Rogue's Honor (28 page)

Marcus leaned across the table to see what he
was chuckling at. "Everyone is agog to know when you will appear in
Society in your new role," he commented.

"So it would seem. Since yesterday, when word
first appeared in the afternoon papers, invitations have been
arriving."

"And? Whose have you chosen to grace with
your grand entrance? I insist upon being present to see the faces
of those matrons who warned their daughters away from you last
Season."

"I haven't decided yet," Luke replied.

"There's a grand reception at Carlton House
tomorrow night," Marcus suggested. "The absolute cream of the
ton
will be there, of course."

"Hmm. Perhaps. I'd have to make certain my
new clothes from Weston are ready in time."

"Yes, you'll want to wait until you're
properly outfitted," Marcus agreed. "Don't want to give those
tabbies any opening to criticize, after all. Begin as you mean to
go on."

"My thoughts exactly."

In truth, Luke preferred that his first
meeting with Pearl not be in the midst of a crowd, but he still
felt uncertain of how he should approach her. Perhaps a casual
morning call, and an invitation to go driving, to gauge her
feelings toward him? That might serve. He was reluctant to ask
Marcus's advice on so delicate a matter.

Idly, he turned over the page, where a noted
gossip's speculations about him continued. There, in the next
column, another item caught his eye. He stared for a long moment,
unwilling to believe what he read there.

"Luke? Something wrong?" Marcus asked in
sudden concern.

With an effort, Luke shook his head. "Not a
thing. That reception at Carlton House does sound like a good
choice for my first public appearance. Will you come with me to
Weston's as soon as we finish eating? I'd like to do this thing
right."

He swept the paper aside before Marcus could
see what had stunned him—an announcement of the betrothal of Lady
Pearl Moreston, daughter of the Duke of Oakshire, to the Marquess
of Bellowsworth.

Pearl's cheeks were beginning to ache with
the effort to maintain a smile when she felt more like screaming
with frustration. When she had agreed to this betrothal she had
managed to forget, in her desperation to salvage her pride, how
very boring Lord Bellowsworth's conversation could be.

". . . So I had to convince Mother that just
because a stable cat found its way into the main house, it did not
necessarily follow that there were mice in the house," he was
saying, as they slowly traversed the main ballroom of Carlton
House. "She cannot abide animals of any sort, you know."

"Mmm," Pearl responded, idly scanning the
room, though she did not admit to herself who it was she was
looking for.

"She insisted that I remain, therefore. I
suggested a ratcatcher, to ease her mind, but she pointed out that
he would have ferrets or terriers with him, which she detests
nearly as much as rodents."

Lord Bellowsworth had been obligingly
incurious about the reasons for Pearl's
volte-face
after her
repeated refusals of his suit. She had cited the claims of filial
obedience and he had accepted that without question, as it was an
overriding force in his own life. Thus, she was not obliged to
pretend an affection she could not feel, much to her relief. Still,
that could scarcely console her for the years of tedium she saw
stretching ahead.

One of the Prince Regent's numerous footmen
passed just then, and Pearl plucked a glass of champagne from the
tray he carried —her second of the evening. She hoped it might
mellow her sufficiently to allow her to remain civil to her fiancé
—and everyone else.

"In the morning, nothing would do but that an
army of housemaids go through every corner and cupboard, until she
was assured nothing could be hiding anywhere in the house,"
Bellowsworth continued. "She has such a delicate constitution that
I always feel obliged to humor her in these things."

After a discreet —but rather large —sip of
champagne, Pearl smiled and nodded. "Of course you do."

Lord Bellowsworth smiled down at her
possessively. "Your compassion is one of the many things I have
always admired about you, Lady Pearl."

She nearly blurted out,
As well as my
fortune?
but limited herself to another smile. The champagne
must be affecting her already, she thought with a spurt of
amusement —the first she had felt in a week. Since agreeing to this
betrothal, in fact.

It had been a mad thing to do, she realized
now. At the very least, she should have attempted speaking with her
father first. But no, she had been so determined that no one else
know the depths of her folly, giving herself to a man who now
detested her. Her abominable pride had gotten her into this, and
that same pride would simply have to see her through it.

"My mother, of course, is quite anxious to
have you call upon her as soon as she feels well enough to receive
you," Bellowsworth was saying now. "Her health is unpredictable, so
it would be best if you could be ready at a moment's notice, should
she have an unexpectedly good morning."

"I'll try to avoid any firm commitments,
then," said Pearl, wondering if he realized how absurd such a
request was. "At least, to anyone who would be offended by a
last-minute cancellation." She drained her glass, to find it
immediately replaced with a full one by a hovering footman.

The Marquess frowned slightly, but whether at
her words or her imbibing, she didn't know— nor particularly care.
Her sense of the ridiculous had reasserted itself with that second
glass of champagne, and the evening did not now seem quite so
insupportable. She refused to think of all the evenings to
come.

"I would attempt to give you as much notice
as possible, of course," he said, having apparently caught her note
of sarcasm —rather to her surprise. Perceptiveness was not one of
Bellowsworth's more prominent qualities. His nose, on the other
hand . . .

"Oh, you were teasing. I'm happy to see I
have not irritated you with my suggestion," he said then, making
her belatedly realize that she was grinning.

"Of course not," she said quickly, taking
another sip of champagne, desirous of maintaining the carefree glow
it had produced. She wondered whether marriage to Bellowsworth
might not make a drunkard of her.

To her relief, their conversation was
interrupted at that point by a few well-wishers. This was their
first public appearance since the betrothal announcement in
yesterday's papers, so few people had yet had a chance to offer
their congratulations. Pearl hoped she was saying everything that
was proper. That third glass of champagne seemed to have left her a
bit fuzzy.

Lord and Lady Mountheath, the Wittingtons,
Lady Varens —their exclamations of delight rolled over her, along
with various words of advice and a jest or two from the gentlemen.
She smiled blandly at it all, wishing, despite the champagne, that
she were anywhere but at Lord Bellowsworth's side. A touch on her
arm provided a welcome distraction.

Turning, she found Lady Minerva at her side.
"I want to add my good wishes to everyone else's," she said, the
tiniest frown marring her smile. "The news quite caught me by
surprise, I confess."

It was clear she hoped for a private word, so
Pearl excused herself from the others to step a few feet away for
some quick conversation with her closest friend in London. Well,
except for—

Hastily, she closed off that thought.

"I was never more astonished than when I read
the notice in yesterday's paper," Minerva whispered, the moment
they were out of earshot of the others. "I felt certain that you
had a
tendre
for the new Earl of Hardwyck —your Mr. di Santo
—and he for you."

Her words cut through the pleasant
champagne-induced haze, and Pearl discovered she was not yet quite
so numb as she had hoped. "I thought so too, briefly, but you know
how such things are," she replied, waving a hand airily.

"Then this is what you truly want, Pearl? And
he is not distressed by this news?" Minerva seemed sincerely
concerned.

Though touched, Pearl only shrugged. "I have
no idea whether he is distressed," she confessed, ignoring her
friend's first question. "I rather doubt it, however. I have not
seen or spoken with him in weeks, despite his presence in Town. He
has been quite the recluse."

To her dismay, she felt an ominous prickle
behind her eyelids. She blinked rapidly, hoping Minerva would not
notice. But her friend was staring over her shoulder at something
across the room.

"His days as a hermit are over, it appears,"
she said. "The butterfly has emerged from his cocoon with a
vengeance."

Turning, her heart in her throat, Pearl saw
him. Luke had just entered the ballroom, sweeping an outrageously
elegant bow to the Regent, his daughter, Princess Charlotte, and
her new husband, Prince Leopold.

Luke was dressed in the absolute pinnacle of
fashion, his deep blue coat fitting him like a glove, setting off
his broad shoulders to perfection. The snowy cravat at his throat
fell in a mathematical cascade, punctuated by the glitter of a
sapphire large enough to be visible from across the room.

"If you don't mind, Pearl, I believe I will
renew my acquantance with Lord Hardwyck," Minerva murmured
admiringly. "Besides, I'd like to be at hand for your, ah,
reunion." With a wink, she drifted in Luke's direction —along with
half of the young ladies in the room, Pearl noticed.

With an effort, she dragged her gaze away
from his sartorial splendor —to find Lord Bellowsworth at her
elbow. "Have you and Lady Minerva finished your coze?" he asked
indulgently. "I presume she approves?"

Despite the champagne she had drunk, Pearl
found it an effort to smile. "Yes, of course," she said
mechanically. What would she say to Luke when they inevitably met?
What would he say to her?

Belatedly becoming aware of the stir by the
door, Bellowsworth frowned. "I see that the upstart Hardwyck has
finally decided to grace Society with his presence. He'd have done
better to wait until the press moved on to other news, in my
opinion. His appearance here smacks of a taste for
sensationalism."

Despite herself, Pearl could not resist
another glance in his direction. He was just bowing over Lady
Minerva's hand, responding with a smile to whatever pleasantry she
had offered. Then, before Pearl could look away, he raised his head
and locked his gaze with hers. Though the width of the room
separated them, she felt almost faint with shock at the intensity
of that gaze.

With a lazy smile that somehow struck her as
dangerous, Luke sauntered across the ballroom toward her. Though he
spoke and nodded in response to various greetings as he passed, he
never took his eyes from Pearl's. She felt Bellowsworth stiffen at
her side, but found herself helpless to do anything but watch
Luke's approach.

Before she could begin to marshall her
thoughts, he was lifting her hand to his lips. "I understand that
felicitations are in order," he said smoothly, though his dark eyes
still held an ominous glint.

"Indeed they are," Lord Bellowsworth
responded, a shade too loudly. "Lady Pearl has consented to make me
the happiest of men."

Luke flicked a glance at him before returning
his gaze to Pearl. "I trust you will be able to make her equally
happy. In fact, I insist upon it."

Pearl caught her breath at a flash of pain
behind his eyes, quickly concealed. Could it be that—?

But Bellowsworth was already blustering.
"Your concern is touching, Hardwyck, but unnecessary. Our marital
bliss is assured, not that it is any business of yours."
Impatiently, he reached for Pearl's hand, which Luke still
held.

Again, Luke glanced at Lord Bellowsworth,
releasing Pearl's hand an instant before her fiancé could snatch it
away from him. His smile held more of challenge than compliance,
however. "Then you would be advised not to make it my business. I
wish you
every
happiness, Lady Pearl."

Abruptly, Pearl's pride reasserted itself.
She would not be quarreled over like a bone between two dogs!

"I thank you," she said haughtily, "but I
quite prefer to be the keeper of my own happiness rather than
delegate it to anyone." She pinned them each in turn with her
glare. "And now, if you will
both
excuse me, I wish to speak
with Lady Minerva."

Her friend was hovering just within earshot,
too clearly enjoying the exchange. At Pearl's words, she belatedly
attempted to look disinterested, but without success. She waited
until Pearl reached her to whisper, "I knew he still cared for you!
What will you do now?"

Pearl signaled to a passing footman. "Have
another glass of champagne, and wish all men to perdition."

* * *

Luke watched Pearl stalk away from him with
mingled pain and pleasure. She was even lovelier than he
remembered, swathed in violet satin that perfectly complemented her
eyes, her honey-gold hair upswept to reveal the flawless column of
her throat. He wanted her more than ever.

And he would have her yet, he decided.
Unworthy though he might be, he could make her far happier than
stodgy, prosing Bellowsworth ever could. How she had become
betrothed to him he had no idea, but he would take his oath she had
not done so willingly.

He turned back to Bellowsworth, who was also
watching Pearl with a slightly puzzled frown. "The lady has quite a
mind of her own," he commented. "Are you certain that is what you
want in a wife?"

The Marquess glared at him. "I cannot think
why you are concerning yourself, Hardwyck. Lady Pearl has been
given more freedom than was perhaps wise, but she will make me an
exemplary Marchioness. Surely you cannot doubt that?"