The Bride's Necklace Part 11

Not unless she wanted him to.

Oh, dear G.o.d, 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, embarra.s.sed 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 pa.s.sage.

"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 anch.o.r.ed 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-b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! 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 n.o.bleman. 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 ash.o.r.e 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, G.o.d, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e. "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 t.i.tle, 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.

Chapter Nine*.

Supper 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 pa.s.s the endless time until the boat arrived. He had never had a woman friend before. If it weren't for the constant l.u.s.t he felt for her, he would think of Victoria that way.

"Look!" She pointed toward the water. "Someone is rowing out from sh.o.r.e!"

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 succ.u.mb 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.