The Bride's Necklace (9 page)

She swallowed, her nerves inching up again. “It was the only weapon I could find at the time. I was afraid I had killed him.”

“What about the necklace?”

She looked down at her hands, saw them gripped tightly in her lap. “I’d seen it once when I…when I cleaned the master’s suite. We were desperate—just as you said. I took the necklace and sold it to a moneylender in Dartfield.”

She explained how she had been forced to settle for
a ridiculous sum, then spent the money during the weeks she had tried to find work. She looked up at him, trying to be brave, fighting not to cry.

“None of this is Claire’s fault. She doesn’t deserve to go to prison.” Tears welled and spilled onto her cheeks and the earl’s broad shoulders subtly straightened.

“No one is going to prison.”

She started crying then, she couldn’t help it. Not a soft little feminine cry like Claire would have done, but big, heaving sobs that shook her whole body. She didn’t protest when the earl lifted her into his arms, sat down in the chair and settled her on his lap.

“It’s all right,” he said, cradling her head against his shoulder. “We’ll figure this out. No one is going to prison.”

Tory sagged against him, slid her arms around his neck and just kept crying. She had carried the burden so long. It felt so good to tell someone, to think that the earl might actually help her. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaled the scent of salt spray and cologne.

His shirt hung open. His chest was mostly bare and corded with layers of muscle. His breath felt warm as he whispered soothing words, and she wanted nothing so much as to turn her head and press her lips against his smooth, taut skin.

She wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his mouth moving over hers as he had done that night. She wanted him to touch her, to caress her breasts until her nipples turned hard and swelled into his palm. She wanted him to do the things he had only hinted at that night.

“It’s all right, love. Everything is going to be all right.”

She nodded but the tears kept seeping from beneath her closed eyes.

She felt his hand on her cheek. He caught her chin, tipped her face up. “It’s going to be all right,” he gently repeated. His eyes held hers, gold into green, and she thought in that moment that he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted to kiss him.

He didn’t.

And yet he wanted her. She moved a little and brushed against his heavy arousal. The earl lifted her up as he rose from the chair and set her on her feet, and still he made no move to touch her.

He had given his word. Apparently, he didn’t intend to break it.

Not unless she wanted him to.

Oh, dear God, she wanted that so much. Tory closed her eyes and leaned toward him, just as a soft knock sounded at the door. She jumped and guiltily turned away, embarrassed at what she had almost done. The earl crossed the room to see who was there. The door opened and the duke of Sheffield stood in the passage.

“The girl…Claire. She’s getting sicker.” Sheffield turned his gaze to where Tory stood across the room, a handsome man with a strong jaw, a cleft in his chin and amazing blue eyes. “She’s asking for her sister.”

She returned her attention to the earl. “I need to go to her…if that is all right with you.”

He nodded. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

“The first mate is bringing some crackers and tea,” the duke said. “Perhaps that will help.”

“Yes, perhaps it will.” She looked over at the earl but his expression remained inscrutable.

“We’ll talk again on the morrow,” he said.

Tory just nodded. She didn’t want to leave. She
wanted so stay with the earl. Which meant she had better run as fast as her feet would carry her in exactly the opposite direction.

By the time the ship was anchored in the cove later that day, the seas had calmed, but the sky remained overcast and a stiff breeze whipped across the deck. After his conversation with Victoria late last night, Cord had tried to get some sleep, but his thoughts were too jumbled.

Worry for Ethan mixed with worry for Victoria and Claire.

He had believed Victoria’s story. They were well enough acquainted that he knew what lengths she would go to in order to protect her sister. Hitting a man over the head with a bed warmer—bloody hell! Harwood was lucky she hadn’t shot him.

Cord chuckled at the thought, then sobered. Even if the story were true, it was the word of two housemaids against that of a nobleman. The girls were in serious trouble.

Still, Cord believed if he greased enough palms, promised enough favors, he could see the matter settled.

He turned at the sound of footfalls and watched Victoria approach. She was dressed in the clothes she had been wearing in his cabin, the clothes she had been dressed in the first time he had seen her, a high-waisted dove-gray gown, simply cut and slightly frayed but of obvious quality.

She looked pretty and innocent and he thought of all she had suffered these past few months. He recalled how good she had felt nestled against him last night,
and how much he still wanted her, and his groin tightened. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so badly and yet he knew it wouldn’t be fair. Victoria deserved far more than he could offer.

At least he could offer his help.

She stopped beside him and smiled. “Good morning, my lord.” Her hair was no longer braided, but pulled back and clipped on each side, leaving soft dark curls to fall loose around her shoulders.

“How is your sister?” He had sent Whip Jenkins to check on the women this morning and word had come back that Claire was feeling much better.

“She is much improved. It is calmer here in the cove. Or perhaps she is beginning to get her sea legs.”

“Let us hope so. There is still the return trip home.”

Victoria glanced away. “Yes…I suppose there is that.” Her gaze returned to his face. “I’ve been thinking, my lord…perhaps it would be better all round if Claire and I simply stayed in France.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t have to involve yourself in our problems. One of the crew could row us ashore and we could make our way inland, the way we had planned. I could find a job—”

“As a governess, I suppose. I believe that is what you had in mind before.”

A hint of color rose in her cheeks. “I could find some sort of employment.”

“No.”

“You don’t believe what I told you?”

“I believe what you have said.”

“Then why won’t you let us stay here?”

He didn’t know why he was getting angry, he just
knew that he was. He reached out and caught her shoulders, hauled her a little closer.

“Because you would be putting yourself in the gravest sort of danger. Two women, unescorted. No idea where you are going, how to get there, or who might help you. I simply won’t have it. You are going back to London and I am going to help you straighten this out.”

She swallowed. “What if…what if you can’t?”

His hold on her gentled. “Then I will personally see you reach France or somewhere else where you will be safe. Trust me, Victoria. I’m an earl and a man of some means. If I explain matters to the authorities, they will listen.”

She bit her lip. She looked as if there was something else she wanted to tell him, but in the end she kept silent.

“I can help you, Victoria. As long as you’ve told me the truth.”

“I’ve told you exactly what happened.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw. Her skin felt smooth as silk, soft as down. With the wind in her hair and her lips moist with spray, God, she was pretty. He wondered how he ever could have thought her merely attractive.

And he wanted her so badly he ached.

“If that is the case, then you have nothing to worry about.”

Victoria turned to look out at the sea, her gaze sliding off toward the coastline. The shore along this section of land rose out of the water in jagged, flat-topped cliffs, though several steep trails led down to the beach where a boat rested on the sand, waiting to be used tonight. Gulls swept over the crags and ravines, their shrill cries reaching all the way out to the ship bobbing quietly at anchor.

“There is something else you need to tell me.”

Victoria turned and her clear green eyes searched his. “What is that, my lord?”

“Who you really are.”

Some of the color faded from her cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s obvious you and Claire have been gently reared. What happened to your parents? Why were the two of you left alone?”

She moistened her lips and the heaviness returned to his groin. “My father was a landowner in Kent. He died five years past. One night in late May, footpads set upon him on his way home from the fields and he was…he was killed.”

She kept her eyes fixed on the shore. “My mother was devastated. All of us were. Two years later, my mother died. We had no relatives, no one to care for us. We did the best we could on our own.”

He didn’t mean to touch her. He simply could not resist. “I’m sorry,” he said, drawing her against him.

She turned into his arms. “Someday I hope to see the men punished who were responsible for my father’s death.”

He couldn’t blame her. He would feel exactly the same if someone he loved were murdered, though he imagined it would not happen. Not after so many years.

“I lost my father two years ago,” he said. “I didn’t realize how much he meant to me until he was gone. Toward the end, he got into a good deal of financial trouble. He never mentioned it and I was too wrapped up in myself to ask. He suffered an apoplexy. I think the strain was simply too much for him. If I had been there to help, perhaps it wouldn’t have happened. I don’t know. I don’t suppose I ever will.”

Victoria looked up at him. “You faced a number of problems when you inherited the title, but you overcame them. You rebuilt the fortune your father lost.”

“How did you…?”

“There are very few secrets, my lord, in a household the size of yours.”

His mouth edged up. “I suppose that’s so.”

“Why is it you’ve never married? I’ve seen you with Teddy. It’s obvious you like children. And there is the matter of an heir.” Twin spots of color rose in her cheeks. “I suppose it is none of my business.”

“Actually, I have a number of obligations. Providing an heir is only one of them. But I would like to have a family someday. All I have to do is find a wife with the necessary requirements.”

“You’re searching for an heiress. I heard that as well. Someone who can add to your holdings.”

“I owe a debt to my father. I mean to see it paid. Marrying well is important in accomplishing that end.”

“I see.”

He wondered if she really did. If she could imagine how it felt to know you had failed the person who meant the most to you in the world.

No matter what happened, he would not fail again.

“You’re cold,” he said, noticing the gooseflesh on her arms. “Why don’t you go inside?”

She nodded. “I believe I will.”

Cord watched the feminine sway of her hips and wished she had agreed to become his mistress. Perhaps if Victoria were waiting for him at night, he could fulfill his obligations—and marry himself a wealthy wife.

S
upper was over. Tory walked her sister back to the cabin they would share for the balance of the journey. Once the ship left the cove, Claire had begun to feel queasy again and Mr. Jenkins had given her a dose of laudanum. As soon as she put on her night rail, she curled up in her bunk and fell almost instantly asleep.

Tory wasn’t the least bit sleepy. Earlier, she and Claire had dined at the captain’s table with Brant and his friend, the duke. Afterward, the earl had asked if she would like to join him on deck.

All evening he had been solicitous in a way she hadn’t expected. He felt sorry for her, she imagined, though the last thing she wanted was his pity. It was his help she needed and he had already agreed to that.

If she could trust him to keep his word.

Tory believed that he would. There was something about Cord Easton, something that spoke of honor and duty, something that urged her to put her faith in him. It was there in his eyes whenever he looked at her,
along with something more, a need, an impossible longing that pierced straight into her heart. He desired her in a way no other man ever had.

And she desired him.

She knew it was wrong. She had been raised to save herself for the man she married. But even if the earl knew she was the daughter of a baron, even if he somehow managed to clear her name, he had made it plain the sort of woman he meant to wed. And an heiress was something Tory would never be.

Brant wasn’t for her, she knew, and yet even as she said the words, she found herself reaching for her cloak, whirling it round her shoulders, pulling open the cabin door.

She would be strong, she told herself, ignore the longing she read in his eyes. And the sharp ache of yearning in her heart.

It was well past midnight and still no sign of the boat bringing Ethan. Claire was asleep in the cabin the two sisters shared, but Victoria still stood next to the earl on deck. Having overheard his conversation with Rafe in the study last night, she knew he had come to help his cousin escape from prison. Oddly, he was glad she knew. Having someone there who understood somehow made the waiting easier.

His gaze went to where she stood next to the rail. The night breeze sifted through her hair, and burnished highlights gleamed in the light of the lantern hanging from the mast.

“Are you certain you don’t want to go in? It’s getting late and it’s damp out here.”

She pulled her woolen cloak a little tighter around
her. “It isn’t really all that cold and the sea is calm. I would rather stay up here.”

He thought that she was staying because of him, helping him pass the endless time until the boat arrived. He had never had a woman friend before. If it weren’t for the constant lust he felt for her, he would think of Victoria that way.

“Look!” She pointed toward the water. “Someone is rowing out from shore!”

He turned toward the rail just as Sheffield walked up, tall black boots thumping on the holystoned deck. “It looks like they’re coming,” Rafe said, echoing Victoria’s words.

Cord peered into the darkness. “I can’t tell if Ethan is in the boat.”

“Two men are coming. That’s all I can see.”

Cord’s pulse quickened as he watched the man at the oars row the wooden dinghy closer to the schooner. As soon as the smaller boat pulled alongside, he tossed the heavy rope ladder over the rail and prayed he would see Ethan’s face looking up at him.

Disappointment shot through him as the sailor who had manned the oars remained aboard and the other man, a stranger, climbed the rope ladder to the deck.

“Max Bradley,” he said. A gaunt man, his face was hard and weathered, his fingers long and scarred. Thick black hair grew over the collar of his dark blue woolen coat. “I’m afraid I’ve brought bad news.”

Cord’s insides tightened. “Is he…is he dead?”

“I don’t think so. It looks as if they’ve moved him somewhere else.”

“When?”

“Less than two days past.”

He felt as if a lead weight was pressing on his chest. They had lost their chance. Ethan yet remained in prison. He swallowed, tried not to succumb to a feeling of overwhelming despair.

“We knew it was too easy,” Rafe said. “Now we’ll have to make a second trip.”

A second trip.
Cord’s head came up, Sheffield’s words stirring a flicker of hope back to life. It burned brighter by the moment. “Yes…that’s right. We’ll just have to come back again. Where did they take him?”

“I’m not sure,” Bradley said, “but I’ll find out. This isn’t over, my lord. Captain Sharpe is one of the best men we have. We want him home and safe almost as badly as you do.”

Not nearly so much, Cord thought, feeling the tension of the past few days seep out of him, leaving him mired in fatigue.

Bradley glanced toward the open sea behind them. “I’d suggest you make way while it’s still dark. Once I’ve located Captain Sharpe, I’ll send word to Pendleton, as I did before.”

“We’ll be ready,” Cord said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Bradley slipped back over the side, descended the rope ladder with a skill that said he was no stranger to a ship, and settled himself in the dinghy.

Cord watched the boat disappear in the direction of the cove, the darkness closing around them once more. Around him, sailors raced into the rigging and started unfurling the sails. The anchor chain creaked as it turned round the capstan, hoisting the anchor, and a few minutes later, the ship began to move, heading into the open sea. Cord turned and started walking toward his cabin.

“My lord?”

Victoria’s voice floated toward him. He had forgotten she was still there. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking of your cousin,” she said softly.

Cord’s gaze slipped back toward the shore, but if the dinghy had landed, he couldn’t see it. “If only we had been a few days sooner.”

“You’ll get him next time.”

He nodded. “Next time…yes. I wonder where he is tonight.”

“Wherever it is, I pray he is safe.”

Cord took a breath, silently echoing that same prayer. “Come. I’ll walk you back to your cabin.” Though he didn’t really want her to go, he settled a hand at her waist. Victoria made no move to leave, just stood there looking up at him. Her eyes searched his face and he wondered if she could read the weariness there, the terrible disappointment.

“I was wondering if…I thought that perhaps I would join you in your cabin instead.”

A long moment passed. At least a dozen heartbeats. Cord stared down at her, unable to believe he had heard her correctly. “Do you know what you’re saying…what would happen if you came to my room?”

“I know what I’m saying.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. “I am asking you to make love to me.”

His feet seemed frozen to the deck. He felt like a callow schoolboy on his first assignation. “Victoria…are you certain? Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’ve tried to convince myself it isn’t, but it is not the truth. I want you to make love to me. I am very certain, my lord.”

He moved then, close enough to touch her, cradle her face between his palms. “I’ll take care of you. Both of you. I promise you won’t regret—”

She silenced him with a finger against his lips. “Don’t say more. Please. We don’t know what lies ahead, what troubles we may face on the morrow. Tonight is all we have, but it is ours. If that is what you want.”

God’s blood, he had never wanted anything so badly. Cord reached for her, drew her against him, captured her lips in a desperately passionate kiss. She tasted like honey and roses, and his body throbbed with desire for her.

Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms and strode across the deck to the ladder leading down to his cabin.

By the time the earl carried Tory along the passage, opened the door and set her on her feet, she was trembling. Some wild insanity had pushed her to this moment, but she was here now and there was no turning back. She had sensed his desperate need tonight and she had responded. And she had told him the truth. She wanted the earl to make love to her. Wanted it more than anything she could remember.

In the darkness inside his cabin, he closed the door, slid off her cloak and his coat, then crossed to the bureau and lit the small brass ship’s lamp perched on the top.

The light cast a glow on his face, outlining the masculine hollows and valleys. He looked so strong, so unbearably handsome, but when he came to her, uncertainty flickered in the depths of his golden eyes.

“You aren’t doing this simply to ensure my help once we return to London? You don’t feel this is some sort of payment?”

Anger warred with hurt. He thought she would sell her body in order to save herself and Claire. She wanted to turn and walk out of the cabin, would have if it weren’t for the awful need she read in his face.

“You will help me or you will not. One has nothing to do with the other.”

His relief was so obvious it eased the pain. It seemed impossible, but perhaps she wasn’t the only one afraid of being hurt.

“My name is Cord. Say it.”

A slight flush rose in her cheeks. She had called him that in her dreams. “It’s a very fine name… Cord….”

He bent his head and brushed her mouth with a feather-soft kiss. “What about your sister? She’ll miss you if you stay.”

“Once the ship reached the open sea, Claire felt queasy again. Mr. Jenkins gave her a dose of laudanum. He says she will sleep all the way back to London.”

The earl ran a finger along her cheek. “Then tonight you are mine.”

Tory closed her eyes as he drew her into his arms and kissed her. Not a soft, gentle, seductive kiss, but a hot, deep, taking kiss, a plundering, ravishing kiss that filled her with heat and need. Her knees went weak and she slid her arms around his neck to keep from melting into a puddle at his feet.

“Say my name.”

“Cord…”

A deeper kiss followed, wet, fierce, abandoned. She was trembling, her head spinning.

“I know I should go more slowly,” he said. “I’m having the damnedest time.”

She smiled then, went up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
Got a ravaging kiss in return. He pressed his lips against the place beneath her ear, kissed the side of her neck, captured her lips again. He worked the buttons on the front of her gown and the fabric parted, exposing the soft swells underneath.

Tory moaned as he cupped a breast, molded and caressed it, stroked his thumb across her nipple. The tip peaked and distended, began a faint throbbing that made her want to press herself against him.

Almost magically, the gown fell open and he slid it off her shoulders, eased it down over her hips to pool in a heap at her feet. Her chemise went next, leaving her in only her garters and stockings. Tory fought an urge to cover herself from his hot lion’s gaze.

“I dreamt of this,” he said, reaching out to cup a breast, caressing it gently, making her nipple throb with pleasure. She was breathing fast, faintly dizzy, unsure exactly what to do. She swayed toward him as he bent his head and took the fullness of her breast into his mouth.

“Oh, my…” Tory laced her fingers in his hair, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. His tongue circled her nipple as he suckled and tasted, drew on the peak, and sensation shot through her, amazing bursts of heat that slid into her stomach and floated out through her limbs.

His hand slipped over her belly, through the tight dark curls at the juncture of her legs, and he cupped her there. He suckled her breast as his fingers parted her, slid gently inside, and a little mewling sound rose in her throat.

Tory clung to his shoulders, trembling so badly he swept her up in his arms.

“Don’t be frightened. The last thing I want is to hurt you.”

“I’m not…not afraid.” Mostly she was on fire. She wanted more of his passionate kisses and bold, intimate caresses. She wanted him to touch her—and she wanted to touch him. She wanted to taste him, know the texture of his skin. She wanted to breathe in his scent.

As he set her on her feet beside the bed, she leaned toward him, reached for his shirt and began to tug it free of his breeches. Cord helped her pull the fabric loose and dragged the shirt off over his head. He reached down and pulled off his boots, began to work the buttons at the front of his breeches.

He paused and looked up to see her staring at the width of his chest. She reached toward him and he caught her hand, turned it over and kissed the palm, then flattened it over his heart. She could feel the fierce beating, so alive, so vital, so like the man himself.

Tentatively, she learned the texture of his chest hair, the smoothness of his skin, the indentation of muscle over each of his ribs, the flatness of his stomach. He made no move to stop her and yet she could feel the tension in his body, the cords and sinews beneath her hand vibrating with need and the powerful urge to take her.

“I want you,” he said softly.

She reached for the last of his buttons, brushing the thick ridge straining upward beneath the front of his breeches, and heard his swift intake of breath.

“My fearless little Victoria.” He seemed pleased even as she stepped away from him, allowing him to remove the balance of his clothes. He shed his breeches and she admired the leanness of his body, the strong, powerful torso and long, tapered legs.

When her eyes came to rest on the heavy shaft jut
ting from between his thighs, curiosity mingled with a tremor of uncertainty.

“It’s all right. We don’t have to rush. We’ll take this slow and easy.” He kissed her then, a soft, drugging, coaxing kiss that convinced her to trust him.

Desire returned, began to swirl through her, slip like mist over her skin. He eased her down on the berth and followed her down, bracing his weight on his elbows, kissing her all the while. His hands were everywhere, smoothing over her skin, stroking her breasts, moving lower, parting her softness and slipping inside her, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

She barely noticed when he settled himself between her legs. She felt his powerful erection, but instead of being afraid, wild anticipation filled her. She wanted this, wanted him. What happened later did not matter.