Rogue's Honor (13 page)

He flashed her an enigmatic smile that didn't
quite reach his eyes, still watching her intently. "You may recall
my telling you that I contrived to attend school—Oxford, in
fact."

She'd had no idea at the time that he'd gone
to such a prestigious university, but she nodded. "Because your
mother wished it, you said."

"Yes." She felt his slight withdrawal, his
hand pressing less firmly at her waist now. "But money alone would
not have guaranteed my acceptance there. Background—and blood—is at
least as important."

Watching his brows draw together in distaste,
she leaped to a guess. "So you were forced to rely on this uncle,
this Conte di Santo. Someone to whom you'd have preferred to have
no obligation. Someone who cast off your mother? Did he force you
to take his name as a condition for sponsoring your education?"

Now he frowned down at her in apparent
surprise. "Something like that, yes."

"And you resent him for it. So as soon as you
left Oxford, you repudiated everything he stands for, to include
his name." Pearl felt rather pleased with herself for having
unraveled the mystery on her own. Most of it, anyway. "But . . .
why have you now taken that name again, venturing back into this
world you so obviously despise?"

His expression softened, stealing her breath.
"To find you, of course."

Pearl missed a step in her surprise, and he
had to support her until she caught the rhythm of the dance again.
"Me?" To her disgust, the word came out as a squeak.

"Poor little Purdy, alone in the world—how
could I rest until I knew what had become of her?" His hand at her
waist seemed to burn through the thin silk of her gown. "I had no
way of knowing that she was really the great Lady Pearl, in
disguise for purposes of her own.

She flushed at the mockery in his tone,
knowing she deserved it. "Yes, I deceived you, too, and I'm sorry.
At first I was afraid, and then I feared I might put you at risk by
telling you my true identity." She did not add that she had also
feared losing his respect.

"Then will you tell me why you were at the
Mountheaths' in the guise of a servant in the first place?" His
voice was gentle now, that very gentleness sweeping away the last
vestiges of her resistance.

She gazed up at him, no longer caring what
showed in her eyes, ready to pour out the truth to him. Before she
could speak, however, the dance came to an end. Already the young
viscount who had reserved the next one was coming forward to claim
her.

"We'll talk again later," she promised Luke
quickly, even as he released her waist, leaving a lingering heat
where his hand had been. "Call on me tomorrow and we'll contrive
something—a drive, perhaps."

He nodded, then gallantly took his leave,
brushing his lips across her inner wrist just above her glove in a
caress that left her tingling to the tips of her breasts. "Until
tomorrow," he murmured, and then he was gone.

The lively country dance that followed
required no conversation, for which Pearl was grateful, as her
thoughts and emotions were chaotic. She managed to catch one more
glimpse of Luke, only to see him and Lord Marcus taking their leave
of Lord and Lady Chatham. Though all prospect of enjoyment for the
balance of the evening went with him, Pearl could not help
exulting.

Luke was at least marginally of her world,
whether he wished it to be so or not. At the very least, they could
continue their friendship. Beyond that, she did not dare to
think—yet.

* * *

The next day, Pearl received her usual
retinue of callers, the gentlemen bearing flowers and compliments,
the ladies bearing gossip. She listened with only half an ear,
responding automatically, until Clorinda Stuckton introduced a
topic of particular interest.

"I saw that you danced with Mr. di Santo last
night, Lady Pearl. Did he say anything . . . scandalous? I had
such
tales about him from Fanny Mountheath!"

"Tales?" Pearl carefully schooled her voice
and expression into the same indifference with which she'd greeted
all previous gossip.

Clorinda nodded eagerly, and the other
ladies—and one or two of the gentlemen—leaned forward to hear what
she had to say. "For one, it is
rumored
that he was, ah,
instrumental in Lord and Lady Simcox's divorce!" Her voice sank to
a whisper on the last, shocking word.

All Society knew, of course, that Lord Simcox
had obtained the rare decree last year on grounds of his wife's
infidelity.

"One can scarcely blame Lady Simcox," said
Miss Chalmers with a giggle, though her mother frowned her
disapproval. "He was easily the handsomest man at the Chatham ball
last night."

One or two of the gentlemen protested, and
the ladies set about soothing and teasing them, turning the
conversation. Pearl wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or
relieved.

Though she had not known the particulars of
the scandalous Simcox divorce at the time, Pearl had mentally
congratulated Lady Simcox on her escape from a drink-sodden,
ill-tempered husband nearly thirty years her senior. The idea of
Luke's involvement, however, put things in a different —and
disturbing —light. She was more eager than ever to continue her
conversation with him.

Clorinda Stuckton took her leave, and a
moment later a new caller was announced. Pearl felt a thrill of
anticipation, only to have it quashed—again.

"Lord Bellowsworth!" trilled Obelia to the
newcomer. "I vow, I was beginning to fear we should never see you
again. I was quite cast in the dismals when you were not at the
Chathams' ball last night." She waved him to the seat next to
Pearl, just vacated by Sir Cyril, who was taking his leave.

"My apologies, your grace. My mother was
feeling poorly, and I did not feel easy leaving her. She is much
recovered today, however, so I was eager to pay my respects." He
turned his wistful, worshipful gaze on Pearl, who managed to
suppress her sigh of impatience.

"Such a doting son," the Duchess declared
approvingly. "I always say a young lady can tell much about how a
man will treat a wife from observing how he behaves toward his
mother, do I not, Pearl?"

"Frequently," Pearl responded with an
automatic smile. She was rather surprised Lord Bellowsworth had the
courage to call at all, given the embarrassment attending his last
visit.

His next words explained the seeming anomaly.
"Your grace was more than kind to invite me to call today, after my
neglect of you this past week. Dare I hope this means I am
forgiven?"

"Tut-tut, my lord," the Duchess responded.
"You've done nothing requiring forgiveness. In fact, I was hoping
you might be prevailed upon to escort Lady Pearl to the theatre
tonight. The Duke and I had planned to accompany her, but it
appears he may have to attend some dreary diplomatic function
instead."

Pearl had hoped that after what she'd told
her father, Obelia might suspend her matchmaking efforts, but such
was clearly not the case. If anything, she seemed to have
intensified her efforts. And adding insult to that potential
injury, Obelia had just treated her like a charity case in front of
half a dozen visitors.

"I regret that you did not consult with me,
your grace, before inconveniencing Lord Bellowsworth," she said
icily. "As it happens, I have already agreed to allow another
gentleman to escort me tonight."

"Indeed?" The Duchess arched one eyebrow,
plainly disbelieving. "Who might that gentleman be, and when did
you have opportunity to make such an arrangement?"

At that perfectly propitious moment, Luke was
announced. Pearl gave her stepmother her sweetest smile, trying to
ignore the fluttering which suddenly gripped her stomach.

"I'll be attending with Mr. di Santo. We
discussed it during our waltz last night—the one you yourself
suggested, your grace."

Luke paused in the doorway of the opulently
elegant Oakshire drawing room upon hearing his Society name on Lady
Pearl's lips. She was stunning today in a simple pink day dress,
her honey-colored hair falling in artless ringlets past her
shoulders. Warily, he moved into the room, then swept his hostesses
an elaborate bow.

"Your grace, my lady. I am flattered to find
myself a topic of discussion between you."

"Why, Mr. di Santo," exclaimed Lady Pearl, as
though she had but that moment become aware of his presence, though
a twinkle in her eyes told him otherwise. "I was just informing the
Duchess of our plans to attend the theatre tonight. Did you not say
that
Othello
is one of your favorite plays?"

Luke did not hesitate for an instant. "Indeed
I did, my lady. As I said last night, I am delighted to have the
opportunity to gratify two passions at once—for the theatre, and
for more time in your company."

He thought she colored slightly at the word
"passion," and he hid a smile. Woman of the world she might be, but
her fundamental innocence was intact. Though her deception still
stung, he was pleased to discover that had not been a part of
it.

He turned to the Duchess. "Your grace, I wish
to thank you again for your suggestion last night that I dance with
the Lady Pearl. Your endorsement was most gratifying."

Now the Duchess pinkened, her smile a shade
less gracious than it had been. She glanced quickly at the tall
blond man seated by Lady Pearl, and he responded with a concerned
frown. A match she was promoting, perhaps? Luke kept his expression
carefully bland.

"I was merely being hospitable to a newcomer
to Town, Mr. di Santo," the Duchess replied after an awkward pause.
"The Lady Pearl is—"

"Uniformly charming," Luke concluded for her.
"I know it is extremely unlikely that she is not already engaged,
but I came today in hopes of persuading her to drive out with me
this afternoon."

He turned his smile upon Pearl. "Lord Marcus
suggested that you might acquaint me with any particularly English
customs that may differ from those abroad." Marcus had done no such
thing, of course, but Luke didn't think he'd mind having his name
invoked for such a cause.

Before the Duchess could speak —to forbid the
drive, judging by her expression —Lady Pearl spoke. "I had merely
planned to shop for a new bonnet, but that can easily be put off
until tomorrow. I should be delighted to assist in educating you
about Society's expectations." And her own expectations, as well,
said the look accompanying her words.

"You are all generosity, my lady," he
declared, enjoying both the Duchess' sudden frown and Lady Pearl's
wariness. In fact, he was enjoying everything about this situation
far too much. "Might I be presented to your other guests?" He
turned to face the man he instinctively regarded as a rival,
foolish as his own aspirations toward Lady Pearl must be.

"This is the Marquess of Bellowsworth, a
longtime friend of the family." The Duchess' voice held a hint of
severity that was no doubt supposed to put Luke in his place.
Clearly, she had deemed him unworthy of her stepdaughter.

She was right, of course, but he was not
about to let her know that. "Bellowsworth," he said with only the
slightest inclination of his head, mimicking the supercilious,
bored attitude of the most self-important of his Oxford classmates
—which was to say, the ones he'd liked least.

The young man reddened and cleared his
throat. "Servant, di Santo," he said with an attempt at equal
unconcern which would have been more impressive had his voice not
broken on the final syllable.

Luke turned from him, not quite quickly
enough for rudeness, to face the two ladies who had sat watching
this entire byplay with obvious interest. "And these must be
sisters," he exclaimed, "so similar in coloring and charm."

"Lady Wittington and her daughter, Miss
Chalmers," the Duchess corrected him, while the elder of the two
ladies tittered with delight. Luke swept them a bow only a shade
less elaborate than the one with which he'd greeted his
hostesses.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance," he
told them, making eye contact with first the mother and then the
daughter, until each blushed and lowered her eyes in flattered
confusion. He was pleased that his lack of recent practice had not
robbed him of the social skills he'd once worked so hard to
attain.

He took a seat then, though the gangly
marquess prevented him sitting as near to Lady Pearl as he'd have
preferred. His plan was to take Bellowsworth's chair the moment it
was vacated, but he soon learned that the marquess would be staying
for luncheon. As he could not very well invite himself to a meal,
he shortly thereafter took his leave.

"I'll see you at five o'clock, for our
drive," he said to Lady Pearl, bowing over her hand in parting.

This time she kept her expression and color
strictly under control, though a flicker in her eyes told him she
had felt the same jolt he had when their fingers touched. "I shall
look forward to it. Until then, sir."

Back outside, Luke walked in the direction of
Grosvenor Street, and the Town house Lord Marcus shared with Lord
Peter and Lord Anthony Northrup. He hoped he could persuade Marcus
to trust him with his phaeton for this afternoon's drive. Stealing
one might conceivably mar the impression he'd been at such pains to
make on Society.

* * *

Luncheon was an interminable meal for Pearl,
what with the inane conversation between Lord Bellowsworth and her
stepmother, and her own impatience to have another private
conversation with Luke. What, exactly, would she ask him—and how?
She must not allow the pleasure of bantering with him to dissuade
her from her object.

"Why are you smiling, my lady?" asked Lord
Bellowsworth, interrupting her thoughts. "Surely you do not find
the theft of Lady Mountheath's diamonds amusing?"