Free The Bride's Necklace by Kat Martin Page A

mother, dead now seventeen years. He could imagine passing enjoyable hours with Victoria at the chessboard—after he had spent even more enjoyable hours in the lovely lady’s bed.
    Getting there, however, might not be as easy as he had imagined.
    Cord walked over to the carved wooden sideboard against the wall and poured himself a brandy. He had hinted at the notion of an arrangement tonight. Surely the girl was not so naive she didn’t understand that as his mistress her situation would be immensely improved for both her and her sister.
    Next time he would explain the advantages in practical, no-nonsense terms, but he had a niggling suspicion it wouldn’t do any good. Victoria Temple had principles. She was an unmarried woman, regardless of the Mrs. he had placed in front of her name. Sleeping with a man not her husband wasn’t something she intended to do.
    Oh, she was attracted to him. He knew women well enough to know when a woman returned his interest—which he most definitely had. His interest yet remained hard and throbbing inside his breeches, reminding him of the soft warmth of her lips, the way they had perfectly melded with his, the way they had trembled.
    His arousal strengthened, making him harder still. He wanted Victoria Temple. He couldn’t remember a time when a woman had appealed to him quite so much.
    Unless, of course, it was all merely an act.
    Cord liked women, but he also knew how devious some women could be. No matter her upper-class manners and speech, he had found Victoria on the street. Was she playing a game, or was she truly the innocent she seemed?
    For now, he would trust his instincts in that regard, follow the plan that would solve both of their problems, and begin a subtle campaign of seduction. It was, after all, in Victoria’s best interest. She had obviously been gently reared, no matter her current unfortunate circumstances. She belonged in stylish gowns, riding in a smart black carriage. And with the money he gave her, she could also provide those things for Claire.
    The thought gave him pause. Just exactly who were Claire and Victoria Temple? Cord made it a policy to know the strengths and foibles of the people aroundhim. Perhaps he should hire a runner, see what he might find out. He would give the matter some thought.
    He glanced down at the chessboard. Seduction was not so different from a game of chess, he thought, the man making a move, the woman responding, the play going back and forth until one of them was victorious. He saw himself clearly in that role, but it wouldn’t be easy. If he wanted to win the prize, he would have to plan carefully.
    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 embarrassment and thinking what a fool she had made of herself in Lord Brant’s study.
    Dear God, 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 passing 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 aquick 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