of papers he had been poring over, badly in need of a diversion. Livy was good for that if nothing more.
She tossed her black hair over her shoulder as she climbed up onto the deep feather mattress. “I want to be on top,” she purred. “I want to make you squirm.”
What she wanted was the same thing she always demanded, rough, hard-pounding sex, and he was just in the mood to give it to her. The problem was, once they were finished, he had begun to feel oddly dissatisfied. He told himself he should cast about for some new female companionship. That always raised his spirits—among other parts of his body. But lately, he simply couldn’t get into the thrill of the hunt.
“Cord, you aren’t listening.” She tugged on a tuft of curly brown chest hair.
“Sorry, sweeting.” But he wasn’t really contrite, since he was certain nothing she had to say would interest him in the least. “I was distracted by your very lovely breasts.” To which he directed his full attention, taking one of them into his mouth as he lifted her astride him and slid her luscious body the length of his powerful erection.
Olivia moaned and began to move and Cord lost himself in the sweet charms of her body. Livy peaked and Cord followed, then the pleasure began to fade, disappearing as if it had never existed.
As Livy climbed from the bed, the thought he’d been having of late began to creep in. Surely there is more than just this.
Cord shoved the thought beneath the dozens of other problems he had been facing since his father had died and he had inherited the Brant title and fortune. Following Olivia out of bed, he began to pull on his clothes. There were a thousand things he needed to do—investments he needed to consider, accounts he needed to review, tenant complaints and shipping invoices.
And there was his ongoing worry about his cousin. Ethan Sharpe had been missing for nearly a year and Cord was determined to find him.
Still, no matter how busy he was, he always found time for his single great vice—women.
Convinced a new mistress was the answer to his recent bout of gloom, Cord vowed to begin his search.
“What if it’s the curse?” Claire looked at Tory with big blue worried eyes. “You know what people say—Mama told us a dozen times. She said the necklace could bring very bad fortune to the person who owned it.”
“You’re being ridiculous, Claire. There is no such thing as a curse. Besides, we don’t own it. We just borrowed it for a while.”
But it had certainly brought misfortune to her stepfather. Tory gnawed her bottom lip as she remembered the baron lying on the floor next to the bureau in Claire’s bedchamber, a trickle of blood running from the gash in the side of his head. Dear God, she had prayed every night since it happened that she had not killed him.
Not that he didn’t deserve to die for what he had tried to do.
“Besides, if you remember the story correctly,” Tory added, “it can also bring the owner good fortune.”
“If the person’s heart is pure,” Claire put in.
“That’s right.”
“We stole it, Tory. That’s a sin. Now look what is happening to us. Our money’s almost gone. They’re going to throw us out of our room. Pretty soon we won’t have even enough to buy something to eat.”
“We’re just having a little bad luck, is all. It has nothing to do with the curse. And we’re bound to find employment very soon.”
Claire looked at her with worried eyes. “Are you sure?”
“It might not be the sort of work we had hoped for, but yes, I am extremely sure.” She wasn’t, of course, but she didn’t want Claire’s hopes to plummet any lower than they were already. Besides, she would find work. No matter what she had to do.
But three more days passed and still nothing turned up. Tory had blisters on her feet and there was a rip in the hem of her high-waisted dove-gray gown.
Today is the day, she told herself, summoning a renewed determination as they headed once more for the area she believed most likely to provide employment. For more than a week, they had knocked on doors in London’s fashionable West End, certain some wealthy family would be in need of a governess. But so far, nothing had turned up.
Climbing what must have been the hundredth set of porch stairs, Tory lifted the heavy brass knocker, gave it several firm raps, then listened as the sound echoed into the house. A few minutes later, a skinny, black-haired butler with a thin mustache opened the heavy front door.
“I should like to speak to the mistress of the house, if you please.”
“In what regard, madam, may I ask?”
“I am seeking employment as a governess. One of the kitchen maids down the block said that Lady Pithering has three children and may be in need of one.”
The butler’s gaze took in the frayed cuffs and the rip in her hem and lifted his nose into the air. He opened his mouth to send her away when his gaze lit on Claire. She was smiling in that sweet way of hers, looking for all the world like an angel fallen to earth.
“We both love children,” Claire said, still smiling. “And Tory is ever so smart. She would make the very best of governesses. I am also looking for work. We were hoping you might be able to help us.”
The butler just kept staring at Claire and Claire kept on smiling.
Tory cleared her throat and the skinny man dragged his gaze away from Claire back to Tory. “Go round to the back door and I shall let you speak to the housekeeper. That is the best I can do.”
Tory nodded, grateful to have gotten even that far, but a few minutes later, when they returned to the front of the house, she was filled with an even deeper despair.
“The butler was ever so nice,” Claire said. “I thought for certain this time—”
“You heard what the housekeeper said. Lady Pithering is looking for someone older.” And there never seemed to be a job for a servant as lovely as Claire.
Claire gnawed her bottom lip. “I’m hungry, Tory. I know you said we have to wait till supper, but my stomach is making all sorts of unladylike noises. Can’t we have a little something now?”
Tory closed her eyes, trying to resurrect some of her earlier courage. She couldn’t stand the look in her sister’s eyes, the worry mingled with fear. She simply could not tell her they had spent their very last farthing, that until they found work of some kind they couldn’t buy so much as a dry crust of bread.
“Just a bit longer, darling. Let’s try the place the housekeeper mentioned down the block.”
“But she said Lord Brant doesn’t have any children.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ll take whatever jobs we can find.” She forced herself to smile. “I’m sure it won’t be for long.”
Claire nodded bravely and Tory wanted to cry. She had hoped to take care of her younger sister. While Tory had often worked long hours at the day-to-day task of running Harwood Hall, Claire wasn’t
