"It doesn't matter." And it didn't. He knew that now, knew it with every ounce of his soul. From the moment he had stepped into the kitchen and realized the danger she was in, he had understood the depth of his love for her. The depth of his feelings for both her and the child. "I just thank G.o.d that you are safe."

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. "I love you. I love you so very much."

Cord looked down at his brave, beautiful wife and captured her tear-streaked face between his hands. "I love you, too, Victoria. As G.o.d is my witness, I do."

Chapter Twenty-Six.

It was full dark outside by the time the wheel was repaired and the carriage rolled up in front of the house. Jacob had left to fetch the constable, who arrived at great speed a few minutes later. Cord answered questions for more than an hour, but finally he and Victoria were allowed to leave.

"There is something I need to tell you," Cord said.

Victoria looked up at him, worry creeping back into her face. "What is it?"

"You didn't have to make this mad journey. Harwood didn't know it, but he was selling Windmere to me. The house needed a good deal of repair, which I hoped to begin right away. Then I planned to give it to you as a birthday gift."

"But Claire said a man named Baldwin Slaughter had bought it."

"I knew the baron would never agree to sell it to me for any sort of reasonable price." Cord grinned. "Bald means white...as in Whiting? Slaughter...well, Mr. Slaughter drove a very hard bargain."

Tory grinned and threw her arms around his neck. "You are the most wonderful man!"

Cord winced and Victoria hurriedly released him. "Darling, I'm so sorry. Is it hurting very much?"

"It's just a little sore, is all. Nothing to worry about, though I don't relish the long ride home." Victoria climbed into the carriage and Cord climbed up beside her.

The wound in his chest was aching, the muscles and tendons still sore. With Mrs. Riddle's a.s.sistance, Victoria had bandaged the gash in his arm, but there remained an uncomfortable four-hour ride back to London.

In the end, fussing over him as always, she insisted they stop for the night at a place called the Black Dog Inn.

"I told you it is only a scratch," he grumbled. "Nothing to get worked up about."

Victoria simply ignored him. She helped him undress and checked the bandage on his arm. She insisted he take a dose of laudanum before he went to bed, to which he agreed-only if she would join him. Unfortunately, the d.a.m.nable laudanum put him almost immediately to sleep.

It was just before noon of the following day that they arrived back in London. As the coach pulled up to the house, Cord was surprised to see the duke of Sheffield's extravagant four-horse rig parked out in front.

It wasn't like Rafe to arrive unannounced. Cord worried what new crisis might have arisen while he was away.

"It appears we have company," he said to Victoria.

"Are you certain you're up to it?"

"I would love to play the invalid a bit longer, love, since you take such good care of me, but aside from a bit of soreness, I am feeling just fine."

They made their way toward the town house just as Sheffield walked out on the porch.

"Timmons said you had left for the country," he said. "I suppose I should have sent a note ahead, but I didn't want to waste that much time."

Cord climbed the front porch stairs, Victoria on his arm. "I don't know if I should be glad to see you or terrified of what news you may have brought."

The duke chuckled softly, then frowned as he noticed the coat draped over Cord's shoulder. "Problems with your wound? I thought you were pretty well healed."

"I was," Cord said.

"My stepfather tried to kill him," Victoria said. "He tried to kill both of us. Cord was injured during a saber duel."

"The cut is minor. It's a long story," he said with a sigh. "Why don't we go inside?"

Rafe flicked a glance at Victoria. "Good idea. If your wife can spare you for a bit, I'd like a word with you in private. There is a matter of some importance we need to discuss."

Cord's eyebrows drew together. "I was afraid of that."

"Buck up, old friend. This is news you'll want to hear."

"I'll arrange something for luncheon," Victoria said diplomatically. "Will you join us, Your Grace?"

He smiled. "Thank you, I believe I will."

Mollified a little by his friend's congeniality and more than a little intrigued, Cord led Rafe down the hall into his study.

"Something to drink?" he asked.

"Not at present."

"Will I need one?"

Rafe chuckled. "Perhaps later, to celebrate what I'm about to tell you."

"Now I am intrigued."

The men sat down in front of the fire. "I had a visitor earlier this morning."

"Is that so?"

"His name was Julian Fox."

Cord felt a rush of blood to the back of his neck. "What did he want?"

"He came to discuss your wife. It seems he recently received a letter from her."

A pulse began to pound in his temple. "Victoria wrote Fox a letter?"

"Take it easy, my friend. It is not what you think. Apparently your wife wrote to the man in desperation. In the letter, she explained the series of events that led you to the erroneous conclusion that their relationship went far beyond friendship. She begged him to help her set things right. She told Fox that she was with child-"

"Did she tell him the child might be his?" Cord shot to his feet. "Perhaps that is the real reason she wrote the letter."

"Dammit, man, sit down and listen. This is the very reason Fox came to me instead of approaching you directly. When you hear what the man had to say, you will know your wife has been telling you the truth."

Cord took a deep breath, Rafe's last words beginning to sink in. He sat back down in his chair, his chest starting to ache again. "What did Fox say?"

"He said that he and Victoria were never more than friends. He said that he didn't like the way you ignored her and he believed making you jealous would force you to realize how lucky you were to have married such a woman."

"And why, exactly, should I believe him?"

Rafe cast him a glance. "You're acquainted with my younger brother, Simon?"

"Of course. What does Simon have to do with any of this?"

"Fox came to me because of my brother. The two of them are friends, you see. Julian knew that I was aware of Simon's er...s.e.xual preferences, and yet I've never condemned him. Fox trusted me with his own, similar secret and asked that the information go no further than you."

Cord worked to get his mind around exactly what Rafe was saying. "Are you telling me that...that Julian Fox is a-"

"I'm saying Fox prefers intimacy with members of his same s.e.x."

"Good G.o.d."

"As I said, he and Simon share a similar preference. Fox and your wife are nothing more than friends."

For several long moments, Cord simply sat there, mulling over Rafe's words.

Then a slow smile broke over his lips. "Victoria never betrayed me with Fox."

"According to Fox, your wife is desperately in love with you."

He wanted to cheer, to shout into the streets. "She tried to tell me. She said that she and Fox were only pretending. But she had lied to me before and I refused to believe her. And there was McPhee's report."

"I believe your wife convinced the servants at Harwood Hall to keep their silence in regard to her visit The night Julian happened to run into her, she was headed for her father's old town house in search of her mother's journal, just as she said."

Both men came to their feet. "You're a lucky man, Cord," Rafe said a bit wistfully.

Cord thought of Victoria and how close he had come to losing her. "Yes, I am." He smiled. "And in the not-so-distant future, I'm also going to be a father."

Rafe laughed and Cord chimed in. The future had never looked brighter.

"If you will excuse me," Cord said. "I believe I need to speak to my wife."

Rafe nodded. "I wish you great happiness, my friend."

Cord just smiled. "I appreciate that-but I already have it."

Epilogue.

An icy December frost settled over London. Thick tendrils of fog drifted through the streets, the heavy mist making the cobbles slick and difficult to navigate. But in the master's suite of the earl of Brant's town house, a warm fire snapped and crackled pleasantly in the hearth and the chill remained outside the windows. Several lamps had been lit, giving the room a soft, golden glow. Tory sat on the blue velvet stool in front of the dresser. In the mirror, she could see her husband behind her, so handsome in his dark evening clothes and gold brocade waistcoat, leaning forward a little as he draped the beautiful diamond-and-pearl necklace around her throat.

"Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?"

She turned to look up at him, the netting on her copper silk gown rustling with the movement. Though she was several months gone with child, her pregnancy had only barely begun to show. "Have I told you lately how happy you make me?"

The diamond clasp made a soft click as it went together. Tory felt the cool, comforting weight of the strands, then the press of her husband's lips against the side of her neck.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" he whispered softly.

She rose from the stool and went into his arms, slid her own arms up around his neck. Her throat felt too tight to speak so she simply held on to him.

His mouth traveled up to her ear. "Are you certain you don't want to just stay home and forget the ball? I imagine I could find a way to keep you entertained." He nuzzled her ear and little shivers ran over her skin.

Tory leaned back to look up at him. "I am certain, my lord, you could persuade me with very little trouble to do most anything you wished. But we have promised your friend the duke that we would attend his ball and I think we should do as we have said."

He sighed, though his eyes held a smile. "I suppose you are right."

She turned away from him and went to retrieve her reticule. When she turned toward him, Cord must have noticed the slight crease that had settled between her eyes.

"What is it? You're worried about something. Tell me what it is."

Tory hung the cord of her copper silk reticule over her shoulder. "I saw Gracie today." Cord knew the truth about Grace and her real father. There were no more secrets between them-not anymore. "She was extremely upset. It seems her father-her real father-has been tossed into prison."

"Prison? What in G.o.d's name for?"

"The charge is high treason with the French. Grace is afraid they are going to hang him."

"There's been nothing in the papers. When did this happen?"

"Only just this morning. She told me some time back that her father was a man highly placed in the government."

"Perhaps he was privy to information that would be valuable to the French. Did she tell you his name?"

"Yes, just this morning. His name is Harmon Jeffries, Viscount Forsythe. Do you know him?"

"I've met him once or twice. A man in his forties. I don't remember much else about him."

"Perhaps he is innocent.'"

"For Grace's sake, we can only hope."

She walked to where he stood, reached for his hand and brought it to her lips. "There is something I would ask of you."

Cord smiled. "Anything, my love. By now, you must know that."