The Bride's Necklace (13 page)

Cord drank too much. Fortunately, a coach and four waited out front to carry them to Riverwoods. Victoria sat on the seat across from him, nervously watching his every move. She looked beautiful today, so feminine and lovely, a little uncertain. Just looking at her aroused him.

During the two-hour ride to his estate, Cord considered pulling her down in the seat and taking her right there in the carriage. She was his wife. He had every right. And he was angry. He was married to the wrong woman and it was all Victoria’s fault.

He thought of Constance Fairchild, the wealthy woman he had thought to wed. She was blond and pretty, young and pliable. She would have well served his purpose.

Not like the woman he had married, the woman
who had tricked him, lied to him, made a fool of him—more than once!

At Riverwoods, he continued to drink but couldn’t seem to get drunk. Instead he paced the drawing room, thinking of Victoria. His
wife
waited in the suite adjoining his. She belonged to him now, no matter how it had happened, and he wanted her. He damned well intended to have her.

Cord set his brandy glass down on the Hepplewhite table and headed for the stairs. He went into the room adjoining hers, stripped off his coat, waistcoat and cravat, but left on his shirt and breeches. Striding toward the door between their rooms, he jerked it open and stepped inside.

Victoria sat before the mirror in front of her dressing table in a long blue satin nightgown, a wedding gift from Sarah. In the mirror, he saw the bodice was fashioned of white Belgian lace, exposing the roundness of her breasts and the dark areolas that crowned each one. She turned to face him, slender feet peeping out from beneath the hem, and he caught a glimpse of slim pale ankles.

He was hard before he closed the door, aching with desire for her.

Victoria rose from the stool. Her hand went to her throat and he realized she was still wearing the necklace. “I…I couldn’t get it unfastened.”

It glittered in the light of the candles in the silver candelabra on the dresser, and an image arose of her naked, wearing nothing but the necklace. His groin tightened, began a painful throbbing.

“I know you’re angry,” she said. “If I could change things, I would.”

“It’s too late for that. Come, Victoria.”

For an instant she didn’t move. Then she drew in a shaky breath and started toward him. Her hair was unbound, floating around her shoulders, dark yet shimmering with burnished lights. The nightgown moved over her breasts with each of her steps, chafing gently against her nipples, and the blood roared through his veins.

She stopped in front of him, looked up into his face. Cord slid his hand into the heavy strands of her hair and pulled her head back, crushed his mouth down hard over hers.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a fierce, savage, plundering kiss that let her know what he was feeling. Tory stiffened but he just kept kissing her, taking what he wanted, filling his hands with her breasts. She made no move to stop him, but neither did she respond.

Cord hauled her more tightly against him and cupped her bottom, pressing her slim frame into his sex, telling her he meant to have her. He could feel her trembling, told himself this was what he wanted, that he meant to pay her back for the lies she had told and the future she had cost him.

“Remove your nightgown,” he commanded. “I want to take you wearing only the necklace.”

She stepped away from him, her eyes fixed on his face. There were shadows there, and they tightened something in his chest. Reaching up, she slid the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders, let it glide down over her hips to pool on the floor at her feet. She stood there gloriously naked, looking as regal as the ivory queen he had secretly called her.

“I’m sorry you had to marry me,” she said. “If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have asked you to make love to me that night on the ship.”

“Why did you?”

“I’m not completely certain. Perhaps I was afraid of the future. I wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man I wanted. I wasn’t sure I would ever have the chance again.”

Cord worked to hold on to his anger, but some of it seeped away. “You’re my wife. I’ll have you any time I want.”

“Yes.”

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “But it won’t be the way it was before. That is what you are thinking, is it not?”

She stood there, defiant and lovely. Young and sweet and more of a woman than any he had ever known.

“It won’t be the same…” she said, “…not unless you want it to be.”

The words rolled through his head. What
did
he want? He wanted her as she had been that night on the ship, wanted her returning his kisses with the same wild abandon, responding eagerly each time he touched her. He wanted her whispering his name, her body gloving him so sweetly he groaned.

Reaching out, he cupped her cheek. “I want you, Victoria. I want it to be as it was.”

Tory gazed up at the man she had wed and her throat went tight. She heard Cord’s words and the soft way he said them, and hope blossomed deep inside her. She remembered the way he had looked at her that night on the ship, the need she had read in his face. It was there now, reaching out to her as it had before.

Cord kissed her again, the way she had wanted him to kiss her before, with a tenderness that overrode his
passion. Tory kissed him back, tentatively at first, then a fire seemed to ignite between them. Their kisses turned wild, unbridled. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body into his, ran her fingers over the solid muscles in his chest.

Lifting her up, he carried her over to the bed and settled her on the mattress. He kissed her as he followed her down, bracing himself on his elbows. Cord pressed his mouth against the place beneath her ear, kissed the side of her neck, trailed a hot, damp path over her shoulders.

That’s when he saw them. Tory had prayed that in the darkness they would not show.

Reaching out, he hesitantly touched one of the faint marks that had almost disappeared on her back. “Harwood,” he said harshly. “Harwood did this?”

“What happened is in the past. He has no power over me now.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Though his voice turned soft, anger darkened his features. “I’m going to call him out.” He started to get up from the bed, so furious his hands were shaking.

Tory caught his arm. “No, Cord, please! The baron’s an expert marksman. He practices nearly every day. He prides himself on his skill with pistol and sword.”

The edge of Cord’s mouth barely curved. “You don’t believe I can match his skill?”

“I don’t want you hurt!”

He rose from the bed, but Tory wouldn’t let go of his arm. “Think of the scandal. You’ve got your family to consider. And mine. Whatever he did, it happened in the past. I’m your wife now. I’m safe with you. Harwood can’t hurt me again.”

A muscle bunched in his jaw. “No,” he said in that too soft way of his. “He won’t ever hurt you again.”

“I’m asking you, Cord—begging you—not to go after him. Please. It can only cause more grief.”

Deep down, he knew she was right. She could see the resignation settle into his face. The scandal would be brutal. He was the head of the family. There were others to consider.

“Harwood has made an enemy. I won’t forget what he’s done.” His finger gently outlined one of the fading marks. “If these are painful, there will be other nights…”

“They are well past hurting. And this isn’t just any night, it is our wedding night.”

The hunger returned to his eyes, making the gold in them glitter. He kissed her deeply and Tory kissed him back. She wanted this night, wanted to feel the pleasure he had given her before. Cord cupped her breasts, bent and took the fullness into his mouth, and she gave up a soft sigh of pleasure. He laved the tip, suckled and tasted, and heat like lightning speared out through her limbs. He continued his tender assault, ministering to each breast, making her body go liquid and warm.

She had forgot how good it felt when he touched her, forgot the overpowering hunger. He trailed kisses over her belly, moved lower, parted her legs and settled his mouth on her most sensitive spot.

Tory arched up off the bed, her fingers sliding into his hair. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out as sweet sensation enveloped her. Cord slid his hand beneath her hips, lifting her to give him better access, and little by little her resistance faded. He didn’t stop until she reached release, crying out his name as she flew apart.

Cord rose above her, kissing her gently then deepening the kiss. She felt his hardness pressing against her, then sliding slowly inside.

Fanning her desire back to life, he surged deeply, and her fingers dug into the muscles across his shoulders. Pleasure tore through her, so sweet and hot she trembled. Her body tensed, tightened around him, and she lost herself in the storm of climax.

Afterward they lay entwined, one of his long legs draped over hers. His eyes were closed, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. She wanted to reach out and touch him, wondered if in time there was a chance he might come to love her as she loved him.

His eyes came open, came to rest on the necklace that still encircled her throat. Tory reached up and touched it, ran her fingers over each satiny pearl.

“It’s incredibly lovely,” she said.

Cord turned onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow. “Yes…it is.” But he was looking at her, not the necklace.

She smiled as he reached out to touch it, then trailed a finger down over her breast.

“Do you know the legend?” she asked.

His gaze returned to her face and one dark eyebrow went up. “There is a legend about it?”

Tory fingered the pearls, admiring the perfect weight of them, the texture. “It started nearly eight hundred years ago when the necklace was made for Lord Fallon. It was a gift for his bride, Ariana of Merrick.”

“The Bride’s Necklace,” he said, remembering the name she had told him.

“That’s right. It was said the couple was deeply in love. Lord Fallon sent the necklace to Ariana with a
note professing his devotion and she was thrilled with the gift. The wedding approached, but on the way to the castle, Lord Fallon was set upon by thieves. The earl and all of his men were killed in the fighting.”

Cord studied the strand of pearls. “Not good news for the bride.”

“Ariana was devastated, so distraught she climbed the castle parapet and jumped to her death on the rocks below. Apparently, she was already several months gone with child. When they found her body, she was wearing the necklace. They would have buried her with it, but it was too valuable, and so it was sold.”

Cord made a low sound in his throat. “I’m glad I didn’t know all this before I bought the damned thing.”

Tory smiled. “The necklace is believed to carry a curse. It is said that whoever shall own the necklace will be blessed with great fortune or suffer terrible tragedy—depending upon the pureness of his heart.”

Cord reached out and lifted the heavy strand, watched the way the diamonds glittered in the candlelight, ran his thumb back and forth over the creamy roundness of the pearls. “I thought it the most exquisite piece of jewelry I’d ever seen.”

“Are you certain you didn’t buy it to punish me for the trouble I’ve caused?”

Cord leaned toward her, looked down into her face. “Perhaps I did…at the time. Now I just like the way it looks round your very lovely throat.”

To prove it, he bent his head and kissed the side of her neck, kissed his way up to her ear, then captured her lips. He was hard, she realized as her body came to life, began to throb with the same need he was feeling. They tried to go slowly, but passion flamed to life and their
control slipped away. They reached release together, then drifted off to sleep.

They made love again just before dawn. When Tory awakened, Cord was gone. As she slipped from the bed, her thoughts were troubled. What sort of marriage could she have with a man who didn’t love her? What sort of future was in store for her?

And, dear God, what was happening to Claire?

C
laire shifted on the carriage seat and slowly came awake. She straightened as she realized she was snuggled against Lord Percy’s shoulder, one of his arms keeping her in place as she slept. They were on their way to Gretna Green, just over the Scottish border. Never in a thousand years would she have believed she would soon be married to a man she barely knew.

Embarrassed, she scrambled to sit up, and he hurriedly released her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was just…I wanted you to get some sleep.”

Claire looked into his pale blue eyes and read the concern there, along with the fatigue. “What about you? You’ve been riding as long as I have.”

Percy shook his head. His hair was a darker blond than her own, the color of gold, like pirate treasure. “I am fine. I dozed a bit while you were asleep.”

He had told her to call him Percy. She thought that she should, since she was going to be his wife.

Wife.
A little tremor ran through her. She barely un
derstood what that meant. As a girl, she had imagined becoming a bride one day—sometime in the far distant future. But the day had somehow arrived and she felt like a leaf in the wind, with nothing of substance to cling to.

She tried hard not to be afraid.

She wished Tory were there. Tory would explain the things a wife must do, tell her what Percival Chezwick would expect of her.

At least her sister was safe. And Claire thought that Tory really did care for the earl. Claire had seen the way her sister looked at him. There was something special in that look, something Claire had never seen in her sister’s eyes before. And the earl would take care of her, keep her safe from Lord Harwood.

“Claire?”

She blinked up at the man beside her and reined in her wandering thoughts. Her future husband was certainly handsome enough, tall and spare, with gentle blue eyes, his golden hair parted neatly in the middle.

“My lord?”

“It’s just Percy, remember?”

She flushed. “Oh course…Percy.”

“I asked if you are hungry. We have traveled all night. There is a village just ahead. I should think you would be ready to rest and perhaps break your fast.”

The color deepened in her cheeks. She fidgeted on the seat. It had been hours since their last stop. She needed badly to attend herself.

“Thank you, yes. I am quite hungry. I appreciate your thoughtfulness…Percy.”

He nodded, rapped on the roof of the carriage. It was a plush conveyance, made for long journeys, pulled by
four sturdy bay horses. Percy had told her his eldest brother, the earl of Louden, had lent him the rig when he had learned his youngest sibling intended to elope—with their father’s blessing, of course.

“We’ll have a proper wedding when we get home,” Percy had promised, but Claire didn’t want a big wedding. In truth, she didn’t want a wedding at all. But Lord Brant had explained she must marry Lord Percy so that she and Tory would be safe from the baron, and she trusted the earl to tell her the truth.

And she liked Lord Percy, truly she did. He reminded her of the prince who had scaled the tower to save the maiden in the story her mother used to tell when she and Tory were little girls.

The carriage stopped at an inn called The Fat Ox, where Lord Percy let a room so that she might refresh herself before they went in to breakfast. He was ever solicitous of her wishes and he had a kind way about him. She often found herself smiling at something he said or when he looked at her in that soft way of his.

They resumed their journey sitting across from each other in the carriage, and though it was the proper thing to do, she missed his reassuring presence beside her.

Lord Percy shifted on the seat and she realized he was watching her. Catching her gaze, he cleared his throat and spots of color appeared in his cheeks.

“I am happy we are to wed, Claire,” he said softly.

Her face felt warm. “I will try to be a good wife, Percy.”

She wanted that, wanted to make her husband happy, as wives were supposed to do.

As soon as they returned, she would ask Tory to explain her wifely duties. Her sister had attended Mrs.
Thornhill’s Private Academy, after all. They studied such things there. Besides, by now, her sister was a wife herself.

Yes, Claire thought, Tory would know what to do.

“Do you think she’s all right?” It was the third time she had asked the question. From his seat behind the desk, Cord was beginning to frown.

“Claire is fine. Lord Percy gave his word and he is a gentleman. He will not take advantage of Claire. He will not make husbandly advances until she is ready to accept them.”

“But Claire isn’t like me. She isn’t—”

He looked up from his work and one dark eyebrow went up.

Tory flushed. “She is more reserved than I am.”

Cord got up from his desk and walked toward her. “She is not the passionate creature you are, is that what you mean?” He lightly caught her shoulders. “You are an utter delight in that regard and there is scarcely a moment I don’t think of hauling you off to bed. Which means, if you don’t leave me to my work, I shall drag you upstairs this very moment and make you behave like the passionate little baggage you are.”

Tory flushed and backed away, uncertain whether to be flattered or insulted. “Then I suppose I shall have to leave. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your duties.”

Cord’s mouth edged up, but she could see that his mind had already returned to the stack of paperwork on his desk. With a sigh, he returned to his chair and submerged himself once more in his task.

Tory watched him for a while, but he had already forgotten she was there. Since their wedding night, Cord
had spent most of his time in his study, foraging through the mountain of papers on his desk. Now that he was resigned to being married to a penniless wife instead of an heiress, he seemed determined to make up for the loss by working even harder than he had before.

Tory sighed as she left the study and made her way down the hall. Physically, they seemed well suited. One of Cord’s hot looks left her breathless. One kiss and she wanted more. Her husband seemed to feel the same, making love to her several times a night.

But he never came to her room before midnight and he always left before dawn. He had duties, he explained, responsibilities he couldn’t ignore.

And there was his ongoing search for his cousin.

Captain Sharpe’s present location had yet to be determined. Though the captain was thought to be alive, they were unsure in which prison he was now being held.

And uncertain how long he could endure under harsh French prison conditions.

The clock was ticking, the need to find the captain resting heavily on Cord’s broad shoulders. He had important things to do, and spending time with his wife, it seemed, wasn’t one of them.

Her stomach churned at the thought. If she couldn’t be with him, how could she make him fall in love with her? If he didn’t love her, how long would it be before he tired of her and turned to another woman?

“Beg pardon, my lady.”

Standing in the hall outside the study, Tory turned at the sound of the butler’s voice.

“Your carriage is arrived out front, as you requested.”

“Thank you, Timmons.” She was on her way over to
see her sister. Claire had safely returned home to London, she and her husband living in the small but elegant town house Lord Percy had provided near Portman Square. Tory knew Claire was lonely, and uncertain about her new life. In time, Tory hoped things would improve.

She followed Timmons into the entry, picked her reticule up off the side table, then waited while he held open the door. Since her return as Cord’s wife, the staff had been surprisingly cordial. Once they learned she wasn’t actually a servant but the daughter of a baron, they seemed to admire the fact that during her term as housekeeper she had worked just as hard as they had, even though her blood was blue.

All but Mrs. Rathbone, who remained surly and only grudgingly respectful. Still, she had been in Cord’s employ for a number of years and Tory refused to dismiss her.

Her sister waited anxiously on the front porch when Tory arrived. As she departed the carriage, Claire raced along the brick walkway into her sister’s arms.

“Oh, Tory, I’m so glad to see you!”

“It’s only been a few days, darling.”

“I know, but it seems much longer.” She took hold of Tory’s hand and led her into the house, which was fashionably elegant, with a marble-floored entry and a drawing room done in ivory and gold.

A tall, thin butler appeared. When Claire simply looked up at him, he smiled. “Perhaps my lady would wish some tea to share with her guest,” he prompted.

“Oh, yes! Thank you, Parkhurst, that would be lovely.”

“Of course, my lady.” He gave her an indulgent smile, already enthralled with his new mistress.

She and Claire went into the drawing room, which was small but stylishly furnished, with a sienna marble mantel above the hearth and crystal-prismed lamps and porcelain-faced clocks sitting on Sheraton tables.

Claire smiled as they walked into the room, but the smile seemed forced.

“You look a little pale, dearest. Are you feeling all right?”

Claire glanced away. “I am fine.”

Worry filtered through her. “Is everything…is everything all right between you and Lord Percy?”

“I suppose so.” She sighed as she sank down on the sofa. “It’s just…”

“Just what, darling? Do you not enjoy Lord Percy’s company?”

She nodded, her smile a little more genuine. “Oh, yes. I like him ever so much. But—”

The tea cart rattled just then as Parkhurst shoved it through the open doorway.

“Why don’t you pour for us?” Tory suggested. “Then you can tell me all about it.”

Parkhurst left the tea cart and closed the drawing room doors, making them private. Tory seated herself on the sofa next to Claire, who took care to arrange the skirt of her finely cut day dress, a pale green jaconet gathered into delicate folds beneath the bosom. Tory also wore a gown of muslin, hers in a saffron hue, the square-cut bodice heavily embroidered in silk.

Claire was married to the son of a marquess; Tory was the wife of an earl. Both Cord and Percy had gone to extravagant expense to see their wives properly clothed.

Claire took a sip of her tea. “Sometimes when I am
with him…I don’t know…in some odd way he makes me feel nervous. He’s extremely handsome, of course, and entirely a gentleman. Still, when he holds my hand, my palms become damp. He kisses me and I like it very much, but when he stops, I find myself growing agitated that he doesn’t continue.”

Tory bit her lip. She knew what her sister was feeling. Cord made her feel those things and a good deal more. But how did she go about explaining desire between a man and his wife?

“What you are feeling is natural, Claire. When a woman admires a man, she often feels those sorts of things. Just follow Lord Percy’s lead, and in time, it will all work out.” At least she hoped that it would.

“Tonight he is taking me to the opera. I have never been to an opera and I am so looking forward to it. He has planned something for every night this week. It is all very exciting.”

He is courting her,
Tory thought, pleased by the notion.

“Percy said to ask if you and Lord Brant might wish to join us. The marquess has a private box and Percy thinks you would both enjoy the performance.”

Oh, how she would love to attend the opera! And to sit in a private box, no less. Cord would be too busy, she knew, working late, as usual, unable to break away. She tried not to let it annoy her, but lately it did.

“He will probably be working,” Tory said. “But I shall certainly try to convince him.”

“If the earl cannot come, perhaps you could still come with us. I should like that ever so much.”

Tory would like that, too. Still, she would rather go with her husband.

She was thinking of Cord several hours later when she returned to the house and made her way straight to his study.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, my lord.”

Cord leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s all right. I could use a moment’s break. How was your sister?”

“She is adjusting. Lord Percy is treating her very well. As a matter of fact, they have extended an invitation to join them at the opera tonight. I was hoping that perhaps…”

Cord sighed tiredly. “I’m sorry, sweeting. Unfortunately, I’ve a meeting with Colonel Pendleton tonight. I’m sure Lord Percy wouldn’t mind escorting two beautiful women instead of one.”

The matter of Captain Sharpe’s rescue was certainly of more import. Tory could scarcely argue with that. Still, if he would be gone for the evening, what would it matter if she went on her own? “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Go ahead,” he urged. “It’ll be good for you to get out of the house.”

She didn’t want to go without him, but staying home alone every night wasn’t much fun, either.

And so it had started, innocently enough, just a reason to get out of the house while Cord was busy working. Three or four nights a week, Tory joined her sister and her husband at an endless stream of social events. Unlike Cord, Percival Chezwick had few responsibilities. He had a sizable trust fund combined with a small inheritance from his grandfather, and he was young and full of life.

He was proud of his beautiful wife and took every possible occasion to show her off to Society.

It was the night of the earl of Marley’s house party that Percy’s cousin, Julian Fox, first accompanied them.

Julian was the son of a viscount, several years older than Percy, in London for the Season. He was black-haired and blue-eyed, more sophisticated than his cousin and not the least bit shy. He was handsome and utterly charming.

Tory liked him from the moment she met him and he seemed to like her. Throughout the evening, Julian was approached by women, but though he was friendly, mostly he ignored them, remaining, instead, close to Tory and the party he had come with.

The next night, they attended the theater, Shakespeare’s
King Lear,
and again, Julian went with them. If he had made the slightest overture, the least improper advance, she might have been uncomfortable, but he played the perfect gentleman.