Easing her down his body, he set her on her feet, then in the darkness, felt along the closet shelves in search of a linen towel. He found one and handed it over. While Victoria freshened herself, he turned her around and re-fastened the b.u.t.tons at the back of her gown.

"I must look a fright," she said. "I can't believe we did that."

In the darkness Cord smiled, pleased with himself. "I can." It wasn't the first time he'd had a woman in an unusual sort of place, but it was certainly the most satisfying.

The only thing that bothered him was how badly he'd wanted her.

And that the woman was his wife.

Tarrington Park was exquisite. Claire danced beneath crystal chandeliers to the music of a twenty-piece orchestra in blue satin livery and white powdered wigs.

A score of servants, also in the duke's blue livery, bustled about the ballroom, carrying silver trays laden with every sort of exotic food from oysters to caviar, roasted swan to lobster, and the most delicious a.s.sortment of fruit tarts, egg crmes and pet.i.ts-fours.

It was a fairy-tale night, the sort she had dreamt of but never really thought to see. And she owed it all to her husband, the white knight who had saved her from a fate she dared not imagine.

Claire danced with Percy's cousin, Julian, who doted on her like a younger sister. When the orchestra finished the tune, he led her off the dance floor, returning her to her husband. Percy managed one of his rare, sweet smiles and she gave him a shy smile in return.

His gaze wandered along her shoulders, down to the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He shifted uncomfortably and his smile slipped away. He was always so serious. She couldn't help wondering if, as Emma had said, he would smile more often, once they had made love.

But so far that hadn't occurred, and instead, each night after he returned her home, she slept alone in her big four-poster bed while Percy slept alone in his.

"She is yours once more," Julian said gallantly, bowing over her hand. "As for me, I believe I shall call it a night."

She was a little tired herself, but she didn't want to spoil the evening for Percy. Tonight, she would like to go home a little early, spend some time alone with him, kissing and touching. Perhaps they might even do some of the things she had read about in the book.

She wished she were brave enough to ask him to make love to her. Tory would probably have the courage, but Claire wasn't anywhere near that bold.

"Well, if it isn't my beautiful daughter."

Claire's gaze jerked away from the glittering jeweled b.u.t.tons on the front of Percy's coat to the man who had walked up beside her. Her legs started to tremble and her mouth went dry. She thought of the night her stepfather had come into her bedchamber, and she wanted to turn and run.

Instead, she inched a little closer to Percy and his arm went protectively around her.

"Baron Harwood," he said. "I didn't know you were in the city."

"I had some business to attend. I hope you received my note of congratulations. I presume the two of you are rubbing along well together."

"Very well," Percy said.

"I am glad to hear it."

But Claire could see that he wasn't. The baron was angry at being duped and it showed in his cold, dark eyes. She searched to find something to say. She had hoped, now that she was married, she would never have to see her stepfather again.

"I-I hope all is well at Harwood."

He nodded. "Aside from the usual problems with wayward servants. You will have to come for a visit some time." He flicked a glance at Percy. "You and your husband, of course."

Percy's jaw looked like granite. "Do not hold your breath, my lord."

Claire's eyes widened. Her husband was such a soft-spoken man. The last thing she expected was for him to stand up to Harwood.

"I see," said the baron.

"I hope that you do," said Percy.

Harwood made a stiff, very formal bow and excused himself, and Claire fought to stop trembling.

"It's all right, love," Percy said, his gaze still following Harwood. "I would never let him hurt you."

"We must tell Tory that Harwood is returned to the city." But her sister and her husband had already left the ball.

"I'll send word to Lord Brant in the morning."

She caught a last glimpse of her stepfather's retreating figure. "I would hate to spoil your evening, my lord, but if you wouldn't mind so very much, I should like to go home."

"You are not spoiling anything." Percy bent and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. "I believe I should like to go home, as well."

Leading her out of the ballroom, he summoned his coach, and within the hour they were returned to their town house. Percy guided her upstairs to her bedchamber as he did each night, but when he turned to leave she caught his arm.

"Do you think you might stay...just for a while?"

He looked at her and his hand came up to her cheek. "I will stay as long as you like, sweetheart."

She wanted to ask if he would stay with her all night, but she knew she would be crushed if he refused. Instead, she led him over to the sofa in the cozy little sitting room and they sat down in front of the hearth.

"I know I am being a coward, but my stepfather frightens me so much. I am glad you were with me tonight."

A hardness came over Percy's features that wasn't usually there. "You're my wife. You don't have to be afraid of anyone."

She gazed into his handsome face, determined not to think of Harwood. "Would you...kiss me?" It was a bold request, she knew, but she needed her husband's comfort tonight.

Percy swallowed and leaned toward her, then very tenderly settled his mouth over hers. The kiss began to deepen and Claire kissed him back, letting the wondrous sensations wash over her. If this was only the act that the book called foreplay, what must it be like to actually make love?

Percy began to draw away, but tonight she refused to let him. Instead, she caught the lapels of his coat and kissed him again. Percy groaned and kissed her back, sliding his tongue into her mouth.

Claire made a small sound in her throat at the new sensation and Percy jerked away as if he had been burned.

He shifted on the sofa and stared off toward the fire. "You are so very innocent," he said.

"All women are innocent for a time."

But Percy seemed unnerved by the fact. He cleared his throat. "You must be tired. The hour grows late. Why don't you get some sleep?"

She might be a little tired, but she was no longer sleepy. She wanted to tell him that she liked it when he kissed her and she wished he would do it again.

Instead, she merely said, "Sleep well, my lord."

He reached over and touched her cheek. "You as well, my love."

Cord received two messages the following morning, one from Percival Chezwick, informing him that Miles Whiting was returned to London, the second from Colonel Pendleton with the news that the time to free Ethan had come.

Cord debated whether to inform Victoria of her stepfather's return, but the knowledge would better prepare her should the two of them chance to meet. In the end, he summoned her into his study and handed her Lord Percy's note.

"Harwood is here?" she said from where she stood on the opposite side of his desk.

Cord came round and took hold of her hands. They felt colder than they should have. "It's all right, love. If the b.a.s.t.a.r.d comes within a thousand yards of you, he'll have to deal with me."

But for the next few days, he would be gone, sailing to France with the hope he would finally be returning with Ethan.

It was a far longer journey than before, sailing round the most westerly point of France, then turning south to the rendezvous point near St. Nazaire. He didn't like leaving Victoria that long, not with Harwood in London.

"Just be careful," he said to her. "While I'm gone, I want you to stay close to the house. I don't trust Harwood and I don't want you anywhere near him. I want you to be very careful."

"I'll be careful...if you promise you will be careful as well." She had asked to accompany him, then demanded, then begged.

"The middle of a war is no place for a woman," he had said. "I want you safe, and if you think, even for a moment, of disobeying me and somehow stealing aboard that ship, I swear I shall lock you in your room for the balance of the Season."

Ignoring the mutinous look on her face, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "I don't want you hurt, love. Can't you understand that?"

Something flickered in the green of her eyes. Her hand came up to his cheek. "I don't want you hurt, either."

Cord glanced away, the soft words moving him more than he would have liked.

He forced himself to smile. "Then I shall have to be extremely careful to return to you in one piece."

They talked a little longer, Cord explaining the plans he and Rafe had made, the danger Ethan and Max Bradley would be facing once they left the prison and tried to reach the coast. Tomorrow night, he and Rafe would sail for France.

This time, he prayed his mission would not fail.

She didn't like staying at home while her husband sailed into danger. Still, he was right. As she and Claire had learned firsthand, a ship in time of war wasn't a place she wanted to be.

Besides, with Harwood in London and her husband out of town, it occurred to her that she had been given the perfect opportunity to return to Harwood Hall in search of her mother's diary.

"You're going to Harwood?" Seated next to her on a sofa in the Blue Room, Claire's blue eyes widened. "You can't be serious."

"I am perfectly serious. I am telling you so that should the rare possibility occur that something might happen, you would know where to look for me."

Claire worried her lip. "I don't know, Tory. I don't think you should go. What if Harwood leaves London and goes back to the hall or finds out that you were there?"

"He has only just arrived in the city. He won't be going home that soon."

"You can't know that for certain."

"Even if he does go back, Greta or Samuel will warn me of his arrival." The two were trusted servants who had worked for her family since before Miles Whiting had inherited the t.i.tle. "They hate him almost as much as we do."

"Lord Brant will be furious if he finds out."

"He isn't going to find out. Gracie has agreed to help me. She and I are going to visit her friend, Mary Benton, in the country. Grace's hobby is stargazing. She knows the names of the constellations and all sorts of other things, and Mary shares her interest. In truth, only Grace will actually be going to see her. I will be leaving the coach halfway there and heading off to Harwood Hall."

"Grace has agreed to this?"

"Of course."

"Grace is as mad as you are."

Tory laughed. "It will work."

"I hope so."

Tory hoped so, too. But no matter what happened, this was the chance she had been waiting for-the chance to prove Harwood had murdered her father-and she wasn't about to let it slip away.

Cord's ship, the Nightingale, sailed the following night, and the morning after his departure, Tory told Mr. Timmons that she would be accompanying Grace Chastain to visit a friend in the country. An hour later, she boarded the Chastains' coach and the two of them bowled out of the city.

Seated across from her on the tufted velvet seat, Grace plucked a piece of lint from the skirt of her cream muslin gown.

"They were glad to get rid of me," she said, a dark look on her face. "They always are."

Tory couldn't help feeling sorry for her friend. While Tory had been blessed with a loving mother and father, Grace had been shipped off to boarding school and for the most part ignored.

"Surely your parents love you. You're their daughter."

Grace lifted her eyes to Tory's face. "I'm my mother's daughter. My father-Dr. Chastain-isn't really my father."

For a moment, Tory just stared. Infidelity was a common occurrence among the upper cla.s.ses, but she never would have guessed Grace's mother would do such a thing. "Surely that can't be true."

"I'm afraid it is. A couple of days ago, I heard them talking. My father had been drinking. He had lost a lot of money at the gaming tables. He started yelling at my mother. He said that if she hadn't behaved like a...like a wh.o.r.e he wouldn't have been forced to raise her b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter."

Tory's heart squeezed for her friend. How would she have felt to discover the man she had known as her father was another man entirely?

Grace looked up and there were tears in her eyes. "All those years, I wondered why I couldn't make him love me. Now I know."

"Oh, Gracie." Tory leaned over and hugged her. She could feel Grace trembling and her heart went out to her. "It doesn't matter," she said firmly. "You're the same person no matter who your father is."

Grace dragged in a shaky breath and leaned back against the squabs. "I suppose I am. The truth is, in a way I'm glad he isn't my father. I just wish I knew who my real father is."

"Perhaps your mother will tell you."

"Perhaps. If I ever work up the courage to ask her. The trouble is I'm not really sure I want to know."

They said no more on the subject. Her friend's parentage didn't matter to Tory, and she believed that Grace was strong enough to handle the truth of her birth. As Tory had said, she was the same young woman, no matter who her real father was.

They rode for most of the day, Grace excited to be traveling to the country, since her stargazing was much limited by the soot-darkened, often cloudy skies of London. At a crossroads in the little town of Perigord, Tory bid farewell to her friend. She spent the night at the Black Dog Inn, a place she had stayed with her family when they had traveled to London, and caught the mail coach to Harwood Hall the following morning.

By late afternoon, she was inside the familiar walls of her family home, the servants pleased to see her, especially Greta, the housekeeper, and Samuel, the butler. She swore them to secrecy about her visit and they vowed to see that the others kept their silence as well.

Even if the baron discovered she had been there, he wouldn't know she was looking for the journal, and by then Tory would be long gone.

It was good to see old friends, but the search itself progressed with agonizing slowness, since she kept thinking of new places to look.