Rogue's Honor (10 page)

He'd been intimate with a number of women, of
course, but this was different somehow. Though Purdy's inexperience
had been evident, if anything that only added to her appeal,
exciting him far more than the practiced caresses of an opera
dancer or a straying wife. He'd felt a connection with Purdy, a
need that went beyond mere physical arousal. A rightness.

And it scared him.

For the first time, he allowed himself to toy
with the possibility of a permanent attachment, something he'd
always assumed was impossible for him. But perhaps, just perhaps,
it wasn't.

Purdy fit into his lifestyle, his role here
in Seven Dials, with remarkable ease. She possessed skills he
lacked, skills which complemented his own. Of course, she still
knew nothing of his usual methods, and he knew without asking her
that she would disapprove, even be shocked.

He felt sure, though, that he could make her
understand. And if he couldn't, then perhaps, with her help,
thievery might become less necessary to achieve his ends. With the
delectable memory of her body and lips pressed to his, he drifted
off, to dream of an improbably rosy future with Purdy at his side,
day and night.

The sun was well risen when he awoke, the
first time in ages he could remember sleeping past dawn. Luke
stretched and smiled, remembering the day—and evening—just past,
his pleasant dreams, and his hopes for the future. He would speak
to her today, he decided. Discover whether his hope was justified.
Quickly he rose, washed and dressed, before going to listen at his
bedroom door for any sound of Purdy stirring.

Silence. No doubt she'd needed sleep even
more than he had. After all, she'd not only traipsed over half of
London at his side, but had healed two children yesterday.

Again he smiled. Valiant, self-effacing
Purdy, so unaware of her own talents and charms. She would bring
out the best in him, if any such thing existed.

Cautiously, he cracked open the door,
anticipating the sight of her in tousled, innocent sleep.

The divan was empty.

Frowning, he stepped into the room, sweeping
it with a glance before striding to the window to draw back the
curtain, chasing away the shadows. Her sheets were neatly folded at
the end of the divan, and a quick check revealed that the door was
unlocked.

She was gone.

Pearl stretched, reveling in the luxury of
her own soft down mattress when she awakened after only a few
hours' sleep. No one in the household knew she had returned as
yet.

After slipping out of Luke's lodgings shortly
after midnight, she had made her way back to Mayfair. The fog,
combined with the necessity of hiding every time anyone approached,
had made the walk of little over a mile take more than two hours.
On reaching Oakshire House, she'd had to be even more cautious to
avoid waking the servants who slept in the kitchen as she tiptoed
past them.

Eventually she had achieved her own
bedchamber, with none the wiser. At any moment, however, someone
was sure to . . .

At a slight sound behind her, Pearl rolled
onto her side to see Hettie emerging from the hidden servant door,
a dejected look on her pert face. The motion on the bed drew her
eye, however, and for a long moment she stared, stunned, at the
figure there. Then she ran forward with a glad cry.

"My lady! Oh, my lady! You're back! I'd near
despaired of ever . . . How did you . . . ? When . . . ?" The
questions tumbled out of her mouth too quickly for completion.

Pearl sat up to return her abigail's embrace,
pleased that her first welcome should be such a happy one. "Yes,
Hettie, I'm back, and perfectly safe, I assure you. What a lot I
have to tell you! But first, pray, lower your voice and tell me
what story has been put about to account for my absence."

Hettie gave her one more fierce hug, then sat
back to examine her mistress's face. A small nod evidenced her
satisfaction with what she saw there, and then she began. "When I
couldn't find you at the Mountheaths', then heard you'd fled the
place, I didn't know what to think. I assumed at first someone had
recognized you, but no one mentioned the Lady Pearl having been
there."

"Fanny Mountheath saw me and remarked the
resemblance," Pearl explained, "so I left before she could assemble
a crowd, which would have guaranteed my discovery."

"So I was nearly right, then. Anyway, I
stayed for another hour hoping you'd return, then when you didn't I
spent most of the night searching the area."

Pearl took her hand. "That was dangerous,
Hettie. You might have been set upon by footpads, or worse!"

Hettie shrugged. "I didn't think of that at
the time, and no harm came to me. I didn't dare venture beyond
Mayfair, however, and I finally came back here, but you hadn't come
home, either." She paused, questioningly.

"I'll tell you everything later." Well,
perhaps not
everything
. "First, I need to know what has
transpired here."

"I tried to get in without being seen, but
the house was in an uproar on account of your disappearance, and I
was spotted and called to face the Duke and Duchess. His grace was
most upset, I fear, and her grace as well—though for fear of
scandal, I'd warrant, rather than out of true concern for you."
Hettie's dislike of the Duchess was evident.

Pearl sighed. "My father returned home, then?
Oh, dear. I never meant to cause him distress—nor you, Hettie. I'm
sorry you were subjected to the Duchess' wrath, as well."

"I told them you'd gone to visit a friend,
but that I couldn't remember who. I fear I wasn't very convincing,
for they didn't believe me. His grace was certain you'd been
kidnapped, while the Duchess seemed to think you'd planned the
whole thing to discredit her. I was dismissed before I could
discover more."

"Dismissed?" Pearl was startled. "From their
presence, you mean?"

"No, from their employ," Hettie replied
sadly. "I am to leave for my mother's house today. Her grace
insisted that I had failed in my duties and could no longer be
useful here."

Pearl snorted. "Well
that
, at least,
will soon be rectified. What story have they told the world? That I
was kidnapped?"

Hettie shook her head. "It's what's being
whispered belowstairs, and may even have leaked outside the house,
but their graces' explanation is the 'absurd' one I offered—that
you're visiting a friend."

"And that's the explanation we'll maintain,"
declared Pearl decisively. Her original idea of claiming to be
ruined would only serve to ensure Hettie's dismissal. In addition,
it might be dangerous for Luke, should her father insist on
investigating.

Luke would have discovered by now that she
was gone, she realized. What might he be feeling? No doubt he would
believe she had panicked and fled . . . which was not so very far
from the truth. She realized Hettie was waiting for her to
continue, so reined in her errant thoughts.

"Come, dress me for breakfast while we work
out the details of my story so that it will not conflict with what
you've already told them."

Half an hour later, again dressed in the
height of fashion in a pale blue day dress, Pearl descended to the
breakfast room, ignoring the openmouthed stares of the servants she
passed along the way. The Duke and Duchess were already at the
table when she entered and greeted them as though nothing
whatsoever was amiss.

Obelia gasped, and her father leaped to his
feet, rushing to encase her in a comprehensive bear hug. "Pearl! My
precious! You are safe!" he exclaimed with such feeling that she
suffered her first serious twinge of guilt.

Her stepmother remained seated. "Where have
you been—for
two
days and nights?" she asked in ominous
tones. "We were forced to assume the worst."

Would the worst be that she was dead, or
ruined? Pearl wondered. Probably the latter. She directed her
explanation to her father. "I'm so terribly sorry to have worried
you so. It was wrong of me. I was distraught and did not think
things through as I ought."

The Duke led her to her place at the table
and signaled for a servant to bring her a plate. "Distraught?"

She nodded. "The Duchess and I had a falling
out over my unwed state, and I feared— foolishly, I now realize
—that she might somehow compel me to marry whether I wished it or
not." She shot a glance at Obelia, but her stepmother looked not
the least bit conscious.

Her father patted her hand soothingly —at
which Obelia's face darkened with suppressed anger.

"I thought to go to Oakshire to compose
myself," Pearl continued, "and perhaps seek Rowena Riverstone's
advice." Rowena and Pearl had been friends from girlhood, as Sir
Nelson Riverstone's lands adjoined the main Oakshire estate,
dwarfed by it though they were. Obelia had done her best to
discourage the association, deeming Rowena Pearl's social inferior,
but the young ladies still corresponded. It should seem a plausible
story, therefore.

The Duchess, however, was having none of it.
"You haven't had time to go to Oakshire and back," she pointed out.
"Nor did you take a carriage." Her fine blue eyes fairly blazed
with suspicion.

Pearl sent her what she hoped was an
apologetic smile, though her anger at her stepmother made it
difficult. "I was
escaping
, you see, so my own carriage
would scarcely do—it would have been too easily marked. I traveled
post."

Obelia's lip curled with distaste, but Pearl
continued before she could speak. "As I went along, I had time to
more calmly ponder my situation, and realized I was being foolish.
So after a single night on the road I decided to return rather than
worry you both unnecessarily." She turned the full force of her
charm on her more susceptible father.

As she'd hoped, he smiled down at her
indulgently. "It was dangerous, my heart, to travel so far alone,
but I am happy beyond words that you are back safe now."

The Duchess, began sputtering. "My dear,
surely you are not going to simply
accept
this glib
explanation? Think of the inconvenience she caused you, forcing you
to turn back before reaching Brighton to deal with the crisis here.
And a night on the road, without even her abigail in attendance?
Scandalous! If it were to become known, her reputation would be in
shreds!"

Pearl thought wryly that it was a very good
thing her stepmother had no inkling of the truth. "I stayed at a
respectable inn—the Hound and Hare." She named the place they
always stopped when traveling between London and Oakshire.
"Everyone there knows me, and I was assigned a maid for my
stay."

She turned back to her father. "I deceived
Hettie so that she could not betray where I'd gone. I feared if I
brought her with me she would dissuade me from my plan. She tells
me she has been dismissed, but she truly did nothing wrong. Pray
tell me I may keep her on, as we deal so well together."

It pained her to lie to her father, but she
felt the end justified the means. And indeed, her words had the
desired effect.

"Of course, if there was nothing she could
have done, then we cannot hold her accountable," the Duke said,
giving her hand a loving squeeze. Pearl ignored the indignant
sounds coming from across the table.

"Thank you, Father. And I truly am sorry for
the worry and inconvenience I've caused. I promise it won't happen
again." With that promise, the face of Luke St. Clair arose
unbidden in her mind—a face she would almost certainly never see
again. Feeling suddenly forlorn, she felt her smile waver.

"Happen again? I should say not!" exclaimed
Obelia before the Duke could respond. "Our mission now must be to
squelch whatever rumors are abroad and repair your reputation.
Thank heaven I have not yet sent your regrets for the Chatham's
ball Tuesday. You must make an appearance at Princess Charlotte's
reception tonight, as well. If we hold our heads high, there's a
chance it may all blow over."

Pearl's spirits sank lower, but she dared not
protest, much as she'd have preferred her reputation unrepaired. To
do so might provoke her stepmother to the point that she would
check out the facts of her story, which could be damaging to others
besides herself. So she nodded meekly while Obelia chattered
on.

"Tomorrow we'll attend services, of course,
so that you can be seen, and Monday we have invitations for both
afternoon and evening. The Chatham ball Tuesday, and then our
calendar begins to fill up, as the Season progresses. If all goes
well, you will still have a chance at a respectable match. A quick
betrothal and wedding would be just the thing, in fact."

Pearl bit back her instinctive retort and let
the words wash over her, painting a picture she could only regard
as bleak. Despite her regrets for causing her father needless
worry, she began to regret returning even more. What might Luke be
doing now? Was he searching for her, or would he be relieved that
she was no longer his problem?

And why should it matter to her so
desperately?

* * *

"So you have not seen her?" Luke asked, then
sighed as Mme. Billaud shook her head a second time. For the past
three hours he had scoured all of Seven Dials, and now had reached
the last place he might reasonably look in this part of London. No
one Purdy had met during her brief stay had seen her today.

He thanked the woman, listened to her
effusions about young Christophe's improvement, then bade her good
day. What now?

At first he'd hoped Purdy had merely gone out
for a breath of air, or perhaps to the market, but now he had to
admit that she had left entirely—and that it was doubtless his own
fault. He'd frightened her with his advances, even if she'd denied
it. Perhaps she had even been frightened by her own eager response,
which he had certainly not imagined.