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 passed. 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 cluster 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 assistance.”
“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,