Читать книгу The Bride's Necklace - Kat Martin - Страница 13

In some ways, at least, fate seemed to be on Tory’s side. As the days continued, nothing more surfaced about the theft of the necklace or the attack on Baron Harwood. Undoubtedly there would be gossip among the ton, but Lord Brant was far too busy to pay attention to rumors and scandal.

Brant. Tory did her best not to think of him. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to look into those tawny eyes and remember his scorching kisses, the way her body had melted into his the moment he had touched her. She didn’t want to feel the awful, wicked temptation that she had felt that night.

Or battle her desire to be with him that way again.

Fortunately, she had succeeded in hiding her turbulent thoughts from Claire. Her sister had been waiting when Tory returned downstairs. She had told Claire the note had simply been a misunderstanding, that the earl had written midnight but meant midday and that he had merely been interested in discovering whether she and Tory were happy in their jobs.

It was an utterly ridiculous story, one that only someone as completely naive as Claire would believe. Tory felt guilty for the lie, but thanked the Lord that her sister had accepted it and put the matter to rest.

Since that night, she saw the earl only when they chanced to pass in a hallway. Each time he was exceedingly polite and reserved. Maddeningly so, Tory secretly thought.

In his study, the chessboard sat forlornly in the corner, and whenever Tory saw it, she battled the urge to move one of the pieces, to challenge him again. She didn’t, of course. She knew where that would lead and the road was one that could only end in disaster.

Then this morning, at the bottom of today’s London Chronicle, a reference was made to the search still being conducted for crimes against Baron Harwood. Fortunately, Tory made this morning’s newspaper, like the last, mysteriously disappear.

Still, she wondered how much longer she and Claire could continue hiding in Lord Brant’s household. They were madly saving every farthing should the need arise for a hasty escape, but the longer they were gainfully employed, the more money they would have and the better their chances of getting safely away.

And there was always the slim hope the baron might tire of his search and simply return to Harwood Hall, or that he might believe they were hiding somewhere in the country. Tory prayed each night that happenstance would occur.

In the meantime, the earl had left word that he would be having a small dinner party that evening. The guest list included his cousin Sarah and her husband, Lord Aimes; Colonel Pendleton of the British War Office; and Lord Percival Chezwick. The Duke of Sheffield was also invited, along with Dr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Chastain and their eldest daughter, Grace.

The last name on the list gave Tory’s heart a jolt. She knew Gracie Chastain. They had attended finishing school together. At Thornhill’s, Gracie had been her dearest friend.

That seemed eons ago. Another time, another life. After the baron had forbidden her return to school, Tory had heard little of Grace beyond an occasional letter. With the troubles facing her at home, Tory’s replies had been sluggish at best and the friends had drifted apart.

Still, Grace would know her immediately, even in her dreary housekeeper’s uniform. Tory would have to make a point of staying well away from the dining room.

“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Temple.”

Tory stiffened at the sound of the familiar deep voice coming up behind her. Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face the earl.

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

“I just wanted to check, make certain you have everything in order for tonight.”

“Yes, my lord. I was just making out the place cards.”

“You understand how the guests should be seated?” He seemed so aloof, so distant, as if he had never had the slightest interest in her at all. She wished her interest in him would fade as quickly.

“The guests should be seated by rank, my lord.”

He nodded. “Then I shall leave the matter in your hands.” Turning, he walked away. Tory watched him disappear down the hall, trying not to notice the width of his shoulders, the long legs and graceful way he moved. She tried to ignore those strong hands and the memory of them caressing her breasts, stroking over her nipples. She tried not to think of the overwhelming pleasure he had made her feel.