The Bride's Necklace. Kat Martin
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as he helped her through the doorway into another, smaller room filled with harnesses and hay, a rush of heat slid into her stomach.
They reached the enclosure where the puppies lay sleeping next to their mother, a thin, black-and-white-spotted hound, but the earl didn’t move away. She tried to widen the distance between them, but there simply wasn’t room.
“They’re only a few days old,” he said softly, his warm breath fanning her cheek. Embarrassingly, she trembled.
“Could I hold one?” Teddy asked, staring down at the mongrel pups as if they were purebred.
“They’re too little yet,” Brant said, reaching down to affectionately ruffle the little boy’s dark hair. “Perhaps the next time you visit.”
“Do you think I could have one?”
The earl chuckled softly, and Tory felt an odd lift in her stomach. “If your mother says it’s all right. Why don’t you go in and ask her?”
Teddy grinned up at him, turned and tore out of the carriage house, running pell-mell back inside and leaving her alone in the shadows with the earl.
“I—it is time I went back in. I have a great deal of work yet to do.”
“You’re looking a little flushed,” he said, his golden eyes fixed on her face. “Are you feeling all right, Mrs. Temple?”
He was standing so near she could measure the beats of his heart, study the sensual curve of his bottom lip, see the way his mouth faintly lifted in one corner.
“It’s…it’s a bit close in here. I believe I could use a breath of air.”
His lips curved even more. “Of course.” He stepped away from her so quickly she nearly lost her balance. The earl’s hand shot out to steady her. “You seem a little faint. Here, let me help you.”
“No! I mean…I’m fine. Really I am.”
“At least let me help you outside.”
Sweet Lord, Brant’s help was the last thing she needed. Mostly, she just wanted to get as far away from him as she possibly could. Why did that seem such a difficult task?
She tried to ignore his nearness, the strength of the hand at her waist, guiding her out of the mews, into the sunlight behind the fountain in the garden, but she couldn’t dismiss the flush in her cheeks or the soft heat in her stomach.
She felt a little better outside, a little more in control. The earl very politely stepped away.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, much, thank you.”
“Then I shall leave you to your work. Good afternoon, Mrs. Temple.”
Tory watched him walk away, her heart still pounding, her knees weak beneath her skirt. The man had played the perfect gentleman and yet she could barely catch her breath. Dear God, if he did, indeed, have intentions toward Claire—
Tory walked back to the house, more worried about her sister than she had ever been before.
A summer storm rolled over the city, thick black clouds blocking the thin slice of moon. Thunder rumbled outside the mullioned windows as Tory made her way through the shadowy darkness to the earl’s study. The grandfather clock in the entry began the twelve chimes of midnight.
It was the Season in London. Lady Aimes was attending a house party with friends and, as was his custom, the earl had gone out for the evening.
Earlier, most of the servants had retired to their rooms, Tory among them. As she had lain in bed, she told herself to stay exactly where she was, to ignore the earl’s latest chess move. But the challenge was simply too great.
As soon as the house fell silent, she pulled her quilted wrapper over her night rail, picked up the whale-oil lamp in her sitting room and headed for the stairs.
Now as she entered the study, she could see the chessboard, the glow of her lamp casting the tall ebony and ivory pieces into shadow. She ignored the cold wooden floor beneath her bare feet, quietly made her way to the board and seated herself in one of the high-backed chairs.
Setting the lamp down on the table, Tory studied the board, barely aware of the rustle of branches against the brick walls outside, the glimpse of moonlight between passing clouds. Gazing at the pieces, she knew a moment of satisfaction. The earl had taken the bait. The trap she had laid had won her his castle.
She picked up a pawn to capture the piece, then realized that in doing so she was leaving an opening that could net him her queen. Tory grinned. The man was no fool. She would have to be more careful. She was deep in thought, planning the strategy that would win her the game, when a husky voice rumbled into her awareness.
“Perhaps you should take the castle after all. There is always the chance your opponent will fail to see the danger in which you’ve left your queen.”
Tory’s hand froze above the chessboard. Turning very slowly in her seat, she looked up into the face of the earl. “I don’t…I don’t think that he will. I think that he—you—are a very good player.”
“Do you? Then that is the reason you ignored my wishes and continued to play after I specifically told you not to?”
Tory eased up out of her chair, hoping to feel less at a disadvantage. She realized her mistake the instant she was on her feet, for only a few inches separated her from the earl. He didn’t back away, just kept her pinned there between the chair and the solid wall of his chest.
“Well, Mrs. Temple? Is that the reason you disobeyed my orders? Because I am such a very good player?”
She swallowed. He was a tall, well-built man and she knew firsthand how very volatile his temper. She had learned from her stepfather the consequences of angering such a man. Still, for some strange reason, she wasn’t afraid.
“I—I can’t exactly say why I did it. Chess is a game I enjoy. I was challenged in a way. Then you came to my room that night and I…I thought that playing again might be good for you.”
Some of the tension seeped from his shoulders. “Perhaps it has been. Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Temple? You are prepared, are you not, to make your next move?”
Her own tension eased, replaced by a different sort of nervousness. Unconsciously, she moistened her lips, running the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth. In the lamplight, the gold of his eyes seemed to darken. He watched her with such sensual awareness that a little frisson of heat sparked in her belly.
“Yes, my lord. I’m ready.” It was insane. She was barefoot and dressed in her nightclothes. It would be no small scandal if someone chanced upon them.
Unable to stop herself, knowing the risk she was taking, she sank back down in her chair, hoping her hand didn’t tremble as she reached out and picked up her bishop. She angled it along an open row of beautiful inlaid squares, and captured one of his knights.
The earl chuckled as he seated himself on the opposite side of the chessboard. “You’re certain taking the castle wouldn’t have been the smarter move?”
Her confidence returned. “Quite certain, my lord.”
The earl studied the chessboard, then moved his queen, neatly capturing one of her pawns.
The play went on. The wind howled and wrenched the leaves from the branches of the trees, but in the small circle of light in the earl of Brant’s study, Tory felt oddly protected.
She moved her castle. “I’m afraid that is check, my lord.”
Brant scowled. “Yes, so it is.”
The play continued, pawns and pieces falling as if in a savage battle. It was well past two when the final move was made.
“Checkmate, my lord.”
Instead of being angry, as she somewhat feared he