The Bride's Necklace. Kat Martin
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“My study,” he commanded. “Now!”
Tory bit her lip, lifted her skirts and hurried down the hall in front of him. Cord followed her into the study and slammed the door.
“Sit down.”
She dropped into the nearest chair as if her legs had been severed at the knee and forced herself to look up at him. He seemed even taller than he usually did, his eyes fierce and dark.
“I think it’s time we talked about the necklace. The one you and your sister stole from Baron Harwood.”
Her head swam and her palms went damp. She smoothed them over her crisp black taffeta skirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m speaking of the very valuable necklace that was stolen from Harwood Hall.” His jaw hardened. “And there is also the not insignificant crime of the attempted murder of the baron.”
Tory swallowed, tried to look calm even when her insides were quaking. “I don’t know a Baron Harwood,” she lied.
He didn’t believe her. She could see it in his face. Dear God, she wanted to tell him the truth more than anything in the world. But if she did, if she told him she and Claire were Harwood’s stepdaughters, he would be honor bound to send them back. She couldn’t let that happen. She and Claire would have to run again, leave London and find someplace new to hide.
Watch for the next book in this dramatic new trilogy by KAT MARTIN
THE DEVIL’S NECKLACE
Kat Martin
The Bride’s Necklace
To my great friends Meryl Sawyer, Ciji Ware
and Gloria Dale Skinner for their help
on this trilogy. Love you guys!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Prologue
England, 1804
A soft creak in the hallway awakened her. Victoria Temple Whiting sat upright in bed, straining toward the sound. The faint noise came again, footsteps passing her bedchamber, continuing down the hall, pausing in front of the door to her sister’s room.
Tory swung her legs to the side of the bed, her heart racing now, pounding in her ears. There was no lock on Claire’s door. Their stepfather, the baron, wouldn’t allow it. Tory heard the click of the silver knob turning, then the soft glide of shoes on carpet as someone walked into the room.
She knew who it was. She had known this day would come, known the baron would finally act on the lust he felt for Claire. Desperate to protect her sister, Tory rose quickly, grabbed her blue quilted wrapper off the foot of the bed and raced out into the hall. Claire’s room was two doors down. She made her way there as quietly as possible, legs trembling, her palms so slick she could barely turn the doorknob.
She wiped her hands on her wrapper and tried again, successful this time, opening the door and stepping silently into the darkness of the room. Her stepfather stood next to the bed, a long, shadowy figure in the dim light coming in through the mullioned window. Tory stiffened at his low-murmured words, the fear she heard in Claire’s voice.
“Stay away from me,” Claire pleaded.
“I won’t hurt you. Just lie still and let me do what I want.”
“No. I w-want you to get out of my room.”
“Be quiet,” the baron said more sharply. “Unless you want your sister to awaken. I think you can guess what will happen to her if she comes in here.”
Claire whimpered. “Please don’t hurt Tory.” But both of them knew he would. Her back still carried the marks of an earlier caning, the punishment her stepfather, Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood, had delivered for some minor infraction she could now scarcely recall.
“Do as I say then and just lie still.”
Claire made a sound in her throat and Tory fought down a wave of fury. Slipping around behind the baron, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, she inched closer. She knew what her stepfather meant to do, knew that if she tried to stop him, she would suffer another beating and sooner or later he would still hurt Claire.
Tory bit her lip, forcing down her anger, trying to think what she should do. She had to stop him. No matter what happened, she couldn’t let him touch her sister.
Then her gaze lit on the brass bed warmer next to the hearth. The coals inside had long grown cold, but the bowl was heavy with the ashes left inside. She reached down and gripped the wooden handle, silently lifting the instrument up off the hearth.
Claire made another whimpering sound. Tory took two steps closer to where the baron leaned over Claire and swung the heavy brass bed warmer. Harwood made a sort of grunting noise and toppled over onto the floor.
Her hands shook. The bed warmer hit the floor with a soft clunk, spilling spent coals and black ash all over the Aubusson carpet. Claire leaped up from the bed and started running toward her, threw herself into Tory’s arms.
“He was…he kept touching me.” She made a funny little choking noise and held on tighter. “Oh, Tory, you came just in time.”
“It’s all right, darling. You’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you again.”
Trembling all over, Claire turned toward the man lying on the rug, a dark streak of blood running from the gash at his temple. “Did you…did you kill him?”
Tory gazed at the baron’s still form and swayed a little on her feet. She took a breath to steady herself. It was dark in the room, but a sliver of moonlight slanted in through the mullioned window. She could see the scarlet stain spreading beneath Harwood’s head. His chest didn’t seem to be moving, but she couldn’t tell for sure.
“We have to get out of here,” she said, fighting an urge to run. “Put on your wrapper and get your satchel out from under the bed. I’ll go get mine and meet you at the bottom of the servants’ stairs.”
“I—I need to change out of my bedclothes.”
“There isn’t time. We’ll change somewhere along the road.”
The journey wasn’t unexpected.