Rogue's Honor (27 page)

Luke turned, a frown knitting his brows. "So
it would seem. I suppose we should prepare to move to my new home."
Forcing a lighter tone, he asked, "What think you of taking on a
permanent position as my valet?"

Flute gaped. "Me? But you'll have the blunt
to hire someone trained to the job—any job. You'll be wanting a
whole houseful of servants, I don't doubt."

His spirits rising at Flute's reaction, Luke
grinned. "No doubt, eventually. But I'll want someone I can trust
closest to me. We'll find someone to train you to the job properly,
never fear . . . if you want it?"

"Valet to the Earl o' Hardwyck? I'm not daft
enough to refuse, if you think I won't disgrace you. I was afraid
—I mean I was only hoping—" he broke off awkwardly and ducked his
head.

But Luke understood, and was touched. "I'd
feel as adrift as you would, if we went our separate ways. You've
been a great help to me when my fortunes were down. It's only fair
that I reciprocate, now that I've the means to do so."

Another whine from Argos prevented any
further discussion, which might have embarrassed them both. "Go on,
you two, and have your walk. We'll have work to do when you
return."

With a tug of his cap, Flute complied,
incredulous joy still fighting with disbelief on his thin face.
Luke smiled with satisfaction once they were gone. At least he
would be able to discharge his responsiblity to the one who had
depended on him longest. But then he sobered again.

His responsibility to Pearl was far more
complicated. If he thought it would make her happy or smooth her
path, he'd offer for her tomorrow, of course —but that might only
play into her stepmother's hands. And after the way he had treated
her on their last meeting, it was entirely possible she never
wished to see him again.

Nor, after the life he had led, was he
remotely worthy of her, no matter how lofty a title they bestowed
upon him. Inside, he was still Luke St. Clair, common street thief
—and Pearl would know that, even if no one else might.

He knew it was cowardly, but he preferred to
wait until everything was settled to approach her again —to
discover whether the one thing that mattered far more than money or
influence, or even freedom, could ever be his.

* * *

"Thank you, Hettie. That is excellent news,
indeed," said Pearl, forcing a smile of gratitude for her abigail's
help. "Pray convey my thanks to John for his diligence in sharing
what he has been able to learn thus far."

"Of course, my lady." Hettie returned Pearl's
smile, but worry was evident in her eyes. She took her leave
without saying anything more, however.

The moment she was alone, Pearl sighed
heavily. She would not cry again. She would not! John Marley had
merely confirmed what she had already read in the papers —that all
had gone just as she'd hoped it would. Luke had taken up residence
in Hardwyck Hall and would shortly be confirmed as Earl of
Hardwyck. He would take his rightful place in Society, able to do
all manner of good with his vast fortune.

Stupid to repine simply because he had not
sent word himself.

More than two weeks had passed since that
fateful day in her father's library, and she had heard not a word
from Luke since. Now she doubted that she would, until they
encountered each other by chance at some Society function, with him
in his new role. How awkward that would be! She shuddered at the
thought.

Perhaps she should leave London—return to
Oakshire now, rather than waiting for the Duke and Duchess to
remove there at the end of the Season, now only a few weeks
distant. Or, better, to Fairbourne, which was as good as hers now.
She would have plenty to occupy her there, enough to distract her
from what she could never have here. Yes, that would be best.

Her decision made, she went in search of her
father to inform him of it. The library was empty, so she glanced
into the parlor, where the Duke occasionally relaxed before
changing for the evening. He was not there, either, but her
stepmother was. Though lately Pearl avoided speaking with her
unless compelled, she wanted to commit herself to her plan of
action without delay.

"Good afternoon, your grace," she said. "Do
you know where I might find my father?"

Obelia smiled —that broad, false smile that
always presaged something unpleasant for Pearl —and shook her head.
"He is out at the moment, but I am very glad to see you just now.
Pray come in and close the door. We must talk."

Warily, Pearl advanced into the room as
requested and took a seat opposite the Duchess. "Talk? About
what?"

"Why, your marriage, of course. Delay would
be unwise in a situation such as this, as I am sure you will
agree."

Pearl sighed. She had hoped that by now
Obelia had given up her hopes of having her married by late June,
but apparently that was not the case. "There is no marriage to
discuss, your grace. I have made it clear that I have no plans to
wed, now or ever."

The Duchess' smile did not waver —if
anything, it broadened further. "Oh, but you will have such plans,
before you leave this room. Even you, I am certain, would consider
marriage far preferable to ruin."

"Ruin? Whatever can you mean?" Pearl spoke
carelessly, but felt the tiniest prickle of apprehension along her
spine.

"There is very little that goes on in this
house that I do not learn of in one way or another, Pearl."

"Such as?"

Obelia's blue eyes now glittered with
malicious triumph, and Pearl's unease increased. "I'm well aware of
a certain visitor you, ah, entertained in your chambers a few weeks
since, on the night of my musicale."

Though her breathing nearly stopped, Pearl
tried to brazen it through. "I have no idea what you mean, your
grace. I went to bed early with the headache that evening. My
abigail can attest to it."

"It was not the headache you went to bed
with, missy.
My
abigail can attest that yours was below for
much of the evening, with no way to know what you were doing. As
well as to the fact that a certain young man left much later,
through the kitchens, having apparently used the servant passageway
from abovestairs."

Pearl shrugged, with a nonchalance she did
not feel. "I am not answerable for the comings and goings of every
guest in this house. What young man do you mean, and what has he to
do with me?"

"Oh, come, now, my dear. The young man with
whom you spent the early part of that evening, of course. Whom you
were at such pains to cultivate, in fact, though at the time I
don't believe you knew any more about his antecedents than did the
rest of Society."

"So he remained at the musicale after I went
upstairs. What is wrong with that?" Pearl asked, though she did not
meet her stepmother's eye. She felt as though a trap were closing
about her—a trap of Obelia's crafting.

"Nothing, of course," said the Duchess
affably. "But in case you had forgotten, you had your abigail make
his excuses to me when you retired —nor did anyone see him in any
of the public rooms after that. Lady Minerva commented upon it to
me, in fact."

Pearl remained silent, afraid that anything
she said might damn her further.

"It was that very evening, as I recall, that
your young man disappeared entirely from the Social scene . . .
until his recent, miraculous reappearance."

When Pearl still did not respond, Obelia's
eyes narrowed, their malice more pronounced, though they lost none
of their triumph. "Should you still care to protest your innocence,
I can produce the laundry maid who was obliging enough to disclose
to me the condition of your bedclothes the next day."

Though she was careful not to betray anything
by her expression, Pearl cursed inwardly in a way a lady of her
breeding would never do aloud. She had not even considered that
particular detail. How could she have been so stupid?

"I'd say I have evidence enough to insist
upon your marriage," the Duchess concluded. "I have no doubt your
father will agree when I share my discoveries with him."

At that, Pearl's head snapped up. "No!
Please, you must not!" The very idea of her father confronting
Luke, demanding that he marry her—! No, it could not even be
considered.

Obelia watched her expectantly, waiting for
her inevitable capitulation. But Pearl would not give in without a
fight.

"May I ask why, when you have clearly known
about this for weeks, you choose to use it against me now?"

For a moment the Duchess appeared
disconcerted, but she recovered at once. "When I first learned of
your disgraceful conduct, I immediately assumed you had done it
merely to thwart me, deliberately choosing to sully yourself with a
man of no social standing —one you would not be expected to marry
—in order to render yourself unmarriageable."

Pearl had to force herself not to flinch at
this all-too-accurate description of her motives. As stated by
Obelia, it sounded sordid, dirty. Not at all the rapturous
experience she remembered.

"The fact that your so-called Mr. di Santo
disappeared that very night confirmed my suspicion," her stepmother
continued. "But when you did not yourself reveal your ruined state,
I saw no reason to do so. Not while some eligible suitor might
still be induced to marry you, ignorant of the damaged state of his
bride."

"I do not consider myself damaged," Pearl
informed her coldly.

"Most
men
would," Obelia assured her.
"The only one I thought might possibly overlook it for the sake of
gain was Lord Hardwyck. He is of a refreshingly practical turn of
mind."

"A mercenary turn of mind, you mean."

The Duchess merely smiled. "Just as well
nothing ever came of it, considering recent events. Your father
tells me everything is now all but settled. What an amazing bit of
irony that the true Lord Hardwyck must now marry you, whether he
will or no."

Pearl's thoughts flitted this way and that,
hammering against her skull like a bird frantic to escape its cage.
She could not,
would
not allow Luke to be forced into
marriage with her— with the one person he must now despise above
every other person alive. He would no doubt believe she had
confessed their liaison for that very purpose!

"Your grace, you must not do this," she said
with every bit of earnestness she could command. "I will relinquish
Fairbourne to you instead, if that is what you wish."

"And how would you have a legal basis to do
such a thing, or I to accept it?" asked Obelia scornfully. "I
credited you with more sense than that, Pearl —and more ambition,
as well. Why do you not agree, then simply attempt to postpone the
wedding date until after your inheritance is secure? It is what I
would do in your place."

"Were my motives as mercenary as your own, no
doubt I would do the same." Pearl made no attempt to hide her
bitterness. "I might even be willing to marry a man twenty years my
senior for the prestige of his position. I fear my ambitions are
beyond your ability to understand, however."

"It appears you understand my motives as
poorly as I understand yours," snapped the Duchess. "While I
believe that estate should go to my son, that goal pales in
comparison to my desire to have you wed and out of this house."

This was plain speaking indeed. A month ago,
Pearl would have been wounded by her stepmother's words. Now,
however, she was concerned only with preventing her from forcing
Luke's hand.

"How if I agree to wed—but where I will?" She
tried to keep the desperation from her voice. "I would still be out
of your way. I will even agree to marry before my birthday, if
possible."

Obelia regarded her suspiciously. "What do
you mean, where you will? Whom can you intend to wed, if not Lord
Hardwyck?"

Pearl smiled grimly. There was one man she
felt sure she could convince to abet her in her social aims. A man
who had offered for her several times already, and whom she
believed she could bend to her will, as he had already shown
himself exceedingly malleable. A man she could manage, if not one
she could love.

Though feeling as if a part of her soul was
dying within her, she spoke quickly, before she could change her
mind. "I will marry Lord Bellowsworth. Pray send for him, so that I
may let him know that I have had a change of heart."

* * *

"That was unusually quick work for
Parliament, I must say," Lord Marcus said by way of congratulation.
Luke had invited his friend to join him for breakfast, that he
might ask his advice on various matters. "Usually they have to
debate anything to death before coming to any sort of
decision."

Only one week after Luke's removal to
Hardwyck House, the Committee of Privileges of the House of Lords
had acted upon the recommendation of the College of Heralds and
confirmed him as Earl of Hardwyck.

"The Lords seemed only too eager to have the
matter settled," Luke agreed. "It appears my uncle was less popular
than I realized, for all the influence he wielded."

"Power breeds enemies," Marcus offered.

Luke took a sip of coffee— excellent stuff,
prepared by the French chef he had hired yesterday —and pointed to
the morning papers. The news of his confirmation was on the front
page of both the
Morning Post
and
The Times
. "So does
fame, I imagine. If I am to live up to a fraction of what seems to
be expected of me, I will need your assistance, Marcus."

"I'm here to serve, of course," responded his
friend with a grin. "Who'd have thought, back at Oxford, that
scrawny Luke di Santo would turn out so well?"

"Not I, I assure you," said Luke with perfect
truth. Turning to the scandal sheets, he chuckled at the wild
surmises about his past and predictions for his future. How could
these pundits know what his future held, when he had no clue
himself?