The Bride's Necklace Part 32

It was warm in the bathing room. Her skin tasted like hot, wet silk. Her head fell back as he kissed her shoulders, took the fullness of her breast into his mouth. Her nipple puckered and tightened and he heard her soft moan. Her fingers dug into the muscles across his shoulders, and his erection continued to throb.

He pressed his lips against the skin above her rib cage, moved to the slight protrusion of her belly, then nudged her legs apart. She cried out as he knelt to kiss the inside of her thigh, then invaded her moistness with his tongue. He laved and tasted, refused to stop until he had brought her to a trembling climax.

She was sobbing his name when he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the bathing room, over to his big four-poster bed. Still, he didn't take her, not until he had her squirming on the bed, once more on the edge of release. Victoria arched upward, and he positioned himself at her core. Surging deeply, he filled her, slid out and filled her again. Her nails scored his back as he took what he so badly wanted.

What he could no longer do without.

They reached release together and afterward lay entwined, Victoria curled against him. She looked up at him with eyes still clouded with doubt.

"May I stay?" she whispered softly.

Cord ran a finger along her cheek. "I forbid you to leave. In fact I think I shall chain you to the bed-just in case I decide to do one of those wicked things you mentioned."

He could feel the pull of her smile as she snuggled closer against him and his body stirred, wanting her yet again.

A long chestnut curl wrapped around his finger and he smiled. Then he thought how well and truly she had him snared and prayed he had done the right thing.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Cord awakened more rested than he had been in days. He turned on the mattress to reach for his wife, but found the place next to him vacant. Pulling on a burgundy silk dressing gown, he padded over to the door adjoining their two chambers.

At first he didn't see her. Then he heard a sound and found her behind the painted screen in the corner, emptying the contents of her stomach into the chamber pot.

"Victoria!" Cord started in her direction, then turned and went over to the bureau instead. Pouring water into the basin, he wet a cloth, poured her a gla.s.s of water and carried it to where she bent over the pot.

Victoria accepted the cloth with a shaking hand. "I was hoping I wouldn't wake you." She used it to wash her face and neck, then managed to muster a smile. "I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me."

Cord frowned. "I was planning to go to Watford this afternoon. I was hoping you would come with me. I think now I had better stay home."

She shook her head. "Don't be silly. There is nothing you can do to help and I am already feeling better. How long did you plan to be gone?"

"Two days, three at most."

She washed her face again, then accepted the gla.s.s of water he held out to her. "I want you to go. There is nothing you can do for me here."

"If I left, I would only worry the entire time I was away."

"Please go, Cord. If you're here, I won't rest as I should." She looked down at the chamber pot and her cheeks reddened. "And I would rather you not see me this way."

Cord studied her face and thought there was something different about it, a soft sort of glow he hadn't noticed before. He remembered the plumpness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as he had caressed them last night, the slight protrusion of her belly.

She was ill in the morning.

Cord had been with any number of women. They felt comfortable with him, confided in him. Sarah confided in him. Victoria might not yet know it, but Cord had a very strong suspicion he knew exactly what was wrong with his wife. Victoria was with child.

The possibility staggered him.

As earl, it was time he set up his nursery. It was his duty to provide an heir to the Brant t.i.tle and fortune. He wanted children very badly. As a boy, he had yearned for a brother or sister and felt blessed at the arrival of his three Sharpe cousins. He adored young Teddy and looked forward to the day he would have a son of his own.

He only wished he knew if the child his wife carried were his own.

He looked down at Victoria. She still looked pale, but the tremors had eased. "If you're certain you'll be all right, I think I'll go ahead with my plans."

He needed to get away, needed time to adjust to this new complication. He had to come to grips with the fact the child growing in his wife's womb might belong to another man.

It wasn't a possibility he had imagined when he had married Victoria. It wasn't something that was easy for a man like him to accept. Time was what he needed. With a few days to think things through, perhaps he could resign himself to the knowledge that Julian Fox might be the father of Victoria's child.

Tory saw Cord only briefly before he left for Watford. Perhaps she shouldn't have moved into his bedchamber until her morning sickness had pa.s.sed, but she couldn't stand to sit by another day doing nothing to mend the terrible rift between them.

And she had hoped she would be able to hide her illness and that it would quickly pa.s.s. She would have to be more careful in the future-at least until she received a reply to the letter she had written to Julian.

She only prayed he could help her find a way to straighten out the coil she had managed to get herself in.

It was two hours after Cord's departure that Tory received an urgent message from Claire.

Tory had told her sister about their stepfather's intention to sell Windmere and her own determination to get in and search for the diary. But Claire had never been as taken with the lovely Cotswold estate, and she believed Tory should leave the past behind and look to the future.

"Every time you have tried to find Mama's diary, it has caused you nothing but trouble. Whatever Miles Whiting might have done is in the past. It isn't worth putting yourself any more at risk than you have already."

They were sitting in the Blue Salon. At least Claire was sitting. Tory paced in front of the hearth.

"The man murdered our father, Claire. He ruined our mother's life and stole the home she loved and always meant for us to have. Proving he is guilty is worth any sort of risk."

Claire fiddled with the skirt of her plum velvet day dress. She seemed older now that she was married, but she looked no less lovely. Perhaps she was even more so.

"I suppose you are right," she said. "I came by to tell you the sale is supposed to close day after the morrow."

"What!"

"That is what Percy told me." Tory had asked her sister to keep her ears open. Lord Percy was quite the man about town and he always seemed to know the London gossip. "Percy says the buyer's name is Baldwin Slaughter. He is to begin work on the house the day the deed is transferred into his name."

"Oh, dear Lord! Once they start tearing things apart, there is almost no chance we will ever find the diary. I have to get inside before the new owners take over."

"Perhaps Cord will take you."

"Perhaps he would. Unfortunately, Cord is out of town." And she didn't really think he would help her break into what yet remained her stepfather's house.

"He isn't due back until after the sale has already been concluded."

But she wouldn't make the mistake she had made before. She would write him a letter, explain to him just how important this was and how little time was left and beg him not to be angry with her for going.

"At least Windmere isn't that far away," she told Claire. "And I shall be traveling in my own carriage."

And she would take Evan along. She had known the young footman since she had been employed as Cord's housekeeper and she trusted him. Along with Griggs, her big, burly coachman, she should certainly be safe enough.

"As I said, time is slipping away. I shall leave for Windmere first thing in the morning. It shouldn't take more than four hours each way. I'll have time to search the house and still be back by tomorrow night."

"Maybe I should go with you."

Tory shook her head. "The last thing we need is for you to get involved in this. If anything happened, Lord Percy would never forgive me."

"I don't think you should go, Tory."

"I have to, Claire. It's our last chance to bring Miles Whiting to justice and I am going to take it."

Claire didn't say more, but Tory knew she was worried. Her sister would be even more concerned if she knew Tory was carrying a child. But the babe wouldn't arrive for a good long time and she would be careful.

Tory was more concerned with how furious Cord would be when he read her letter. Still, she couldn't just sit by and let her last chance to catch Miles Whiting slip away.

She penned the note that evening, having to rewrite it twice in the hope she could make him understand. Once she finished, she carefully sanded it, sealed it and placed it on top of his desk where he would be sure to see it.

If everything went as planned, he would never have to read it. She would be back before he returned and she could explain the situation herself.

Hopefully, she could also show him the journal. If she did, Cord would finally realize she had been telling him the truth all along. He would know she had never betrayed him with Julian Fox.

Finding the journal was more important than ever and Tory was determined to succeed.

By nightfall, a bitter wind howled outside the windows. Branches sc.r.a.ped against the mullioned panes and a weak moon filtered in between the crack in the damask curtains. Tory spent restless hours tossing and turning, thinking of the day her father had died and remembering her mother's terrible grief.

She awakened later than she meant to, feeling achy and tired but determined. She suffered a brief bout of nausea, but it didn't last long, and an hour later, she was ready to leave, the fancy black calche Cord had bought her waiting out in front, the horses dancing nervously in their traces.

The carriage wasn't fashioned for this sort of journey, more for bowling about the city in warmer weather with the top down. But Cord had taken the traveling coach so the calche would have to do.

Dressing in a warm blue woolen day dress with a matching fur-trimmed bonnet, she waited impatiently for Emma to settle her furlined cloak around her shoulders and headed downstairs.

Evan helped her climb into the carriage, then tucked a heavy horsehide lap robe over her legs and feet to help keep her warm. The young blond footman mounted the coach and sat down next to the driver, facing the chilly November winds far more readily than she.

The four-hour journey stretched into more than five. Tory entertained herself with an edition of Castle Rackrent she had taken from the library, but it was hard to concentrate with her hands and cheeks gone numb. They stopped several times to warm themselves at inns along the way, which helped, but slowed the journey.

It was late in the afternoon by the time they reached the tiny Cotswold village of Windingham and turned toward the yellow stone manor house sitting on top of a gently sloping hill.

Windmere.

The name whispered through her, filling her with memories and longings, stirring a soft ache in her heart. The house had been closed up for the last two years. Only a gardener and his wife lived on the estate to care for the house and grounds.

She hoped that the woman, Mrs. Riddle, she recalled, would remember who she was and allow her inside the house.

There was no way the woman could know the last person Lord Harwood would welcome was his stepdaughter-trying to prove him guilty of murder.

Cord had hoped to find respite in Watford, a small town in the country away from the noise and soot of the city-away from Victoria. Instead, he spent an uncomfortable night thinking about her, wishing she were there with him.

By late in the morning the day after his arrival, he had collected all the necessary information on the property he hoped to purchase and decided to head on home.

It was a short ride back to the city. He arrived a little after noon. He still wasn't certain how he felt about the very likely prospect that his wife might be with child-one that perhaps belonged to another man-but staying away from her hadn't made things any clearer.

Perhaps being with her would.

"Welcome home, my lord." Timmons greeted him in the entry. "We hadn't expected your return for at least another day, perhaps two."

"Yes, well, business progressed rather better than I expected." Of course, he might have stayed an extra day in the charming inn on the river he had discovered-if Victoria had been with him.

As it was, he had fought an urge to be home nearly from the moment of his departure. "Where might I find Lady Brant?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Her ladyship left for the country just this morning. I believe she left a note for you in your study."

Victoria was gone? His stomach instantly knotted. Twice before-as soon as he had left town-she had gone off to meet her lover.

Cord strode down the hall, anxious to read the note. Surely there was some explanation. Victoria had said that she loved him. She had promised to be faithful. He wanted so much to believe her.

But a search of his study turned up nothing and the knot twisted tighter in his stomach. He returned to where Timmons worked brushing the dust from his greatcoat.

"Are you sure Lady Brant left a note?"

"Not for certain, my lord, but I saw her carrying a letter into the study. I presumed it was for you."

He went back and searched again but still found nothing. He went up and made a thorough search of his rooms, then shouted for Emma, who came on the run.

"Yes, milord?"

"Apparently Lady Brant has left for the country. Do you know where she might have gone?"

Emma shook her head, moving a swatch of kinky blond hair. "Not exactly, milord. But she said the trip wouldn't take too long and she would be home sometime tonight."

"Thank you, Emma."

"I believe she left you a note, milord. It were there in the study."

Cord shook his head. "I looked. There is no note."

Emma's pale brows knit together. "That's a bit odd. I was sure I seen her writing it."

"Perhaps she left it in her room." But most of her things had been moved into the master's suite and he found nothing there.

His chest squeezed. He'd had such hopes for them. He wanted a future with Victoria. He thought they might well have one.

Returning to the master's suite, he sank down in the chair next to his bed, feeling sick inside. Sick and empty.

He had trusted her. Again.

He had actually believed she cared for him.

He sat there for several long moments, feeling the sluggish beat of his heart, the deep ache in his chest. She must have gone to Julian. Perhaps to tell him about the babe.