The Devil's Necklace (10 page)

“I’ve freshened the garments in your trunks, miss. I thought today perhaps the rose merino trimmed with navy blue ribbon. It always makes you look so pretty.”

“Thank you, Phoebe. The merino will be fine.” She had a trunkful of beautiful clothes. Her mother had always insisted she dress in the height of fashion, no matter the cost. For years, her mother had been determined to see Grace wed to a nobleman. It had only been through reading her father’s letters, locked away for years in one of her mother’s trunks, that Grace had learned that the expense of her lovely gowns had been borne by the viscount, her real father.

Grace scoffed to think of it. Her mother’s grand dream of her marrying into the aristocracy—what a jest that had
turned out to be. The lowliest son of the lowliest squire would not wed her now, not after the ruination Ethan Sharpe’s abduction had heaped upon her.

To say nothing of the fact she had also given him her virginity.

With Phoebe’s help, Grace dressed in the high-waisted rose merino gown and slid her feet into matching kid slippers. She sat listlessly in front of the mirror while Phoebe braided her hair and pinned it into a coronet.

Ready at last, Grace made her way down to the drawing room, prepared to speak to her aunt.

“Well, there you are!” Aunt Matilda bustled toward her, a short, stout, robust woman with iron-gray hair and rosy cheeks. A quizzing glass dangled from her neck at the end of a silver chain. “How are you feeling, dearest? Better, I hope.”

“Much better, thank you, Aunt Matilda.”

“Come then. I’ll have Parker bring tea to the drawing room.”

Grace followed, knowing her aunt must be bursting with questions, wishing she knew what to say.

“I’ve been reading the
Post,
” Aunt Matilda said as they took their seats on one of a pair of slightly worn tapestry sofas that faced each other in front of the hearth. A warm fire blazed there, keeping out the late February chill. “There has been less and less mention of your father’s escape. It appears our plan has progressed exactly as we hoped.”

That was about all that had, Grace thought grimly, recalling the night she was abducted from the
Lady Anne
and all that had happened to her since. “At least that is some thing for which we may be grateful.”

The viscount had not been found, but Grace still had no idea if her father was innocent or guilty. She looked over at her aunt. “You don’t believe Lord Forsythe—I mean my father—was a traitor to his country?”

“Of course not, dear. If you had known him better, you would realize that is simply not something my Harmon would do. Why, I remember the time…”

For the next half hour, Grace listened to tales of her father’s childhood, how distraught he had been when his parents had died, how he had been so shy and frightened when he had first come to live at Humphrey Hall.

“He was a soldier, you know. He enlisted in the army when he was but nineteen. I tried to talk him out of it. So did my late husband, Stanley—God rest his soul. But Harmon insisted. He had a duty, he said. He had to see it done.”

By the time they were finished with their tea and ready to adjourn for luncheon, Grace had a better understanding of her father and a burgeoning feeling of closeness to her aunt.

It was later that afternoon that she worked up the courage to speak of Ethan. Even then, the words that spilled out weren’t the words she wanted to say.

“The captain thinks my father is guilty. He believes Harmon Jeffries betrayed him to the French and in doing so is responsible for the deaths of the men on his ship.”

She told her aunt how Ethan had been captured and thrown into prison, how he had been beaten and tortured and that he still carried the scars, both on his body and in his heart. There must have been something in Grace’s voice when she spoke of him, something that alerted her aunt to the feelings she still carried for Ethan.

“This captain…he came to mean a great deal to you. It is there in your eyes when you speak of him.”

“Captain Sharpe…he’s not like any other man. At times, he can be kind and gentle, but he can also be utterly ruthless. Still, in a way, I think I understand him.” She looked up at her aunt. “I fell in love with him, Aunt Matilda. I don’t know how it happened, but I did. I know that I shall never see him again, but I shall never forget him.”

“Oh, my darling girl.” Her aunt pulled her into an embrace and Grace’s throat closed up. She felt tears burning, felt the thick lump in her throat and couldn’t stop the sob that escaped.

“It’s all right, dearest. Sometimes in life things happen we simply cannot control. In time, you will get over him.”

She swallowed. “I know.” But it was clear to Grace that it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Ethan completed his mission, his search of the French coastline and investigation of the Spanish coast as far south as Cadiz. There seemed to be a good bit of shipbuilding activity, but no concrete information as to what the French meant to do with their growing fleet. So far the English blockade had managed to contain them. Ethan prayed that would continue.

He was back in London now, living in his town house. He had officially ended his final mission for the War Office and begun his duties as marquess of Belford. He was home, beginning a new sort of life. He was resigned to the change, determined to move forward, yet in truth the past still haunted him.

Every day he pored over the London papers—the
Chronicle,
the
Whitehall Post,
the
Daily Gazeteer
—in search of news of Harmon Jeffries, any information that might turn up in regard to the viscount’s whereabouts.
Jonas McPhee remained in his employ. The Bow Street runner was completely discreet and nearly as determined as Ethan to bring the traitor back to face the hangman he had thus far avoided.

Unfortunately, thinking of Forsythe made Ethan also think of Grace and every time he did, something tightened in his chest. Part of him still resented her for setting a traitor free; another part understood why she had done it. Ethan had lost his own father when he was a boy. Though he had been kindly raised by his uncle and aunt, the earl and countess of Brant, he had missed his parents every day. Ethan, his brother Charles, and his sister Sarah had lived at Riverwoods with his cousin, Cord Easton, present earl of Brant, and all of the children had grown very close. But Ethan had never forgotten the man who had sired him and the mother who had loved him, and had always felt as if a piece of himself was missing.

Still, his father was not a traitor and understanding why Grace had behaved the way she had did not completely absolve her.

And yet he missed her. He’d never thought that would happen, never imagined that after she was gone he would think of her a hundred times a day. He never thought he would remember how brave she had been and how strong, never considered that a single night of making love to her would be etched into his mind, destroying his desire for other women, leaving him imprisoned by memories of the one woman he could not have.

His cousin stopped by to see him. Cord had begun to worry at the invitations Ethan continued to decline, his refusal to enter polite society and take his place as marquess of Belford. No matter the title he had inherited after his older brother had died, he didn’t fit into that world, simply had no real desire to be there.

Instead, he immersed himself in the business of running his estates and dealing with Belford family problems. It was enough, Ethan thought, ignoring the image of Grace that popped into his head. It would have to be.

It took two sets of raps on the study door before he realized someone was knocking. He opened his mouth to respond, but the door swung open without his permission and Cord walked in.

“I thought I might be interrupting.” The earl glanced round as if he expected to find someone else in the room. “I can see that I am not.”

It was Friday night. Ethan had been invited to join Cord and his wife for supper but he had declined. “I was getting ready to go over some of the estate ledgers for Belford Park. Charles’s widow still lives there. She says the place is in dire need of repair.”

“Fascinating,” Cord drawled. “And this stimulating bit of business couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I like to keep on top of things.”

Cord chuckled. “Indeed. That is the mistake I used to make. There is more to life, Cousin, than wrapping oneself up in work all the time.”

Another rap on the door and again the portal swung open. This time, Rafael Saunders, duke of Sheffield, walked into the study.

“Just as you thought,” Rafe said to Cord. “Sitting here like the proverbial bump on the log. Deuced bad
ton,
my friend. Well, fear not. We have come to rescue you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I am not in need of rescue.”

“So you say.” Rafe strolled round to the opposite side of the desk. “We’ve come to take you out of here. We’ll go to the club, play a few hands of cards.”

Ethan mulled that over.
What the hell.
He had nothing better to do, and sitting alone in the study was beginning
to depress him. “All right, you’ve convinced me.” He came to his feet behind the desk, thinking he could use a little diversion.

Rafe smiled. “Afterward, you and I can stop by Madame Fontaneau’s, find ourselves a bit of feminine companion ship. Cord won’t be joining us, of course. His needs are well taken care of at home, but we bachelors have to look out for ourselves.”

Cards sounded good. But the thought of being with a woman left him cold. In time, that would change, he told himself. Memories of fiery hair and bright green eyes would fade. Images of ruby lips and an elegant, slender body that seemed made perfectly to fit his would slip away.

But not tonight.

“Cards first,” he said. “Then we’ll see.”

But heading upstairs to change into his evening clothes, Ethan was certain that tonight he would not be visiting Ma dame Fontaneau’s elegant house of pleasure.

G
race paced the faded Oriental carpet in her bedchamber, trying to think what to do. Her aunt had retired for the evening, but Grace wasn’t the least bit sleepy. She was worried. And frightened.

A little over two months had passed since she had left the ship. It was mid-April and Grace knew something was wrong. She had known it within the first few weeks after her arrival in Scarborough. Her body was changing, feeling oddly full, her breasts growing tender. She had missed her monthly cycle, something that had never happened before. In the mornings, she had begun to feel sick.

Oh, dear God!

In her wildest dreams, she had never imagined that she might find herself with child after a single night of passionate lovemaking. Surely, she had thought, it took more than once.

Now she knew how wrong she had been.

She was carrying Ethan’s child and sooner or later, the fact would be apparent. She would have to tell her aunt, of course, but she simply could not find the courage. Aunt
Matilda had been her salvation. As her father’s letters had promised, the woman had helped Grace through the most difficult time of her life.

It seemed impossible to ask more of her, to expect the older woman to allow an unwed mother to remain in her home, to permit Grace and her child to reside there after the baby was born. The baroness would be shunned by the community, her name blackened in society. Grace simply could not let that happen.

Nor could she turn to her mother. Amanda Chastain feared gossip above all things. Just the thought of a scandal made her mother light-headed. To say nothing of her stepfather, who would like nothing more than to see Grace a fallen woman, proof he had been right about her all of these years.

In truth, her mother had been relieved when Grace had announced her intention to travel north for an extended visit with her aunt. With Grace gone from the house, so was the reminder of her mother’s long-ago indiscretion. It was one of the reasons Amanda Chastain had pushed so hard to see Grace wed.

She scoffed to think how far her mother’s intentions had gone awry.

Feeling more and more desperate, Grace paced back and forth, staring a moment out the window, seeing nothing but darkness, then pacing back toward the hearth once more. Something on the dresser caught her eye and she paused. The pretty little ivory-inlaid jewelry box her aunt had given her to house the Bride’s Necklace sat on the marble top of the bureau.

Grace lifted the lid and saw the elegant strand of pearls lying on a bed of blue satin, the diamonds winking up at her, beckoning her to touch them. Her fingers moved
over the pearls, testing the perfect roundness, the creamy smoothness, the facets of the lovely white diamonds.

The necklace had brought her friend, Tory, great happiness, but to Grace, it had only brought pain.

Her hand moved down her body to her still-mostly-flat belly and she thought of the legend. It seemed her heart was not nearly so pure as she had once thought.

She closed the lid of the jewelry box, the pearls reminding her of the friend who had gifted her with them, the one person in the world she was certain she could trust. Tory had written to her several times at Humphrey Hall and in her reply, Grace had explained a bit of what had happened on her fateful journey north. She had given her friend no specifics, just kept the information general, saying simply that there had been a mix-up and she had arrived in Scar borough aboard another ship.

It seemed the tale of Grace’s abduction had never reached her friend. Most of the passengers aboard the
Lady Anne
had been heading off in different directions and Grace doubted that Captain Chambers was the sort to carry tales. Angus had said he would see that the captain was in formed of Grace’s safe arrival at her aunt’s, but sooner or later the truth of her unchaperoned journey with Ethan Sharpe would leak out.

She tried not to think what her mother and Dr. Chastain would say when it did.

Her mind once more on Tory, Grace walked over to the portable writing desk in the corner. She carried the small wooden box to the table, then sat down before it.

She wasn’t sure where she found the words to explain what had truly happened on her voyage to Scarborough, how she had been taken from the
Lady Anne
by a man named Ethan Sharpe, captain of a ship called
Sea Devil.
Captain Sharpe had wanted to question her in regard to the matter of Viscount Forsythe’s escape from prison, but eventually delivered her to her aunt’s.

He was incredibly handsome and utterly commanding. At times he seemed hard, even cruel, but he was also kind, and he could be so very gentle. There was something about him that drew me as no man ever has. I fell in love with him, Tory. And now I carry his babe.

She explained a little more of what had happened and ended the letter,
Dear God, I wish I knew what to do.

Signing the note,
Your dearest chum, Grace,
she wiped the tears from her eyes and put the writing desk back in its place. The letter was posted the following day.

Grace prayed that once Tory read it she would understand the dire straits Grace had managed to get herself into and that her friend would be able to help her come up with a plan.

It was late in the afternoon. Cord was just finishing up some paperwork he had put off for a few days so that he and Victoria could spend a little time at Windmere, his wife’s ancestral home in the country.

He smiled to think of it, remembering the hours they had spent together in front of a roaring fire in the drawing room of the lovely old house. He still found it hard to believe he had almost lost her in his ridiculous effort to keep her at a distance, afraid that if he didn’t protect himself, she would find her way into his heart.

Which was exactly what she had done.

Cord chuckled. The thing of it was, he wasn’t the least bit sorry.

He sat there now, behind his mahogany desk, thinking about her and the child she carried. He looked up as
the study door burst open and Tory rushed in. A few dark stands of her thick chestnut hair had come loose from its pins and her hand shook as she held a piece of foolscap out in front of her.

“Cord! Dear Lord, you won’t believe what has happened!”

He came to his feet, worry making his brows pull together. She was six months gone with child and he didn’t like seeing her so upset.

“What is it? Tell me what has happened.”

She rushed toward him, a small whirlwind of a woman, lovely and vibrant, even in her distress, her belly round with his babe. Her hand trembled as she held out the letter.

“This is from Grace. She is in trouble. Remember the rumors we heard, that Grace had been compromised on her journey to Scarborough? That she had been forcibly removed from her ship, the
Lady Anne?
She said in her letters it was all a simple mistake, quickly rectified, and that she was now comfortably ensconced in Scarborough with her aunt. She said she had simply arrived aboard a different vessel.”

Tory fluttered the letter. “I just received this! She has finally told me the truth of what occurred. Can you guess what the name of the ship that carried her to Scarborough might be?”

Cord reached for the letter, but she waved it in front of his face just out of his reach. “
Sea Devil!
That is the name. Do you know whose ship that is?”

Cord’s frown deepened. “Of course I know. That is
Ethan’s ship. What in blazes was Grace doing aboard the
Sea Devil?
”

“I will tell you what she was doing. Your cousin abducted her. He stole her away and ruined her reputation and made her fall in love with him. Now she is carrying his child!”

“What!” Cord grabbed the letter out of her hand and quickly scanned the page. “Sweet God in heaven.”

“Grace doesn’t know what to do. It is obvious she hasn’t told Ethan or anyone else. You have to talk to him, Cord. He has compromised an innocent young woman. He has no choice but to marry her.”

Tory looked as if she thought that might be a fate worse than death.

“He’s a good man. He’ll do the right thing.”

“I have to go to her.” Tory whirled toward the door. “She needs me.”

Cord caught her wrist, spinning her back in his direction. “You’ll do no such thing. You are carrying my child. I won’t have you traveling that far a distance. Let me speak to Ethan, see what he has to say.”

“I am still several months from having our babe. The trip won’t—”

“Not a chance. You are not leaving the city. If I have to lock you up in our bedchamber to keep you safe, I will.”

Her dark eyebrows drew together. “Don’t you dare threaten me, Cord Easton.”

“I’m your husband. I want you safe.” His voice gentled and so did his hold on her wrist. “Grace is my friend, too, Victoria. We are not going to abandon her and neither will Ethan. Give me a chance to talk to him.”

She sighed and some of the tension drained from her
slim shoulders. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, darling. It’s just that I thought the necklace would bring Grace…” She shook her head. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure Ethan will do what is right.”

“Of course, he will.” He reached for his tailcoat, hanging on the back of the chair behind his desk, and slipped it on over his brown velvet waistcoat. Still holding the letter, he bent his head and kissed her. “I won’t be long. In the meantime, I don’t want you to worry. Everything turned out all right for your sister, didn’t it?”

She relaxed a little and nodded. “Thanks to you, Claire is sublimely happy.”

“Everything is going to work out for Grace, as well.”

At least he hoped so. He wasn’t sure Ethan would be pleased about his impending nuptials. Cord had no idea how he felt about Grace Chastain.

But Ethan was a man of honor.

Cord was certain he would do the right thing.

“I’m sorry, Cord, but it isn’t going to happen. I’m not going to marry Grace Chastain.”

Cord could hardly believe the tall, black-haired man standing in the drawing room of the Belford town house was his cousin. “What are you saying? You compromised the girl. Until you touched her, she was an innocent. You told me so yourself.”

“She is also the daughter of a traitor.”

“She told you that? She told you Forsythe was her father?”

“You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to tell anyone else. But the fact remains—her father is responsible for
the death of the entire crew of the
Sea Witch.
The man sold in formation to the enemy that destroyed my ship, my crew, and left me locked in a stinking French prison for nearly a year.”

“Grace isn’t Harmon Jeffries,” Cord argued.

“No? Jeffries’s blood flows through her veins. She helped the bastard escape the gallows. She allowed him to get away with the murder of nearly two dozen men. I refuse to make her the marchioness of Belford.”

“What about the child she carries, Ethan? Your child. Don’t you care what happens to it?”

He shrugged his shoulders, but the gesture looked far from nonchalant. “The child will want for nothing. I’ll send money, see it raised with all the advantages.”

“All the advantages—except the love of its father.”

Ethan turned away. Walking over to the sideboard in the corner, he poured a liberal portion of brandy into the glass he had already drained once and took a long, fortifying swallow.

“I never knew Grace was a friend of your wife. I’m sorry this had to happen.”

“Grace is a gently reared young girl. She is the daughter of a well-respected family, for God’s sake. She’ll be out cast. Humiliated. Do you really loathe the girl that much?”

Ethan’s dark complexion seemed to pale beneath the high bones in his cheeks. “I don’t hate her. I hate who she is…what she did. I won’t marry her, Cord.”

Cord swirled the brandy in his glass, lifted it and took a hefty drink. “I never would have believed it. I knew the war had changed you, Ethan. I didn’t know how much.”

Turning away, he set the brandy glass down on the side
board and strode out of the drawing room. He dreaded facing Victoria, having to tell her the awful truth, that her friend was going to have to suffer her ordeal alone. He wouldn’t, he decided, not yet. Not until he spoke to Rafe and told him what had happened.

Rafe was Ethan’s closest friend and also a friend of Grace’s. Perhaps the duke could make Ethan see reason.

Cord prayed that he could.

Ethan stood staring at the place Cord had been. He still couldn’t believe it. Grace was carrying his babe.

He laughed bitterly. Of all the irony. The man he hated most in the world would be the grandfather of his child.

He tried not to think of Grace, husbandless, a fallen woman shunned by society. She had brought it upon herself, he thought harshly, punishment for setting free a man who should have hanged.

But in the eye of his mind, he saw her smiling, saw her cheeks flushed with the bloom of their lovemaking. He saw her round with his child, saw her holding the babe in her arms, loving it as perhaps in time she might have come to love him.

Ethan shook his head, driving away the images, letting another memory surface. Blood on the decks of the
Sea Witch,
the sound of cannon-fire and muskets, the screams of dying men. The crew of the
Sea Witch
had fought beside him fiercely and valiantly, heroes every man. Now they were dead and Harmon Jeffries was to blame.

Though there had been times in his stinking prison cell when he had wished he had died with the others, Ethan had survived. But day and night, guilt for living gnawed at him like a ravenous beast.

He refused to betray the men who had died at his side by marrying Grace Chastain.

Ethan got drunk. He stayed that way the rest of the day and all of the next. On the third day, he slept till noon and woke up with a raging headache. For several long moments, he confused the banging in his head with the heavy raps on his bedchamber door.

Then the door swung open and Rafael Saunders, duke of Sheffield, strode in. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”