Rogue's Honor (14 page)

Recalling what Lady Minerva had told her last
night, Pearl's interest was caught. "No, of course not. I was
thinking of something else. Has the thief not yet been taken?"

Lord Bellowsworth shook his head. "It is only
a matter of time, however, for the authorities are pursuing a
promising lead, or so I have heard."

"Indeed? Then they have hopes of finally
catching this legendary Saint of Seven Dials?" Her suspicions last
night now seemed absurd, but still Pearl could not suppress a
shiver of something that might have been apprehension.

The marquess snorted. "Legendary thief he may
be, but his days are numbered now. Lady Mountheath's necklace has
been recovered—or, rather, a portion of it. It appears the villain
broke it up to sell it, to divert suspicion."

The Duchess gasped. "Broke up that lovely
necklace? Oh, poor Madeleine!"

Somehow, Pearl couldn't seem to muster much
sympathy for Lady Mountheath over the loss of a few expensive
baubles, remembering some of the wretched souls she had encountered
in Seven Dials who never knew when another meal might be
forthcoming.

"So the magistrates were able to discover who
sold the necklace?" she prompted.

Bellowsworth gave the Duchess' hand one last
sympathetic pat and turned back to Pearl. "Yes, it seems the
diamonds came to the shop by way of a known purveyor of stolen
goods. Under questioning, the man was induced to give a description
of the fellow who sold him the stones."

"A description?" Pearl was pleased that her
voice did not squeak on the question, as her breathing seemed to
have stopped. "Did you hear what it was?"

Lord Bellowsworth favored her with a rather
sour smile. "Smitten by the rogue like all of the other young
ladies? I'd thought you too sensible for that, Lady Pearl. In any
event, it is doubtful that the lad who sold the diamonds was the
Saint himself. More likely one of his henchmen."

"Do you mean it was a boy, my lord?" asked
the Duchess. "Did not everyone believe the Saint of Seven Dials to
work alone? How abominable if he is recruiting children to his
dirty trade!"

"My sentiments precisely, your grace," agreed
the Marquess. "As I heard it, the lad was a mere ten or twelve
years of age. Some have suggested he might be the blackguard's son.
Once he is apprehended, I've no doubt we will quickly come at the
truth of the matter—as well as the Saint himself."

Pearl swallowed hard. His son? Could Luke
possibly—? But no. She'd already worked out his past, and his
reasons for keeping it a secret. Besides, if he'd had a son, surely
she'd have seen the boy while at his lodgings. Nor was he old
enough, surely, to have a child of that age.

Relieved by this reflection, she managed a
smile. "However do you come by such timely information, my
lord?"

"My cousin Randolph—Lord Grimsby, you know—is
a magistrate in Town," he explained. "While not directly involved
in this investigation, he has been kept apprised, and has passed
his information on to me. Or, rather, to my mother. She was afraid
to sleep in her bed until he was able to assure her that the
scoundrel was as good as caught."

"How commendable," she responded absently,
her thoughts already returning to Luke St. Clair—or di Santo? She
intended to have
all
of his secrets, whatever they might be,
uncovered by the end of the day.

* * *

Luke pulled Lord Marcus's phaeton to a halt
outside Oakshire House. "Remember, Flute, not a word from you. We
still have a deal of work to do on your accent."

His all-purpose manservant, valet, and groom
nodded with a cocky grin, putting a finger to his lips. "Mum it is,
guv."

He shot Flute a quelling glare, which
appeared to dampen the lad's spirits not a bit. Dressed in fine
livery, and with a false moustache, he looked older—though still
more like a page than a manservant. Still, he was all Luke had.
"Good lad. I'll be back in a few moments, with the young lady I
told you about."

Flute hopped down to hold the horses while
Luke strode to the imposing entrance of Oakshire House, exuding a
confidence he could not quite feel.

Coming here today, inviting the Lady Pearl
for this drive, had been unwise, despite his promise to her last
night. Once he'd assured himself that "Purdy" was in no danger, he
should have discreetly disappeared from the social scene, with a
suitable excuse to Marcus. But he'd found himself unable to stay
away.

He reminded himself yet again that pursuing
any sort of relationship with Lady Pearl was out of the question.
Her world was not his world —nor did he wish it to be. At some
point over the course of the afternoon and evening, he would have
to tell her so, and say his inevitable farewells. First, however,
he was determined to discover the truth about her foray into the
London slums and into his life—a life he knew would never be the
same.

He was shown into the same opulent drawing
room as before. The Duchess, to his relief, was not in evidence,
and he had not even seated himself before Lady Pearl appeared, now
clad in a round dress of jonquil dimity.

"I see I may number promptness among your
other virtues," he said with a bow, trying to ignore the immediate
effect she had on him. "It is one not many ladies share—or so I
have heard."

"I have never seen the point in leaving a
gentleman to cool his heels once I have agreed to receive him. If I
do not desire his company—which is the case more often than not—I
simply tell him so," she said with an arch smile. At the moment,
she seemed impossibly far removed from the simple servant girl he
had rescued last week.

"Then I am doubly honored. Shall we go?" He
extended his arm and after only the slightest hesitation she placed
her gloved hand upon it.

"My abigail will be down in a moment. I had
thought to leave her behind, but the Duchess would not hear of it.
However, we may speak freely in her presence." Even as she spoke, a
dark-haired woman in a stylish maid's frock appeared.

Luke grinned. "Hettie, I presume?"

The maid flushed scarlet, glancing at her
mistress in confusion before bobbing a curtsey. "Yes, milord."

He sobered at once. "I'm no lord, Hettie,
just a plain mister. Please remember that."

He spoke as much to Lady Pearl as to her
abigail, and she responded for both of them. "I daresay you won't
let us forget it,
Mr
. di Santo. Shall we go?" Though her
voice was light, it held a hint of a rebuke.

Remembering some of the things he'd told her
last week about his feelings toward the nobility, it was no wonder
she was displeased. No matter, he told himself firmly. If the great
Lady Pearl wished to take his attitude personally, there was little
he could do about it—nor should he wish to, of course.

A moment later, he was helping both ladies
into the phaeton. Pearl sat beside him as he took up the reins,
while Hettie sat up behind, with Flute. He prayed his little
protégé would remember his instructions and play the mute.

"I hadn't realized you would have a chaperone
of your own along," Lady Pearl commented as he whipped up the
horses. Her tone was playful, whatever irritation she had felt in
abeyance for the moment.

Luke restrained himself from glancing back.
"He's still in training, which is one reason I suggested he come
along. This should be a good learning experience for him."

Her quizzical glance reminded him that people
of her class didn't make "suggestions" to their servants, but it
was too late to recall his words. Not that he would. "Our, ah,
conversation last night was cut short," he said, deliberately
diverting her attention from Flute. "You implied you wished to
continue it today?"

To his surprise, she colored slightly. "Yes,
I realize it was rather improper of me to invite
you
for a
drive, but it was all I could think of. May I assume that your
manservant is as discreet as my Hettie?"

"He scarcely speaks at all." Luke spoke
loudly enough for Flute to hear him. "As I recall, you were going
to tell me what you were doing in such unusual guise last week."
Though she had said he might speak freely, his caution was
instinctive.

She slanted a glance at him that made his
blood quicken. "I don't believe I've heard your full tale yet, have
I?"

"You've heard most of what's fit to
tell."

"I don't mind hearing the unfit parts," she
retorted.

"Ladies first," he said with a grin. Not that
he intended to tell her the entire truth in any event. It would be
far too risky for both of them. Nor was he quite ready to lose
whatever remained of her good opinion. Far better he simply
disappear and leave her with whatever illusions she still
possessed.

For a long moment she did not reply, but
watched the Park gates draw near as they clattered along Mount
Street. "Oh, very well," she said at last, as he slowed the
horses.

The traffic was thick at the Grosvenor Gate,
requiring all his attention to navigate the pair of chestnuts
through the queue of carriages and riders entering the Park for the
fashionable hour. Once they were able to progress again, along the
carriage path, he turned to her expectantly. "Well?"

She gave a little laugh, which seemed
directed more at herself than at him. "It seems rather silly, now I
try to put it into words. I . . . I was hiding from my stepmother,
so that she could not force me into marriage."

He was startled by the fury that gripped him.
"Force you? By what means could she possibly do such a thing?"

"That's just it," she replied with a
self-deprecating smile that reminded him sharply of Purdy. "In
retrospect, I realize she couldn't. She had, however, tried to
maneuver me into a compromising situation. It was only by chance
that I discovered her plan in time."

"But once forewarned—" He felt his anger
fading, though his opinion of the Duchess was lower than ever.

"Precisely. Simple caution would suffice. In
fact, that is my current strategy to avoid her machinations. It is
easier, however, with my father's support. I left because he was
going out of Town."

Luke's skepticism must have shown, for after
only the slightest pause, she continued earnestly. "I did have
another motive —one you may find just as silly, but which was
important to me. I wished to discover for myself what it was like
to live as a commoner, without the advantages of rank and wealth.
And indeed, thanks largely to you, it proved a more educational
experience than I'd hoped."

"I don't think that's silly at all," he said
truthfully. Though it was in keeping with what Marcus had told him
about her, he doubted one girl in ten thousand would have attempted
such a thing—or even considered it. "If more of . . . your class
were to do what you did, I imagine we would see real reform in
short order."

"My thoughts exactly." She leaned toward him
in her intensity, placing a hand on his sleeve. Her nearness and
the sweetness of her scent were distracting, but he forced himself
to focus on her words.

"I believe that those who hold the fates of
others in their hands owe it to themselves as well as their
dependents —and their country —to fully understand every
viewpoint," she said. "What better way than by experiencing it
firsthand?"

He smiled, and she suddenly seemed to recall
herself. Flushing, she drew away from him.

"I apologize. I tend to become strident on
this topic, as anyone who knows me will tell you. You must think me
quite the zealot."

"No, I think you remarkably clear-eyed," he
told her, though he had to pull his gaze away from those passionate
violet eyes. They reminded him far too vividly of what he could
never have— something he had never realized he wanted before last
week. "In my experience, most of the nobility goes through life
with blinders on, willfully oblivious to anything they don't wish
to see."

She fell silent again, and he feared for a
moment that he had insulted her. Everyone she knew— family, friends
—were of that class, after all. When she finally spoke, however, it
was slowly and thoughtfully.

"You can't imagine how refreshing it is to
hear someone else espouse these views. I've read them, of course,
in the
Political Register
and other such places, but that
isn't the same. And those who hold such leanings tend, for obvious
reasons, not to move in the same social circles as the Duke of
Oakshire."

She met his eyes candidly. "I love and
respect my father, of course, and he has even listened to my views,
but I can tell that he considers them the idealistic dreamings of a
female who knows little of the world. And perhaps he is right.
Soon, however, I shall have the opportunity to put my ideas into
practice, and demonstrate that they are sound."

Her breast rose and fell, her beautiful eyes
gleaming with fervor. Luke had never desired her more. Almost, he
missed the purport of what she was saying, so entranced was he by
the way she conveyed it. Almost. "What opportunity is that?" he
asked.

Now she smiled, with a conspiratorial air
that was most endearing. "If I can keep my stepmother and her
string of eligible suitors at bay until the end of June, I will
become mistress of Fairbourne, a small estate in Warwickshire. Once
I have it secure, I may manage it as I see fit. A test, if you
will, of my theories."

His eyes widened with admiration —and
surprise. It was nearly unheard of for a woman to hold property, he
knew, even a woman of her rank and independence. "And you feel able
to do this on your own?" he asked before considering his words.

Lifting her chin defiantly, she replied, "I
see you are not so completely different from the others after all.
You consider a mere woman unfit for such a responsibility?"