Tory sighed into the silence broken only by the whoosh of waves against the bow. What had seemed so plausible in the safety of the house now seemed a near impossibility.

At least they wouldn't have to swim. Tory had noticed a little wooden dingy tied to the stern of the ship. Once the schooner was anch.o.r.ed and the crew settled in, she planned to use the dinghy to get them ash.o.r.e.

Then again, she had planned a lot of things in the past few months and so far very few of them had worked.

"The seas are getting rougher." Cord stood next to Rafe at the aft deck rail of the ship. Both men were dressed in snug breeches tucked into knee-high boots and full-sleeved shirts beneath woolen coats.

"We expected a bit of weather," Rafe said. "The Nightingale's sound and we're more than halfway there." The wind had picked up the minute they had reached the mouth of the Thames, sending them speeding on their way.

"We'll have to anchor in the cove until tomorrow night. I hope no one spots us and wonders what the devil we're about."

"If Bradley's as good as the colonel says, he'll pick a place where the ship won't be easily seen."

Cord stared out across the water. "I suppose I'm just a little nervous. I want this to go the way we planned. I want Ethan to come home."

Rafe set his big hands on the rail and looked out over the sea. "So do I."

Cord studied his friend's strong profile, the solid jaw and straight nose outlined by the ship's lantern hanging from one of the two tall masts. "There's something else I've been wanting to talk to you about."

Rafe's blue eyes swung to his face. He must have seen something there, because a corner of his mouth curved up. "Whatever it is, I'm betting it involves a woman. Don't tell me you've finally fallen in love."

Cord smiled and shook his head. "It's nothing like that, though it does involve a woman. And I'll admit she's a fetching little baggage. The problem is she's in trouble with the law."

"You're jesting."

"I wish I were. She's wanted for robbery and attempted murder."

"Sweet Jesus, man, how the devil did you get involved with a female like that?"

"She isn't a female like that or I wouldn't be involved. Or at least I don't think she is. I need you to do me a favor."

"Name it."

"See what you can find out about Miles Whiting, Baron Harwood."

"Harwood? I'm afraid I've never met the chap, though I've heard whispers about him here and there."

"So have I. None of them good, I might add."

"As I recall, there was something written about him recently in the papers."

"That's right. Two women robbed him and one of them hit him over the head. Harwood claims he suffered a loss of memory for several months. Now he's in London, trying to catch the culprits."

Rafe cast him a long, a.s.sessing glance. "This woman...I take it she is one of the two who coshed him on the head."

"She denies it, but I'm fairly certain she is."

"And she means something to you?"

Cord said nothing for several moments. "Put that way, yes, I guess she does."

"Then I'll ask round a little, see what I can find out, but in return, I expect to meet her. Any woman who can stir your interest this much has to be someone very special."

Cord made no reply. He just hoped Timmons was doing his job and Victoria would be there when he got back.

"I don't feel so good, Tory." Claire leaned back against the timber planking and slid her hand down over her stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Oh, Lord. When she planned their escape, getting seasick never occurred to her. As it was, Tory seemed to be adjusting to the roll and sway of the ship without a problem, but Claire wasn't doing so well.

"You're not going to be sick," Tory said firmly, wishing her confident tone matched her mood. "It's just so dark in here. I think that makes it worse. Close your eyes and maybe you'll feel better."

Claire closed her eyes. "Oh..." she moaned.

"Think about something else. Think about that pretty lace shawl you saw in the window of that shop on Bond Street. Think how nice it would look draped round your shoulders."

Claire moaned again and covered her mouth with her hand.

"All right. I'll see if I can find a bucket." Tory moved away from the hull on her hands and knees, dragging her skirt out of the way and trying to remember where she had seen the bucket when they had sneaked down the ladder.

She felt her way over the bags of grain and continued toward the ladder, groping along the floor, ignoring the muck and the scurry of rats she hoped Claire wouldn't hear. She said a silent thank you when her fingers touched the rim of the wooden bucket, which sat on the floor below the lantern.

A box holding flint and tinder sat beside it. She remembered seeing it next to the lamp. Knowing she shouldn't, Tory retrieved the box, shoved up the gla.s.s and lit the lamp. A soft yellow glow filled the hold as she replaced the gla.s.s, and immediately she felt better. If anyone came down, he would probably think the lantern was left burning by mistake.

She hurried toward Claire with the heavy wooden bucket, climbed over the sacks of grain, into the safety of their hiding place, and set the bucket on the floor right next to Claire.

"Are you all right?"

Claire nodded. "The light makes it better." She managed a wobbly smile. Then she gagged and leaned over the bucket.

It was late, only a few more hours till dawn. With all the excitement, Cord wasn't very sleepy, but tomorrow was going to be a long day and he needed to be alert. Figuring he had better get a couple of hours of rest, he unb.u.t.toned his shirt, pulled it off, and tossed it over the back of a chair. He had started on the b.u.t.tons on the front of his breeches when he heard a rap on the door.

Striding across the cabin, he opened the door to find Rafe and the first mate, Whip Jenkins, standing in the pa.s.sage.

"What is it?"

Rafe started grinning. "One of the crew found a couple of stowaways. After our earlier conversation, I have a hunch you might want to talk to them." He stepped back, turned and urged a slender woman forward.

"What the devil...?" He knew that face. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Victoria!" Looking over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Claire and saw that she was trembling, and paler than he'd ever seen her.

"She's seasick," Victoria explained. "She needs to lie down."

Fury made it hard for him to speak. Cord flicked a glance at Rafe, who nodded.

"I'll take care of her," Sheffield said, turning toward the first mate. "The blonde can use my cabin. I'll bunk in with you until we get this worked out."

Jenkins nodded and Rafe started leading Claire away. She twisted to look back at them. "Tory?"

"It's all right, dearest. No one's going to hurt you."

"Sheffield's cabin is right next door. She'll be fine." His look turned hard. "It's you who had better be worried."

He stepped back from the door, and Victoria lifted her head and regally walked past him into the cabin. Cord closed the door a little harder than he meant to, barely able to contain his temper.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? This ship is on a mission-a very important mission. Do you realize the danger you have put yourselves in?" He reached for his shirt, pulled it on but didn't bother to fasten the b.u.t.tons. "We're too far at sea to turn round and take you back. There is simply too much at stake."

Victoria shifted under his intense regard, but she didn't speak.

"G.o.d's teeth, I've seen some cork-brained schemes, but this one tops the list. The London docks are swarming with pickpockets and blacklegs. It is hardly a safe place for two unescorted young women-nor is a ship full of randy sailors."

He moved closer, till he stood right in front of her. Gripping her chin, he forced her to look up at him. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throttle you within an inch of your life."

Victoria swallowed. "We had to get away. This seemed like a good idea at the time."

"A good idea? This seemed like a good idea?" He made a sudden movement and she flinched.

"Dammit, I'm not going to hit you-though taking you over my knee is a monumental temptation."

Victoria said nothing. He saw how frightened she was, saw that her hands were trembling, and some of his anger faded.

"Sit down before you fall down." He urged her into a straight-backed wooden chair and she sank down gratefully.

"Thank you."

"All right. Now you can tell me why you and your sister felt it was necessary to run away from my house, sneak aboard this ship and set sail for France. And I don't want any more fabrications. I want the truth, Victoria, and I want it now."

He could see her mind spinning, groping for some sort of plausible explanation. But she was exhausted, worried and fearful, and much of her usual pluck was gone.

"The truth, Victoria. Nothing else will do."

Her eyes slid closed. A resigned sigh whispered past her lips. "I'm the one who stole the necklace. I'm the one who hit the baron over the head. I used a bed warmer. A big heavy bra.s.s one."

"A bed warmer."

She nodded. "I had to stop him. It was the only thing I could think of to do."

He refused to feel a flicker of sympathy. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did you hit Lord Harwood over the head with a bed warmer?"

"Oh. Because he was...he was...he would have hurt Claire."

Cord took a breath, fighting for control. "All right. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out. Tell me exactly what happened."

Tory clasped her hands in her lap, trying to keep them from shaking, trying to decide how much to say. Her glance strayed round the cabin, though there was no way she could possibly escape. The room was small but comfortable, with a wide berth and a built-in teakwood dresser. Curtains hung over the porthole and a basin and pitcher sat on the dresser.

"I'm waiting, Victoria."

She took a deep breath and silently prayed he would help her, as he had once offered to do. There was really no other choice but to tell him the truth. Well, most of it, at any rate.

"We were working at Harwood Hall." She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. It looked as though he had yet to discover she was the baron's stepdaughter and she didn't intend to tell him-at least not yet. The law gave the baron complete control of his stepdaughters. Lord Brant might feel it his duty to return them.

"In the beginning, Lord Harwood was kind to us. Then he started looking at Claire."

"Most men look at Claire. She's difficult not to notice."

"The way Harwood looked at her made your skin crawl. Those cold black eyes, that tight little puckery mouth. Claire grew more and more afraid of him. I knew it was only a matter of time before he forced himself on her. We were planning to leave as soon as we could, but..."

"But?"

"But we needed more money. We figured if we could make it a couple more weeks, we'd have enough to get by. But two days later I heard him sneaking into Claire's bedchamber and I...I went into the room to stop him."

"And hit him over the head with the bed warmer."

She swallowed, her nerves inching up again. "It was the only weapon I could find at the time. I was afraid I had killed him."

"What about the necklace?"

She looked down at her hands, saw them gripped tightly in her lap. "I'd seen it once when I...when I cleaned the master's suite. We were desperate-just as you said. I took the necklace and sold it to a moneylender in Dartfield."

She explained how she had been forced to settle for a ridiculous sum, then spent the money during the weeks she had tried to find work. She looked up at him, trying to be brave, fighting not to cry.

"None of this is Claire's fault. She doesn't deserve to go to prison." Tears welled and spilled onto her cheeks and the earl's broad shoulders subtly straightened.

"No one is going to prison."

She started crying then, she couldn't help it. Not a soft little feminine cry like Claire would have done, but big, heaving sobs that shook her whole body. She didn't protest when the earl lifted her into his arms, sat down in the chair and settled her on his lap.

"It's all right," he said, cradling her head against his shoulder. "We'll figure this out. No one is going to prison."

Tory sagged against him, slid her arms around his neck and just kept crying. She had carried the burden so long. It felt so good to tell someone, to think that the earl might actually help her. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaled the scent of salt spray and cologne.

His shirt hung open. His chest was mostly bare and corded with layers of muscle. His breath felt warm as he whispered soothing words, and she wanted nothing so much as to turn her head and press her lips against his smooth, taut skin.

She wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his mouth moving over hers as he had done that night. She wanted him to touch her, to caress her b.r.e.a.s.t.s until her nipples turned hard and swelled into his palm. She wanted him to do the things he had only hinted at that night.

"It's all right, love. Everything is going to be all right."

She nodded but the tears kept seeping from beneath her closed eyes.

She felt his hand on her cheek. He caught her chin, tipped her face up. "It's going to be all right," he gently repeated. His eyes held hers, gold into green, and she thought in that moment that he wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted to kiss him.

He didn't.

And yet he wanted her. She moved a little and brushed against his heavy arousal. The earl lifted her up as he rose from the chair and set her on her feet, and still he made no move to touch her.

He had given his word. Apparently, he didn't intend to break it.