Kat Martin - The Bride's Necklace

For the first time, the earl seemed to understand exactly what they were about. He gazed at Claire and his mouth curved up. Tory thought that perhaps that smile did to women what Claire’s smile did to men.

Only Claire’s was completely guileless, while the earl of Brant’s definitely held a calculating twist.

“As a matter of fact, we are in need of help. Timmons just hasn’t yet been informed. Why don’t you both come with me?” He was offering Claire his arm, which didn’t bode well as far as Tory was concerned.

She knew the effect her sister had on men—not that Claire was even remotely aware of it. It was the reason they found themselves in such dire straights in the first place.

God’s breath—the girl was an angel. Cord had never seen skin so fair or eyes so blue. She was slender, yet he could see the swell of her breasts, outlined beneath her slightly frayed apricot gown, and they looked utterly delectable. He had been searching for a new bit of muslin. He hadn’t expected a divine creature like this to appear at his front door.

Cord paused inside the entry, the sisters gazing up at him from where they stood beneath the crystal chandelier. A few feet away, Timmons cast him a look of disbelief. Cord turned to Claire, but she had wandered over to a vase filled with roses and appeared to be enthralled with a single pink bud.

The other sister, he saw, was eyeing him with what could only be called suspicion. He gave her a friendly, innocent smile, all the while calculating how long it would take him to lure the blond beauty into his bed.

“So, my lord, you were telling me about the position you have available.”

He focused his attention on the dark-haired sister…what was her name? Velma or Valerie or…? Victoria—yes, that was it.

“As I was saying, we are definitely in need of help.” He looked her over. She was shorter than Claire, but not too short, and not nearly so…fragile. That was the word for Claire. This one, Victoria, looked capable, at least in his estimation, and she was obviously protective of her sister.

“My housekeeper, Mrs. Mills, gave notice nearly two weeks ago. She’ll be leaving in a few more days and I have yet to find a suitable replacement.” Victoria Temple was far too young for the position and undoubtedly she knew it. But he didn’t give a damn and he didn’t think she would, either. “Perhaps you would be interested in the job.”

He didn’t miss the staggering relief that washed over her face. It gave him an odd sort of pang.

“Yes, my lord, I would most assuredly be interested. I’ve done similar work before. I believe I could handle the job very well.”

She was attractive, he saw as he hadn’t before. Not the raving beauty her sister was, but her features were refined, her dark eyebrows winged over a pair of lively green eyes, her nose straight and her chin firm. A stubborn little chin, he thought with a hint of amusement.

“What about my sister? I’m afraid I can’t accept the position unless there is a place here for Claire as well.”

He heard the tension that crept into her voice. She needed this job—very badly. But she wouldn’t stay without her sister. Apparently, she hadn’t realized yet that Claire was the reason that she had been employed.

“As housekeeper, you will be able to hire as you wish. Another chambermaid would probably be useful. I’ll summon Mrs. Mills. She can show you around and discuss the duties you will need to perform. As this is a bachelor household, I imagine it would be better if I introduced you as Mrs. Temple.”

Her lips slightly pursed as she recognized the necessity of the lie, which obviously didn’t sit well with her.

“Yes, I suppose it would. As that will pose a problem for Claire, you may refer to my sister as Miss Marion. That is her middle name.”

He motioned toward Timmons, who left to collect Mrs. Mills. The broad-hipped housekeeper arrived a few minutes later, a speculative look on her face.

“Mrs. Mills, this is Mrs. Temple,” Cord said. “Beginning on Monday, she will be taking your place.”

The housekeeper’s speckled gray eyebrows drew together. “But I assumed Mrs. Rathbone—”

“As I said, Mrs. Temple will be your replacement. And this is her sister, Miss Marion. She’s being employed as a housemaid.”

Mrs. Mills didn’t look all that happy, but she nodded her acceptance, then motioned for the women to follow her and started climbing the stairs.

“We’ll get your sister settled in first,” the housekeeper said. “Then I’ll show you to your room. It’s downstairs next to the kitchen.”

“Come, Claire.” The dark-haired sister’s command drew the blonde’s attention from the flower-filled urn. “Mrs. Mills is going to show us our rooms.” Though the words were directed at Claire, her eyes were fixed on Cord and he thought that they held a trace of warning.

The notion somehow amused him. A servant with that kind of pluck. For the first time in weeks, Cord found himself thinking of something other than the business of being an earl and his worry about Ethan.

He cast a last glance at Claire, who climbed the stairs with her elegant head bent forward as she studied the patterns in the carpet. Cord watched the way a silver-blond strand of hair teased her cheek and felt a familiar male stirring. Thinking of the intriguing possibilities the future suddenly held for him, he smiled.

Then he thought of the stacks of paperwork waiting on his desk and the smile slid away. With a sigh, Cord headed for his study.

It was early the following morning that Mrs. Mills began her instruction and Tory learned the scope of her duties. Fortunately, she had managed a fairly large household at Harwood Hall, though the penny-pinching baron kept the staff to a minimum, resulting in long, exhausting days for all of them.

Though Claire had never worked at Harwood, she accepted her duties without the least complaint, collecting peas and beans from the kitchen garden, haring off to the marketplace for a pot of butter Cook needed for the evening meal, enjoying the camaraderie of working with the other servants.

Since their mother, Charlotte Temple Whiting, Lady Harwood, had died three years ago, they’d had very little social life. Tory had been away at Mrs. Thornhill’s Private Academy when her mother had fallen ill. After her mother’s death, her stepfather had insisted that Tory forgo the balance of her term at school to stay home and manage the household in her mother’s stead.

Claire, he said, could receive private instruction. Where the girls were concerned, the baron was miserly in the extreme, but Tory now knew he also hoped to find his way into her sister’s bed.

A shiver ran down her spine. Claire is safe now, she told herself. But in truth, the theft of the necklace and the possible death of the baron hung over them like a shroud that darkened each of their days. Surely, if the man had died, she would have read about it in the papers—or been apprehended for the deed by now.

Then again, perhaps the baron had recovered and simply said nothing of the crime, hoping to avoid a scandal. He was obsessed with the title he had gained on the death of her father. He was Baron Harwood now. He would not wish to sully the name.

Her mind strayed to the necklace. From the moment Miles Whiting had first seen it, he had been fascinated with the beautiful string of pearls interspersed with glittering diamonds. Tory thought that perhaps he had purchased it for his mistress then couldn’t bear to part with it. Whatever the truth, the necklace always seemed to have an odd sort of hold over him.

Surely the whispered tales of violence and passion, vast fortunes gained and lost that revolved around the necklace were nothing more than fantasy.