"They're waiting. I'll walk down with you." Lady Aimes held something out to her and Tory saw it was a nosegay of beautiful white rosebuds mixed with delicate baby's breath. It was tied with blue ribbons, set upon a circle of white Belgian lace.

"Are those for Claire?"

"Claire has her own bouquet. These are for you."

She accepted the flowers, thinking how lovely they were, holding them up to inhale the subtle fragrance.

Her hand trembled as she started toward the door Lady Aimes held open for her. She tried to summon a smile but couldn't manage even a curve of her lips as she preceded the viscountess out into the hall.

Most of the guests had taken their seats on the terrace. She could hear the soft murmur of voices coming through the French doors in the drawing room. Little Teddy stood in the hallway, waiting for his mother, a miniature of his father in the same navy blue coat, white pique waistcoat and dark gray breeches.

He looked up at her and grinned as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "You look pretty."

She finally managed a smile. "Thank you. How is your puppy?"

"His name is Rex. He's getting bigger all the time."

"Yes, I imagine he is."

Jonathan Randall came forward. "My son is right. You look lovely." To her surprise, he bent and pressed a light kiss on her cheek.

"You're very kind," Tory said.

The viscount turned a soft smile on his wife. "You both look beautiful." He rested a hand at Sarah's waist. "Come, love." He took hold of Teddy's hand. "We had all better find our seats."

Lady Aimes smiled at Tory. She thought that it held a trace of sympathy. "He's a good man. Claire will be fine."

A lump rose in her throat. Tory turned to look for Claire, but instead the earl of Brant walked toward her. He looked so imposing, so unbelievably handsome. He wore a dark brown, velvet-collared tailcoat and snug beige breeches. A white cravat topped a gold-flecked waistcoat that matched the gold of his eyes. For an instant, she forgot what was about to happen and simply allowed herself to look at him.

Then one of the servants darted past, carrying a silver tray heavy with crystal goblets, and the moment disappeared. The earl stopped in front of her and Tory forced herself to look into his face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know that is scarcely enough, but I wish none of this had happened." Cord said nothing. "I don't suppose, at this juncture, you are interested in an apology."

"Not at the moment."

She glanced away from him, no longer able to stand the censure in his eyes. She searched the hallway, gazed back up the staircase. "Where is Claire?"

His expression shifted, changed to a look that could only be described as triumphant. "I'm afraid your sister is no longer at Forest Glen. She has left with Lord Percival Chezwick. They have eloped to Gretna Green."

Her heart seemed to freeze, to simply stop beating. She could feel the blood slowly drain from her face. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Cord took her arm and led her into one of the drawing rooms. "I'm telling you your sister is still getting married. Only the groom has changed."

Her legs seemed to fold beneath her. Cord urged her down in the closest chair. "How? When did they leave? I-I don't understand."

"Then allow me to explain. As you correctly deduced, your sister was in need of a husband to rescue her from Harwood. I simply believed that Lord Percy was better suited to the position. Fortunately, he agreed. I'm sure the two of them are going to be very happy."

"I can't believe this." Her head was swimming.

"Yes, well, it is most definitely true, and there is one other small thing."

"What is that?"

"As I find myself short of a bride, you will be filling the position."

"What!" She came up out of the chair.

"That's right, my lovely bride-to-be. In language you might better understand, your p.a.w.n has been captured and you-my queen-will also be in danger if you think to gainsay me again."

Tory's mind spun. "You can't...can't just...What about the scandal? First you are going to marry me and then you are going to marry Claire. The guests will all have received invitations. You...you can't simply show up with a different bride."

Cord smiled wolfishly. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he drew out a gold-embossed invitation and handed it over.

Tory read the words, more incredulous by the moment. Instead of Claire's name imprinted on the card, her own name glittered in small gold letters. "But Lady Aimes sent the invitations. She...she agreed to such a plan?"

"I explained the situation and my cousin volunteered to help. She approves of the match between Lord Percy and your sister. And apparently, she also approves of you."

Tory swallowed, her thoughts in turmoil. In her days as housekeeper, she had seen Percival Chezwick several times at the earl's town house. He seemed shy and reserved, handsome in a youthful sort of way. Claire had even mentioned him once or twice. What had she said about him? Tory couldn't recall.

She remembered the viscountess's words. He's a good man. Claire will be fine.

She hadn't meant Cord, but Percival Chezwick. Tory prayed it would turn out to be true.

"You're looking pale. Perhaps the gift I have for you in honor of the occasion will help lift your spirits."

Reaching into the inside pocket of his tailcoat, he pulled out a blue velvet box and flipped open the lid. A strand of exquisite pearls gleamed up at her from a bed of white satin, each perfect sphere interspersed with a glittering diamond. She knew what she was seeing, the beautiful pearl-and-diamond necklace she had stolen, the necklace that had once belonged to the bride of Lord Fallon.

Tory swallowed, unable to pull her gaze from the dazzling display. The necklace seemed to hold her entranced, to mesmerize her in some way. The diamonds winked up at her like long-lost friends. Each creamy pearl seemed to beckon her to touch it.

"The Bride's Necklace," she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the brilliant strand.

"If that is what it's called, the name is fitting." Lifting the necklace out of the box, he draped it round her throat and fastened the diamond catch. The pearls felt cool against her skin, yet in her mind they burned with accusation. She had stolen the ancient jewelry. Now it encircled her throat as a reminder of all she had done.

A faint shiver ran through her. She wanted to tear the necklace away and run from the room, from the house. At the same time, nothing had felt so right as the lovely yoke Cord had placed around her neck.

"Wh-what about my stepfather? When he sees this, he will-"

"Harwood has received full compensation for his loss...though I imagine when he spots you wearing it, he may turn a few shades of green."

"It is...it is beautiful." She wondered if Cord knew the legend, if perhaps he had given her the necklace hoping it might bring retribution for the trouble she had caused.

He looked down at her and the curve of his lips held a trace of satisfaction. "The game is over, my sweet. This is check and mate. Your stepfather is waiting down the hall, so furious he can hardly find his tongue. I believe your only move is to take his arm and let him guide you down the aisle to the bishop."

Tory swallowed. Her hand trembled as she touched the pearls at her throat. They felt warmer now, oddly comforting. The game, indeed, was over, and Cord had won. She wondered what price he would extract for his victory.

His hand settled firmly at her waist. "Ready?" When she simply stood there, completely at a loss and unable to move, his deep voice softened. "You'll be safe, Victoria. And so will your sister."

Perhaps Claire would be safe. She prayed Lord Percy would be good to her. As for Tory, the earl posed an even graver threat than the baron.

The man about to become her husband wanted to marry someone else.

The wedding pa.s.sed in a blur. Thank G.o.d Gracie was there. Apparently the earl had discovered their friendship-there seemed no end to his supply of information. Once Grace understood what was happening, she eagerly agreed to act as bridesmaid, and having her there gave Tory a badly needed shot of courage.

The ceremony seemed to take forever yet be over in the blink of an eye. When the bishop p.r.o.nounced them man and wife Cord swept her into a hard, almost punishing kiss. Afterward, a wedding feast was served at the opposite end of the terrace. Standing beside her, the earl casually accepted congratulations while it took Tory's full concentration just to nod and smile.

"We'll be leaving soon," he said. "Riverwoods isn't that far away. They're expecting us. We'll be spending our wedding night there."

Wedding night. The words made a knot form in her stomach. Cord would expect to consummate the marriage, though in truth the deed had already been done. They were husband and wife. Cord played the part well, but beneath his surface calm, she knew he was angry that he had been obliged to marry her. "Riverwoods? That is your country estate?"

He nodded. "There is another in Suss.e.x."

And he would have owned more lands yet if he had married an heiress, as he had planned. Tory concentrated on the plate of delicacies her husband had set on the linen-draped table in front of her. Pheasant with candied carrots, oysters in anchovy sauce, perigord pie with truffles. The smell made her stomach churn.

Grace sat to her right, next to the duke of Sheffield. They made a nice-looking couple, she thought, Sheffield tall and dark, Grace with her fiery auburn hair swept up and her cheeks blooming with roses. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green and today they sparkled with excitement.

But Grace had no interest in the duke, other than that of a friend, and he seemed to feel the same about her. Jonathan and Sarah Randall sat to Cord's left. Little Teddy had accompanied his nanny upstairs to the nursery for a nap.

Grace leaned closer. "So how does it feel to be married?"

Tory lifted an eyebrow. "I am married? Why didn't someone tell me?"

Gracie laughed. "I vow you will know it by morning. I have never seen a man look at a woman in quite the way the earl looks at you."

Tory's gaze shot to her husband's face, but he was deep in conversation with the viscount.

"He didn't want to marry me," Tory said dully. "He planned to marry an heiress."

Cord laughed at something Jonathan Randall said and Grace studied his handsome profile. "Sometimes plans change. It is obvious he has feelings for you. I imagine he will show you exactly what they are tonight when he comes to your bed."

"Gracie!" Her friend merely laughed. She had always been a bit irreverent. It was one of the things Tory liked best about her.

"Well, it's true. The earl has a wicked reputation. They say he is quite talented in the bedchamber. Whatever happens in the course of your marriage, I imagine you will learn a great deal about pleasure."

Tory's cheeks went hot. "Gracie, please..."

Grace's burnished eyebrows drew together. She stared hard into Tory's face. "Oh, my G.o.d, how could I be so stupid! He has already made love to you!"

"Gracie! Someone will hear you!" Tory looked away, mortified that Grace had somehow guessed. "For heaven's sake, I hope it doesn't show."

"Of course not, silly. At least not to anyone but me." Grace flicked a glance at the earl, whose gaze fell on Tory. A corner of his mouth edged up and his eyes seemed to glitter with heat. For an instant, Tory couldn't breathe.

"You must be in love with him," Gracie whispered. "That is the only way you would have let him take liberties."

Her throat went tight. She lowered her head. "I don't know how it happened. I tried to stop myself. I knew I wasn't what he wanted. Nothing I did seemed to matter."

Gracie reached down and caught her hand, which was colder than her own. "You mustn't feel bad. Once he gets to know you, he is bound to fall in love with you."

But Tory wasn't convinced. The earl was a man of l.u.s.ty appet.i.tes. He had wanted her as his mistress, not his wife. He was also a man of honor. He never would have made love to her if she had told him she was the daughter of a peer. Tory wondered if he would ever forgive her.

Cord drank too much. Fortunately, a coach and four waited out front to carry them to Riverwoods. Victoria sat on the seat across from him, nervously watching his every move. She looked beautiful today, so feminine and lovely, a little uncertain. Just looking at her aroused him.

During the two-hour ride to his estate, Cord considered pulling her down in the seat and taking her right there in the carriage. She was his wife. He had every right. And he was angry. He was married to the wrong woman and it was all Victoria's fault.

He thought of Constance Fairchild, the wealthy woman he had thought to wed. She was blond and pretty, young and pliable. She would have well served his purpose.

Not like the woman he had married, the woman who had tricked him, lied to him, made a fool of him-more than once!

At Riverwoods, he continued to drink but couldn't seem to get drunk. Instead he paced the drawing room, thinking of Victoria. His wife waited in the suite adjoining his. She belonged to him now, no matter how it had happened, and he wanted her. He d.a.m.ned well intended to have her.

Cord set his brandy gla.s.s down on the Hepplewhite table and headed for the stairs. He went into the room adjoining hers, stripped off his coat, waistcoat and cravat, but left on his shirt and breeches. Striding toward the door between their rooms, he jerked it open and stepped inside.

Victoria sat before the mirror in front of her dressing table in a long blue satin nightgown, a wedding gift from Sarah. In the mirror, he saw the bodice was fashioned of white Belgian lace, exposing the roundness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the dark areolas that crowned each one. She turned to face him, slender feet peeping out from beneath the hem, and he caught a glimpse of slim pale ankles.

He was hard before he closed the door, aching with desire for her.

Victoria rose from the stool. Her hand went to her throat and he realized she was still wearing the necklace. "I...I couldn't get it unfastened."

It glittered in the light of the candles in the silver candelabra on the dresser, and an image arose of her naked, wearing nothing but the necklace. His groin tightened, began a painful throbbing.

"I know you're angry," she said. "If I could change things, I would."

"It's too late for that. Come, Victoria."

For an instant she didn't move. Then she drew in a shaky breath and started toward him. Her hair was unbound, floating around her shoulders, dark yet shimmering with burnished lights. The nightgown moved over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with each of her steps, chafing gently against her nipples, and the blood roared through his veins.

She stopped in front of him, looked up into his face. Cord slid his hand into the heavy strands of her hair and pulled her head back, crushed his mouth down hard over hers.

The kiss wasn't gentle. It was a fierce, savage, plundering kiss that let her know what he was feeling. Tory stiffened but he just kept kissing her, taking what he wanted, filling his hands with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She made no move to stop him. but neither did she respond.

Cord hauled her more tightly against him and cupped her bottom, pressing her slim frame into his s.e.x, telling her he meant to have her. He could feel her trembling, told himself this was what he wanted, that he meant to pay her back for the lies she had told and the future she had cost him.

"Remove your nightgown," he commanded. "I want to take you wearing only the necklace."

She stepped away from him, her eyes fixed on his face. There were shadows there, and they tightened something in his chest. Reaching up, she slid the straps of the nightgown off her shoulders, let it glide down over her hips to pool on the floor at her feet. She stood there gloriously naked, looking as regal as the ivory queen he had secretly called her.

"I'm sorry you had to marry me," she said. "If I had known what would happen, I wouldn't have asked you to make love to me that night on the ship."

"Why did you?"

"I'm not completely certain. Perhaps I was afraid of the future. I wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man I wanted. I wasn't sure I would ever have the chance again."

Cord worked to hold on to his anger, but some of it seeped away. "You're my wife. I'll have you any time I want."

"Yes."

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. "But it won't be the way it was before. That is what you are thinking, is it not?"

She stood there, defiant and lovely. Young and sweet and more of a woman than any he had ever known.