Cord flicked another glance at the clock on the mantle.
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 pawn 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, and then waited as the door swung
open and Victoria walked in. Standing as she was in the
shadows, 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. Her
hair was unbound, curling softly around her shoulders, and
he itched to run his fingers through it, to know the silky
texture. Beneath her wrapper, her breasts rapidly rose
and fell 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,โ she said, โbut
your plan for seduction has failed. Claire remains safely
upstairs in her room."
Cord came up off the bed and paced toward her, a panther
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 to your room at midnight. You planned to
seduce her. You--"
"You're wrong, lovely Victoria. I told her to come
because I knew you would not let her--which 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 is you I want,
Victoria. It has been from the start."
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 and forced herself
to pull away. โI donโt believe you.โ She took several
steps backward, her breath coming too fast. She told
herself it was anger. "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, and held her so she couldn't look way. "Deep down,
you know it's you I want and not Claire."
She swallowed, stared into those hot 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 God in heaven, she
believed him.
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, ever 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, and
flattened against the hard wall of his chest. Sweet Lord,
it was heaven, the softest, hottest kisses, his lips hard-
soft, perfectly fitted to hers, coaxing yet demanding,
giving and taking all at once.
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.
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. 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
breasts, smoothing over them, molding them through her
robe. He kissed the side of her neck as he parted the
blue quilted wrapper and slid his hand inside, over her
thin cotton nightgown to cup a breast.
"Give you to me," he said softly. "I know you want to."
God's breathe, it was the truth. She had never wanted
anything so badly. 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, but the earl held
her firmly in place.
"Don't say no. Let me take care of you, give you a better
life. And you can take care of Claire. Neither of you
will want for anything."
He was saying it straight out, asking her to become his
mistress. He wanted her, the sturdy sister, not Claire
the beautiful one.
Tory simply could not do it.
She was surprised to feel the sting of tears.
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