Unfortunately, when the following morning arrived and it was time to return to London, she had nothing to show for her efforts. Greta alone knew she was there in search of the journal, though not the reason she wanted it so badly. Her disappointment must have been obvious. On the morning of Tory's departure, Greta appeared with a suggestion.

"Perhaps your mother, G.o.d rest her soul, left the journal at Windmere."

"Yes, I've thought of that. I'll try to go there next."

"Or she could have left it in the town house."

Her head snapped up. She hadn't considered the small residence in the city that her family had used only rarely. "Do you think she might have? She and Father never spent much time there. I hadn't really considered..."

"Your mother and father didn't go there often, but your stepfather always enjoyed life in the city, especially during the Season. He and your mother were there just before your mother fell ill."

"But the baron sold the town house to Sir Winifred Manning. How would I get in?"

Greta shrugged her thin shoulders. "I just thought I'd mention it."

"I'm glad you did." Tory gave the aging woman a hug. "Thank you, Greta." Her spirits somewhat revived, she set out to catch the mail coach and returned to the inn to wait for Gracie, who would be there the following day.

They arrived in London early in the evening.

It was just her bad luck that Cord was waiting when she got home.

Chapter Seventeen*.

Cord paced his study. He had expected Victoria to be there when he arrived home late that afternoon. He was exhausted, more weary from his failure to rescue Ethan than the sleepless hours he had spent at sea.

On arriving at the rendezvous point off St. Nazaire, instead of finding Ethan, a battered, beaten Max Bradley had tumbled over the rail, spilling blood and water onto the holystoned deck. He carried a lead ball in his shoulder and a bad gash on his face.

"The captain escaped from the prison just as we planned," Max had wearily told them. "We made it nearly to the coast before they caught up with us. We gave them a b.l.o.o.d.y good fight. Then one of them shot me. They thought I was dead or I wouldn't be here now."

"And Ethan?" Cord asked, his stomach in knots.

Bradley released a shaky breath as the surgeon Rafe had had the foresight to bring along worked over him. "He's alive. They'll haul him back to prison. He's made an enemy somewhere. I don't know who it is." He winced at the needle and thread being pulled through the cut on his forehead. "They're determined he won't escape."

"So it's over," Cord said darkly, his hands biting into the back of the wooden chair next to Bradley's bunk.

"I didn't say that." Max managed a crooked smile. "It isn't over till Max Bradley says it is and that time has yet to come."

The words made Cord feel better, but not much.

He tried to push his worry away and instead think of Victoria, imagining her slim arms around his neck, her slender frame pressing against him as she comforted him with her womanly warmth. He imagined the way she would fuss over him, trying to make him feel better, imagined carrying her upstairs and making love to her, using her welcoming body to forget what Ethan suffered.

Instead, when he walked through the door, Timmons had informed him that his wife and Grace Chastain had gone to visit one of Grace's friends in the country. The butler wasn't exactly certain when her ladyship would return.

Cord stopped pacing and sat down at his desk. He tried to fix his mind on the stack of paperwork piled on top, but he couldn't concentrate.

Where was Victoria?

He had told her to stay close to home. He had warned her that Harwood was in London. Had something happened? Was she in some kind of trouble?

Shoving back his chair, he got up from the desk and started pacing again. The hands of the gilded clock on the mantel read seven in the evening when he heard voices in the entry and knew his wife had returned.

Cord walked out of the study, his strides lengthening in proportion to his anger. He caught sight of Victoria, smiling at Timmons as if she hadn't a care in the world, and his fury threatened to explode.

He stopped a few feet from where she stood and lounged back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

"So, you are returned."

In the midst of untying her bonnet strings, she spun at the sound of his voice, her hat flying off into the corner.

"You...you are home. You got back to London sooner than I expected."

"So it would seem."

The butler bent and retrieved her hat and stoically handed it over.

"Thank you, Timmons," she said.

"That will be all, Timmons," Cord said curtly, then waited impatiently for the man to depart. He turned a hard look on his wife. "Is this the way you obey my orders? Heading off to G.o.d knows where is your idea of staying close to home?"

"I-I...the opportunity came up rather unexpectedly."

"Is that right?"

"I didn't realize you would be upset."

He grabbed her small tapestry overnight bag and inclined his head toward the staircase, indicating he would carry it up for her. Victoria brushed past him, hurriedly climbed the stairs and headed down the hall into her suite.

She turned as Cord walked in behind her and firmly closed the door.

"What of Ethan?" she asked, changing the subject, trying to sound casual-without the least success as far as Cord was concerned.

"His efforts to escape were a dismal failure. My cousin remains locked up in France."

She started toward him. "Cord, I'm so sorry."

He held up his hand, stopping her in place. "Why did you disobey my orders? Why did you leave when I told you to stay at the house?"

"I didn't...didn't really think you would mind. Harwood was in London, after all. What safer place for me to be than out of the city?"

He frowned. There was something in her expression...."Who was it again that you visited?"

"An acquaintance from school. Mary Benton. She and Grace are chums."

He didn't like the way her gaze wouldn't quite meet his. "Benton...Benton...Would Mary be Richard Benton's daughter? Or perhaps she is Robert's child, Richard's cousin."

She swallowed. "Mary is Simon's daughter. Simon is related to both Robert and Richard, but I am not...not quite sure how."

"I see." He saw, all right. He saw that his wife was lying. "I find that extremely interesting, as there are no such persons as Robert or Richard Benton. I just made them up."

Her face went utterly white. "I-I must then be mistaken."

Cord strode across the room, gripped her shoulders and dragged her up on her toes. "You are lying, Victoria. If there is a woman named Mary Benton, you were clearly not with her. Where were you? I want the truth and I want it now."

She looked up at him, her eyes big and round, then the stiffness went out of her shoulders. "All right, I'll tell you the truth if you promise you won't get angry."

He clamped his jaw down hard, set her back down on her feet. "I am so angry now it is all I can do not to throttle you. Tell me where you have been."

Looking as though she wanted to bolt, she nervously moistened her lips. "Harwood Hall."

"Harwood Hall! That isn't possible. You can't be that insane."

"It isn't as bad as it sounds. The baron was in London. It was the perfect opportunity."

His temper was raging. He worked to pull himself under control. "You disobeyed my direct instructions and left the safety of the house to hie off to Harwood Hall-the very viper's nest itself? I cannot credit why in G.o.d's name you would do something so utterly harebrained as that."

Her chin went up. "Because Miles Whiting killed my father. Or at least I am convinced that he did. I found my father's ring hidden among my mother's possessions. He was wearing it the day he was murdered. I believe the baron took it from my father the day he was killed and my mother somehow found it. If she did, there is every chance she wrote about it in her journal. That's what I was looking for at Harwood Hall. It is the only way I can prove that he is guilty."

Rage still pumped through his blood as Cord mulled over her words. He remembered Victoria speaking of her father's murder, telling him she hoped to see the man responsible pay for the crime. She hadn't mentioned she believed the baron was that man.

As insane as traveling to Harwood was, Victoria was certainly brazen enough for such a scheme. She had stolen aboard the Nightingale, hadn't she? Still, Rafe's words whispered through his head.

There have been rumors about your wife and Julian Fox.

"So...you traveled to Harwood unaccompanied? How did you get there?"

For a moment she looked uneasy and his suspicions returned.

"I went by mail coach. I knew the road well. I had traveled it a number of times when I was a girl."

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "With your parents, Victoria! Not by yourself!" His temper was heating up again. "Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in? An attractive young woman on the road alone? There are footpads and highwaymen on those roads, just lying in wait for a morsel as tempting as you. You could have been ravished, perhaps even killed. I ought to lock you up in your room and throw away the key!"

"Nothing untoward happened, my lord. As you can see, I am home now, unharmed and in perfect health."

"And the journal? Did you find it?"

She shook her head. "As it was not at Harwood, likely it is somewhere at Windmere." Her mother's family estate. She had spoken wistfully of the place on several different occasions.

"If it is, it will have to stay there. If you even think of haring off again, I swear I shall thrash you within an inch of your life."

She dutifully bowed her head and lowered her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. d.a.m.nable woman knew he wouldn't lay a hand on her, though on occasions such as these, he was sorely tempted to put her over his knee.

"Say you are not angry," she said, looking up at him from beneath a thick fringe of lashes.

He was, but less so. Then she moved closer and all he could think of was the soft look on her face and the feel of the gentle hand she rested against his cheek. Desire curled through him...and something else he refused to name.

"You must be exhausted. Why don't you lie down and take a nap before supper?" She eased his coat off his shoulders, beginning to fuss over him as he had wanted so badly for her to do. "Let me help you undress. In a little while you'll feel better."

He let her remove his white pique waistcoat. When she started on the b.u.t.tons on the front of his shirt, he caught her hand and pulled her into his arms.

"I'll lie down if you will join me."

She glanced toward the door. "I've been away. There are matters I should attend."

He wished she hadn't reminded him. Recalling the danger she had put herself in reignited his temper. The painful erection her soft body aroused did the rest. "You'll stay if I say so, and I do."

Spinning her around, he began to unfasten the b.u.t.tons on the back of her dress. A few minutes later, he had her beneath him and he was inside her. She was making those sweet little mewling sounds he loved, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

If only he could keep her naked and in bed, he wouldn't have to worry. She arched toward him, urging him on, and he bent his head and kissed her, began to surge deeply inside her. At least for a while, his body would take control and his mind could rest.

For a while, at least, he wouldn't be consumed with thoughts of the troublesome creature he had wed.

Cord was ignoring her again. For the first few days after his return from France, he had been brooding and bad tempered, burdened by yet another failure and consumed with worry for his cousin. He had buried himself in his work and she had let him, hoping he would come to terms with something he was helpless to change.

That had been two weeks ago. During the entire time, she had spent every night home alone. She was sick unto death of sitting in the drawing room embroidering, or couched in the library reading a book. When her sister dropped by for a visit, Tory voiced her complaints and Claire urged her to once again join their evening activities.

"In a way it is funny," Claire said. "You are tired of sitting at home and I grow weary of going out."

"I wouldn't be tired of staying home if my husband didn't spend the whole night locked up in his study. Half the time, I think he has forgot that I exist."

Claire smiled. "He didn't forget the night of the Tarringtons' ball. I saw the way he looked at you. He was green with jealousy. He looked as if he meant to ravish you right there."

As she thought of what had happened in the linen closet, Tory's face heated up. "What do you know of ravishment? Have you and Percy...have you finally made love?"

Claire's smile slid away. "We have engaged in foreplay."

Tory nearly choked on the sip of tea she had taken. "Foreplay?"

"That is what they call it in the book."

"You're speaking of a man fondling a woman's bosom...and other things."

"Mostly the other things haven't happened yet, but last night he caressed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He says they are quite wonderful."

Tory grinned. "You won't have long to wait now."

"That is what I am hoping. We are traveling to Tunbridge Wells for a week to take the mineral waters. Perhaps it will happen then."

"Lord Percy is extremely shy. You have told me he worries about your innocence. Perhaps he is afraid that once he starts making love to you he won't be able to control his pa.s.sions."

Claire set her cup down in her saucer. "You really think so?"

"From what you have said, I would say it's a strong possibility."