That Infamous Pearl (33 page)

Charles shrugged. "All
noblemen gamble. Ask your brother. His loss of the pearl gave me my opportunity
to see Alaric hung, or forced to flee to the Continent. Unfortunately, fate
wasn't kind to me. Otherwise I would be the Earl of Brayleigh today."

"So you were
right, Rowena," said Malcolm. "Damn you, Charles, why did you have to
mix me up in your plot?"

"You weren't
meant to be more than a tool, Malcolm. But, as usual, you got carried away. If
you had stayed out of the business I would have gotten rid of your greatest
enemy for you. I really have very little sympathy for you."

Malcolm growled and
made a sudden move towards Charles, who reached out swiftly and grabbed Rowena,
swinging her around to face the men, the pistol held firmly to her head. "I
warned you," he growled. "One more move and she dies."

Malcolm swore, and
Charles grinned at him. "You will surely be in hell before I am, Malcolm. Such
a pity, too, with the pretty family reunion occurring so recently. You would
have done better to have stayed where you were. Whatever made you come back?"

"I heard that
Rowena married Brayleigh," muttered Malcolm. "I couldn't have that."

"I, too, would
have liked to stop the marriage. But I believed Alaric was simply playing with
her. Instead, it seems he is actually fond of your sister. Ironic, isn't it?"

Rowena's eyes sought
Alaric's over Charles' arm. He smiled reassuringly and shook his head. She took
a deep breath. Somehow, she knew, he would find a way out of this.

"I had been
informed that you were in England," continued Charles. He laughed at
Rowena's look of surprise. "Oh yes, I've been watching you for weeks. I
hoped that your brother would kill my cousin for me, but it seems Rowena once
again interfered and patched up your quarrel. What a pity. Is this what you
were looking for, Malcolm?"

Charles reached into
his vest pocket without taking his eyes off Alaric and produced a an enormous
pearl set in gold, quite three inches in length and glowing pinkly, as if from
a life within. Rowena eyed it, noticing, even with her mind preoccupied by
Charles' movements, the exquisite color and shape of the pearl, and its
incredibly magnetic beauty.

"My pearl,"
gasped Malcolm. "Damn it, Charles, how could you?"

"It was foolish
of you to keep it," observed Alaric. "You have now sealed your fate. There
will be no doubt that you are guilty."

Charles shrugged. "How
could I throw away something so valuable? I hoped that someday the talk would
die down and I could sell it; I could use the money. But Alaric's reputation
made the damn thing far too famous. And now I won't need it anymore; I'll have
the Brayleigh fortune."

He cast the pearl
scornfully to the floor and looked at Malcolm mockingly.

"I am glad I
could reunite you with your bauble before your death," he said. "What
a pity you will not be able to enjoy it for long. It will be found in your pocket,
proof that you killed Ingram."

"Tell me,
Charles, what exactly you are going to do now?" said Alaric. "You
cannot possibly kill all of us and simply walk away."

Charles laughed. "Why
not? You have handed me the perfect scenario with the three of you gathered
together so obligingly in this room. It will be obvious to all viewers that
Malcolm and your lovely wife have been plotting behind your back. They meant to
secure your fortune and murder you as revenge for your treatment of Malcolm. They
were weaving their plans here in this room and you surprised them. Enraged, you
murdered your wife and her brother, and then shot yourself in a fit of remorse.
It will be a delightful scandal, and Society will talk of little else for
months. Brandfon Abbey will become notorious, thus pleasing Lady Brandfon
immensely. I will, of course, be grief-stricken, for in one day I lost my
beloved cousin, his wife, and my dear friend Malcolm Arlingby. I shall
reluctantly take my place as the new Earl of Brayleigh."

"Do you truly
think you can fire off that pistol three times and not be discovered?"
asked Alaric.

"This is a huge
house, and no one is in this wing," observed Charles. "Marguerite is
downstairs in the solarium, and the other guests are resting or in the gardens.
It will take them a considerable amount of time to reach this room, even
supposing they hear the shots. I will be the first on the scene, of course, and
they will find me suitably shocked and mournful. Now, who shall die first?"

Rowena saw Alaric
shift his weight and guessed that he meant to make a leap onto his cousin. She
braced herself, fearing the worst and opened her mouth to say something,
anything, to keep Charles from noticing Alaric. Then into the silence came a
knock on the door, making them all jump. Charles ground out an oath.

"Make whoever it
is go away," he ordered Rowena in a whisper, pressing the barrel of the
pistol against her temple.

She exchanged a
glance with Alaric and then turned her head towards the door.

"Who is it?"
she called softly.

"Lady Bingham. I
am sorry to disturb you, but I believe we must continue our conversation. You
do not seem to quite understand what it is I am trying to tell you."

Rowena rolled her
eyes. The woman was nothing if not persistent. "I am sure I understand you
perfectly."

"On the
contrary, there is much you still need to know. You ran off before I could make
myself clear."

"Get rid of her,"
whispered Charles, his voice full of frustration. His grip on Rowena tightened.

"I'm trying,"
Rowena snapped back. "It is not as though it is a simple task. She really
is quite difficult to deal with; once she has an idea in her head it is hard to
relieve her of it."

"Lady Brayleigh?"
Marguerite's voice was suddenly laden with curiosity. "Is someone in there
with you?"

Rowena glanced at
Alaric and saw that his emerald eyes were actually lit with amusement. He
flicked a glance to the door and Rowena nodded slightly.      "Of course
not," she called. "Why would there be someone with me?"

"Why cannot I
come in then?" Marguerite sounded intrigued. "If it isn't Alaric, who
is in your room?"

"No one,"
answered Rowena. "Please go away."

"My, my. Is the
perfect wife actually playing her husband false? That will be a pretty tale to
tell Alaric." Marguerite flung the door open, determined to catch her
rival in an embarrassing moment. As she did so, Rowena threw all her weight
towards the door. Charles, caught off guard, was carried with her, and Rowena
twisted suddenly, placing him between her and the door. It caught Charles
sharply between the shoulder blades and he let out a gasp. Rowena seized the
moment to slip out of his grasp.

"Charles!"
squealed Marguerite with delight. "I had never imagined that it might be
you--"

"Bitch,"
Charles ground out, ignoring Marguerite and reaching out to grab Rowena's arm. But
then Alaric was on him, grasping the arm that held the pistol and fighting him
for it. Rowena watched in horror as the weapon wavered back and forth and
Charles tried desperately to tighten his finger on the trigger.

"What is going
on here?" demanded Marguerite shrilly as she took in the scene. "What
is the meaning of this?"

"Damn it,"
said Malcolm, moving towards the two men. Rowena grabbed his arm, holding him
back.

"Don't distract
Alaric," she hissed.

"Distract him? I
mean to help him," snapped Malcolm.

"Then stop that
woman from shrieking," said Rowena.

Malcolm shrugged and
moved over to where Marguerite, who appeared to have strong lungs, was
screaming hysterically. He grabbed her arm and shook her.

"Be silent!"
he ordered. "You'll upset everything."

"Upset
everything!" Marguerite stared at Malcolm, and her voice took on a rabid
edge. "What is going on here?" She paused. "Did Alaric catch his
wife with his cousin?" The thought appeared to calm her momentarily. "How
delicious."

"Aye, you would
think that," said Malcolm.

Alaric and Charles
continued to struggle, and Rowena decided to take matters into her own hands. She
marched over to a table on which sat an ornate bronze vase full of flowers from
Lady Brandfon's garden. Grabbing it, she turned, and hesitating only
momentarily, flung it briskly at the back of Charles' head. Water and flowers
flew everywhere.

"I thought you
said we shouldn't distract them," objected Malcolm as Charles staggered
under the blow. Alaric's hand tightened on the pistol, which turned in their
hands. A shot disturbed the quiet of the room. Marguerite began to scream
again.

"Can't you be
still?" demanded Malcolm crossly.

Rowena ran to Alaric,
who stood with the pistol still in his hand as Charles staggered backwards. "Darling,
are you hurt?" she cried.

"Devil a bit
,
although I don't think the same can be said of my deceitful relation,"
he said, wrapping his free arm around her waist. Charles collapsed heavily in a
chair, a patch of blood appearing, and then growing, on his shoulder.

"Damn you,
Alaric," he said. "And you too, Marguerite. What the hell made you
come in here?"

Marguerite blinked. "I
wanted to speak to Lady Brayleigh," she said.

"You and your
talking," said Malcolm. "I don't know why you can never take no for
an answer. Not but what your arrival was very helpful, of course."

Sir Peter and Mr.
Brenderby appeared in the door, bewildered looks on their faces. "We
thought we heard a shot," Sir Peter began, and then stopped as he took in
the tableau presented to him. His mouth dropped open at the sight of Charles
bleeding in a chair, Lady Bingham standing rigidly in the middle of the room,
and Lord and Lady Brayleigh holding each other, while the earl clutched a
pistol in one hand. His eyes slid to what he presumed to be the Brayleigh's
groom, whose hair appeared to be oddly askew. "What is going on here?"
he demanded.

"Damned if I
know," said Malcolm.

No one else spoke,
and Marguerite stepped into the momentary silence. "I came into the room
and saw Charles holding a pistol to Lady Brayleigh's head," she announced
dramatically. "Surely it is some sort of lover's triangle! Alaric's bride
and his cousin are betraying him!"

Alaric laughed
shortly, and put the pistol down on the table, giving it a look of distaste. "I
am sorry to disappoint you, but it is no lover's triangle, Marguerite, merely
the final act in a long and tedious play. But I believe it is now at an end. Wroxton,
I welcome you home."

He extended his hand
to Malcolm, who shook it enthusiastically. He pulled the wig off his head,
revealing his shining gold hair. "That feels better," he declared.

"Seize him,"
said Charles abruptly, pointing at Alaric. "Can't you see that Wroxton and
my cousin are in league? They conspired together to murder Ingram, and when I
confronted them, they sought to kill me!"

Sir Peter turned from
one person to the other, bafflement on his face. Alaric stepped forward and
pushed Charles gently back into his chair. "Be quiet, Charles. The game is
up. We all heard you admit you killed Ingram, and Marguerite, willingly or no,
has said she saw you holding a pistol to my wife's head. There is no reason for
you to do that except to protect yourself." He turned to Marguerite and
sketched a bow. "I thank you for your evidence, Lady Bingham. In one
moment you have cleared both Wroxton and myself."

Marguerite gaped at
him, slowly grasping what she had done. "But, I didn't think…I didn't
know…"

"I'm aware of
that. If you could have done me a bad turn, you would have. I can only be glad
that your love of dramatics led you to leap to the wrong conclusion and thus
tell the truth."

Marguerite pouted. Malcolm
gave her an encouraging pat on the arm. "It's not all bad, Marguerite. You've
cleared my name as well as Alaric's. You've done an old friend a good turn."

"As though I
care about you," snapped Marguerite. She turned and walked towards the
door, where she paused and gave them all a haughty look over her shoulder. "I
suppose you're all very pleased with yourselves."

"I suppose we
are," answered Malcolm. Alaric said nothing, for he had taken Rowena in
his arms and was kissing her soundly.

Later that evening,
Rowena stood with Malcolm and Alaric in the garden. She gazed around with a new
delight. Everything seemed fresher than it had only that afternoon; and the
sense of dread that had hung over her for days had lifted. She smiled warmly at
Malcolm.

"I am so glad
that your name is cleared," she said.

"It wouldn't
have happened without you. Never thought you had so much gumption, Rowena,"
he replied. "I'll have to teach you to shoot now. I'll bet anything you'd
be excellent at it."

Alaric groaned. "The
last thing I need, Wroxton, is my wife wielding a pistol. And please, refrain
from betting your possessions again. My hope is that from now on, my life will
be much calmer."

Malcolm snorted. "With
an Arlingby? Don't count on it."

Alaric shook his head
and turned to Rowena. "We are now both fine upstanding citizens, thanks to
your efforts. And Charles is going to survive to be tried for Ingram's murder."

"Unfortunately."
Malcolm frowned. "I wouldn't have missed," he concluded darkly.

"I didn't miss,"
said Alaric firmly. "I meant only to wound him. We did not need another
death on our hands."

"We can only be
relieved that Lady Bingham was startled enough to tell the truth," said
Rowena. "That woman is made of pure spite, I believe."

"Don't talk
about Marguerite that way. She really believed Brayleigh to be guilty, you
know," Malcolm said. "And she did clear both your husband and me."

Rowena made a face. "I
don't know why you insist on defending her. That wretched female wishes to
destroy my marriage and marry my husband. You cannot imagine the discomfort she
had caused me."

"She's only
trying to take care of herself," sputtered Malcolm. "She's always had
to make her own way in life."

"That doesn't
mean she has to be unpleasant about it," rejoined Rowena. "You are
putting me all out of patience."

"What a shrew. Lord,
you'd think almost getting shot twice in one day would make you less
argumentative."

"I don't see
what that has to do with anything. Lady Bingham is still a thorn in my side."

Malcolm opened his
mouth to retort, but Alaric interrupted. "I believe we can dispense with
this discussion of Lady Bingham's qualities. It has no real purpose that I can
see, despite the obsession the pair of you seem to have with it. We should be
celebrating, not quarreling."

Malcolm grinned. "Oh,
very well. I'm glad everything's turned out right, and now I'll leave you
alone. I'm sure you have some things to discuss." He winked knowingly at
Rowena. "I'll be going up to Wroxton in a few days to break the news to
Cousin Felix. You can come with me if you'd like, Rowena. You haven't been home
in some time, and I could use your advice on matters of the estate."

Rowena chanced a
glance at Alaric. He was watching her gravely, and she couldn't tell his
emotions from his face. "Maybe," she answered. "I'll let you
know."

Malcolm leaned over
and kissed her cheek. "I have something for you, little sister," he
said. He fished in the capacious pocket of his coat and produced something that
he pressed into her hand. She looked down and gasped.

"The Pearl of
Sirsi! Oh, Malcolm, I can't possibly take this. You've sacrificed so much for
it."

"And a lot of
good it did me," said Malcolm. "Years moping about the Continent for
no good reason. I should have sold the damned thing to Alaric in the first
place. I only kept it to bedevil him."

"I only wanted
it because you had it," observed Alaric. "I think you have found the
perfect home for the pearl, Wroxton."

Malcolm nodded, and
the two men clasped hands briefly. Malcolm smiled warmly at Rowena, and then
turned and strode across the garden, intercepting Sir Peter, who was
approaching them, and who he valiantly carried off with him. Rowena could hear
his jovial voice as he headed into the house, inquiring after what price Sir
Peter might want for the fine mare in his stables. She laughed.

"He is irrepressible,"
said Alaric. "Are you happy now that you have cleared his name?"

Rowena took Alaric's
hand in hers. "Of course. Ever since I found out he was alive I was
determined to bring him home. But I am also happy that you are free of
suspicion, Alaric. That means just as much to me."

"Does it?" Alaric
looked grave. "I can take care of myself, Rowena."

"And a fine job
you did of it," snapped Rowena. It annoyed her that he didn't seem to care
about the effort she had made on his behalf. "I suppose you don't need me
for anything. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. You need me to have your son."

Alaric frowned and
placed his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Rowena, it is not
a child I care about. It is you."

Her eyelids fluttered
up and she stared at him. "You care about me?"

"Of course I do.
I always have. But when I thought Charles might kill you, I knew how important
you are to me."

"How important
am I?" Rowena's fingers plucked at the edge of his waistcoat. She felt a
rush of emotion at his words, but she knew that he was still holding himself
back.

There was a long
pause. "You said something to me yesterday," Alaric said softly. "You
have been pretending ever since that you didn't. But I heard the words and I
remember them. Did you mean it?"

"I don't know
what you're talking about." Rowena avoided his stern gaze.

"Yes, you do."
Alaric reached out and caught her chin in his long fingers. He lifted her head
until she was looking directly into his face. "Tell me again."

"Alaric, this
isn't fair." Rowena tried unsuccessfully to turn her head away. "You'll
only laugh at me."

"I promise I won't
laugh," said Alaric. "Tell me."

Rowena shrugged and
looked away. "Very well. I love you. I have loved you since the first time
we met, I think."

Alaric drew in a deep
breath. "I'm surprised you don't hate me."

"Why would I
hate you?" Rowena sounded stunned.

"I have been
very unkind to you at times. I tricked you into marrying me, and then I refused
to have faith in you. It would not be at all surprising if I had killed your
love."

Rowena shook her
head. "I knew that it was only your stubbornness that made you behave that
way at times. You are a good and caring man, Alaric. I've always known that."

He laughed, his face
lighting up. "You are the only one who thinks so."

"I am the only
one who truly knows you," said Rowena simply. "Don't worry, though. I
won't pester you constantly with my emotions. Malcolm has explained to me that
men don't care to be bothered with such nonsense."

Alaric sighed
heavily. "Yet another grievance to lay at your brother's door. Please,
speak to me before taking his advice in the future. Rowena, darling, I wish you
to tell me often that you love me. I am thankful you came into my life. I must
be insane, for you have turned my ordered life upside down, and I thought I was
happy before. But I didn't know joy—or frustration--until I married you. I love
you, Rowena."

Her violet eyes grew
very wide and her mouth fell open in surprise. She flung her arms around
Brayleigh, drawing his dark head down to her golden one, and kissing him
soundly.

"My dear, that
is because I am the only thing in your collection that can laugh, and argue,
and make love with you. I'm also the only part of it that can help you pass it
on to another generation," she finished, pressing up against him
enticingly.

Alaric smiled down at
her, his hands moving over her back and down to squeeze her hips. "Perhaps
we should return to the house and continue to work on that, " he murmured,
then took her hand and led her through the moonlight to their future.