The Bride's Necklace Part 34

She didn't read the beginning, those first years after Charlotte Temple had wed the handsome young man she had fallen so deeply in love with. Her mother's thoughts were her own.

Instead, she skipped to the final days of her mother's life, those last weeks when she had been so desperately ill. And there it was-the proof Tory had been searching for-exactly as she had imagined.

Today I found William's ring. It was in Miles's jewelry case, wrapped in white satin and hidden away, a trophy - an irresistible prize that proved how clever he was.

Tory stopped reading and took a deep breath, fighting to control her racing heart. Oh, Mama. She turned the pages, revealing her mother's growing suspicions- and her fear.

I think he knows I have discovered his part in William's murder. Beloved William - how could I not have seen the man Miles truly was? How I loathe him. And I am frightened of him, frightened for the children.

Every page filled Tory with anger and pain.

He goads me at every turn, warns me with a look what will happen should I give him away.

How could her mother have married him? How could she not have recognized the sort of man he really was? But her mother had been so desperately lonely, so deeply buried in grief. And in the end, she had seen.

I grow more and more ill with each pa.s.sing day. I am certain that Miles is poisoning me, but I have no idea how he is going about it. I grow weaker and weaker, too ill to stop him.

Tory stared at the lines that were beginning to blur in front of her. She blinked to clear her vision and tears rolled down her cheeks.

He had killed her mother, too!

She brushed away the wetness, despising Miles Whiting, vowing she would see him hang.

She forced herself to continue, though little more was written over the next several days. Then, The end is near. I am so afraid for my daughters. Somehow I must find a way to protect them. Dear G.o.d, what shall I do?

It was her final entry. She had died that same day. But somehow she had found the strength to hide the journal in a place she believed Tory would find it. Perhaps she had meant to warn her.

Or to see justice done.

"Well...I see you have finally found it." Miles Whiting's voice sent an icy chill down her spine. She whirled to see him standing in the doorway. "It would have been far better had you not...but then you never were a sensible sort of young woman."

"You killed her! You killed them both!"

"Ah, so that is what your mother had to say. She was delusional, you know...there toward the end. No one will believe a word of what she has written."

"Oh, I think they will-once I show them my father's ring! It was supposedly stolen by the men who killed him. My mother found it in your jewelry case and now I am the one who has it."

His lean face hardened. "Is that so?" She saw his hand move inside his coat, and an instant later, his long fingers wrapped around the handle of a pistol. Sweet G.o.d, confronting him here was the worst possible thing she could have done.

"A ring is hardly proof enough to see me hanged, though your accusations would certainly be enough to cause me unnecessary trouble."

"How did you find me?" she asked, trying to control the tremor in her voice, trying to give herself time to think. "How did you know I was here?"

He gave her a tight little smile. "Your Mrs. Rathbone has been quite helpful in that regard. She doesn't care for you much, you know."

She glanced toward the door, but Harwood blocked her way and the second-story window was too high off the ground. She had the babe to think of. She couldn't possibly jump.

He motioned with the pistol. "Come. You began this game. Now it is time we finished it." He backed away from the door so that she had room to get past him, then fell into step behind her, close enough a pistol shot wouldn't miss.

"Where are we going?"

"You were searching for your mother's journal. Surely you would want to look in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

A shiver of fear went through her. Unconsciously her hand came up to the slight rounding of her belly where the babe nestled. She shouldn't have come. Nothing was worth putting her unborn child at risk.

"I'm not going down there." She stopped in the hallway and started to turn, but he shoved the pistol into her ribs.

"If you prefer, I can shoot you right here."

He would do it, she knew. He would murder her and the child.

"I didn't come here alone. If you pull the trigger, one of my men will hear the gunshot. They'll come looking for me." That wasn't true, of course, since the men were still in the village.

"Perhaps, but by then you'll be dead. Since no one knows I am here and I shall be gone within seconds after I fire, it really won't matter."

"My husband will know. I left him a letter explaining where I have gone and why. Cord will know you are the one who murdered me and he'll kill you."

He laughed. "There is no letter. I instructed Mrs. Rathbone to burn it. Your husband will believe you have gone off with your lover, as you did before. Perhaps he'll think the man is responsible for your death. Yes...I believe he might think that exactly."

She clamped down on another round of fear. G.o.d in heaven, he knew everything about her! And he had destroyed the letter! If she weren't at the house when Cord returned and she had left no word of where she had gone, he would believe she had gone to Julian.

He pressed the gun into her ribs, nudging her forward, and she started walking, her legs trembling beneath her skirt. Evan and Griggs had not yet returned. Jacob worked somewhere in the fields, but even if he heard the shot, it would be too late.

"A little faster, if you please. I have plans for the evening."

Plans that would prove he had been in London the night she disappeared. There had to be something she could do!

Outside the windows, dusk had begun to fall, a soft purple haze that floated over the landscape. She thought the dim light might work in her favor, but Harwood paused on the landing and instructed her to light the small gla.s.s lamp on the Sheraton table.

She held it out in front of her, the flame wobbling, the unsteady light betraying her fear. Continuing forward, she went over her options, of which there seemed none, and fought to control her growing terror.

Perhaps Mrs. Riddle or her husband would come up to the house. Perhaps Evan and Griggs would get the wheel fixed and come to get her. She thought of calling out, but there was no one to hear, and Harwood might simply shoot her.

Still, she couldn't give up hope. She refused to let him win again.

She held up the lamp and kept walking. Down the broad staircase, along the hall to the short flight leading down to the big, low-ceilinged kitchen. It smelled of long-dead fires, dust and old yeast. As they entered, she glanced toward the wall near the back, where a stairwell led into a storage area below the house.

"Set the lamp on the table."

She considered throwing it in his face, but he was pointing the gun directly at her and she knew if she made the slightest move, he would pull the trigger. She set the lamp down on the table.

"Very good. Now open the storage-room door."

She saw the antic.i.p.ation in his face. He had wanted to be rid of her for years. "Why?"

"Because you are going to have an accident. You are going to take a terrible fall, poor dear. You're going to crack your head wide open-fitting, don't you think, since you once did that to me. Only when I do it, I won't leave you alive."

Fresh fear trickled through her. He was going to kill her and the child she carried and she still had no idea how to stop him. She glanced frantically around the kitchen in search of a weapon. There was a row of butchering knives in a wooden rack on the wall. If she could somehow get to them...

She bolted in that direction, but the baron's long fingers caught the coil of her hair, ripping it free of its pins and sending a shot of pain up her neck as he yanked her backward, slamming her hard against the door leading down to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

"I would really prefer not to shoot you, my dear. So messy, you know. But I swear to you that I will."

A deep voice resonated from the doorway. "I wouldn't advise it. Should you do anything other than let my wife go, I shall take great pleasure in killing you-as slowly and as painfully as I possibly can."

"Cord..." Tory whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Dear G.o.d, she had thought never to see him again.

Cord didn't so much as glance in her direction. Every ounce of his concentration was focused on the man with the gun. In the pale light of the lamp, the blue metal barrel of his own pistol glittered.

"Step away from her, Harwood. Move very, very slowly."

"So you saw the letter. A pity Mrs. Rathbone proved such a disappointment." Still, he didn't back away from her. Instead, he jerked her in front of him, up against his chest, and pressed the gun to the side of her head.

"See how quickly the game can shift?" he said. "Now, I believe it is my move. I would advise you to do exactly as I say."

Keeping the pistol in place, he slid an arm beneath her chin and locked it around her throat. "Set the gun on the floor, then shove it over here with your boot."

"Don't do it, Cord! He'll kill us both!"

"Shut up!" the baron warned, tightening his hold until it was hard to breathe.

Cord's jaw hardened as he bent down and placed the gun on the floor, sent it spiraling across the room with the side of his foot.

"There is a man working in the fields," Cord said. "He'll be in here the instant you fire that weapon."

Harwood laughed as he turned the pistol away from her and aimed it at Cord. "Then I suppose I shall have to leave through the storage room. The door opens into an area on the other side of the carriage house. There isn't the slightest chance anyone will see me."

He looked from one of them to the other and shook his head. "Terrible what happened here tonight...the unfaithful wife shoved down the stairs, killed by her jealous husband, who then took his own life. Men can be such fools."

Tory heard the hammer being c.o.c.ked, knew Cord had only a moment to live. Clamping her teeth, she shoved Harwood's arm up as hard as she could and at the same instant, hurled herself against him with every ounce of her strength.

The gun went off, the sound deafening in the closed-up kitchen. Tory screamed as Harwood bolted past her, racing for the door, but Cord caught his coattail and brought him crashing down, both men hitting the floor in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

She heard Cord's softly muttered curse and knew he had reinjured the wound in his chest. He delivered a couple of vicious blows to Harwood's face, but the baron managed to tear himself free and run for the door. Cord raced after him, both men pounding up the stairs to the main floor of the house.

Tory grabbed the bra.s.s lamp off the table and ran after them, hoping Jacob had heard the gunshot, but knowing he was probably too far away.

She glanced around, caught sight of the baron running into the drawing room, Cord close on his heels. Above the hearth, in a crisscross pattern, her grandfather's dueling sabers glinted in the light of the lamp she carried into the room.

Harwood grinned as he dragged one of the weapons down and tossed it to Cord, then reached up and yanked down the other.

"See what a sportsman I am? I am giving you a chance. Perhaps you yet will live."

But Miles Whiting was an expert swordsman, and the way Cord was favoring his left side, the match would hardly be fair.

Ignoring the pain, Cord tested the blade. "You've just made your second mistake, Harwood. It's going to be your last."

The baron just laughed, the sound echoing through the deserted house, sending chills down Tory's spine. The men stepped toward each other, raised their arms and crossed blades. Sabers clashed. Steel clanged against steel, ringing across the drawing room. Harwood thrust and Cord parried, the baron slashing one way and then another, driving his wicked blade toward Cord's heart.

Tory saw that Cord was more skilled than she had imagined. Far more. But he was not in the same league as the baron.

Some might have called it a duel.

Tory thought that it was the baron's excuse for murder. Harwood had killed her mother and father. She wasn't about to let him kill her husband, too.

Heart pounding, she took off for the short flight of stairs leading down to the kitchen. She considered trying to find Jacob, but even if she did, Cord might be dead by the time they got back to the house.

As soon as she reached the kitchen, she went down on her knees in search of Cord's pistol. Her hands shook as she ran her fingers over the planked wooden floor where the weapon had disappeared.

Please, G.o.d...Frantic now in the semidarkness, she groped the surface beneath the table and her fingers closed over the grip of the gun. Tory dragged it toward her and leaped to her feet.

By the time she reached the drawing room, the men had stripped off their jackets and waistcoats. As they circled each other in the center of the room, a scarlet blossom of blood spread over the sleeve of Cord's white shirt, and her heart squeezed with fear for him.

"You surprise me, Brant," the baron said, showing only the least bit of exertion. "Perhaps in time, you might make a descent swordsman. Unfortunately, time isn't something you have."

"It would seem to me that you are the one whose time has run out." Cord found an opening and his blade sliced into Harwood's shoulder. The baron hissed in pain. Furious that Cord had drawn blood, he started slashing in earnest. As Cord fell back, Harwood circled his blade, caught Cord's saber near the hilt and sent it flying into the air.

Tory bit back a scream as the tip of Harwood's blade found the spot above Cord's heart.

"You did very well...considering. Unfortunately, as I said, I have plans for the evening. And there is still the problem of disposing of your troublesome wife."

The muscles in the baron's forearms tensed as he prepared to thrust home-and Tory fired.

The blade trembled in Harwood's hand. An expression of disbelief appeared on his thin, dark face. The saber wobbled and fell from his nerveless fingers and he crumpled onto the floor.

Tory stood there shaking. A sob escaped as the pistol dropped from her hand, hitting the Persian carpet with a quiet thud.

The sound jolted Cord into action. Turning away from the baron's lifeless eyes, he crossed the room to where Tory stood, tears streaming down her cheeks. She started to weep as he hauled her into his arms.

"It's all right, love." He held her hard against him, trying to ease the tremors coursing through her body. "I've got you now. Everything's going to be all right."

Her fingers curled over the lapels of his coat. "I never imagined you would come."

"I had to. I was afraid for you. Afraid something like this might happen."

"He would...would have killed you."

"Yes. But you were there with the gun and I knew you wouldn't let him."

Her voice shook. "Harwood said Mrs. Rathbone burned my letter. I thought you might not believe what it said, even if you read it."

His hold tightened around her. He thought of the letter and how close he had come to casting it aside. How close he had come to giving in to his jealousy and fear, to running away from his overwhelming feelings for her.

"I'm going to have a baby," she said, looking up at him through her tears.

"I know."

"The child is yours-I swear it on my life."