Bradley glanced toward the open sea behind them. "I'd suggest you make way while it's still dark. Once I've located Captain Sharpe, I'll send word to Pendleton, as I did before."

"We'll be ready,'" Cord said. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Bradley slipped back over the side, descended the rope ladder with a skill that said he was no stranger to a ship, and settled himself in the dinghy.

Cord watched the boat disappear in the direction of the cove, the darkness closing around them once more. Around him, sailors raced into the rigging and started unfurling the sails. The anchor chain creaked as it turned round the capstan, hoisting the anchor, and a few minutes later, the ship began to move, heading into the open sea. Cord turned and started walking toward his cabin.

"My lord?"

Victoria's voice floated toward him. He had forgotten she was still there. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were thinking of your cousin," she said softly.

Cord's gaze slipped back toward the sh.o.r.e, but if the dinghy had landed, he couldn't see it. "If only we had been a few days sooner."

"You'll get him next time."

He nodded. "Next time...yes. I wonder where he is tonight."

"Wherever it is, I pray he is safe."

Cord took a breath, silently echoing that same prayer. "Come. I'll walk you back to your cabin." Though he didn't really want her to go, he settled a hand at her waist. Victoria made no move to leave, just stood there looking up at him. Her eyes searched his face and he wondered if she could read the weariness there, the terrible disappointment.

"I was wondering if...I thought that perhaps I would join you in your cabin instead."

A long moment pa.s.sed. At least a dozen heartbeats. Cord stared down at her, unable to believe he had heard her correctly. "Do you know what you're saying...what would happen if you came to my room?"

"I know what I'm saying." She reached up and cupped his cheek. "I am asking you to make love to me."

His feet seemed frozen to the deck. He felt like a callow schoolboy on his first a.s.signation. "Victoria...are you certain? Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I've tried to convince myself it isn't, but it is not the truth. I want you to make love to me. I am very certain, my lord."

He moved then, close enough to touch her, cradle her face between his palms. "I'll take care of you. Both of you. I promise you won't regret-"

She silenced him with a finger against his lips. "Don't say more. Please. We don't know what lies ahead, what troubles we may face on the morrow. Tonight is all we have, but it is ours. If that is what you want."

G.o.d's blood, he had never wanted anything so badly. Cord reached for her, drew her against him, captured her lips in a desperately pa.s.sionate kiss. She tasted like honey and roses, and his body throbbed with desire for her.

Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms and strode across the deck to the ladder leading down to his cabin.

By the time the earl carried Tory along the pa.s.sage, opened the door and set her on her feet, she was trembling. Some wild insanity had pushed her to this moment, but she was here now and there was no turning back. She had sensed his desperate need tonight and she had responded. And she had told him the truth. She wanted the earl to make love to her. Wanted it more than anything she could remember.

In the darkness inside his cabin, he closed the door, slid off her cloak and his coat, then crossed to the bureau and lit the small bra.s.s ship's lamp perched on the top.

The light cast a glow on his face, outlining the masculine hollows and valleys. He looked so strong, so unbearably handsome, but when he came to her, uncertainty flickered in the depths of his golden eyes.

"You aren't doing this simply to ensure my help once we return to London? You don't feel this is some sort of payment?"

Anger warred with hurt. He thought she would sell her body in order to save herself and Claire. She wanted to turn and walk out of the cabin, would have if it weren't for the awful need she read in his face.

"You will help me or you will not. One has nothing to do with the other."

His relief was so obvious it eased the pain. It seemed impossible, but perhaps she wasn't the only one afraid of being hurt.

"My name is Cord. Say it."

A slight flush rose in her cheeks. She had called him that in her dreams. "It's a very fine name...Cord..."

He bent his head and brushed her mouth with a feather-soft kiss. "What about your sister? She'll miss you if you stay."

"Once the ship reached the open sea, Claire felt queasy again. Mr. Jenkins gave her a dose of laudanum. He says she will sleep all the way back to London."

The earl ran a finger along her cheek. "Then tonight you are mine."

Tory closed her eyes as he drew her into his arms and kissed her. Not a soft, gentle, seductive kiss, but a hot, deep, taking kiss, a plundering, ravishing kiss that filled her with heat and need. Her knees went weak and she slid her arms around his neck to keep from melting into a puddle at his feet.

"Say my name."

"Cord..."

A deeper kiss followed, wet, fierce, abandoned. She was trembling, her head spinning.

"I know I should go more slowly," he said. "I'm having the d.a.m.nedest time."

She smiled then, went up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Got a ravaging kiss in return. He pressed his lips against the place beneath her ear, kissed the side of her neck, captured her lips again. He worked the b.u.t.tons on the front of her gown and the fabric parted, exposing the soft swells underneath.

Tory moaned as he cupped a breast, molded and caressed it, stroked his thumb across her nipple. The tip peaked and distended, began a faint throbbing that made her want to press herself against him.

Almost magically, the gown fell open and he slid it off her shoulders, eased it down over her hips to pool in a heap at her feet. Her chemise went next, leaving her in only her garters and stockings. Tory fought an urge to cover herself from his hot lion's gaze.

"I dreamt of this," he said, reaching out to cup a breast, caressing it gently, making her nipple throb with pleasure. She was breathing fast, faintly dizzy, unsure exactly what to do. She swayed toward him as he bent his head and took the fullness of her breast into his mouth.

"Oh, my..." Tory laced her fingers in his hair, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. His tongue circled her nipple as he suckled and tasted, drew on the peak, and sensation shot through her, amazing bursts of heat that slid into her stomach and floated out through her limbs.

His hand slipped over her belly, through the tight dark curls at the juncture of her legs, and he cupped her there. He suckled her breast as his fingers parted her, slid gently inside, and a little mewling sound rose in her throat.

Tory clung to his shoulders, trembling so badly he swept her up in his arms.

"Don't be frightened. The last thing I want is to hurt you."

"I'm not...not afraid." Mostly she was on fire. She wanted more of his pa.s.sionate kisses and bold, intimate caresses. She wanted him to touch her-and she wanted to touch him. She wanted to taste him, know the texture of his skin. She wanted to breathe in his scent.

As he set her on her feet beside the bed, she leaned toward him, reached for his shirt and began to tug it free of his breeches. Cord helped her pull the fabric loose and dragged the shirt off over his head. He reached down and pulled off his boots, began to work the b.u.t.tons at the front of his breeches.

He paused and looked up to see her staring at the width of his chest. She reached toward him and he caught her hand, turned it over and kissed the palm, then flattened it over his heart. She could feel the fierce beating, so alive, so vital, so like the man himself.

Tentatively, she learned the texture of his chest hair, the smoothness of his skin, the indentation of muscle over each of his ribs, the flatness of his stomach. He made no move to stop her and yet she could feel the tension in his body, the cords and sinews beneath her hand vibrating with need and the powerful urge to take her.

"I want you," he said softly.

She reached for the last of his b.u.t.tons, brushing the thick ridge straining upward beneath the front of his breeches, and heard his swift intake of breath.

"My fearless little Victoria." He seemed pleased even as she stepped away from him, allowing him to remove the balance of his clothes. He shed his breeches and she admired the leanness of his body, the strong, powerful torso and long, tapered legs.

When her eyes came to rest on the heavy shaft jutting from between his thighs, curiosity mingled with a tremor of uncertainty.

"It's all right. We don't have to rush. We'll take this slow and easy." He kissed her then, a soft, drugging, coaxing kiss that convinced her to trust him.

Desire returned, began to swirl through her, slip like mist over her skin. He eased her down on the berth and followed her down, bracing his weight on his elbows, kissing her all the while. His hands were everywhere, smoothing over her skin, stroking her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, moving lower, parting her softness and slipping inside her, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

She barely noticed when he settled himself between her legs. She felt his powerful erection, but instead of being afraid, wild antic.i.p.ation filled her. She wanted this, wanted him. What happened later did not matter.

Her pa.s.sage was hot and slick, throbbing in a way she had never experienced. Cord eased his hardness a little inside her, preparing her to accept him. He kissed her long and thoroughly, caressed and teased until she was writhing beneath him, whispering his name, trying to press herself more fully against him. Then he drove himself deeply inside.

For an instant, pain stabbed through her. He had breached her maidenhead. From this day forward, she would be forever changed. But the thought quickly faded, and with it, the pain. She was filled with him, linked in a way she couldn't have imagined.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding himself rigidly above her. "I tried not to hurt you." But there was triumph in his eyes and a look of fierce possession. In truth, he had claimed her. She couldn't let him know how thorough a job he had done.

"The pain is fading." And the pleasure yet remained, the sweet ache returning, the throbbing need just out of reach. Tentatively lifting her hips, she allowed him to penetrate more deeply and heard him groan. Then he was moving, slowly at first, easing the way, stirring the pa.s.sion to life and making her tremble.

Tory picked up the rhythm, began to move with him as he drove himself on, moving faster, surging deeper, taking her harder. Something was building inside her, something hot and wild.

It tore through her so keenly she cried out his name. Arching upward, her fingers digging into his shoulders, she felt as if the world had suddenly shattered into pieces.

Cord's muscles tensed a few seconds later. He groaned as he followed her to release.

The ship's clock chimed. Still linked together, they began to spiral down, the soft throbbing pleasure slowly fading. For several seconds longer, Tory lay still, sorting through the emotions she was feeling.

"That was quite something," she said, and heard the rumble of laughter in his chest.

"Quite something, indeed."

She turned to look at him, saw the lazy satisfaction in his eyes. "I had no idea..."

"And for that I am eternally grateful."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but before she could ask, he was kissing her again. The heat returned and he slid into her again, more easily this time. She couldn't have guessed how wonderful making love with him would be.

And whatever happened on the morrow, she knew she would never regret it.

Chapter Ten.

Cord had to be objective. He had to be certain Victoria had told him the complete and utter truth. Not that he didn't trust her. Well, mostly he did.

Thinking of her, now that they were returned to the house, reminded him of the hours they had spent together onboard the ship and he felt the pull of a smile. She was as pa.s.sionate as he had imagined, more so, perhaps. He had hated to awaken her as the Nightingale neared port, but he didn't want her sister to find her gone and discover where she had spent the night.

Claire would learn the facts of life soon enough, once Tory was installed as his mistress, a situation that couldn't occur until both women had been cleared of the charges against them. To accomplish that end, he needed to know what Jonas McPhee might have found out about Harwood and his two wayward employees.

Of course it had only been a few days since McPhee had received Cord's message, two days since his return from France. The investigator had been given only a brief time to work. Still, the runner might have turned up something. Once Cord was armed with the facts, he planned to go directly to the baron.

According to Sheffield, Harwood was as tight as the hide on a drum. Money to replace the necklace-along with the threat of scandal-ought to be enough to convince him to drop the charges.

Which would return Victoria to his bed.

As he walked out the front door, he smiled to think of her working in his house, pretending nothing had changed between them, unable to hide a blush whenever she found him looking in her direction.

Though that had rarely happened in the past few days.

Victoria was avoiding him, he knew, uncertain exactly how to proceed. He had promised her he would find a way to straighten out her problems, but that only seemed to make her more nervous. He thought that there was more to her story, something else she wanted to confide in him, but so far she hadn't come forth.

Perhaps McPhee could fill in the gaps, Cord hoped so. He thought of Victoria and felt the hot pull of desire as he shoved open the front door of the runner's office on Bow Street-and was greeted by a very serious Jonas McPhee.

"You have to tell him the rest of it, Tory."

Tory had told her sister that she had been forced to confess most of the story the night they had stowed away in the hold. "I know."

"The earl said he was going to help us, didn't he?"

They were working in one of the bedchambers upstairs, Tory oiling the rosewood furniture while Claire swept the floor.

"He said he would help and I am fairly certain he'll do what he can, but..."

"But you have left out one of the most important parts. You haven't told him Lord Harwood is our stepfather-our true and legal guardian."

"That's because I don't know what will happen when he finds out." Whatever it was, Cord certainly wouldn't be pleased. Not when he realized she was Victoria Temple Whiting, daughter of the late Baron Harwood, a member of the aristocracy.

Miles Whiting, the man next in line for the t.i.tle, had arrived at Harwood Hall just weeks after her father's murder. He had generously allowed them to remain in the house, then spent the next twelve months wooing her distraught mother into believing he was her savior and finally convincing her to marry him. A n'er-do-well who had lived by his mother's largess, he had wound up with the Harwood t.i.tle, estate and modest fortune, along with Lady Harwood's inheritance and fabulous ancestral home, Windmere.

Whiting had got exactly what he wanted. Tory believed he would have gone to any lengths to get it.

Including murder.

"The earl could speak to the baron," Claire suggested, "convince him we will find a way to pay back the cost of the necklace."

"Harwood wants more than money. He wants you, Claire." Just as Lord Brant wanted Tory. And the earl would be furious when his plan to make her his mistress vanished like smoke-once it was known she was the daughter of a peer.

"Whatever happens, you still have to tell him. It's only fair."

Tory stopped rubbing the spot she was polishing on the Sheraton table and turned to look at Claire. "All right. I'll tell him tonight, as soon as supper is over."

She cringed to think of it. For the past two days, she had avoided him as much as possible, which he seemed to know and somehow find amusing. On the rare occasion she ran into him, it was clear what he was thinking. She could see the heat in his eyes, the sensual curve of his lips. She remembered the exact feel of them moving over her skin, and an answering warmth stirred in the pit of her stomach.