The Bride's Necklace (15 page)

“Indeed, my lady. I’m thinking that perhaps, with your mother gone, no one has told you the way of things.”

“What things are you talking about?”

Frances bit her lip. “I don’t know if I should say, my lady.”

“I need to know. Please tell me, Frances. I want to make my husband happy.”

“Well, you’re certainly right in that. Lord Percy would be smiling once in a while if he were gettin’ what other men get from their wives.”

Dear Lord, had she been failing him all the while and not even known it? “Tell me, Frances, please. I really want to know.”

And so two hours later an astonished Claire bid her maid good night and climbed into bed. She tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she kept remembering the outrageous things the maid had said.

As soon as the sun was high enough to mark a decent hour for calling, Claire was going to see Tory. She needed to confirm what the maid had told her—and find out if Tory had done those things with the earl.

By midafternoon Claire knew the true and astonishing facts of life.

Not only had her sister blushingly nodded at the things Frances had told her, she had loaned her a book from the earl’s library,
In the Matter of Male and Female Sexuality.

“You should have told me,” Claire had said.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t. But it isn’t an easy matter to discuss, even between sisters as close as we are. I was hoping…that your husband would handle the matter.”

But Percy was even shyer than Claire.

Claire sat perched on the edge of the sofa. “What is it like?”

Tory blushed. She took a deep breath and then she smiled. “Lovemaking is wonderful, Claire.”

Claire left for home and spent the day in the library engrossed in the book Tory had loaned her. As evening approached, she pled a headache, remaining home instead of going out, and retired upstairs to her room. Carrying the book, she crossed her bedchamber and curled up in the window seat.

Claire cracked open the leather-bound volume to the place she had marked when she had been forced to stop reading. Time and again her face heated up at the words printed on the page, and yet she had never read anything more intriguing.

And she wasn’t going to bed until she had finished the very last sentence.

It was later that same night that Tory prepared to go out for the evening. Her afternoon had been full of surprises. Though she was relieved that Claire finally understood and even seemed to look forward to the physical side of marriage, her own marriage was turning into a dismal failure.

Slipping into a high-waisted gown of gold satin trimmed with rhinestone brilliants, Tory stood stiffly as Emma did up the buttons.

She was angry. And disappointed. The duke of Tarrington was having a ball at his magnificent residence on the outskirts of the city and Cord had agreed to accompany her. She’d been excited all week, looking forward to wearing the new gown she had purchased especially for him, mostly looking forward to just being with him.

Then tonight, at the very last moment, he had told her he wouldn’t be able to go.

“I know you were looking forward to tonight, but something’s come up. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel.”

“You aren’t going?” She could hardly believe he was crying off when he had promised to take her. “What has come up that is so important?”

“It’s a business matter, nothing for you to worry about.”

“A business matter,”
she repeated, trying to hold on to her temper. “We have been planning this evening for
the past two weeks. Grace is going. My sister and Percy will be there. Surely whatever it is can wait.”

“I’m sorry, but it can’t. There will be other occasions. The Season isn’t yet over.”

Tory reined in a shot of anger. Instead of arguing, she waited till Cord left the house then sent a note to Gracie, explaining that the earl had been forced to cancel for the evening and asking if she would ask her parents if she might be included in their party.

Grace was thrilled, of course. It would be easier to escape her parents and the line of unwanted suitors they constantly pressed upon her if Tory were with her. When the Chastains’ carriage rolled up in front of the town house, she was ready and waiting, her anger lowered to a simmer.

The traffic was heavy on the roadways, with freight wagons and hackney coaches, and a number of fine carriages headed to the same destination. By the time they reached Tarrington Park, the ball was already well under way; a crush of elegantly dressed men and women who filled the sumptuous residence to overflowing, spilled out onto the terrace and into the torch-lit garden.

Tory greeted familiar faces as she searched for Claire and her husband. She smiled when she saw a friend approaching along the marble-floored hall. The handsome, black-haired man caught her hands, bent and kissed her cheek.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Victoria.”

“You, as well, Julian.”

Cord finished his meeting but had too much on his mind to simply go home.

And he was feeling guilty about disappointing his wife.

He knew how much Victoria had wanted to go to the ball. But the real estate purchase on Threadneedle Street was getting ready to close and the seller was leaving London in the morning. At the last minute, the man had demanded a meeting to clarify some of the terms, and Cord had no choice but to agree.

At least that’s what he had told himself.

Instead of going home, he directed his coachman to take him to Sheffield House. But as the carriage rolled in that direction, he couldn’t help wondering if tonight’s important meeting hadn’t simply been another excuse to avoid spending time with his wife.

Cord sighed into the carriage. Every minute he spent with her seemed to draw him deeper under her spell.

It worried him. Bloody hell, it terrified him.

He was a man who had learned to rely on himself. He didn’t like involvements, especially with a woman. He didn’t like becoming too attached. He remembered how he had suffered when his mother had died. He’d been a boy back then, barely able to stand the grief. Over the years, he had learned to distance himself, to keep his emotions carefully guarded. It was the only way a man could protect himself.

The carriage pulled up in front of the mansion. Lamps still burned in the rooms downstairs, which meant Rafe was likely at home. Cord climbed down from the coach and made his way along the brick walkway to the wide front porch. Two sharp raps and the butler pulled open the door. Cord was surprised to see his best friend standing in the entry.

“I know it’s getting late,” Cord said. “I saw the lamps still lit.” Cord eyed the evening clothes his friend was wearing. “I take it, you’re on your way out.”

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’m off to Tarrington’s ball. I thought you were attending, as well.”

Cord ignored a thread of guilt. “I planned to go. Something came up.”

Rafe smiled. “Well, it isn’t all that late. There is still time to change. Perhaps you and Victoria could join me.”

He had work to do, the final papers to review on the real estate transaction. Still, he had promised Victoria he would take her and it didn’t set well that he had broken his word.

“All right. We’ll go over to the house, see if she still wants to go.”

It was ten minutes later that he and Rafe walked into the foyer of his town house.

“I’m afraid her ladyship isn’t at home,” Timmons informed him. “She accompanied her friend, Miss Chastain, and Miss Chastain’s parents to the duke of Tarrington’s ball.”

Cord felt a trickle of irritation. He didn’t really mind that Victoria had gone. It was the way of the
ton
to lead separate lives, and that was exactly what he wanted.

“Since your wife is already there,” the duke said, “you might as well get dressed and come along.”

He started to say no, that he had a million things to do, but Rafe caught his arm.

“There have been rumors,” the duke said softly, “whispers about your wife and Julian Fox. I don’t believe for an instant they are true, but still…it would serve both of you well if you escorted your wife on occasion.”

Rumors,
he thought. Whispers about his wife and an
other man. Anger burned through him. He had warned her not to see Fox again. Had Victoria disobeyed him?

“I won’t be a moment,” he said. “Why don’t you pour yourself a drink and I’ll be right down.”

H
e would not be a cuckold, by God!

Riding in the duke’s impressive black-and-gilt carriage pulled by four black horses, Cord and Rafe traveled the busy streets of London toward the outskirts of town and reached Tarrington Park half an hour later. Cord said little along the way, but his temper simmered the entire length of the journey.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he would discover at the ball, or what he might do if he found Victoria with Fox, but Rafe’s words had jolted him out of his apathy where his wife was concerned.

The ball was in full swing when he arrived, the orchestra music soothing some of the heat that pumped through his veins.

But if he found her with Fox…

He spotted Percy and Claire, staring adoringly into each other’s eyes in a corner of the main salon, a huge room with gilded columns, gold brocade sofas and urns overflowing with blooming pink roses. In the gaming
salon, Dr. Chastain sat at a green baize table, a sizable stack of chips resting in front of him.

Cord found Mrs. Chastain in the entry, coming back from the ladies’ retiring room.

“My lord, it is so good to see you.” She smiled. “Lady Brant said you wouldn’t be able to attend the ball tonight.”

“Fortunately, I was able to make a last-minute change of plans.” He glanced down the hallway, but saw no sign of his wife. Instead he saw Julian Fox in conversation with the duke of Tarrington’s son, Richard Worthing, marquess of Wexford. He was only mildly relieved to see Victoria nowhere near.

“Do you know where I might find Lady Brant?” he asked the doctor’s wife.

“She was with Grace when last I saw her. They were going into the ballroom to dance.”

Cord smiled politely. “Thank you.” So she was dancing. Better that than spending time with Fox. But when he walked through the door, Victoria wasn’t on the dance floor. She was standing next to Grace, surrounded by a circle of admiring men.

As he crossed the room, he watched the group conversing and realized each of the men were smiling, vying for his wife’s attention. He had never thought of Victoria as any sort of temptress—though she had tempted him mightily from the start.

Now, as his gaze ran over the low-cut bodice of her gold satin gown and he watched the rise and fall of her luscious breasts, he realized she had blossomed into exactly that. Along with her beauty, she radiated poise and self-assurance, making her one of the loveliest, most intriguing women in the room.

Even if she didn’t seem to know it.

She smiled at something someone said, and Cord noticed the upsweep of her thick chestnut hair, saw the way it glinted in the light of the candles burning in the crystal chandeliers. He wanted to pull out the pins and watch it tumble around her shoulders, wanted to feel the soft strands curling around his fingers.

Her feminine laughter drifted across the ballroom and a wave of desire washed over him. His blood heated and his groin grew thick and heavy. He didn’t like the way the men were looking at her. She was his wife, dammit! She belonged to him and no one else!

Jealousy mixed with the lust he was feeling and his temper inched up. It was mollified only a little by the warm, welcoming smile that lit her face the moment she saw him walking toward her across the room. It was a smile that cut right through him, made him want her more than he ever had before.

Or perhaps it was knowing every man there wanted her as much as he did.

“My lord,” she said, still smiling. “I am pleased that you came.”

His eyes remained on her face as he made an elegant bow over her hand. “You’re looking quite fetching this evening, Lady Brant.”

“You, as well, my lord. I am glad you changed your mind.”

He thought of Fox and wondered… “Are you, indeed?” He turned to the other men before she could answer and the smile he gave them held a note of warning. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse us, I need a moment with my wife.”

The circle nervously parted. “Of course, my lord,”
one of them said, a Viscount Nobby or Nibby or some such thing.

Cord rested Victoria’s gloved hand on the sleeve of his coat and led her toward the door of the ballroom.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he guided her down one of a maze of various hallways.

“Someplace we may be private.” There were no bedchambers on this floor. He opened a door, saw that it led to Tarrington’s impressive study and that several guests were chatting away inside. He closed it and kept on walking.

“Cord, what is it? Is something wrong?”

There might be. If there were, he couldn’t be sure. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Another door proved useless, but the third provided exactly the space he needed. A linen closet with rows of freshly folded sheets and towels would absorb any sounds they might make.

“Cord, what are you—”

She stopped midsentence as he hauled her inside and firmly closed the door.

“I missed you when I got home. I didn’t realize exactly how much until I saw you in that ballroom.”

“But this is a linen—”

He cut off her words with a kiss. A long, hot, very thorough kiss that ended her questions and had her leaning against him, softly whispering his name.

It was dark in the closet, smelling pleasantly of starch, soap and lavender. Victoria’s slender arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed him back as fiercely as he was kissing her. Her tongue was in his mouth and he was sucking on it when he shoved up the skirt of her gold satin gown to find her softness.

She was already damp, he discovered with a feeling of triumph, and growing rapidly more so as he began to stroke her.

“Cord, you…you can’t possibly mean to…to…”

Another kiss warned that was exactly what he meant to do. He managed to unfasten enough buttons to lower her bodice, giving him access to her breasts. They spilled into his hands and he gently pinched the ends, turning them diamond hard, and heard her soft intake of breath.

Darkness surrounded them, forming an erotic cocoon where the senses of touch and feel enhanced their rapidly escalating desire. His hand moved over a warm, satiny breast and he inhaled the faint scent of her perfume.

Bending his head, he took the fullness into his mouth and Victoria arched toward him. She trembled as he reached for her gown once more and slid it up past her waist, his hand brushing her thighs, smoothing over her bottom. Lifting her up, he wrapped her legs around his waist, leaving her open to him, completely exposed. He found her softness, stroked until he had her trembling, begging him to take her.

Unbuttoning the front of his breeches, he freed himself and positioned his shaft at her core. A single deep thrust had him buried to the hilt.

Ah, heaven couldn’t be sweeter.
Victoria made a soft sound in her throat urging him to move, but he held himself back, absorbing the feel of her body fitted so snugly around him, the rightness of being inside her. Her arms tightened around his neck and her lovely breasts pressed into his chest.

She wriggled, making him throb. “Cord…please…”

He started to move then, aroused by the need he
heard in her voice, a need that urged him on. Holding her hips in place to receive his thrusts, he began driving into her, taking her deep and hard, feeling the heat rush through him.

Little mewling sounds came from her throat and it spurred his desire, urging him faster, deeper, harder. She came with a cry of pleasure he hoped was silenced by the padding in the closet and the voices and music outside the door.

A rush of triumph tore through him as he felt her come again.

She was limp in his arms by the time he allowed his own release, a fierce, pulsing climax that left him completely sated. It took a moment to recover, to regain his control, seconds longer to convince himself he had to let her go.

Easing her down his body, he set her on her feet, then in the darkness, felt along the closet shelves in search of a linen towel. He found one and handed it over. While Victoria freshened herself, he turned her around and refastened the buttons at the back of her gown.

“I must look a fright,” she said. “I can’t believe we did that.”

In the darkness Cord smiled, pleased with himself. “I can.” It wasn’t the first time he’d had a woman in an unusual sort of place, but it was certainly the most satisfying.

The only thing that bothered him was how badly he’d wanted her.

And that the woman was his wife.

Tarrington Park was exquisite. Claire danced beneath crystal chandeliers to the music of a twenty-
piece orchestra in blue satin livery and white powdered wigs.

A score of servants, also in the duke’s blue livery, bustled about the ballroom, carrying silver trays laden with every sort of exotic food from oysters to caviar, roasted swan to lobster, and the most delicious assortment of fruit tarts, egg crèmes and petits-fours.

It was a fairy-tale night, the sort she had dreamt of but never really thought to see. And she owed it all to her husband, the white knight who had saved her from a fate she dared not imagine.

Claire danced with Percy’s cousin, Julian, who doted on her like a younger sister. When the orchestra finished the tune, he led her off the dance floor, returning her to her husband. Percy managed one of his rare, sweet smiles and she gave him a shy smile in return.

His gaze wandered along her shoulders, down to the swell of her breasts. He shifted uncomfortably and his smile slipped away. He was always so serious. She couldn’t help wondering if, as Emma had said, he would smile more often, once they had made love.

But so far that hadn’t occurred, and instead, each night after he returned her home, she slept alone in her big four-poster bed while Percy slept alone in his.

“She is yours once more,” Julian said gallantly, bowing over her hand. “As for me, I believe I shall call it a night.”

She was a little tired herself, but she didn’t want to spoil the evening for Percy. Tonight, she would like to go home a little early, spend some time alone with him, kissing and touching. Perhaps they might even do some of the things she had read about in the book.

She wished she were brave enough to ask him to
make love to her. Tory would probably have the courage, but Claire wasn’t anywhere near that bold.

“Well, if it isn’t my beautiful
daughter
.”

Claire’s gaze jerked away from the glittering jeweled buttons on the front of Percy’s coat to the man who had walked up beside her. Her legs started to tremble and her mouth went dry. She thought of the night her stepfather had come into her bedchamber, and she wanted to turn and run.

Instead, she inched a little closer to Percy and his arm went protectively around her.

“Baron Harwood,” he said. “I didn’t know you were in the city.”

“I had some business to attend. I hope you received my note of congratulations. I presume the two of you are rubbing along well together.”

“Very well,” Percy said.

“I am glad to hear it.”

But Claire could see that he wasn’t. The baron was angry at being duped and it showed in his cold, dark eyes. She searched to find something to say. She had hoped, now that she was married, she would never have to see her stepfather again.

“I—I hope all is well at Harwood.”

He nodded. “Aside from the usual problems with wayward servants. You will have to come for a visit some time.” He flicked a glance at Percy. “You
and
your husband, of course.”

Percy’s jaw looked like granite. “Do not hold your breath, my lord.”

Claire’s eyes widened. Her husband was such a soft-spoken man. The last thing she expected was for him to stand up to Harwood.

“I see,” said the baron.

“I hope that you do,” said Percy.

Harwood made a stiff, very formal bow and excused himself, and Claire fought to stop trembling.

“It’s all right, love,” Percy said, his gaze still following Harwood. “I would never let him hurt you.”

“We must tell Tory that Harwood is returned to the city.” But her sister and her husband had already left the ball.

“I’ll send word to Lord Brant in the morning.”

She caught a last glimpse of her stepfather’s retreating figure. “I would hate to spoil your evening, my lord, but if you wouldn’t mind so very much, I should like to go home.”

“You are not spoiling anything.” Percy bent and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “I believe I should like to go home, as well.”

Leading her out of the ballroom, he summoned his coach, and within the hour they were returned to their town house. Percy guided her upstairs to her bedchamber as he did each night, but when he turned to leave she caught his arm.

“Do you think you might stay…just for a while?”

He looked at her and his hand came up to her cheek. “I will stay as long as you like, sweetheart.”

She wanted to ask if he would stay with her all night, but she knew she would be crushed if he refused. Instead, she led him over to the sofa in the cozy little sitting room and they sat down in front of the hearth.

“I know I am being a coward, but my stepfather frightens me so much. I am glad you were with me tonight.”

A hardness came over Percy’s features that wasn’t
usually there. “You’re my wife. You don’t have to be afraid of anyone.”

She gazed into his handsome face, determined not to think of Harwood. “Would you…kiss me?” It was a bold request, she knew, but she needed her husband’s comfort tonight.

Percy swallowed and leaned toward her, then very tenderly settled his mouth over hers. The kiss began to deepen and Claire kissed him back, letting the wondrous sensations wash over her. If this was only the act that the book called foreplay, what must it be like to actually make love?

Percy began to draw away, but tonight she refused to let him. Instead, she caught the lapels of his coat and kissed him again. Percy groaned and kissed her back, sliding his tongue into her mouth.

Claire made a small sound in her throat at the new sensation and Percy jerked away as if he had been burned.

He shifted on the sofa and stared off toward the fire. “You are so very innocent,” he said.