The Bride's Necklace by Kat Martin Page A

like something you dug out of a slop bucket.”
    “Well…I suppose some of it was pretty awful, but—”
    “But?”
    “At the very last moment, the cook quit and so did her helper, and the rest of us…well, we tried to do the best we could.” She flicked a glance at the other three women. “To tell you the truth, with a little more practice, I think in a pinch we could rub on very well.”
    A flush rose under the bones in the earl’s handsome face and a muscle tightened in his cheek. When he spoke, his voice was deceptively calm.
    “I’d like a word with you, Mrs. Temple—in private, if you please.”
    Oh, dear, he was angrier than she thought. Tory braced herself and tried not to let her nervousness show. Walking ahead of him, she shoved through the kitchen door and preceded him down the hall, far enough away that they wouldn’t be overheard.
    She squared her shoulders and turned to face him. “As I said, I’m sorry about the dinner. I had hoped it would turn out better.”
    “Did you, indeed?” Hard, golden-brown eyes bored into her. “I gather you are having more trouble managing your duties than I imagined.”
    Something in the way he was looking at her…as if she might as well have been Mrs. Rathbone or one of the footmen. As if he had never made advances, as if he had never kissed her, never caressed her breasts. Something in the blandness of his expression made all common sense rush out of her head.
    “Actually, I am not having the least amount of trouble. Some of your staff, however, are having trouble accepting me as their superior—and the fault is entirely your own!”
    His eyes widened. “Mine!”
    “It wasn’t fair of you to hire me in Mrs. Rathbone’s stead and the rest of the servants know it.”
    One dark eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You’re not suggesting I dismiss you?”
    “No! I mean…no, I need this job. And I believe I am better suited to the position than Mrs. Rathbone ever will be. In time, I intend to prove it. Once I do, the problem will be solved.”
    Lord Brant frowned. He studied her face for several long moments. Then he turned and started walking. “You needn’t trouble yourself further, Mrs. Temple,” he said over his shoulder. “Tomorrow I shall solve the problem for you.”
    “What!” Tory raced after him. Grabbing his coat sleeve, she forced him to turn around. “You can’t possibly interfere! You’ll only make things worse!”
    “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
    “Wh-what are you planning to do?”
    “Ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said, ignoringher question. “Make sure the entire staff is present. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you began your search for another cook.”
    Tory watched his tall figure disappear back up the stairs, returning to the dining room. Dear God, why had she said those things? She wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink until she found out what the earl planned to do.
     
    The dinner was a disaster, and yet as he sat in the dining room, enjoying brandy and cigars with the men, Cord couldn’t help a flicker of amusement. Seeing Victoria so utterly disheveled and completely undone, with flour on her nose and her hair a riot of curls, was almost worth the awful food.
    That even under such circumstances she’d had the courage to speak her mind simply amazed him. She was, he realized, quite an amazing woman.
    The dinner was an utter failure but the company was pleasant. Though his good friend Sheffield was laughing a little more loudly than he usually did and young Percy Chezwick was flat-out in his cups, it was obvious his guests were enjoying themselves.
    Pendleton was a gentleman as always. “I’m expecting a courier in the next few days,” he said as the men finished their brandy and prepared to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. “I’m hoping for word of your cousin.”
    Cord felt a rush of excitement. “You think your man may have found out which prison he’s being held in?”
    “Max