them open and stepped out onto the red-brick terrace. The scent of lavender struck her, mingled with that of freshly turned earth, but she saw no sign of Claire.
Her worry heightened. If Brant had touched her sister…harmed her in any way…
Taking the gravel path, she hurried toward the fountain, knowing the garden lanes came together there like the spokes of a wheel, hoping she might be able to tell which direction they had gone. To her surprise, they were standing in plain sight, just a few feet off the path, Claire gazing up at the cluster of leaves and twigs that formed a shallow bird’s nest.
Claire was standing a goodly distance from the earl, staring up into the branches of a white-barked birch. At the sound of Tory’s leather-soled shoes crunching on the gravel, the earl looked away from Claire and fixed his gaze on her.
“Ah, Mrs. Temple. I wondered when you would arrive.”
She tried to smile, but it felt as if her face would crack. “I came in search of Claire. There is work yet to do and I am in need of her assistance.”
“Are you? I invited your sister to join me. I thought she might enjoy seeing the robin’s nest the gardener discovered.”
Claire finally looked in their direction, her eyes big and blue and filled with awe. “Come and see, Tory. Three tiny blue-speckled robin’s eggs. Oh, they’re marvelous.”
Ignoring the earl, who, instead of being annoyed at having been caught out, wore a faintly satisfied expression, Tory exchanged places with her sister, stepped up on the footstool the gardener had placed at the base of the tree, and peered into the nest.
“They’re wonderful, Claire.” She stepped down, eager to be away from the earl, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. As lovely as Claire was, Tory had never been jealous of her sister. In truth, she wasn’t now. Lord Brant might have fixed his interest on Claire, but her sister had no such interest in him.
“The earl’s a nice-enough man, I suppose,” Claire had once said, “but he makes me nervous. He seems so…so…”
“Yes, well the earl can be a bit intimidating at times.”
“Yes, and he’s so…so…”
“Lord Brant is…well, he is definitely a masculine sort of man.”
Claire nodded. “I never know what to say or what I should do.”
The earl’s deep voice banished the memory. “Come, Miss Marion. As your sister appears to have need of you, I’m afraid our pleasant interlude is over.”
He was looking at Claire and smiling, but there was none of the heat Tory had seen in his eyes when he had looked at her. Taking Claire’s hand, he helped her down from where she once more stood atop the stool, peering into the bird’s nest.
He made them a last polite bow, as if they were guests instead of servants. “Have a pleasant afternoon, ladies.”
As soon as they were out of earshot, Tory turned to Claire. “Are you all right?”
Claire just looked at her. “It was nice of him to show me the nest.”
“Yes…yes, it was.” Tory wanted to say more, to warn her sister in some way. Claire had already had one bad experience, though fortunately nothing too damaging had occurred.
It was hard to believe Lord Brant was anything like her stepfather, and yet—why else had he been out there with Claire?
Darkness thickened outside the window. A soft fog crept through the streets, blanketing the houses and ships. After supper, Tory had retired downstairs to her room to continue reading the Mrs. Radcliffe novel she had borrowed from the library. At a little past eleven she fell asleep on the sofa in her sitting room.
She stirred as a soft rap at her door began to filter into her senses, then awoke with a start, thinking it might be Lord Brant, realizing by the timid knock it could not be. Quickly pulling on her wrapper, she hurried to the door. She didn’t expect to find her sister outside in the hallway.
“Claire! What on earth…?” She pulled her sister into the room and closed the door, alarmed by the stark look on her face. Tory hurried over to the oil lamp burning low on the bureau and turned up the wick, throwing soft yellow light into the sitting room.
“What 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
