Rogue's Honor (12 page)

"I am willing to let you put my skills to the
test, my lady," he said, hoping for a chance to discover more about
her.

She raised one delicate brow. "Are you
indeed? Perhaps I should present you to my father. He is said to be
most discerning." A test indeed.

"I would be most honored," he replied with
another half-bow. He may as well brazen the game through, and this
might be the opportunity he needed to speak with her alone.

The curiosity in her eyes now tinged with
alarm, Lady Pearl inclined her head. "Let me make my excuses to my
current partner, and I will take you to meet my father and the
Duchess."

Marcus shot Luke a questioning glance as she
turned away, but he merely shrugged, having no wish to be drawn
into explanations. Pearl spoke briefly to a supercilious stick of a
man, accepting a glass of lemonade from him before returning to
Luke's side.

"Mr. di Santo?"

He extended his arm and she placed her
fingers upon it, sending a shaft of pure desire straight to his
vitals. Stunned and, yes, betrayed as he felt at discovering his
"poor" Purdy's true identity, Luke found his physical attraction to
her as powerful as ever.

This vision in satin, lace and jewels seemed
impossibly far removed from the girl he had rescued, far above the
touch of a mere mortal like himself. Still, he was determined to
breach the wall of reserve their changed circumstances had erected,
and get at the truth.

"It appears your straits were not quite so
dire as you led me to believe," he murmured as they traversed the
edge of the ballroom.

"Nor yours," she returned, just as softly.
"Which story—" She broke off as they were accosted by an overblown
matron in yellow and green silk.

"Lady Pearl, my darling dear!" the woman
gushed. "The Duchess, precious Obelia, tells me the gossips were
all put about for nothing. I'm so excessively relieved for you!"
The enormous chartreuse feather topping her turban bobbed violently
as she nodded her head.

"Thank you, Lady Varens. I assure you it was
all a tempest in a teapot —a simple matter of miscommunication. I
went to visit my old nurse, who is ill, but my message was garbled.
Next time I shall write it out myself, or speak to my father
personally."

So that was the cover story for her absence.
Luke burned to know what she had really been doing in the
Mountheath kitchens that evening, since the story she had given him
was clearly moonshine. Spying on a social rival, perhaps?

After a few more inanities, Lady Varens
allowed them to progress, but before he could revive their
interrupted conversation, Lady Pearl stopped before a handsome
older couple that could only be the Duke and Duchess of
Oakshire.

"Father, your grace, I'd like to make known
to you Mr. Lucio di Santo, an old friend of Lord Marcus
Northrup."

She stepped aside, and Luke bowed low, as he
had before, keenly aware of her watchful eye upon him—no doubt
waiting for some monumental gaffe.

"It is above all things an honor to put
myself at your service, your graces. I apologize if I do wrong to
intrude upon you in this way. I find some things are done a bit
differently in Italy."

The Duke, an imposing man with sandy hair
touched by gray at the temples, smiled affably. "Pleased to make
the acquaintance of a friend of one of Marland's lads, of course.
My Pearl will see you introduced about, won't you, my dear?"

The Duchess extended her hand then, simpering
a bit, as ladies frequently seemed to do upon meeting him. "I'm
charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. di Santo. You have spent
much time on the Continent, I presume? It is quite a dream of mine
to travel, I confess."

Luke was now forced to lie outright,
something he'd hoped to avoid in front of Purdy, er, Lady Pearl—
though why, he didn't know, as she'd scarcely been honest with
him.

"I spent several years in Italy, under the
guardianship of my uncle, the Conte di Santo," he said, giving the
story known to all of his Society acquaintances. "My mother's
family is English, and insisted I receive a proper English
education, but my manners have been largely shaped abroad."

"And charming manners they are," the Duchess
assured him with a flirtatious flutter of her lashes. Her eyes, a
paler blue than Lady Pearl's, held a calculating gleam he'd never
seen in her daughter's. "Pearl," she continued, "pray be certain to
save a dance for Mr. di Santo. It will make him feel more welcome
in England."

Luke dared a quick glance at Lady Pearl, and
caught what looked like the ghost of a grimace, though it was
quickly concealed. That evidence of her reluctance struck him like
a blow.

"I'm certain Lady Pearl's dances are all
engaged by now, but I am honored by the sentiment," he said
quickly.

The Duchess' smile held more than a hint of
malice, he thought, as she responded, "Oh, I'll warrant her waltzes
are yet free—are they not, Lady Pearl?"

The beauty at his side stiffened slightly,
but did not allow her social veneer to crack. "They are indeed,
your grace—and I would be honored, sir." Though her smile did not
quite reach her eyes— those remarkable violet-blue eyes he
remembered so well— Lady Pearl concealed her feelings better than
the Duchess did.

Taking leave of the Duke and Duchess, he led
her back toward the buffet tables. "You needn't dance with me, of
course," he said stiffly, the moment they were out of earshot.
"It's clear you would prefer not to."

Her expression, since the first shock of
meeting him, had been almost blank, but now she turned to him with
a rueful smile and suddenly she was his Purdy again. His hurt and
resentment began to melt away, and he had to fight a sudden, mad
urge to take her in his arms.

"It's not that. Obelia knows I never waltz,
and this is just one more way she's found to punish me."

"I could see that there was some friction
between you and your mother—"

"Stepmother," she corrected quickly.

Ah. "But I have no desire to be an instrument
of punishment." Did he? "It has been some time since I've danced,
in any event," he concluded truthfully. Not since his last brief
stint as di Santo last Season, in fact. Still, to touch her again .
. .

"I do not mind, truly. If I can appear to
enjoy myself, it will rob the Duchess of her victory. Besides," she
added with an all-too-familiar smile that disordered his thoughts,
"a waltz is likely to be our best chance for uninterrupted
conversation this evening, and I imagine you have as many questions
to ask me as I have to ask you."

Indeed he did. Her smile set his senses
stirring, even as he told himself he must forget his feelings for
this woman he had thought was his destiny. Everything she had told
him before was a lie—but why?

He bowed. "Then I shall look forward to our
dance," he said with perfect sincerity. In the meantime, he had a
few questions to ask Marcus, who seemed to know quite a lot about
the Lady Pearl.

* * *

Pearl watched Luke's retreating back with a
bemused smile. What was it about this man that could so thoroughly
undermine her defenses even when she knew he had been completely
dishonest with her? She didn't know, but found herself, for the
first time in her life, anticipating a waltz with pleasure.

It wasn't the first time Obelia had trapped
her into a waltz, though this instance had to be from pure spite,
as the nephew of a minor Italian noble would scarcely meet her
exacting standards for a suitable match. Though Obelia had seemed
impressed, if only by Luke's appearance and manners. Pearl wished
her father were not so blind to his Duchess's flirting.

Still, in this instance she could hardly
blame her. Dressed in the height of fashion, Luke was a sight to
turn feminine heads young and old. Again she felt a delicious
thrill go through her at the thought of dancing in his arms. To
think, only half an hour earlier she'd been fantasizing about him
being a part of her world! And now—

"My lady?" Lord Hardwyck broke into her
thoughts. "I believe this is my dance."

She went with him without protest, though in
truth the middle-aged earl always made her uneasy. His manners were
polished, but there was a certain ruthless self-assurance about him
that chilled her.

Though nearly as rich and powerful as her
father, he coveted her fortune and the prestige she could bring
him, she knew. He had yet to abandon his suit, even though she had
twice refused him. Luckily, he was far from a favorite with her
father, as they often found themselves on opposite sides of
political issues.

"You appear to be in excellent health
tonight, my lady," he commented as they took their places for the
cotillion. "It would seem your recent, ah, adventure agreed with
you."

Pearl forced a trill of laughter. "Adventure?
Hardly that. Simply a visit to my old nurse, and a missent message.
But I thank you for the compliment."

His dark eyes slid over her speculatively,
possessively. "Health is always attractive in a young lady. It adds
a luster to her other charms."

To her relief, the music started then and the
movements of the dance precluded further conversation. Lord
Hardwyck was a highly regarded member of Society, she knew, but
there seemed something almost oily about him at times. This led her
thoughts back to Luke, of course. Why did she not distrust him as
she did her current partner, even though she knew for a fact he had
lied to her on at least one occasion? She honestly couldn't
say.

At last the dance ended, and she scanned the
crowd, experiencing a moment of panic when she didn't see Luke
anywhere. What if his appearance here had merely been part of some
scheme, and he had already vanished, as he had from the
Mountheaths'?

Lord Hardwyck spotted him before she did.
"That fellow there, coming this way. Do you know who he is?" he
asked her.

She turned, and nearly sagged with relief. "A
Mr. di Santo, newly arrived from the Continent, I'm told," she
responded evasively, wondering at the intensity in the older man's
gaze. "Why?"

He blinked, and seemed to recall himself,
turning to her with an ingratiating smile. "For a moment he
reminded me of someone, that is all. But the name means nothing to
me. Until we meet again, my lady." He lifted her hand and kissed it
lingeringly. With one last, frowning glance in Luke's direction, he
turned on his heel and disappeared into the throng.

She was just as pleased to see him go. An
instant later, Luke was at her side. "My promised waltz, I
believe?" he asked with the same cocky smile she remembered from
the night he'd helped her to escape from the Mountheaths' ridotto.
Her heart turned over.

"So it is. I half feared you would not claim
it," she said as the opening strains of one of the newer waltzes
sounded, reminding herself that she still knew very little about
this man.

"While I wondered whether you would choose to
remember it," he responded, taking her gloved hand in his own to
lead her onto the floor.

"As I said, it's likely to be our only
opportunity for conversation." She spoke quickly, to distract
herself from his touch, but when he quite properly placed a hand at
her waist an instant later, the feelings that surged through her
were anything but proper.

At once, Pearl was transported back to those
delicious few moments in his lodgings when she had thrown propriety
to the winds. She could almost feel his lips upon her throat, his
hands upon her—

"I was concerned that you might leave before
I could satisfy my curiosity," she said breathlessly, trying to
subdue her wayward emotions, trying to remember that this man was a
virtual stranger.

"And leave my own unsatisfied as well?" The
intensity in his eyes gave his words a dual meaning, making her
heart pound. She hoped he could not hear it over the music.

Refusing to blush, she smiled up at him
daringly. "Then shall we begin?"

"Certainly," he replied, tightening his grip
on her in preparation for swinging her into the dance. Her senses
responded instantly, without her volition. "I have hopes we might
both find complete satisfation."

She could not prevent the color rushing to
her face as she realized that there was nothing she would like more
than to find complete satisfaction with Luke. Not until the waltz
was well underway did she find her voice again.

"Will you go first, or shall I?" Pearl asked
then. "We . . . don't want to waste this chance, after all."

His hand at her waist shifted, no more than
half an inch, but it sent flames licking up her back. "We certainly
don't. What do you wish to know?" His voice seemed husky with some
suppressed emotion.

Pearl looked up and became trapped in his
hot, dark eyes for a long moment. Swallowing, she pulled her gaze
away and was able to breathe again. "My most burning question," she
said, licking her lips, "is who you really are—Luke St. Clair, or
Lucio di Santo? Or neither?"

He twirled her, remarkably well for someone
who hadn't danced regularly, before replying. "I'd have to say
both. I was raised Luke St. Clair, but everyone in
your
world knows me only as di Santo."

Her world. The distinction made her bristle,
tempering her errant desires and allowing her to think again—to
remember what he might be. "So 'my world' is not worthy of your
honesty?"

"
My
honesty?" He tightened his grip
again, and instantly her rebellious body responded. "Perhaps Luke
St. Clair is not worthy of your world—or
its
honesty," he
suggested, his expression now unreadable.

Pearl knew it was a reference to her own
deception, but was determined to puzzle him out before offering any
explanations herself. "Just who
is
Lucio di Santo?"