Rogue's Honor (26 page)

"Lady Pearl, are you
kidnapping
me?"
he demanded, only half serious.

The look she gave him was enigmatic, making
him suddenly uneasy. "I suppose you could say that," she replied.
"It is for your own good, however, I promise."

Unease turned into alarm. "What do you mean?
Where are you taking me?" He reached for the door. "I can't
just—"

"Of course you can." She still clung to his
sleeve. "Luke, you must realize by now that you can't allow a man
like your uncle to retain a position of power. His retreat to the
countryside is only temporary. Eventually, he's likely to discover
who you are, what you did to him. Before that happens, you need to
be stronger than he is."

Luke stared at her. "I knew that you were
ambitious, but I thought you understood that I am not. Do what you
wish with your own life, but don't seek to order mine. I'm not one
of your social improvement projects."

Pain lanced through her eyes, but she did not
release him from her grasp or her gaze. "But you are. I don't mean
only to improve you, Luke. My goal is the betterment of society.
You are merely one means to that end."

"So I am but a tool," he said, his voice as
cold as her words made him feel inside. "I fear I must decline to
be put to such noble use, my lady."

Her expression became shuttered, distant, as
she directed her gaze out the window. "It is too late for that now.
We're here."

Even as she spoke, the carriage halted. A
liveried footman opened the door and lowered the steps. The
imposing facade of Oakshire House loomed over them. For one mad
moment, Luke considered bolting, then realized how foolish that
would be. He was not under arrest, or in any real danger, even if
Pearl —his Pearl —had suddenly become a stranger to him.

He sent her a long, searching look. She met
it defiantly, with uplifted chin. Without a word, he turned and
stepped out of the carriage, then followed the footman inside,
where he was greeted by the Oakshire butler —the same one who had
caught him with Lady Glinnon's counterfeit jewels.

"His grace will see you in the library," the
butler informed him, evincing not the slightest flicker of
recognition.

Luke resisted the urge to glance over his
shoulder at Pearl before proceeding to the indicated room —the one
where he had confessed to her the truth about his past. The butler
swung the door wide, and he found himself facing the Duke of
Oakshire across a polished mahogany desk.

"My daughter informs me we have an injustice
to remedy," the Duke said to him without preamble, waving him to
the chair opposite. "To do so, I'll need your cooperation, Mr., ah,
hm. I suppose 'Knox' will do for the moment, though I understand
it's a name you've never used."

Warily, Luke took the seat indicated. No, he
was not under arrest, but he might as well be. Instead of a cage of
stone and iron bars, it appeared he was headed for a gilded one—
and he could see no way of escape.

* * *

Pearl sent Hettie to fetch Mrs. Steadman from
the servants' wing, then followed Luke into the library. He had not
looked at her since leaving the carriage —not that she could blame
him. For the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for what she
had forced him to.

"Don't hover there, girl," her father said
with a frown, as she stood uncertaintly by the double doors. "Take
a seat or leave us alone. We have a lot to discuss."

Still Luke did not turn. Though she suspected
he'd have preferred her gone, she could not bear to miss this. She
moved forward and took a seat off to the side, out of the way—and
out of Luke's line of sight. The Duke quirked an eyebrow at her,
clearly surprised that she did not join them at the desk, but then
turned his attention back to the man facing him.

"How long have you been aware that you are
the son of James Knox, fourth Earl of Hardwyck, lad?"

"Less than a week, your grace," Luke answered
in an emotionless voice.

"You never sought the truth of your parentage
before this?" The Duke was clearly skeptical.

"I had no reason to," Luke replied in the
same flat tone. "I was happy with my life as it was." This, Pearl
knew, was directed at her. She was glad he could not see her
flinch.

"An enviable state," the Duke agreed. "And I
presume you had no reason to doubt whatever explanation your mother
gave you?"

Before Luke could answer, the library door
opened, admitting Mrs. Steadman. "Master Luke?" Her voice quavered
uncertainly.

Now he turned, and a fond smile spread across
his face, in marked contrast to the coldness Pearl had last seen
there. "Nanna!" he exclaimed, rising to greet her.

The old woman hobbled forward as quickly as
her aged legs would carry her, to be enfolded in the tall man's
arms. "I never thought I was like to see you again," she exclaimed
on a sob. "Look how big you've growed! Your lady mother would be so
pleased . . . "

"So you knew?" Luke looked down at the small,
wizened figure. "All those years, you knew, Nanna?"

"Aye. Your mother swore me to secrecy out of
fear of your uncle, but I knew. She meant to tell you once you were
growed, but she never had the chance —nor did I."

The affection with which he regarded the old
nurse tugged at Pearl's heart. She sat perfectly still, unwilling
to remind Luke of her presence, waiting to see how the reunion
would play out.

"Until now," Luke said. Despite her
stillness, he flicked a quick glance at Pearl—a glance that chilled
her.

Mrs. Steadman nodded, still gazing up at him
worshipfully. "Now you can do as your mother would have
wished."

"And what might that be?" Though Pearl caught
the ominous note in his voice, the old nurse seemed oblivious.

"Why, to take your rightful place, and pay
back all the evil Mr. Wallis Knox done. To set things to rights.
You always was a good, honest boy, Master Luke, if a bit of a
rapscallion at times." She patted his arm affectionately. "You
deserve the good life you was born to, where Mr. Wallis never
did."

His jaw tightened with a spasm of some strong
emotion, and for a moment Pearl thought he would refuse. But then
his expression softened again, and he smiled down at his old nurse.
"Very well, Nanna, I'll do as you ask. For my mother —and for
you."

But not for me
. Pearl realized she had
alienated him irrevocably with her high-handed management of his
life. He would do the right thing, because that was the sort of man
he was, but he would never forgive her for forcing him to this.

Taking Mrs. Steadman by the hand, Luke led
her to the chair next to his, and faced the Duke again. "Very well,
your grace. Tell me what I need to do."

The enormity of what she had lost swept over
Pearl. Before her anguish could betray itself in the tears she felt
pricking behind her eyes, she rose and hurried from the room. Once
outside the library, she leaned against the carved door frame and
gave herself over to her grief, heedless of the footmen passing
by.

She had achieved her goal. She had dragged
Luke into her world, as she had intended from the first. But a
wider gulf stretched between them than ever—a gulf of her own
making.

Luke was finding his gilded cage every bit as
confining as he had feared, and even more tedious. No sooner had he
completed one thick stack of paperwork or one hearing at the
College of Heralds than another had to be dealt with. As May
progressed, the fogs disappeared, to be replaced by lovely
sunshine, but Luke could enjoy none of it, sequestered as he was at
Ibbetson's Hotel, dealing with the interminable business of
claiming his title.

A low whine distracted him from the papers
spread before him. Glancing up, he saw Argos scrabbling at the door
to go out, and sent him a smile of sympathy.

"Can I walk him about a bit, sir, er, me
lord?" asked Flute diffidently. Luke had made a detour into Seven
Dials to fetch them both before installing himself here for the
duration, though now he wondered whether that had been a
kindness.

"No reason you two have to stay holed up
here," he replied. "Go enjoy the day—but be discreet. We don't know
that the Runners have called off the search yet. And 'sir' is fine—
nothing is settled yet."

Flute grinned at him uncertainly, clearly
still at a loss how to relate to Luke as his fortunes shifted.
"We'll be back in an hour or two," he said, heading into the other
room. "I'll just get my cap and Arogs' lead—if I can get him to
hold still for it."

Luke sighed wistfully, wishing with all his
heart that he could go with them. He'd far rather be roaming the
streets of London, taking each day as it came, living by his wits
and luck. The apparently permanent loss of that carefree lifestyle
was a constant ache.

And then, of course, there was Pearl.

For the first day or two, he'd been furious
at what she'd done, plucking him from his world for her own
supposedly noble purposes, giving him no choice in the matter. As
the days stretched into weeks, however, he realized that she had
only done what he'd most admired about her— acted on her own
conscience and principles, regardless of the cost.

And the cost had not been trifling, for her
or for him. He'd caught a glimpse of her face as she'd left her
father's library —the last time he'd seen her. The loss of his
respect, his friendship, had cut her to the quick, that was clear.
He looked forward to the time when he could tell her she had not
lost those things at all. But when that time might be, he had no
idea.

For his life was no longer his own. The
transfer of an illustrious title like Hardwyck could scarcely be
kept quiet. The Regent himself had summoned Luke for an interview
once the Duke of Oakshire apprised him of the news. An impressive
figure, for all the cartoonists lampooned him. Luke had been hard
pressed to keep his awe at bay so that he could answer the
questions put to him.

The press had sniffed it out within days,
plastering it on the front pages of every paper. Now all of Society
was doubtless abuzz with the news.

Not that Luke knew firsthand what Society was
saying. Though he'd never had any hesitation in pretending to be
one of them for his own purposes, he found he couldn't bring
himself to join them now. Pretending was one thing.
Being
was another, and he knew he would feel like a fraud. The
distinction seemed vague when he tried to pin it down in his mind,
but it constrained him nonetheless.

A tap at the door broke into his
all-too-brief moment of reflection. As Flute was still in the other
room striving to convince Argos to allow him to attach the lead to
his new collar, Luke rose to answer it himself.

"Good afternoon, my lord," the now-familiar
clerk from the College of Heralds greeted him. Luke frowned at the
use of the title, which had yet to be officially bestowed upon
him.

"Hello, Mr. Tibbetson. More papers to sign?
Or am I summoned to answer yet more questions?" he asked
resignedly.

Some of the questions about his activities
over the past few years had stretched his inventiveness to the
utmost. Thus far, however, he had managed to avoid contradicting
himself.

"Not yet, my lord, not at the moment,"
replied the clerk, adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his
long nose. "First I have news— word from your uncle, at last."

"Indeed?" Luke's interest revived. The one
bit of this business he had actually looked forward to—a
confrontation with his uncle —had not yet materialized. "Is he
coming to Town to contest my claims?"

"No, my lord." Mr. Tibbetson handed him a
lengthy document. "In response to the Prince Regent's suggestion,
he has relinquished all claim to the title and attendant
properties."

Luke perused the paper handed him. Not only
was the title his, pending final approval by the College of Heralds
and the House of Lords, but all of the Hardwyck wealth and lands as
well. The only thing his uncle reserved to himself was the house in
Lincolnshire willed to him at his father's death, to which he had
already removed.

In return, no investigation would be made
into the circumstances of his brother's death or the fire leading
to Luke's own disappearance —matters that had not yet found their
way to the papers, as the many hearings had dealt primarily with
verifying Luke's identity.

"I see," he said inadequately, fighting a
distinct sense of anticlimax. "Then it's over?"

"All but the formalities, my lord— though I
warn you that those may drag on for some weeks yet."

Luke couldn't help feeling that it had all
been far too easy, despite the tedium of the past two weeks. One
very pressing matter still needed to be addressed, however. "When
am I likely to have access to my . . . er, money?"

The clerk seemed not at all surprised by the
question. "A solicitor will be calling within the hour to arrange
the transfer of certain accounts, and you may remove to Hardwyck
Hall at your convenience. The rest will follow as everything is
finalized."

Just like that. "Thank you, Mr. Tibbetson.
You've been extremely helpful through all of this."

"I'm happy to have been of service, my lord."
With a deep bow, the clerk took his leave.

For a long moment, Luke stood blinking at the
closed door, trying to grasp what had just happened. All along, he
had held a deep inner conviction that this was all an elaborate
mistake, that it was only a matter of time before the world would
right itself and he would be thrown back into the streets. But
that, it seemed, was not to be. He was well and truly the Earl of
Hardwyck, with everything that entailed.

"My lord?" Flute, standing at the door
between the adjoining rooms, jarred him from his thoughts. "Guess I
can call you that now, eh? Sounds like it's been worth the work and
the wait."