The Bride's Necklace. Kat Martin
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is it, Claire? What’s wrong?”
Claire swallowed, her eyes huge and frightened. “It’s…it’s his lordship.”
Tory’s stomach tightened. “Brant?” In the lamplight, she could see the pale hue of her sister’s cheeks. “What about the earl?”
“Lord Brant sent me a message. I—I found it under my door.” With trembling fingers, Claire held up the folded sheet of paper and Tory pulled it from her hand.
Claire,
I should like a private word with you. Come to my bedchamber at midnight.
It was signed simply, “Brant.”
“I don’t want to go, Tory. I’m frightened. What if he…what if he touches me the way the baron did?”
Tory reread the paper and her temper went scalding hot. God save them, she had been right about the earl all along!
“It’s all right, darling. You don’t have to go. I shall go in your stead.”
“B-but aren’t you afraid? What if he beats you?”
Tory shook her head. “The earl may be wicked, but I don’t believe he is the sort to hit a woman.”
Though why she believed that she had no notion. So far she had misjudged the man completely. She had come to believe he was different from other men, more open-minded, a bit less condescending. It bothered her more than it should have to discover that he was also completely lacking in scruples.
Whatever sort of man he might be, tonight she intended to teach him a lesson in the consequences of trying to seduce an innocent young girl.
Cord flicked another glance at the clock on the mantel, as he had done at least twenty times. It was two minutes after midnight. Wearing only his shirt and breeches, he reclined on the bed, hoping his plan would work, that his latest strategy would win him the game.
That sacrificing a pawn would net him the queen.
It was a dangerous move and he knew it. Still, Victoria Temple was a difficult opponent and he had been forced to come up with a different approach than he had intended.
Cord grinned at the sound of four sharp raps at his door. Not the soft, tentative knock Claire would have used, but the firm, furious tapping that could only belong to her sister.
“Come in,” he drawled, then waited as the door swung open and Victoria marched in. She stood in the shadows so he couldn’t see her face, but he recognized her shorter stature and the belligerence in her stance.
“You’re late,” he said with a nonchalant glance at the clock. “I specifically instructed you to be here at midnight. It is now three minutes past.”
“Late?” she repeated, the fury in her voice unmistakable. “Three minutes or three hours, the fact is Claire is not going to come.”
Victoria stepped toward him, out of the shadows and into a shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window. He saw that her hair was unbound, curling softly around her shoulders and glinting with burnished highlights. He itched to run his fingers through it, to know the silky texture. Beneath her wrapper, her breasts rapidly rose and fell with her breath, and he wanted to cup them, to bend his head and take the fullness into his mouth.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but your plan for seduction has failed. Claire remains safely upstairs in her room.”
Cord came up off the bed and paced toward her, a lion with his prey in sight. “As well she should be.”
“What are you talking about? You sent Claire a note. You told her to come. You planned to seduce her. You”
“You’re wrong, lovely Victoria. I told her to come because I knew you would not let her—that you would come in her stead.” He reached her then, settled his hands on her shoulders, felt the tension thrumming through her. Very slowly, he drew her toward him. “It’s you I want, Victoria. It has been almost from the start.”
And then he kissed her.
Tory gasped as his mouth settled softly over hers. For several moments, she simply stood there, letting the heat flood through her, absorbing the taste of him, only dimly aware of the hard male body pressing into hers. Then she remembered why she was there, that it was Claire the earl truly wanted. Tory pressed her hands against his chest, turned her head, and shoved hard enough to get free.
“You’re lying!” She was breathing fast. She told herself it was anger. “You’re just saying that because I am here and not Claire.” She took several steps backward. “You…you would take whatever woman happened to appear in your bedchamber.”
The earl shook his head, stalking her, matching her step for step until her shoulders came up against the wall and she couldn’t retreat any farther.
“You don’t really believe that? We were playing a game, you and I. You were the prize I wanted, not Claire.”
“That can’t be the truth. Men always want Claire.”
“Claire is a child, no matter her years. You’re a woman, Victoria.” He pinned her with his lion’s gaze, caught her chin, held her so she couldn’t glance away. “Deep down, you know it’s you I want and not Claire.”
She swallowed, stared into those hot golden-brown eyes and fought not to tremble. She remembered that same look the night he had come to her room, remembered the way he had kissed her in his study. She remembered the vague hints that he wanted her as his mistress, and God in heaven, she believed he was telling the truth.
The earl tilted her chin up, bent his head and captured her lips. It was a gentle, persuasive kiss, softly taking, convincing her with every touch, every taste. He kissed the corners of her mouth, pressed his lips against the side of her neck.
“If you’re telling the truth,” she whispered, “why didn’t…why didn’t you send the note to me?”
She felt the faint pull of his smile. “Would you have come?”
She wouldn’t have, of course. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” And then he kissed her again.
Tory’s hands came up to his chest, fluttered, flattened against the front of his full-sleeved shirt. Sweet Lord, it was heaven, the softest, hottest kisses, his lips hard-soft, perfectly fitted to hers, coaxing and demanding, giving and taking all at once.
“Open for me,” he whispered, his tongue sliding over her lips, sending warm shivers across her skin. He deepened the kiss and pleasure made her legs go weak. Her arms slid up around his neck and he pulled her more snugly against him, tasted her more completely, let her taste him.
Tory trembled.
She knew she should stop him. He was the earl of Brant, a rake and a rogue, a man who would ruin her if she let him. He cared nothing about her. He only wanted to satisfy his lust. And yet she sensed a need in him, had since that night he had barged into her room.
Her own need surfaced, pulsed to life with every stroke of his tongue, deepened with the feel of his hands on her breasts, smoothing over them, molding them through her robe, sending little curls of heat sliding into her stomach. Her legs were trembling. He kissed the side of her neck as he parted the blue quilted wrapper and slid his hand inside, over her thin cotton night rail to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over her nipple.
“God, I want you,” he said, pulling the little blue bow at her throat, reaching in to caress the fullness of her breasts. Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t swallow. Her nipples swelled, pressed into his palm. “Give yourself to me,” he said softly. “I know you want to.”
God’s breath, it was the truth. She had never wanted anything so badly. She wanted to see where all this heat would lead, wanted him to touch her, kiss her all over. He was every wicked dream she’d ever had, every wanton