Rogue's Honor (15 page)

"No! That is—" He was interrupted by a duck
taking sudden flight from a pond by the path, startling the horses
so that they nearly shied into an oncoming carriage. For a moment,
he had all he could do to bring them back under control, unused as
he was to driving. By the time he was able to turn back to her, he
had his answer ready.

"I wouldn't feel up to such a task myself,
you see. But I forget —you are Lady Pearl, daughter of a Duke,
raised to the task. Still, it seems an ambitious goal for just one
person —of either sex—to attempt."

She regarded him suspiciously for a long
moment. "I'll have stewards, of course, who will carry out the bulk
of the changes I am planning. And they will have men under them.
I'll hardly be working alone."

He couldn't resist a grin. "What, no women in
supervisory capacities? Do you consider them unfit for such
responsibility?"

After a moment's startled pause, she laughed
—the first full laugh he'd heard from her. It was a lovely sound,
and oddly erotic to his heightened senses. "Why, Mr. St. Clair, I
do believe you're more radical a reformer than I am!"

"Mr. di Santo, if you please," he reminded
her. "And I was merely pointing up the inconsistency in your
position, not necessarily espousing it myself."

"Your point is taken." She was still smiling,
apparently considering him an ally now. Was that good or bad? He
wasn't sure, but he liked it. "I'd be very interested in hearing
your opinion on my specific plans, actually. Your perspective might
open my eyes to other, ah, inconsistencies."

He bowed as best he could, considering that
he was seated and holding a pair of reins. "Having seen the
efficacy of your social crusading at first hand, I would be
delighted to be of assistance, my lady. But oughtn't I be getting
you back soon? It grows late."

She sighed with a regret that lifted his
spirits, foolish though that was. "Yes, you're right. But we will
have more opportunity for conversation this evening at the theatre,
I hope, though the Duke and Duchess will be accompanying me after
all."

"We may talk during the performance, then?"
The had reached a cross path, so he was able to turn the horses.
"I've never sat in one of the boxes, you see. I'm afraid it wasn't
just for the Duchess' benefit that I claimed to be unfamiliar with
London customs."

"You may safely follow my lead, Mr. di
Santo." Her smile was both mischievous and indulgent. "I'll be
certain to nudge you when silence is expected."

The thought of her nudging him in a darkened
theatre sent a shaft of anticipation through him. He strove to
subdue it, remembering what he needed to tell her. "Thank you. If a
simple nudge doesn't silence me, feel free to knock me to the
floor."

She laughed again, but then he added, "Even
if you do, I'll treasure the experience. It's likely to be the only
such opportunity I will ever have."

That sobered her at once. "Why do you say
so?"

He guided the horses out of the Park gates to
return her to Berkley Square. Though he hated what he had to say,
he forced himself to speak matter-of-factly the words that would
sound the death-knell to the hopes and dreams that taunted him.

"Because I am but a visitor in your world,
Lady Pearl. Now that I've reassured myself as to your safety and
your future, I must leave it—and the sooner the better."

Pearl stared at Luke in dismay. Since meeting
him, life had taken on a luster it had lacked for some time.
Indeed, the idea of unraveling the mystery he presented had
promised to make the Season bearable.

"Why must you leave Society? You seem to fit
in remarkably well. I cannot believe you are as alien to my world
as you claim to be. What of the time you spent with your uncle? And
at Oxford?"
And last Season, with Lady Simcox
, she thought
but did not say.

They turned onto Berkley Square and he pulled
the phaeton to a halt before her house, his manservant leaping down
to place the steps for her descent. She did not move, but held his
gaze with her own, compelling him to answer.

"I've become rather good at playing whatever
role is expected of me," he finally replied. "But that does not
make the role
me
. Can you understand that at all?"

Recalling everything he had told her, she
nodded. "I understand that you hold the upper classes to blame for
your mother's misfortunes —and your own. And I can see why you
choose not to affiliate yourself with them . . . us. But do you not
see?"

Fired by a sudden idea, she spoke eagerly.
"You can do more to change my world from within than without. That
is what I am striving to do, after all. You can help me." A vision
of him by her side, working for the same causes, thrilled her in
more ways than she cared to examine.

He shook his head with a wistful smile, and
she tried to take what little hope she could from that wistfulness,
even as her spirits plummeted again. Climbing down from the
phaeton, he walked around it to help her to the pavement.

She placed her hand in his and descended, but
instead of releasing her once she was on the ground, he covered her
gloved hand with both of his. The sense of connection was so strong
she had to force herself not to lean into him, though she gazed up
into his dark eyes.

"I admire what you are trying to do, my lady,
and I am grateful that I've had this chance to speak with you
again. Let's make the most of this last evening we will have
together, and not allow our differences to mar it."

She read intense emotion in his gaze—an
emotion she needed to understand. Before she could try again to
convince him, the front door opened, and she had perforce to allow
him to escort her up the wide stone steps and make his
farewells.

"I shall look for you at the Drury Lane
Theatre in two hours' time, sir," she said. "We can continue this
discussion then."

He bowed over her hand, his fingers warm
against hers. "Until tonight, then." With a nod to the butler, he
released her hand, leaving it suddenly chilled, then turned
away.

Head held high, Pearl entered the house
without a backward look. She could not have the servants gossiping
that Lady Pearl had formed an attachment for this newcomer. But as
she mounted the stairs to her chambers, she knew she was in danger
of doing precisely that.

She couldn't deny that she was fascinated by
the man, by his contradictions and unconventional history. He was
unlike anyone she had ever met before. If he were to join her
cause, he could surely do enormous good. And
that
was the
reason that she must somehow convince Luke to stay in her
world.

Then, unbidden, she remembered again the feel
of his lips upon hers. Every time she was with him, she felt more
alive than she had ever imagined anyone could feel. When they were
apart, it now almost felt as thought she were , but half alive.

She refused to consider what losing him
forever might do to her.

* * *

"The theatre? With the Lady Pearl?" Lord
Marcus was visibly impressed. "Dancing last night, driving this
afternoon, and now this? I've never heard of her showing this sort
of preference toward any man before. And you met her only last
night?"

Luke nodded, earning him a growl from
Marcus's valet, who was striving to repair the damage done to
Luke's cravat by the inexperienced Flute. "We seem to have a few
interests in common. 'Preference' is perhaps a strong word,
particularly since I doubt I'll be in London long enough for
anything to come of it. She's rather above my touch anyway,
wouldn't you say?"

Marcus snorted. "Yours and everyone else's!
Any number of fellows have attempted to run the gauntlet of gaining
both the Duke's and the Duchess' approval, courting Lady Pearl in
the approved style, only to be refused in no uncertain terms. I
confess, I'm rather surprised her parents are allowing your
suit."

"They haven't had an opportunity to
intervene—yet," Luke told him with a grin. Then, to the valet,
"Thank you, Clarence. A vast improvement indeed. Were you watching,
Flute?"

The lad nodded, and Luke turned back to Lord
Marcus. "And as I said, there's no suit for them to allow. I expect
I'll be gone in a day or two, after which it's unlikely I'll ever
see her again." In vain, he tried to ignore the hollow feeling that
assailed him every time he reminded himself of that—which he tried
to do frequently.

"So soon? I thought you were fixed here for
the Season. You'd take to London if you'd just give it a fair shot,
you know. We could have some grand times." He grinned, reminding
Luke of the trouble the two of them had courted, standing up to
older and more influential students in defense of those who were
younger and poorer.

"And the Lady Pearl may not be as out of your
reach as all that," Marcus continued. "Stranger things . . . well,
not stranger, perhaps, but no one thought Lady Haughton would have
Jack Ashecroft—Foxhaven, now—a Season or two back. Have my brother
Peter tell you about it some time. Of course, Jack had a title in
his favor, but his reputation was even worse than—" He caught
himself. "That is to say . . ."

Luke was touched by his friend's eagerness
for him to stay. "That's not the point, I'm afraid." And indeed it
wasn't. Already his funds were running out. "I'm expected by my
aunt in the country. She quite depends on me."

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to
imagine what it would be like to have someone —anyone —truly
dependent on him. Unlucky for them, assuredly, and more
responsibility than he ever wished to shoulder. Just as well it was
unlikely ever to happen.

"Well, you're welcome here for as long as you
wish to stay—if not this time, then on a future visit," Marcus
assured him with every appearance of sincerity —a sincerity Luke
knew he didn't deserve.

He stifled a twinge of guilt, wishing he
could take his friend into his confidence but knowing how foolhardy
that would be. "I'll keep that in mind, Marcus. Thank you."

* * *

"Pearl, it simply will not do for you to
encourage Mr. di Santo," Obelia insisted as the carriage neared the
Drury Lane Theatre. "A single dance mattered little, but this will
be your third time in his company in a single day. Pray remember
that your reputation may be in question already, due to your
foolishness last week."

Pearl shrugged, enjoying the scandalized rise
of her stepmother's brows. "I find his conversation both
entertaining and informative," she said. "He has experiences
outside the purview of other gentlemen of my acquaintance."

The Duke chuckled. "That's my Pearl, always
learning. Surely books would be safer, however, my dear." As
always, he sought to appease both Pearl and his Duchess.

Pearl was in no mood to be appeased, however,
still irritated by Obelia's insistence that they accompany her to
the theater after all. If she could not manage a few moments of
private conversation with Luke, this was likely to be the last time
she would ever see him— something she refused to accept.

The moment they were inside the theater, she
walked ahead of the Duke and Duchess, eagerly scanning the crowd
for Luke. Her eagerness received a slight setback when she spotted
him. Two ladies, clearly from the lower fringes of Society, were
claiming his attention, tittering and simpering behind their fans
as he spoke to them. At least he did not appear to be
encouraging
their flirtations, as far as she could tell.

"There you are, Mr. di Santo," she greeted
him with forced cheerfulness. "I feared we should never find you in
this crowd."

* * *

Luke bit back an oath and turned with a
smile. He'd known it was a mistake to come here tonight, where he
would be known by far too many unsuitable people— unsuitable to
introduce to Lady Pearl and her parents, at any rate.

To his relief, the two women who had been
flirting with him— acquaintances from last Season— discreetly
melted into the throng as he bowed over Lady Pearl's hand. He kept
it no longer than propriety demanded, keenly conscious of the
Duke's watchful eye.

"Then I would have found you, my lady," he
assured her. "You outshine everyone else to such a degree that you
would draw me like a beacon."

"Very prettily said, Mr. di Santo," the
Duchess commented, rather sourly, he thought. "So nice to see you
again so soon."

The Duke's greeting was more affable, but his
slight frown as Luke extended his arm to Pearl bespoke his concern
—not that Luke could blame him. As the four of them progressed
toward the ducal box, Luke was acutely aware of Pearl's gloved
fingers upon his arm.

"I hear that Edmund Keane is very good," he
said as they walked, mostly for the benefit of the Duke and
Duchess. "I'm pleased I'll have a chance to see him before I leave
London."

"I've seen him perform several times," she
replied almost absently. "His Iago is said to be particularly
brilliant. I'm certain you will enjoy his portrayal."

They chatted about the play and Shakespeare
in general until they reached the elegant, curtained box with its
excellent view of the stage. Four plush chairs awaited them, and
Luke noticed how deftly Pearl placed herself between himself and
her father, with the Duchess on the Duke's other side.

Just before releasing his arm to seat
herself, she pressed it to get his attention, then followed that
with a significant look. Luke held her gaze and nodded slightly, to
convey that he understood. She wished to speak with him alone, if
possible.

She sent him the very slightest of smiles,
drawing his attention to her full lips in a way she likely didn't
intend. For a moment, he could think of nothing but what those lips
had tasted like beneath his own. So soft, so yielding . . .
Guiltily, he jerked his glance away and took his seat— which was
closer to hers than he'd realized.