The Bride's Necklace (8 page)

In the meantime, he’d have Timmons keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t try to leave while he was away.

Cord sighed, his mind returning to recent events. Yesterday, Colonel Pendleton had stopped by with the news Cord had been waiting for. The prison escape was set. The schooner,
Nightingale,
that Cord had hired for the trip would be sailing for France tonight. If all went well, Ethan would be free and aboard the ship sometime tomorrow evening.

As soon as he finished supper, Cord returned to his study. It was dark tonight, not the hint of a moon. A fog
had begun to creep in, a thick cocoon hanging over the streets of the city. A hammering at the door of his study drew his gaze from the window and an instant later Rafael Saunders, duke of Sheffield, strode in, a man as tall as Cord, dark-haired and powerfully built.

“Everything’s set, I gather.” Rafe walked straight to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

“Everything on this end’s ready to go,” Cord replied. Rafe had been determined to come along. He was a friend of both Ethan and Cord’s, a capable sort of man. If anything went wrong, Cord would be damned glad to have him along.

“We’re to anchor in a cove near Cap Gris-Nez, south of Calais,” Cord said. “A boat will deliver Ethan to the schooner sometime after midnight. All we have to do is turn round and take him home.”

Rafe swirled the brandy in his glass. “Sounds too easy.”

Cord had been thinking the very same thing. “I know.”

“Let’s just hope we get lucky—or that Ethan does.”

Cord nodded. “It’s early yet. I’ve got a couple of things to do. The
Nightingale
is anchored on the Southwark quay near the bridge. I’ll meet you there at midnight.”

Rafe downed the last of his brandy and set the empty snifter back on the sideboard. “I’ll see you on the ship.”

Cord watched him leave, his thoughts on both his cousin and the women in his employ. Over the next few days, he hoped to see both of his problems resolved.

Tory stepped back into the shadows of the hall outside the study and watched the tall, elegantly dressed figure of the duke of Sheffield stride off, his expensive
Hessian boots ringing on the black-and-white-marble floor. She shouldn’t have eavesdropped, wouldn’t have if her situation had not been so dire. But until she and Claire were safely away from London, she had to know what the earl was about.

To her relief, his meeting with the duke had nothing to do with them, but involved Lord Brant’s ongoing plan to save his cousin.

A plan that had him sailing to France that very night.

Tory mulled over the news as she climbed the stairs to Claire’s third-floor bedchamber. The workday was over. It was time they left the house, got as far from London as they possibly could. Grace would be angry that Tory had not sent word of her departure, but she refused to involve her friend unless there was no other choice.

She knocked on her sister’s door. Claire pulled it open. She was already dressed in her night rail, her pale hair plaited into a single braid. Tory stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.

“What is it?” Claire said. “You don’t look quite yourself.”

Tory sighed. “I’m afraid I am bringing bad news.”

“Bad news? What sort of…?” Her face went suddenly pale. “You don’t mean they have found out who we are?”

“In a roundabout way, I’m afraid they have. Or at least the earl has become suspicious. We have to get away before he discovers the truth.”

Claire’s lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “Where shall we go? Oh, Tory, what shall we do? I like it here. I don’t want to leave.”

“I know you don’t, darling, but we haven’t got any
other choice. We have to leave or we’ll be arrested. And I think I know a place where we will be safe.”

Claire sniffed. “Where?”

“France.”

“France? I thought we were at war with France.”

“
England
is at war with France. You and I aren’t at war with anyone. And the earl is sailing there tonight.” Tory explained her idea, how they would steal aboard the ship and hide in the hold, then once the ship was anchored in the cove, they could slip over the side and swim ashore.

“But I can’t swim, Tory!”

“No, but I can.” When she was at school, she and Grace sometimes sneaked down to the river in the afternoons. One of the village boys had taught them to swim. Claire had always wanted to learn but had never quite worked up the courage to let Tory teach her. “It won’t be that far to shore and I can help you get there.”

“I don’t know, Tory….”

“It’ll work, Claire. We both speak excellent French. No one will suspect we’re English. We’ll go to Paris. Perhaps I’ll find that job as governess that I hoped to find before.”

Claire nervously moistened her lips. “Do you really think it could work?”

“I’m sure it will. Now, you get dressed and pack your satchel, then come to my room downstairs.”

As she left Claire’s bedchamber, Tory thought of the earl and wondered if he might have instructed someone to watch them while he was away. She was beginning to know how he thought. She wouldn’t put it past him. Timmons would be the logical choice. She would have to make sure the butler didn’t see them leave.

The wheels of the hackney carriage whirred into the tense silence around them. Finding a conveyance for hire had not been easy, but in the end, Tory had been able to flag down a hackney about four blocks from the house. According to the conversation she had overheard in Cord’s study, the
Nightingale
could be found near the bridge at the Southwark docks. It was an unsavory section of town, scarcely a place for a pair of young women. They would have to be careful, go straight to the ship, and pray they could sneak aboard without being caught.

“Are we there yet, Tory?”

“Soon, darling.”

“How will we get aboard?” Claire asked, speaking the question Tory had hoped to avoid.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure out a way once we get there.” And the fog would definitely be of help. It grew thicker as the hackney approached the dock.

“The
Nightingale
is supposed to be down by the bridge,” Tory told the driver, growing more nervous by the moment. “Can you tell which one it is?” A sea of ships’ masts bobbed along the quay. In the heavy fog, how on earth would they find the right one?

“Harbor master’ll know where ’tis. I can stop and find out if ye like.”

She felt a wave of relief. “Yes, please.”

A few minutes later, they were on their way again, headed for the
Nightingale
’s berth in the spot the harbor master had indicated.

Tory thanked the driver, gave him a little extra for his trouble, and she and Claire climbed out into the misty dark night.

“I think I see it,” Claire whispered.

Tory read the name on the stern. “Yes, and there are only a couple of crewmen on deck and they appear to be quite busy.” Tory reached over to adjust the hood of Claire’s cloak, making certain it covered her sister’s bright hair, then adjusted her own. Gripping her sister’s hand, they started toward the ship.

T
he deck of the
Nightingale
rocked pleasantly beneath Cord’s feet. He had always loved the ocean—its beauty and its vastness, the salt spray in his face and the cry of the gulls overhead, though his passion couldn’t compare to Ethan’s, who lived and breathed the sea, had loved ships and sailing since he was a boy.

It was natural that Ethan, the marquess’s second son, had joined the navy as soon as he graduated Oxford. Cord wondered how he would take the news of his older brother’s death while he was in prison and that he was now the marquess of Belford, a man with an entirely different set of responsibilities. Fortunately, the family also had shipping concerns, so Ethan wouldn’t feel entirely a fish out of water.

Assuming he was still alive.

Cord paced the deck, listening to the creak of the tall spruce masts, the clatter and clank of the ropes and pulleys in the rigging. The night was as black as the devil’s den, the sea an endless dark phantom rolling beneath them. A sharp breeze built as they headed east.
Soon the surface of the water would be frothy with whitecaps that would remain unseen in the inky blackness.

Cord inhaled the damp, salty air, listened to the sound of the waves as the ship plowed through the water, and prayed their journey would not be in vain.

Claire squeezed Tory’s wrist. “Did you hear that?”

Tory shifted in the darkness in the bottom of the ship. “It’s just the timbers creaking in the hull.”

“I think it’s rats. I hate rats, Tory.”

Since the snuffling sounds probably were being made by the furry little beasts, Tory made no comment, just leaned back against the wooden planks that formed the side of the ship.

Getting aboard had been easier than she had imagined. The two sailors working on deck were busy loading supplies into the galley. A lantern had been burning on the forward mast, guiding them to the ladder leading down into the hold. Another lamp hung at the bottom of the stairs, dimly illuminating the interior. Hurriedly, they had surveyed the contents of the hold, then hidden behind a stack of heavy bags of grain.

But one of the sailors had come down and snuffed the lantern and it was pitch black in there now.

“We won’t be down here long,” Tory said. “As soon as the boat anchors in the cove, we can sneak up on deck and slip over the side of the boat. We’ll just have to be strong until then. Think of it as an adventure.”

Claire had always liked adventures—at least pretend ones.

“Yes, I suppose that’s what it is. I’ve never been on a ship before, and once we reach France, we’ll be safe.”

“That’s right, darling.” All they had to do was elude Lord Brant and the captain and crew of the
Nightingale
; then get safely to shore, make their way across a completely unknown landscape—avoiding the dangers on the roads—and try to find a village that might provide gainful employment.

Tory sighed into the silence broken only by the whoosh of waves against the bow. What had seemed so plausible in the safety of the house now seemed a near impossibility.

At least they wouldn’t have to swim. Tory had noticed a little wooden dingy tied to the stern of the ship. Once the schooner was anchored and the crew settled in, she planned to use the dinghy to get them ashore.

Then again, she had planned a lot of things in the past few months and so far very few of them had worked.

“The seas are getting rougher.” Cord stood next to Rafe at the aft deck rail of the ship. Both men were dressed in snug breeches tucked into knee-high boots and full-sleeved shirts beneath woolen coats.

“We expected a bit of weather,” Rafe said. “The
Nightingale
’s sound and we’re more than halfway there.” The wind had picked up the minute they had reached the mouth of the Thames, sending them speeding on their way.

“We’ll have to anchor in the cove until tomorrow night. I hope no one spots us and wonders what the devil we’re about.”

“If Bradley’s as good as the colonel says, he’ll pick a place where the ship won’t be easily seen.”

Cord stared out across the water. “I suppose I’m just
a little nervous. I want this to go the way we planned. I want Ethan to come home.”

Rafe set his big hands on the rail and looked out over the sea. “So do I.”

Cord studied his friend’s strong profile, the solid jaw and straight nose outlined by the ship’s lantern hanging from one of the two tall masts. “There’s something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

Rafe’s blue eyes swung to his face. He must have seen something there, because a corner of his mouth curved up. “Whatever it is, I’m betting it involves a woman. Don’t tell me you’ve finally fallen in love.”

Cord smiled and shook his head. “It’s nothing like that, though it does involve a woman. And I’ll admit she’s a fetching little baggage. The problem is she’s in trouble with the law.”

“You’re jesting.”

“I wish I were. She’s wanted for robbery and attempted murder.”

“Sweet Jesus, man, how the devil did you get involved with a female like that?”

“She isn’t a female like that or I wouldn’t be involved. Or at least I don’t think she is. I need you to do me a favor.”

“Name it.”

“See what you can find out about Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood.”

“Harwood? I’m afraid I’ve never met the chap, though I’ve heard whispers about him here and there.”

“So have I. None of them good, I might add.”

“As I recall, there was something written about him recently in the papers.”

“That’s right. Two women robbed him and one of them hit him over the head. Harwood claims he suffered
a loss of memory for several months. Now he’s in London, trying to catch the culprits.”

Rafe cast him a long, assessing glance. “This woman…I take it she is one of the two who coshed him on the head.”

“She denies it, but I’m fairly certain she is.”

“And she means something to you?”

Cord said nothing for several moments. “Put that way, yes, I guess she does.”

“Then I’ll ask round a little, see what I can find out, but in return, I expect to meet her. Any woman who can stir your interest this much has to be someone very special.”

Cord made no reply. He just hoped Timmons was doing his job and Victoria would be there when he got back.

“I don’t feel so good, Tory.” Claire leaned back against the timber planking and slid her hand down over her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Oh, Lord.
When she planned their escape, getting seasick never occurred to her. As it was, Tory seemed to be adjusting to the roll and sway of the ship without a problem, but Claire wasn’t doing so well.

“You’re not going to be sick,” Tory said firmly, wishing her confident tone matched her mood. “It’s just so dark in here. I think that makes it worse. Close your eyes and maybe you’ll feel better.”

Claire closed her eyes. “Oh…” she moaned.

“Think about something else. Think about that pretty lace shawl you saw in the window of that shop on Bond Street. Think how nice it would look draped round your shoulders.”

Claire moaned again and covered her mouth with her hand.

“All right, I’ll see if I can find a bucket.” Tory moved away from the hull on her hands and knees, dragging her skirt out of the way and trying to remember where she had seen the bucket when they had sneaked down the ladder.

She felt her way over the bags of grain and continued toward the ladder, groping along the floor, ignoring the muck and the scurry of rats she hoped Claire wouldn’t hear. She said a silent
thank you
when her fingers touched the rim of the wooden bucket, which sat on the floor below the lantern.

A box holding flint and tinder sat beside it. She remembered seeing it next to the lamp. Knowing she shouldn’t, Tory retrieved the box, shoved up the glass and lit the lamp. A soft yellow glow filled the hold as she replaced the glass, and immediately she felt better. If anyone came down, he would probably think the lantern was left burning by mistake.

She hurried toward Claire with the heavy wooden bucket, climbed over the sacks of grain, into the safety of their hiding place, and set the bucket on the floor right next to Claire.

“Are you all right?”

Claire nodded. “The light makes it better.” She managed a wobbly smile. Then she gagged and leaned over the bucket.

It was late, only a few more hours till dawn. With all the excitement, Cord wasn’t very sleepy, but tomorrow was going to be a long day and he needed to be alert. Figuring he had better get a couple of hours of rest, he
unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and tossed it over the back of a chair. He had started on the buttons on the front of his breeches when he heard a rap on the door.

Striding across the cabin, he opened the door to find Rafe and the first mate, Whip Jenkins, standing in the passage.

“What is it?”

Rafe started grinning. “One of the crew found a couple of stowaways. After our earlier conversation, I have a hunch you might want to talk to them.” He stepped back, turned and urged a slender woman forward.

“What the devil…?” He knew that face. “Bloody hell, Victoria!” Looking over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Claire and saw that she was trembling, and paler than he’d ever seen her.

“She’s seasick,” Victoria explained. “She needs to lie down.”

Fury made it hard for him to speak. Cord flicked a glance at Rafe, who nodded.

“I’ll take care of her,” Sheffield said, turning toward the first mate. “The blonde can use my cabin. I’ll bunk in with you until we get this worked out.”

Jenkins nodded and Rafe started leading Claire away. She twisted to look back at them. “Tory?”

“It’s all right, dearest. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Sheffield’s cabin is right next door. She’ll be fine.” His look turned hard. “It’s you who had better be worried.”

He stepped back from the door, and Victoria lifted her head and regally walked past him into the cabin. Cord closed the door a little harder than he meant to, barely able to contain his temper.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? This ship is on a mission—a very important mission. Do you re
alize the danger you have put yourselves in?” He reached for his shirt, pulled it on but didn’t bother to fasten the buttons. “We’re too far at sea to turn round and take you back. There is simply too much at stake.”

Victoria shifted under his intense regard, but she didn’t speak.

“God’s teeth, I’ve seen some cork-brained schemes, but this one tops the list. The London docks are swarming with pickpockets and blacklegs. It is hardly a safe place for two unescorted young women—nor is a ship full of randy sailors.”

He moved closer, till he stood right in front of her. Gripping her chin, he forced her to look up at him. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throttle you within an inch of your life.”

Victoria swallowed. “We had to get away. This seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“A good idea? This seemed like a good idea?” He made a sudden movement and she flinched.

“Dammit, I’m not going to hit you—though taking you over my knee is a monumental temptation.”

Victoria said nothing. He saw how frightened she was, saw that her hands were trembling, and some of his anger faded.

“Sit down before you fall down.” He urged her into a straight-backed wooden chair and she sank down gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“All right. Now you can tell me why you and your sister felt it was necessary to run away from my house, sneak aboard this ship and set sail for France. And I don’t want any more fabrications. I want the truth, Victoria, and I want it now.”

He could see her mind spinning, groping for some sort of plausible explanation. But she was exhausted, worried and fearful, and much of her usual pluck was gone.

“The truth, Victoria. Nothing else will do.”

Her eyes slid closed. A resigned sigh whispered past her lips. “I’m the one who stole the necklace. I’m the one who hit the baron over the head. I used a bed warmer. A big heavy brass one.”

“A bed warmer.”

She nodded. “I had to stop him. It was the only thing I could think of to do.”

He refused to feel a flicker of sympathy. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you hit Lord Harwood over the head with a bed warmer?”

“Oh. Because he was…he was…he would have hurt Claire.”

Cord took a breath, fighting for control. “All right. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Tory clasped her hands in her lap, trying to keep them from shaking, trying to decide how much to say. Her glance strayed round the cabin, though there was no way she could possibly escape. The room was small but comfortable, with a wide berth and a built-in teakwood dresser. Curtains hung over the porthole and a basin and pitcher sat on the dresser.

“I’m waiting, Victoria.”

She took a deep breath and silently prayed he would help her, as he had once offered to do. There was really no other choice but to tell him the truth. Well, most of it, at any rate.

“We were working at Harwood Hall.” She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. It looked as though he had yet to discover she was the baron’s stepdaughter and she didn’t intend to tell him—at least not yet. The law gave the baron complete control of his stepdaughters. Lord Brant might feel it his duty to return them.

“In the beginning, Lord Harwood was kind to us. Then he started looking at Claire.”

“Most men look at Claire. She’s difficult not to notice.”

“The way Harwood looked at her made your skin crawl. Those cold black eyes, that tight little puckery mouth. Claire grew more and more afraid of him. I knew it was only a matter of time before he forced himself on her. We were planning to leave as soon as we could, but…”

“But?”

“But we needed more money. We figured if we could make it a couple more weeks, we’d have enough to get by. But two days later I heard him sneaking into Claire’s bedchamber and I…I went into the room to stop him.”

“And hit him over the head with the bed warmer.”