The Bride's Necklace. Kat Martin
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continue to surprise me, Mrs. Temple.”
“I hope that means I also continue to retain my position as your housekeeper.”
One of his dark brown eyebrows went up. “Perhaps you should lose to me once in a while, simply to ensure you keep your position.”
She smiled. “I don’t think you would like that in the least.”
The earl smiled, too. “No, not in the least. I shall expect a rematch, Mrs. Temple, in the very near future.”
“I would be delighted, my lord.”
The earl rose and helped Tory to her feet. She found herself in exactly the position that she had been in before, so close she could see the deep gold of his eyes. They seemed to hold her where she stood, to fix her feet to the carpet beneath the table. She felt his hand on her cheek, tilting her face up, then his mouth settled gently over hers.
Tory’s eyes slid closed as soft heat enveloped her. He didn’t reach for her, just continued to kiss her, his lips moving slowly over hers. He sampled and tasted, coaxed her to open for him, then slid his tongue inside. She started to tremble. Unconsciously, she reached her hand out and clutched the front of his evening coat. He made a deep sound in his throat and his arm came around her, pressing her more fully against him.
It was in that moment, as she felt the hard length of his arousal, that Tory’s senses returned, slamming into her with the force of the wind outside the window.
Breaking away, she stumbled backward, desperate to be free of him, to regain her self-control. “My lord! I—I know what you must be thinking, but you are…you are sorely mistaken if you believe that…that I…If you think for an instant that I would…would…”
“It was only a kiss, Mrs. Temple.”
Only a kiss? It felt as if her world had just turned upside down. “A kiss that shouldn’t have happened. An indiscretion that will not…not occur again.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy it. I assure you I did.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks. She had enjoyed it—far too much. “It isn’t proper. You are my employer and I am your housekeeper.”
“That is true. Perhaps there is something we could do to remedy that.”
What on earth was he saying? The word doxy popped into her head. “You aren’t…you aren’t suggesting…? You can’t possibly mean that I should…?”
Knees wobbling, she squared her shoulders and picked up the lamp. “I’m afraid I must bid you goodnight, my lord.” Turning away, she marched past him. As she crossed the study, she could feel his eyes on her, burning like fire into her nightclothes.
“Good night, Mrs. Temple,” he said as she walked out of the room.
Five
Standing in the darkness of his study, Cord struck flint to tender, lighting another lamp now that Victoria had carried hers away. He smiled to think how the evening had progressed. Having returned early to the house on purpose, he had been hoping to catch out his chessboard culprit. Secretly hoping it might be Victoria Temple.
She had surprised him with her skill. And pleased him. He liked intelligent women. His cousin Sarah was bright and interesting. As had been his mother, dead now seventeen years. He could imagine passing enjoyable hours with Victoria at the chessboard—after he had spent even more enjoyable hours in the lovely lady’s bed.
Getting there, however, might not be as easy as he had imagined.
Cord walked over to the carved wooden sideboard against the wall and poured himself a brandy. He had hinted at the notion of an arrangement tonight. Surely the girl was not so naive she didn’t understand that as his mistress her situation would be immensely improved for both her and her sister.
Next time he would explain the advantages in practical, no-nonsense terms, but he had a niggling suspicion it wouldn’t do any good. Victoria Temple had principles. She was an unmarried woman, regardless of the Mrs. he had placed in front of her name. Sleeping with a man not her husband wasn’t something she intended to do.
Oh, she was attracted to him. He knew women well enough to know when a woman returned his interest—which he most definitely had. His interest yet remained hard and throbbing inside his breeches, reminding him of the soft warmth of her lips, the way they had perfectly melded with his, the way they had trembled.
His arousal strengthened, making him harder still. He wanted Victoria Temple. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had appealed to him quite so much.
Unless, of course, it was all merely an act.
Cord liked women, but he also knew how devious some women could be. No matter her upper-class manners and speech, he had found Victoria on the street. Was she playing a game, or was she truly the innocent she seemed?
For now, he would trust his instincts in that regard, follow the plan that would solve both of their problems, and begin a subtle campaign of seduction. It was, after all, in Victoria’s best interest. She had obviously been gently reared, no matter her current unfortunate circumstances. She belonged in stylish gowns, riding in a smart black carriage. And with the money he gave her, she could also provide those things for Claire.
The thought gave him pause. Just exactly who were Claire and Victoria Temple? Cord made it a policy to know the strengths and foibles of the people around him. Perhaps he should hire a runner, see what he might find out. He would give the matter some thought.
He glanced down at the chessboard. Seduction was not so different from a game of chess, he thought, the man making a move, the woman responding, the play going back and forth until one of them was victorious. He saw himself clearly in that role, but it wouldn’t be easy. If he wanted to win the prize, he would have to plan carefully.
Cord smiled. To the victor go the spoils.
Tory rose early the following morning, yawning behind her hand, her eyes puffy from the little sleep she had managed to get last night. Mostly, she had tossed and turned, torn between embarrassment and thinking what a fool she had made of herself in Lord Brant’s study.
Dear God, what must he think of her, allowing him such liberties? She certainly hadn’t been raised to behave that way. Her mother and father, as well as the years she had spent at Mrs. Thornhill’s Private Academy, had taught her to behave like a lady. Whatever weakness had come over her, Tory vowed it would not happen again.
With that resolve, she made her way up the servants’ stairs to the main floor of the house. She must check on the housemaids, see that the wardrobes were dusted and freshly lined with paper. She needed to see to the candle supply and be certain there was a sufficient amount of writing paper and ink.
She was passing through the entry when Timmons rushed up with the morning paper tucked beneath a short, stout arm.
“Ah, Mrs. Temple. Would you mind terribly? I’ve a quick errand to run and I’m a bit pressed for time.” He handed her a copy of the London Chronicle. “His lordship likes to read the paper while he takes his morning sustenance,” he said as he dashed to the door, leaving behind the paper, and Tory with the job of seeing that his lordship got it.
And here I was hoping I would never have to face him again. Tory sighed. Hardly realistic if she wished to retain her position. At least after last night, he knew she had no interest in becoming anything other than his housekeeper.
Timmons’s bald head flashed in the sunlight as the door closed behind him, and Tory headed for the breakfast room, a cheery salon done in shades of yellow and blue overlooking the garden. Perhaps the earl wouldn’t yet be there. If she hurried, she could leave the paper beside his plate and not have to see him.
She walked toward the door, opening the paper as she went, making a quick perusal of the headlines. Tory froze two paces outside the door.
Baron Harwood Arrives