She was trying to save her sister, no matter the cost to herself. What the baron would do to her if he discovered her scheme didn't bear thinking about.

Cord went over all that had happened since his arrival at the house. He had made a calculated move in forcing the marriage and Victoria had neatly countered, outmaneuvering him completely. He couldn't help a hint of admiration.

He could make this easy for her or hard. He looked from her to the baron, saw the ruthless glint in his eyes, the fury barely contained.

"Miss Whiting is entirely correct," Cord began. "Entering her sister's room happened completely by accident, I a.s.sure you. I merely forgot which bedchamber was mine. Still, the damage has been done. I shall, of course, do the honorable thing."

The baron bristled, his tall, whipcord body snapping completely erect. "I don't think that will be necessary."

"Oh, but it is. I shall simply marry Claire instead of Victoria. The result will be the same. As an earl and Victoria's brother-in-law, your older daughter's reputation will also be protected."

"I-I can't possibly allow it. Claire is too young, too naive. Besides, nothing happened-you said so yourself. Victoria arrived in time."

Cord looked over the baron's shoulder, saw the row of servants gawking in at them. His chest was exposed in the vee of his robe, his legs and feet bare. "I don't see you have any choice."

The baron's gaze followed his, and the man's face turned redder than it was already. Cord tossed Victoria such a cold smile her lips trembled.

"Arrangements will need to be made," he said. "You may leave that to me. Good night, ladies."

He brushed past the baron, tipped his head to the servants and continued back to his room. His temper rose again, climbed until he was seething, so furious it was difficult to think. Victoria had duped him, made a fool of him again.

He wouldn't stand for it. If he was trapped, then by G.o.d, so was she!

His mind whirled, spun with possible solutions. One stood out from the rest. He latched on to it with grim determination, and the edge of his mouth faintly curved. She thought she had won the game, but the match was far from over.

It might take several tricky moves, but when the play was ended, Cord intended to possess the queen.

The London weather shifted, grew damp and still, casting a thick, sooty pall over the city. There wasn't much time, Cord knew. Every minute Tory and Claire remained at Harwood Hall put them in danger. He prayed the not-so-veiled threats he had made against the baron would keep the man in line until the wedding.

Cord paced the floor of the duke of Sheffield's study, a library two-stories high with walls lined floor to ceiling with leather-bound books. Two bra.s.s-and-frosted-gla.s.s lamps hung down over a long, ornately carved wooden table lined with high-backed chairs. Sheffield's desk sat in the corner, surrounded by comfortable leather chairs.

"What time is it?" Cord looked up at the ormolu clock on the mantel.

"Ten minutes past the last time you asked. Take it easy. The boy will be here."

It seemed like hours, but soon there he was. Blond and fair, rosy cheeked and slightly nervous, a little gangly and amazingly shy. At twenty-four, Percival Chezwick hadn't completely grown into his narrow face and lanky frame. Cord thought that once he did, he would be an extremely handsome man.

The duke welcomed him in. "Good afternoon, Percy. Thank you for coming."

"Good afternoon, your grace...your lordship." In the weeks after the dinner party, Percy had dropped by Cord's town house three or four times, ostensibly to see him on one matter or another, but in truth just to catch a glimpse of Claire.

Once Cord had found them talking together, both of them blushing and stuttering. Percy had caught Cord's hard look of warning, excused himself and left the house.

The boy appeared nervous even now, as if Cord had summoned him there just for having secret thoughts about Claire.

"Thank you for coming, Chez."

The use of the familiar nickname seemed to relax him. "It's always good to see you both."

Sheffield beckoned him farther into the room. "Actually, our invitation was for more than just a casual visit. Cord has a matter he wishes to discuss. He thought you might need a little moral support, which is why you are here instead of at his house. He believes, once you hear the tale, you might decide to help."

"Of course. Whatever I can do."

"Don't be so hasty," Cord warned. "This matter is the sort that could affect the rest of your life."

A fine blond eyebrow went up. "You have certainly managed to pique my curiosity."

"I'm glad to hear it...since it concerns a certain lady of your acquaintance. Her name is Claire. I believe you know who I mean."

The rose in his cheeks went brighter. "Your chambermaid?"

"Yes, well, as it turns out, Chez, she is not a chambermaid at all, but the daughter of a baron. That is where the trouble lies."

Worry entered the young man's features. "Has something happened? Has something happened to Claire?"

"Not yet," Cord said. "But if we don't act quickly, there is every chance that something will." He motioned toward the chairs grouped in front of the desk. "Why don't we sit down and I'll tell you all about it."

"I'll get you a drink," Sheffield offered. "I think you're going to need it."

Percy swallowed, his Adam's apple moving up and down. "Thank you. Perhaps I will."

It was nearly two hours later that Cord and Rafe were alone in the ma.s.sive study again.

"Well, I guess that's settled," Rafe said.

"Looks that way."

Rafe chuckled. "The lad was positively beaming. He's obviously smitten with the girl. He couldn't seem to believe his good fortune when you suggested a match between them. I thought he was going to come out of his chair when he learned what Harwood had in mind for her."

"Chez will have to speak to his father, but with your support as well as mine, I don't think Kersey will give his son any trouble."

"What about the girl?" Rafe asked. "Will she agree?"

"She's extremely naive, but she isn't stupid. She'll understand that she has no other choice. She can't stay there in the house-not once Victoria is gone. And she seemed to like Percy."

"He won't push her."

"No." Cord had explained how innocent Claire was and Chez had agreed to give her all the time she needed, once they were married, to accept her role as his wife.

Rafe smiled. "As shy as he is, he may never get the deed accomplished."

Cord chuckled softly in agreement. They talked a bit longer, then Sheffield and Cord both rose from their chairs.

"Well, I suppose you have any number of things yet to do," the duke said.

Cord nodded. "Sarah is taking care of the details, a small wedding at Forest Glen, just a few friends and family. You'll be there, won't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it." He grinned. "I can scarcely believe you're finally about to get leg-shackled."

Some of the satisfaction Cord had been feeling slid away. "No," he said darkly. "I can't believe it myself."

It was a dismal day. It had been a dismal week, overcast and windy, the baron bursting into flights of temper, condemning Lord Brant as a lecher, all but pulling out his already thinning black hair. At least he hadn't figured out the truth of what had happened-that it was Tory who had manipulated the night's events.

Wishing she could block the memory, she began to climb the stairs leading up to the third floor of the house. Carrying a small bra.s.s lamp, she continued up another, narrower flight that led to the attic, determined to complete the task she had set for herself.

The wedding would take place two days hence. The thought made her stomach churn. Claire had cried and begged not to marry the earl, but Tory had finally convinced her.

"Claire, darling, you must do this. It is the only way that you will be safe. I know there is little you've learned about...about what happens between a man and woman, but you remember what happened the night the baron came to your room. You know he meant to hurt you. He's an evil man, Claire. Deep down, you know that is the reason you are afraid of him."

Her sister's lovely blue eyes filled with tears. "I hate him. I wish Mama had never married him."

"So do I, dearest, but once you're away from him, the earl will take care of you. He'll be kind to you." He would be, she told herself. Cord had a terrible temper, but Tory had never been truly afraid of him. And she didn't believe he would ever hurt Claire.

Her throat tightened. She loved him, but it was Claire he was being forced to marry.

"What about you, Tory? What will happen to you if you stay here?"

A shudder rippled through her. She had no idea what Harwood might do. The man was vicious and unpredictable. Still, she was far more able to defend herself than Claire.

"I'll be all right," she replied. "In time, I'll find a way to make a life for myself."

They had spoken only yesterday morning, yet it seemed more like weeks. She couldn't keep track of time, couldn't seem to concentrate.

Still carrying the lamp, she reached the top of the stairs and opened the door to the attic. Only a dim afternoon light shone through the narrow dormer windows. As she entered the room, the lamp cast an eerie glow on the walls, and dust motes swirled up from her feet.

She had come in search of her mother's trunks, used each year when her parents had journeyed to London. On their return, the trunks were often stuffed with gifts and toys they had purchased for their daughters.

After her mother's funeral, Tory had meant to go through them, sort through the clothing the servants had packed away, give some of the gowns to the vicar for distribution to the poor. But the thought of sifting through her mother's possessions had simply been too painful. She had never quite worked up the courage.

Now Claire was getting married. A young woman should have something of her mother's to wear on her wedding day. Tory ignored the pain that came with the thought and continued farther into the attic.

Her mother's jewelry was stored in one of the trunks. Her stepfather had taken anything of real value, but pretty pins and brooches, things her mother had liked to wear, remained. Tory thought of the pearl-and-diamond necklace she had stolen and imagined how lovely it would have looked at Claire's throat. The necklace was gone, but hopefully she would find something else for her sister to wear.

Tory tried not to think of the man Claire would wed. She didn't want to remember how quickly Cord had accepted the situation he found himself in and acquiesced to marrying Claire. She tried to ignore a feeling of betrayal.

After all, it was her fault this was happening-she was the one responsible, not the earl.

Still, it hurt. She had thought that he cared for her at least a little.

Tory sighed into the dim light in the attic, determined not to think of Cord. Kneeling in front of the first steamer trunk, she lifted the lid and began to search through the contents, mostly dresses and gloves, an ostrich-plumed hat, a pleated satin turban, a lovely ermine m.u.f.f. The gowns in the trunk were slightly dated, purchased while her father was still alive, but they were beautiful just the same.

The second trunk held an array of kidskin slippers, stockings, garters, a pretty lawn chemise with little pink bows down the front. Tory ran her fingers over the garment, thinking of her mother, feeling the sting of loneliness she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years.

Oh, Mama, I miss you.

She wished her mother were with them now, wished her father were still alive and none of this had ever happened. Tory closed the lid of the trunk, knowing it was useless to wish for something that could never be. Her mother and father were dead. There was no one to take care of them. They had to take care of themselves.

She raised the lid on the third steamer trunk, found a small, black lace fan, a ta.s.seled velvet spencer and several colorful shawls. Carefully lifting the items out of the way, she spotted her mother's black lacquer, mother-of-pearl-inlaid jewelry box in the bottom of the trunk. She gently touched the glossy black surface, lifted out the box and set it on the floor in front of her.

Her hand trembled as she opened the lid. She remembered some of the pieces nestled on the blue velvet lining-the black jet cameo; a pretty rhinestone brooch her mother often wore on the front of her pelisse; an embroidered collar; a string of tiny pale pink gemstones with matching earbobs.

Something beneath the necklace caught her attention. Tory lifted the gemstones out of the way and picked up a satin-wrapped object that seemed to be hidden away. She unwrapped the cloth, and when she saw what lay inside, she couldn't seem to breathe.

Tory picked up the heavy garnet ring with a shaking hand, recognizing the piece at once. The ring had belonged to her father. He had been wearing it the day he had been killed. The footpads who killed him had stolen it, along with his coin purse and any other valuables he'd had with him.

The ring had belonged to his father and his father before him. It was treasured. Her mother had despaired that something so precious had been lost.

Where had she found it? Why hadn't she mentioned it to Tory? And why had she hidden it away?

Tory felt the hair rise at the back of her neck as her suspicions grew. Glancing round the attic, she began a frantic search for her mother's diary. Perhaps she would find the answers there.

But the diary was nowhere to be seen.

Tory remembered her mother writing in the journal nearly every day, but she had no idea where the diary might have wound up after Charlotte Whiting had died.

The afternoon sunlight filtering into the room grew weaker. The day was slipping away and Claire would begin to worry. Rewrapping the satin around the ring, she tucked it into the pocket of her skirt, picked up the pretty pink necklace and tiny earbobs, and closed the jewelry box. It went back in the bottom of the trunk, beneath the clothes, shawls and black lace fan. As she descended the narrow attic stairs, she reached into her pocket. Even through the satin, the ring seemed to burn her fingers.

Chapter Thirteen*.

The day of the wedding dawned windy and cold. Sullen gray clouds loomed over a grim, damp world, and the sun hid behind an overcast sky. On the garden terrace at Forest Glen, a flower-covered arch sat at one end, a cl.u.s.ter of white wicker chairs in front of it, waiting for the small number of guests who had been invited to the nuptials.

They gathered there now, the ladies in high-waisted silk gowns, the men in tailcoats, waistcoats and cravats. From the window of the upstairs guest room she had been a.s.signed, Tory could see the people on the terrace beginning to take their seats for the event.

Dressed in a pale blue silk gown, her hair swept into soft dark curls interlaced with white rosebuds, she was ready to face the consequences of all that she had done. The happenings of the past swirled through her head, her stepfather and Claire, stealing the necklace, her desperation in London, meeting Cord. Falling in love.

Setting the trap that forced him to marry Claire.

She was responsible for much of what had taken place and yet she felt as if most of it was out of her control, a path fate had led her down that had left her standing here, at the window above the garden, wishing with all her heart that she were anywhere else in the world.

A light knock sounded. Lady Aimes stepped quietly into the room and closed the door. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. But she would never be ready to watch Cord marry someone else, not even Claire.

"You look beautiful," Sarah said.

Tory swallowed. "Thank you." Cord's cousin was taller even than Claire, slender, blond and lovely in a rose silk gown with tiny embroidered flowers beneath her breast and around the hem. There was a softness in her features and a serenity about her, an inner glow of happiness that Tory envied.

"I need to see my sister, make certain that she is all right."

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid Claire has already gone downstairs."

She should have left sooner, she knew, but a terrible lethargy had settled upon her and she couldn't seem to shake it.