Rogue's Honor (29 page)

Luke shrugged and turned away. "I've no doubt
she will set a new standard —one that most would never dare aspire
to." Leaving Bellowsworth to contemplate the meaning of his remark,
he strolled back the way he had come.

Lord Marcus greeted him with raised eyebrows.
"What have you been saying to Bellowsworth to make him look so
peevish? I thought the point tonight was to take Society by storm,
not to antagonize its more prominent members."

"Bellowsworth was born peevish," Luke
replied. "I was merely offering my felicitations on his recent
betrothal."

"Ah, the beauteous Lady Pearl," Marcus
exclaimed in sudden understanding. "I just heard about that this
afternoon. Bad luck, old chap, but you can have your pick now."

He gestured to the bevy of young ladies
surrounding them, most of them regarding Luke with distinct
interest —as were their mamas. "May as well, in fact," he continued
with a teasing grin, "as you'll have the succession to think of.
Being a younger son does have its benefits."

Though Marcus clearly expected him to be
nettled, Luke merely replied, "The succession is in no danger, I
assure you. In fact, I've already made my choice."

Marcus stared at him in astonishment. "After
a mere ten minutes in Society? Who—?" He followed Luke's gaze to
where Pearl still stood talking with Lady Minerva. "Not her best
friend?"

Luke continued to smile blandly, and Marcus's
surprise turned to alarm. "Oh, no. No, it won't do at all, Luke.
Surely you can see that? You're in a position to have anything you
want. Don't wreck all by creating a scandal right out of the gate.
Bellowsworth may be a stick-in-the-mud, but he's well
respected."

"Anything I want?" Luke echoed. "We'll see,
won't we? I may as well put my new position and influence to the
test." Ignoring his friend's worried frown, he turned to greet Miss
Chalmers and her mother, as well as a cousin they wished to present
to him.

Though he bowed and spoke with his carefully
cultivated Continental flair, his mind was busily engaged in
planning his next move. He fully intended to guarantee Pearl's
happiness, whether she wanted his help or not.

* * *

Pearl drained her fourth —or was it her
fifth?— glass of champagne and nodded to Minerva. "Exactly," she
said. "I gave him his chance, but he didn't take it. So now
Bebblesworth has his chance. I don't 'spect much, but I can't very
well cry off two days after it was announced. Can I?"

"I, um, suppose not." Minerva's lips seemed
to be twitching, though it might have been Pearl's eyes that were
twitching instead. Certainly, they didn't seem to be focusing
properly. And why should Minerva think her situation funny? "Pearl,
why do we not sit down, in this alcove here."

"Sit down?" Pearl frowned at her friend.
"Why? I don't want to crease my skirts. Isn't this a pretty color?"
She held out the violet folds for Minerva's inspection.

"Breathtaking," Minerva agreed. Another
footman approached with a tray of filled glasses but she waved him
away before Pearl could reach for one. "I think some lemonade —or
perhaps tea or coffee —might do you more good."

Pearl blinked at her, then suddenly
understood. "Oh, do you think I'm bosky?" She considered for a
moment. "You may be right. It's rather an interesting sensation.
Quite pleasant, in fact. You should try it."

"Some other time, perhaps." Now Minerva's
amusement was unmistakeable, but Pearl couldn't seem to feel
offended by it. "Wait here by this pillar and I'll see about
getting you something more appropriate to drink, before you do
something you will regret in the morning."

She went in search of another footman and
Pearl waited obediently where she was, though her attention strayed
at once to the colorful, shifting throng before her. Was Luke still
here? There was her gangly fiancé, surrounded by other
pompous-looking men, probably discussing politics or something
equally dull. She used to be interested in such things, she
remembered, but tonight such topics held no appeal. She was more
interested in—

"Hiding, my lady?" As though she had conjured
him, Luke stepped around the pillar to join her in the shadowy
alcove.

"Of course not. I'm just waiting for Lady
Minerva to return," she replied, remembering that she was out of
charity with Luke, though she couldn't quite recall why.

"Not waiting for your dashing husband-to-be?"
His voice was mocking, and she knew on some level that she should
be angry. Instead, she found herself giggling.

"Dashing. I should like to see him do
'dashing,'" she confided to Luke. "He does 'crashing' quite well—as
in 'crashing bore.'"

He stared at her for an instant, then gave a
shout of laughter, quickly muted. Glancing hastily around, he asked
in a low voice, "Then why did you agree to marry him, my lady?"

Pearl frowned, trying to clear the fog from
her brain but failing. "It was him or you, and I thought you were
still angry with me," she explained.

"What do you mean?" he asked, staring. "Wait.
Let's move back a bit, where we'll be less likely to be
interrupted." He led her, now unresisting, to the marble bench at
the back of the alcove, partially concealed from the ballroom by a
large potted palm.

"Now. What did you mean, it was him or
me?"

The delay had given Pearl time to remember
why she was displeased with Luke, however. "You've been avoiding
me," she said accusingly. "You never called or sent word or . . .
or anything. All this time you've been in London —my London —and
you've ignored me. It was most ungallant of you."

One of his dark eyebrows quirked upward.
"Lady Pearl, have you been drinking?"

"What has that to do with anything? A glass
or two of champagne, perhaps." She refused to be dissuaded from her
question. "If you do not still hate me, why did you stay away?"

"Hate you?" he asked in amazement. "I may
have been angry, but never for a moment did I hate you! You're more
precious than . . . that is . . ."

"Yes?" she prompted, her irritation vanishing
at what he had almost said.

But he shook his head. "Never mind. I thought
it would be better —for you—if I stayed away, but perhaps I was
wrong."

Her spirits plummeted again, as she recalled
her entire situation. "Yes. Now I'm betrothed to Lord
Beb—Bellowsworth."

"And just why is that?" he probed. "I thought
you were determined to remain unmarried."

"I was," she agreed. "But Obelia was going to
make me . . . make you . . ."

"Make us what?"

She stared at the marble floor for a long
moment, then looked up at him sorrowfully. He might as well know
all—he was the only person in the world she could tell. "She found
out about your . . . our . . . that night we . . ."

Sudden understanding lit his dark eyes. "That
I compromised you," he stated quietly.

She nodded. "She was going to tell my father,
so that you would
have
to marry me, once you had your title.
She'd actually known for weeks, but—"

"But had no desire for you to wed a nobody."
His voice was bitter, and Pearl wasn't sure whether he was angry
only at the Duchess or at her as well.

"I couldn't let her . . . I thought the last
thing you would want was to marry me," she said in a small voice,
staring again at the floor.

His gloved fingers touched her cheek, then
lifted her chin so that she had to meet his gaze. What she saw
there penetrated the champagne-colored fog and warmed her to her
core. "So you agreed to marry Bellowsworth, her first choice, a man
you despise, rather than allow my hand to be forced. That may be
the bravest thing I've ever known anyone to do, Pearl."

She shook her head slightly. "I . . .
Despise
is perhaps too strong a word."

"But you don't love him." His eyes still held
hers, compelling her honesty.

"No," she whispered. It was Luke she loved.
Only Luke. Tipsy as she was, however, she retained enough sense to
keep those words to herself.

His fingers glided along her jawline to the
nape of her neck, drawing her gently closer. It did not even occur
to her to resist. When their lips met, for a long delicious moment
she felt as though she had come home after far too long an absence.
This was right. This was—

"Pearl! My lord!" Lady Minerva's urgent hiss
cut through the euphoric mist. "Are you both mad?"

Startled, they sprang apart. At once, Luke
rose and bowed. "My apologies, my lady," he said, though his eyes
told her he was not sorry at all. "I had no right to take such a
liberty."

"I . . . I suppose not." Pearl tried to
gather her scattered wits about her, to act appropriately, mindful
of Minerva's watchful eye. Had anyone else seen them?

"Pray forgive me," he said then, his
expression making it a question.

She nodded. "Of course. I was at fault as
well."

Whatever he read in her own eyes, it
apparently satisfied him. With a tender smile, he said, "I'll take
my leave of you, then —for the present." Before she could reply, he
was gone.

Pearl turned to watch his retreat, a small
smile playing about her lips, but Minerva stepped in front of her,
blocking her view of his well-proportioned back. "Here. Have some
coffee," she suggested, or rather ordered, thrusting a steaming cup
at her.

Taking it, Pearl looked up sheepishly at her
friend's disapproving face. "You were right about the champagne, it
seems," she said. "I have behaved rather . . . unwisely."

Minerva seated herself on the bench Luke had
just vacated. "I should say so! What if Bellowsworth had seen you?
Or your parents? Or any of the dozens of gossips present? Pearl,
you might have been ruined!"

Wincing at the bitterness of the coffee as
she sipped, Pearl nodded. "I'll be more careful in future, I
promise." Careful not to be caught, in any event. She knew, though
there had been no time for plans, that she would see Luke
again.

Minerva apparently detected something of
prevarication in her expression, for her concerned frown did not
lessen. "Do you not recall what it is said your Lord Hardwyck did
last Season, as mere Mr. di Santo? Pray be careful, Pearl. You do
not wish to be used and discarded by him as poor Lady Simcox
was."

Pearl choked on a sip of coffee. She'd all
but forgotten that bit of gossip —nor had she ever questioned Luke
about it. "No. No, of course not," she said as soon as she stopped
coughing. That couldn't be what Luke had in mind . . . could
it?

"Good." Minerva patted her hand. "Now, finish
up that coffee, and we'll return to the gathering. Tomorrow you may
wake with a nasty headache, from what I've seen of my brothers, but
you'll be able to view things rationally again."

Draining her cup, Pearl stood. "Thank you,
Minerva. I don't doubt you are right." In fact, the headache was
already beginning, her temples starting to throb uncomfortably.

"You'll realize then that, handsome and
charming as he may be, Lord Hardwyck is safer avoided," Minerva
continued. "He may be a lord now, but at heart he is still a rogue
without honor, it would seem."

But her own heart was already given to that
rogue, Pearl realized. The sober light of another day would not
change that. What she would do about that inconvenient fact, she
had no idea. She would wait for the promised return of rationality
to consider her options. For now, she had to get through the rest
of the evening, worsening headache notwithstanding.

"I appreciate your advice," she said to her
friend as they headed toward Lord Bellowsworth, still deep in
discussion with the other gentlemen. "I shall certainly keep it in
mind."

She carefully made no promises to act upon
it, however.

As Minerva had predicted, Pearl awoke the
next morning feeling as though a troop of soldiers had been
marching on her head —and across her tongue —all night. "I am never
touching champagne again," she mumbled into her pillow.

That was a mistake, for it brought Hettie
bouncing through the servant door. "Good morning, my lady!" she
exclaimed, using at least twice her normal volume. "The Duchess
wanted you below an hour since, but I convinced her that you needed
your rest."

She set down the tray she carried long enough
to twitch open the draperies, letting in a blinding amount of
light, then carried the tray to her mistress. "I've brought your
chocolate and some toast, but can bring up more breakfast if you'd
prefer to take it here."

"Why," Pearl began, then grabbed at her head
for fear it might explode before trying again in a whisper. "Why
are you shouting?"

"Shouting?" Hettie bellowed, looking
confused, then concerned. "My lady, are you not well?" she asked
then, moderating her tone to merely strident.

Still clutching her head, Pearl shook it,
very slowly and carefully. To her relief, it remained intact. The
smell of the chocolate, normally a favorite beverage, made her
stomach lurch.

"No food. No chocolate," she whispered. "Tea,
please." She wouldn't have dared request even that except that her
mouth was so parched and foul-tasting.

"Of course, my lady. And I will have her
grace send for the physician at once." Hettie's concern would have
been more endearing had it not made her so shrill.

Again, Pearl cautiously shook her head. "No
need," she said, her own voice louder than she'd intended. "Merely
the aftereffects of too much champagne last night."

Instantly, Hettie's worried frown eased, to
be replaced by an almost motherly smile. "Then I know just the
thing, my lady." Now she seemed to be making more of an effort to
keep her voice low, which Pearl appreciated greatly. "I'll be back
in a moment."

"Thank you. And please don't—"

"Not a word, my lady, I promise!" she said
with a wink and a grin before disappearing back through the panel,
taking the malodorous chocolate with her.