she pulled her quilted wrapper over her night rail, picked up the whale-oil lamp in her sitting room and headed for the stairs.

Now as she entered the study, she could see the chessboard, the glow of her lamp casting the tall ebony and ivory pieces into shadow. She ignored the cold wooden floor beneath her bare feet, quietly made her way to the board and seated herself in one of the high-backed chairs.

Setting the lamp down on the table, Tory studied the board, barely aware of the rustle of branches against the brick walls outside, the glimpse of moonlight between passing clouds. Gazing at the pieces, she knew a moment of satisfaction. The earl had taken the bait. The trap she had laid had won her his castle.

She picked up a pawn to capture the piece, then realized that in doing so she was leaving an opening that could net him her queen. Tory grinned. The man was no fool. She would have to be more careful. She was deep in thought, planning the strategy that would win her the game, when a husky voice rumbled into her awareness.

“Perhaps you should take the castle after all. There is always the chance your opponent will fail to see the danger in which you’ve left your queen.”

Tory’s hand froze above the chessboard. Turning very slowly in her seat, she looked up into the face of the earl. “I don’t…I don’t think that he will. I think that he—you—are a very good player.”

“Do you? Then that is the reason you ignored my wishes and continued to play after I specifically told you not to?”

Tory eased up out of her chair, hoping to feel less at a disadvantage. She realized her mistake the instant she was on her feet, for only a few inches separated her from the earl. He didn’t back away, just kept her pinned there between the chair and the solid wall of his chest.

“Well, Mrs. Temple? Is that the reason you disobeyed my orders? Because I am such a very good player?”

She swallowed. He was a tall, well-built man and she knew firsthand how very volatile his temper. She had learned from her stepfather the consequences of angering such a man. Still, for some strange reason, she wasn’t afraid.

“I—I can’t exactly say why I did it. Chess is a game I enjoy. I was challenged in a way. Then you came to my room that night and I…I thought that playing again might be good for you.”

Some of the tension seeped from his shoulders. “Perhaps it has been. Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Temple? You are prepared, are you not, to make your next move?”

Her own tension eased, replaced by a different sort of nervousness. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips, running the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth. In the lamplight, the gold of his eyes seemed to darken. He watched her with such sensual awareness that a little frisson of heat sparked in her belly.

“Yes, my lord. I’m ready.” It was insane. She was barefoot and dressed in her nightclothes. It would be no small scandal if someone chanced upon them.

Unable to stop herself, knowing the risk she was taking, she sank back down in her chair, hoping her hand didn’t tremble as she reached out and picked up her bishop. She angled it along an open row of beautiful inlaid squares, and captured one of his knights.

The earl chuckled as he seated himself on the opposite side of the chessboard. “You’re certain taking the castle wouldn’t have been the smarter move?”

Her confidence returned. “Quite certain, my lord.”

The earl studied the chessboard, then moved his queen, neatly capturing one of her pawns.

The play went on. The wind howled and wrenched the leaves from the branches of the trees, but in the small circle of light in the earl of Brant’s study, Tory felt oddly protected.

She moved her castle. “I’m afraid that is check, my lord.”

Brant scowled. “Yes, so it is.”

The play continued, pawns and pieces falling as if in a savage battle. It was well past two when the final move was made.

“Checkmate, my lord.”

Instead of being angry, as she somewhat feared he might be, the earl merely laughed. He shook his head as he looked over to where she sat on the opposite side of the board.

“You continue to surprise me, Mrs. Temple.”

“I hope that means I also continue to retain my position as your housekeeper.”

One of his dark brown eyebrows went up. “Perhaps you should lose to me once in a while, simply to ensure you keep your position.”

She smiled. “I don’t think you would like that in the least.”

The earl smiled, too. “No, not in the least. I shall expect a rematch, Mrs. Temple, in the very near future.”

“I would be delighted, my lord.”

The earl rose and helped Tory to her feet. She found herself in exactly the position that she had been in before, so close she could see the deep gold of his eyes. They seemed to hold her where she stood, to fix her feet to the
carpet beneath the table. She felt his hand on her cheek, tilting her face up, then his mouth settled gently over hers.

Tory’s eyes slid closed as soft heat enveloped her. He didn’t reach for her, just continued to kiss her, his lips moving slowly over hers. He sampled and tasted, coaxed her to open for him, then slid his tongue inside. She started to tremble. Unconsciously, she reached her hand out and clutched the front of his evening coat. He made a deep sound in his throat and his arm came around her, pressing her more fully against him.

It was in that moment, as she felt the hard length of his arousal, that Tory’s senses returned, slamming into her with the force of the wind outside the window.

Breaking away, she stumbled backward, desperate to be free of him, to regain her self-control. “My lord! I—I know what you must be thinking, but you are…you are sorely mistaken if you believe that…that I… If you think for an instant that I would…would…”

“It was only a kiss, Mrs. Temple.”

Only a kiss? It felt as if her world had just turned upside down. “A kiss that shouldn’t have happened. An indiscretion that will not…not occur again.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it. I assure you I did.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. She had enjoyed it—far too much. “It isn’t proper. You are my employer and I am your housekeeper.”

“That is true. Perhaps there is something we could do to remedy that.”

What on earth was he saying? The word
doxy
popped into her head. “You aren’t…you aren’t suggesting…? You can’t possibly mean that I should…?”

Knees wobbling, she squared her shoulders and picked up the lamp. “I’m afraid I must bid you good-
night, my lord.” Turning away, she marched past him. As she crossed the study, she could feel his eyes on her, burning like fire into her nightclothes.

“Good night, Mrs. Temple,” he said as she walked out of the room.

S
tanding in the darkness of his study, Cord struck flint to tender, lighting another lamp now that Victoria had carried hers away. He smiled to think how the evening had progressed. Having returned early to the house on purpose, he had been hoping to catch out his chessboard culprit. Secretly hoping it might be Victoria Temple.

She had surprised him with her skill. And pleased him. He liked intelligent women. His cousin Sarah was bright and interesting. As had been his mother, dead now seventeen years. He could imagine passing enjoyable hours with Victoria at the chessboard—after he had spent even more enjoyable hours in the lovely lady’s bed.

Getting there, however, might not be as easy as he had imagined.

Cord walked over to the carved wooden sideboard against the wall and poured himself a brandy. He had hinted at the notion of an arrangement tonight. Surely the girl was not so naive she didn’t understand that as his mistress her situation would be immensely improved for both her and her sister.

Next time he would explain the advantages in practical, no-nonsense terms, but he had a niggling suspicion it wouldn’t do any good. Victoria Temple had principles. She was an unmarried woman, regardless of the
Mrs.
he had placed in front of her name. Sleeping with a man not her husband wasn’t something she intended to do.

Oh, she was attracted to him. He knew women well enough to know when a woman returned his interest—which he most definitely had. His
interest
yet remained hard and throbbing inside his breeches, reminding him of the soft warmth of her lips, the way they had perfectly melded with his, the way they had trembled.

His arousal strengthened, making him harder still. He wanted Victoria Temple. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had appealed to him quite so much.

Unless, of course, it was all merely an act.

Cord liked women, but he also knew how devious some women could be. No matter her upper-class manners and speech, he had found Victoria on the street. Was she playing a game, or was she truly the innocent she seemed?

For now, he would trust his instincts in that regard, follow the plan that would solve both of their problems, and begin a subtle campaign of seduction. It was, after all, in Victoria’s best interest. She had obviously been gently reared, no matter her current unfortunate circumstances. She belonged in stylish gowns, riding in a smart black carriage. And with the money he gave her, she could also provide those things for Claire.

The thought gave him pause. Just exactly who were Claire and Victoria Temple? Cord made it a policy to know the strengths and foibles of the people around
him. Perhaps he should hire a runner, see what he might find out. He would give the matter some thought.

He glanced down at the chessboard. Seduction was not so different from a game of chess, he thought, the man making a move, the woman responding, the play going back and forth until one of them was victorious. He saw himself clearly in that role, but it wouldn’t be easy. If he wanted to win the prize, he would have to plan carefully.

Cord smiled.
To the victor go the spoils.

Tory rose early the following morning, yawning behind her hand, her eyes puffy from the little sleep she had managed to get last night. Mostly, she had tossed and turned, torn between embarrassment and thinking what a fool she had made of herself in Lord Brant’s study.

Dear God, what must he think of her, allowing him such liberties? She certainly hadn’t been raised to behave that way. Her mother and father, as well as the years she had spent at Mrs. Thornhill’s Private Academy, had taught her to behave like a lady. Whatever weakness had come over her, Tory vowed it would not happen again.

With that resolve, she made her way up the servants’ stairs to the main floor of the house. She must check on the housemaids, see that the wardrobes were dusted and freshly lined with paper. She needed to see to the candle supply and be certain there was a sufficient amount of writing paper and ink.

She was passing through the entry when Timmons rushed up with the morning paper tucked beneath a short, stout arm.

“Ah, Mrs. Temple. Would you mind terribly? I’ve a
quick errand to run and I’m a bit pressed for time.” He handed her a copy of the
London Chronicle.
“His lordship likes to read the paper while he takes his morning sustenance,” he said as he dashed to the door, leaving behind the paper, and Tory with the job of seeing that his lordship got it.

And here I was hoping I would never have to face him again.
Tory sighed. Hardly realistic if she wished to retain her position. At least after last night, he knew she had no interest in becoming anything other than his housekeeper.

Timmons’s bald head flashed in the sunlight as the door closed behind him, and Tory headed for the breakfast room, a cheery salon done in shades of yellow and blue overlooking the garden. Perhaps the earl wouldn’t yet be there. If she hurried, she could leave the paper beside his plate and not have to see him.

She walked toward the door, opening the paper as she went, making a quick perusal of the headlines. Tory froze two paces outside the door.

Baron Harwood Arrives in London, Tells Strange Tale of Robbery and Attempted Murder.

Her heart jolted to a screeching halt, as did her feet, then started beating in a heavy, sluggish rhythm. According the
Chronicle,
the baron had received near-fatal head injuries during the course of a robbery at Harwood Hall, his country estate in Kent. His attacker had inflicted a great deal of pain and rendered him temporarily incapable of memory. He had only just recovered enough to proceed to London in search of the villain responsible for the deed.

There was mention of the valuable pearl necklace that had been stolen but no accusations against his step
daughters. It appeared the baron valued his reputation far too much to stir up that sort of scandal. Instead there was simply a description of the two young women he believed responsible for the crime. Unfortunately, the descriptions fit her and Claire to a T.

At least I didn’t kill him,
Tory thought with relief, then wondered with a trace of guilt if perhaps it would have been better if she had.

Just then the door to the breakfast room swung open and the earl strode out. Tory jumped, jammed the newspaper behind her back and forced herself to look up at him.

“Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Temple.” He looked down at the table. “Have you seen my morning paper? Timmons usually leaves it on the breakfast table.”

The paper seemed to burn her fingers. “No, my lord. Perhaps it is in your study. Shall I go and see?”

“I’ll go.” The minute he turned and started walking, she hurried away, hiding the newspaper in her skirts, hating to deceive him yet grateful the exchange between them had been so matter-of-fact.

At least part of her was grateful. The other part resented the fact he could look at her as if he had never pressed her up against his tall, hard-muscled body, never kissed her lips, never slid his tongue inside her—

Tory broke off, aghast at the train of her thoughts. She was a lady, no matter her current position—not one of the earl’s scarlet women. And thinking about last night was the last thing she wanted to do. Determined to put the incident behind her, she headed upstairs to find Claire, to warn her sister of the article in the paper.

Leaving London would undoubtedly be the safest course. But they had yet to receive their next pay and
what they had earned so far would barely get them out of the city.

In the end, she decided the best plan was to remain where they were, hiding virtually in plain sight, hoping no more articles would appear in the paper or that if they did, no one would equate the baron’s odd tale to their appearance in Lord Brant’s household.

Tory shuddered, praying no one would. Not only would she find herself tossed into prison, but the baron would, at last, have complete and utter control of Claire.

Three days passed. No mention was made of the article in the paper, but Tory’s worry remained. Still, she had a job to do and she had to see it done.

Now that Lady Aimes’s brief visit was over, she ordered the linens changed in the upstairs guest rooms, set herself to the task of completing an inventory of the kitchen larder, then went in search of Claire.

“Excuse me, Miss Honeycutt, have you seen my sister? I thought she was working in the Blue Room.”

“She was, Mrs. Temple. She was polishing the furniture when ’is lordship happened past. She was staring out the window. You know how she loves to look out into the garden?”

“Yes?”

“Well, ’is lordship asked if she would care to take a stroll. Said something about showing her the robin’s nest he had found.”

Tory’s worry shot up, along with her temper. Why, the womanizing rogue! Only days ago he had been kissing her and now he was out in the garden trying to seduce poor Claire!

Hurrying in that direction, Tory made her way di
rectly to the French doors, pushed them open and stepped out onto the red-brick terrace. The scent of lavender struck her, mingled with that of freshly turned earth, but she saw no sign of Claire.

Her worry heightened. If Brant had touched her sister…harmed her in any way…

Taking the gravel path, she hurried toward the fountain, knowing the garden lanes came together there like the spokes of a wheel, hoping she might be able to tell which direction they had gone. To her surprise, they were standing in plain sight, just a few feet off the path, Claire gazing up at the cluster of leaves and twigs that formed a shallow bird’s nest.

Claire was standing a goodly distance from the earl, staring up into the branches of a white-barked birch. At the sound of Tory’s leather-soled shoes crunching on the gravel, the earl looked away from Claire and fixed his gaze on her.

“Ah, Mrs. Temple. I wondered when you would arrive.”

She tried to smile, but it felt as if her face would crack. “I came in search of Claire. There is work yet to do and I am in need of her assistance.”

“Are you? I invited your sister to join me. I thought she might enjoy seeing the robin’s nest the gardener discovered.”

Claire finally looked in their direction, her eyes big and blue and filled with awe. “Come and see, Tory. Three tiny blue-speckled robin’s eggs. Oh, they’re marvelous.”

Ignoring the earl, who, instead of being annoyed at having been caught out, wore a faintly satisfied expression, Tory exchanged places with her sister, stepped up
on the footstool the gardener had placed at the base of the tree, and peered into the nest.

“They’re wonderful, Claire.” She stepped down, eager to be away from the earl, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. As lovely as Claire was, Tory had never been jealous of her sister. In truth, she wasn’t now. Lord Brant might have fixed his interest on Claire, but her sister had no such interest in him.

“The earl’s a nice-enough man, I suppose,” Claire had once said, “but he makes me nervous. He seems so…so…”

“Yes, well the earl can be a bit intimidating at times.”

“Yes, and he’s so…so…”

“Lord Brant is…well, he is definitely a masculine sort of man.”

Claire nodded. “I never know what to say or what I should do.”

The earl’s deep voice banished the memory. “Come, Miss Marion. As your sister appears to have need of you, I’m afraid our pleasant interlude is over.”

He was looking at Claire and smiling, but there was none of the heat Tory had seen in his eyes when he had looked at her. Taking Claire’s hand, he helped her down from where she once more stood atop the stool, peering into the bird’s nest.

He made them a last polite bow, as if they were guests instead of servants. “Have a pleasant afternoon, ladies.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Tory turned to Claire. “Are you all right?”

Claire just looked at her. “It was nice of him to show me the nest.”

“Yes…yes, it was.” Tory wanted to say more, to
warn her sister in some way. Claire had already had one bad experience, though fortunately nothing too damaging had occurred.

It was hard to believe Lord Brant was anything like her stepfather, and yet—why else had he been out there with Claire?

Darkness thickened outside the window. A soft fog crept through the streets, blanketing the houses and ships. After supper, Tory had retired downstairs to her room to continue reading the Mrs. Radcliffe novel she had borrowed from the library. At a little past eleven she fell asleep on the sofa in her sitting room.

She stirred as a soft rap at her door began to filter into her senses, then awoke with a start, thinking it might be Lord Brant, realizing by the timid knock it could not be. Quickly pulling on her wrapper, she hurried to the door. She didn’t expect to find her sister outside in the hallway.

“Claire! What on earth…?” She pulled her sister into the room and closed the door, alarmed by the stark look on her face. Tory hurried over to the oil lamp burning low on the bureau and turned up the wick, throwing soft yellow light into the sitting room.

“What is it, Claire? What’s wrong?”

Claire swallowed, her eyes huge and frightened. “It’s…it’s his lordship.”

Tory’s stomach tightened. “Brant?” In the lamplight, she could see the pale hue of her sister’s cheeks. “What about the earl?”

“Lord Brant sent me a message. I—I found it under my door.” With trembling fingers, Claire held up the folded sheet of paper and Tory pulled it from her hand.

It was signed simply, “Brant.”

“I don’t want to go, Tory. I’m frightened. What if he…what if he touches me the way the baron did?”

Tory reread the paper and her temper went scalding hot. God save them, she had been right about the earl all along!

“It’s all right, darling. You don’t have to go. I shall go in your stead.”

“B-but aren’t you afraid? What if he beats you?”