Cord smiled. To the victor go the spoils.

Tory rose early the following morning, yawning behind her hand, her eyes puffy from the little sleep she had managed to get last night. Mostly, she had tossed and turned, torn between embarra.s.sment and thinking what a fool she had made of herself in Lord Brant's study.

Dear G.o.d, what must he think of her, allowing him such liberties? She certainly hadn't been raised to behave that way. Her mother and father, as well as the years she had spent at Mrs. Thornhill's Private Academy, had taught her to behave like a lady. Whatever weakness had come over her, Tory vowed it would not happen again.

With that resolve, she made her way up the servants' stairs to the main floor of the house. She must check on the housemaids, see that the wardrobes were dusted and freshly lined with paper. She needed to see to the candle supply and be certain there was a sufficient amount of writing paper and ink.

She was pa.s.sing through the entry when Timmons rushed up with the morning paper tucked beneath a short, stout arm.

"Ah, Mrs. Temple. Would you mind terribly? I've a quick errand to run and I'm a bit pressed for time." He handed her a copy of the London Chronicle. "His lordship likes to read the paper while he takes his morning sustenance," he said as he dashed to the door, leaving behind the paper, and Tory with the job of seeing that his lordship got it.

And here I was hoping I would never have to face him again. Tory sighed. Hardly realistic if she wished to retain her position. At least after last night, he knew she had no interest in becoming anything other than his housekeeper.

Timmons's bald head flashed in the sunlight as the door closed behind him, and Tory headed for the breakfast room, a cheery salon done in shades of yellow and blue overlooking the garden. Perhaps the earl wouldn't yet be there. If she hurried, she could leave the paper beside his plate and not have to see him.

She walked toward the door, opening the paper as she went, making a quick perusal of the headlines. Tory froze two paces outside the door.

Baron Harwood Arrives in London, Tells Strange Tale of Robbery and Attempted Murder.

Her heart jolted to a screeching halt, as did her feet, then started beating in a heavy, sluggish rhythm. According the Chronicle, the baron had received near-fatal head injuries during the course of a robbery at Harwood Hall, his country estate in Kent. His attacker had inflicted a great deal of pain and rendered him temporarily incapable of memory. He had only just recovered enough to proceed to London in search of the villain responsible for the deed.

There was mention of the valuable pearl necklace that had been stolen but no accusations against his stepdaughters. It appeared the baron valued his reputation far too much to stir up that sort of scandal. Instead there was simply a description of the two young women he believed responsible for the crime. Unfortunately, the descriptions fit her and Claire to a T.

At least I didn't kill him, Tory thought with relief, then wondered with a trace of guilt if perhaps it would have been better if she had.

Just then the door to the breakfast room swung open and the earl strode out. Tory jumped, jammed the newspaper behind her back and forced herself to look up at him.

"Good morning, my lord."

"Good morning, Mrs. Temple." He looked down at the table. "Have you seen my morning paper? Timmons usually leaves it on the breakfast table."

The paper seemed to burn her fingers. "No, my lord. Perhaps it is in your study. Shall I go and see?"

"I'll go." The minute he turned and started walking, she hurried away, hiding the newspaper in her skirts, hating to deceive him yet grateful the exchange between them had been so matter-of-fact.

At least part of her was grateful. The other part resented the fact he could look at her as if he had never pressed her up against his tall, hard-muscled body, never kissed her lips, never slid his tongue inside her- Tory broke off, aghast at the train of her thoughts. She was a lady, no matter her current position-not one of the earl's scarlet women. And thinking about last night was the last thing she wanted to do. Determined to put the incident behind her, she headed upstairs to find Claire, to warn her sister of the article in the paper.

Leaving London would undoubtedly be the safest course. But they had yet to receive their next pay and what they had earned so far would barely get them out of the city.

In the end, she decided the best plan was to remain where they were, hiding virtually in plain sight, hoping no more articles would appear in the paper or that if they did, no one would equate the baron's odd tale to their appearance in Lord Brant's household.

Tory shuddered, praying no one would. Not only would she find herself tossed into prison, but the baron would, at last, have complete and utter control of Claire.

Three days pa.s.sed. No mention was made of the article in the paper, but Tory's worry remained. Still, she had a job to do and she had to see it done.

Now that Lady Aimes's brief visit was over, she ordered the linens changed in the upstairs guest rooms, set herself to the task of completing an inventory of the kitchen larder, then went in search of Claire.

"Excuse me, Miss Honeycutt, have you seen my sister? I thought she was working in the Blue Room."

"She was, Mrs. Temple. She was polishing the furniture when 'is lordship happened past. She was staring out the window. You know how she loves to look out into the garden?"

"Yes?"

"Well, 'is lordship asked if she would care to take a stroll. Said something about showing her the robin's nest he had found."

Tory's worry shot up, along with her temper. Why, the womanizing rogue! Only days ago he had been kissing her and now he was out in the garden trying to seduce poor Claire!

Hurrying in that direction, Tory made her way directly to the French doors, pushed them open and stepped out onto the red-brick terrace. The scent of lavender struck her, mingled with that of freshly turned earth, but she saw no sign of Claire.

Her worry heightened. If Brant had touched her sister...harmed her in any way...

Taking the gravel path, she hurried toward the fountain, knowing the garden lanes came together there like the spokes of a wheel, hoping she might be able to tell which direction they had gone. To her surprise, they were standing in plain sight, just a few feet off the path, Claire gazing up at the cl.u.s.ter of leaves and twigs that formed a shallow bird's nest.

Claire was standing a goodly distance from the earl, staring up into the branches of a white-barked birch. At the sound of Tory's leather-soled shoes crunching on the gravel, the earl looked away from Claire and fixed his gaze on her.

"Ah, Mrs. Temple. I wondered when you would arrive."

She tried to smile, but it felt as if her face would crack. "I came in search of Claire. There is work yet to do and I am in need of her a.s.sistance."

"Are you? I invited your sister to join me. I thought she might enjoy seeing the robin's nest the gardener discovered."

Claire finally looked in their direction, her eyes big and blue and filled with awe. "Come and see, Tory. Three tiny blue-speckled robin's eggs. Oh, they're marvelous."

Ignoring the earl, who, instead of being annoyed at having been caught out, wore a faintly satisfied expression, Tory exchanged places with her sister, stepped up on the footstool the gardener had placed at the base of the tree, and peered into the nest.

"They're wonderful, Claire." She stepped down, eager to be away from the earl, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of jealousy. As lovely as Claire was, Tory had never been jealous of her sister. In truth, she wasn't now. Lord Brant might have fixed his interest on Claire, but her sister had no such interest in him.

"The earl's a nice-enough man, I suppose," Claire had once said, "but he makes me nervous. He seems so...so..."

"Yes, well the earl can be a bit intimidating at times."

"Yes, and he's so...so..."

"Lord Brant is...well, he is definitely a masculine sort of man."

Claire nodded. "I never know what to say or what I should do."

The earl's deep voice banished the memory. "Come, Miss Marion. As your sister appears to have need of you, I'm afraid our pleasant interlude is over."

He was looking at Claire and smiling, but there was none of the heat Tory had seen in his eyes when he had looked at her. Taking Claire's hand, he helped her down from where she once more stood atop the stool, peering into the bird's nest.

He made them a last polite bow, as if they were guests instead of servants. "Have a pleasant afternoon, ladies."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Tory turned to Claire. "Are you all right?"

Claire just looked at her. "It was nice of him to show me the nest."

"Yes...yes, it was." Tory wanted to say more, to warn her sister in some way. Claire had already had one bad experience, though fortunately nothing too damaging had occurred.

It was hard to believe Lord Brant was anything like her stepfather, and yet-why else had he been out there with Claire?

Darkness thickened outside the window. A soft fog crept through the streets, blanketing the houses and ships. After supper, Tory had retired downstairs to her room to continue reading the Mrs. Radcliffe novel she had borrowed from the library. At a little past eleven she fell asleep on the sofa in her sitting room.

She stirred as a soft rap at her door began to filter into her senses, then awoke with a start, thinking it might be Lord Brant, realizing by the timid knock it could not be. Quickly pulling on her wrapper, she hurried to the door. She didn't expect to find her sister outside in the hallway.

"Claire! What on earth...?" She pulled her sister into the room and closed the door, alarmed by the stark look on her face. Tory hurried over to the oil lamp burning low on the bureau and turned up the wick, throwing soft yellow light into the sitting room.

"What is it, Claire? What's wrong?"

Claire swallowed, her eyes huge and frightened. "It's...it's his lordship."

Tory's stomach tightened. "Brant?" In the lamplight, she could see the pale hue of her sister's cheeks. "What about the earl?"

"Lord Brant sent me a message. I-I found it under my door." With trembling fingers, Claire held up the folded sheet of paper and Tory pulled it from her hand.

Claire, I should like a private word with you. Come to my bedchamber at midnight.

It was signed simply, "Brant."

"I don't want to go, Tory. I'm frightened. What if he...what if he touches me the way the baron did?"

Tory reread the paper and her temper went scalding hot. G.o.d save them, she had been right about the earl all along!

"It's all right, darling. You don't have to go. I shall go in your stead."

"B-but aren't you afraid? What if he beats you?"

Tory shook her head. "The earl may be wicked, but I don't believe he is the sort to hit a woman."

Though why she believed that she had no notion. So far she had misjudged the man completely. She had come to believe he was different from other men, more open-minded, a bit less condescending. It bothered her more than it should have to discover that he was also completely lacking in scruples.

Whatever sort of man he might be, tonight she intended to teach him a lesson in the consequences of trying to seduce an innocent young girl.

Cord flicked another glance at the clock on the mantel, as he had done at least twenty times. It was two minutes after midnight. Wearing only his shirt and breeches, he reclined on the bed, hoping his plan would work, that his latest strategy would win him the game.

That sacrificing a p.a.w.n would net him the queen.

It was a dangerous move and he knew it. Still, Victoria Temple was a difficult opponent and he had been forced to come up with a different approach than he had intended.

Cord grinned at the sound of four sharp raps at his door. Not the soft, tentative knock Claire would have used, but the firm, furious tapping that could only belong to her sister.

"Come in," he drawled, then waited as the door swung open and Victoria marched in. She stood in the shadows so he couldn't see her face, but he recognized her shorter stature and the belligerence in her stance.

"You're late," he said with a nonchalant glance at the clock. "I specifically instructed you to be here at midnight. It is now three minutes past."

"Late?" she repeated, the fury in her voice unmistakable. "Three minutes or three hours, the fact is Claire is not going to come."

Victoria stepped toward him, out of the shadows and into a shaft of moonlight streaming in through the window. He saw that her hair was unbound, curling softly around her shoulders and glinting with burnished highlights. He itched to run his fingers through it, to know the silky texture. Beneath her wrapper, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rapidly rose and fell with her breath, and he wanted to cup them, to bend his head and take the fullness into his mouth.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but your plan for seduction has failed. Claire remains safely upstairs in her room."

Cord came up off the bed and paced toward her, a lion with his prey in sight. "As well she should be."

"What are you talking about? You sent Claire a note. You told her to come. You planned to seduce her. You-"

"You're wrong, lovely Victoria. I told her to come because I knew you would not let her-that you would come in her stead." He reached her then, settled his hands on her shoulders, felt the tension thrumming through her. Very slowly, he drew her toward him. "It's you I want, Victoria. It has been almost from the start."

And then he kissed her.

Tory gasped as his mouth settled softly over hers. For several moments, she simply stood there, letting the heat flood through her, absorbing the taste of him, only dimly aware of the hard male body pressing into hers. Then she remembered why she was there, that it was Claire the earl truly wanted. Tory pressed her hands against his chest, turned her head, and shoved hard enough to get free.

"You're lying!" She was breathing fast. She told herself it was anger. "You're just saying that because I am here and not Claire." She took several steps backward. "You...you would take whatever woman happened to appear in your bedchamber."

The earl shook his head, stalking her, matching her step for step until her shoulders came up against the wall and she couldn't retreat any farther.

"You don't really believe that? We were playing a game, you and I. You were the prize I wanted, not Claire."

"That can't be the truth. Men always want Claire."

"Claire is a child, no matter her years. You're a woman, Victoria." He pinned her with his lion's gaze, caught her chin, held her so she couldn't glance away. "Deep down, you know it's you I want and not Claire."

She swallowed, stared into those hot golden-brown eyes and fought not to tremble. She remembered that same look the night he had come to her room, remembered the way he had kissed her in his study. She remembered the vague hints that he wanted her as his mistress, and G.o.d in heaven, she believed he was telling the truth.

The earl tilted her chin up, bent his head and captured her lips. It was a gentle, persuasive kiss, softly taking, convincing her with every touch, every taste. He kissed the corners of her mouth, pressed his lips against the side of her neck.

"If you're telling the truth," she whispered, "why didn't...why didn't you send the note to me?"

She felt the faint pull of his smile. "Would you have come?"

She wouldn't have, of course. "No."

"I didn't think so." And then he kissed her again.

Tory's hands came up to his chest, fluttered, flattened against the front of his full-sleeved shirt. Sweet Lord, it was heaven, the softest, hottest kisses, his lips hard-soft, perfectly fitted to hers, coaxing and demanding, giving and taking all at once.

"Open for me," he whispered, his tongue sliding over her lips, sending warm shivers across her skin. He deepened the kiss and pleasure made her legs go weak. Her arms slid up around his neck and he pulled her more snugly against him, tasted her more completely, let her taste him.

Tory trembled.

She knew she should stop him. He was the earl of Brant, a rake and a rogue, a man who would ruin her if she let him. He cared nothing about her. He only wanted to satisfy his l.u.s.t. And yet she sensed a need in him, had since that night he had barged into her room.

Her own need surfaced, pulsed to life with every stroke of his tongue, deepened with the feel of his hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, smoothing over them, molding them through her robe, sending little curls of heat sliding into her stomach. Her legs were trembling. He kissed the side of her neck as he parted the blue quilted wrapper and slid his hand inside, over her thin cotton night rail to cup her breast, his thumb stroking over her nipple.

"G.o.d, I want you," he said, pulling the little blue bow at her throat, reaching in to caress the fullness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her mouth went dry. She couldn't swallow. Her nipples swelled, pressed into his palm. "Give yourself to me," he said softly. "I know you want to."

G.o.d's breath, it was the truth. She had never wanted anything so badly. She wanted to see where all this heat would lead, wanted him to touch her, kiss her all over. He was every wicked dream she'd ever had, every wanton fantasy. She had known that about herself, that she wasn't like Claire, that she had desires and wants, and she wanted the earl of Brant.

Tory shook her head, tried to step away. The earl held her firmly in place.