Rogue's Honor (19 page)

He blinked in surprise, realizing he hadn't
even thought that far ahead. "It's what I do best," he reminded
her—and himself. "And it's not as though I have another trade to
return to. Besides . . . "

"Besides, the poor people of Seven Dials
depend upon you." Her smile was tender, sending a shaft of sweet
agony through him, but he shook his head.

"No, I can't let you believe that I steal
only for altruistic reasons. When I see a need I try to help, yes,
but my primary motive has always been—"

"Revenge." She finished his sentence again,
this time correctly.

He nodded. "I told you how my mother was
treated, how she died. For most of my life I have seen the Quality
as the enemy, people to be taken advantage of whenever possible, as
some small recompense to her, and to me."

But did he feel that way now, knowing that
Pearl was of that previously hated class? He wasn't sure. Of
course, his revenge had gone far beyond mere thievery. He'd nearly
lost count of the number of titled gentlemen he'd cuckolded,
seducing their paid mistresses and, once or twice, even their
wives. And now he'd gone even further, snatching the virtue of a
Duke's only daughter.

Luke turned away from Pearl's earnest gaze to
stare blankly out of the window, hating himself.

"The fact remains that you have benefited
many people, perhaps even saved their lives, through your
generosity." Her simple faith in him made him feel even worse. "I
understand why you might feel you can't just abandon them."

Warily, he met her eyes again, willing
himself not to flinch away from the warmth and understanding —so
undeserved! –he saw there. "I know you won't set the authorities on
my tail, and I'm grateful for that."

She dismissed that with a quick wave of her
hand. "That was never in question. But the authorities are already
on your tail, or very nearly. That is why it's far too risky for
you to resume your activities as the Saint of Seven Dials."

This was news to him. "What do you mean?"

"According to Lord Bellowsworth, a boy has
been recognized, disposing of some of the items, er, missing from
the Mountheaths'. No doubt he is being followed, in hopes of
leading the law officers to you." Now she looked doubtful. "Do you
truly have children in your employ?"

How to respond, without blackening himself
further in her eyes? "Not children, precisely, no. But I have
Flute."

"Flute?" Her puzzlement was obvious.

"You met him once, actually, on our drive. He
has been useful to me in both of my guises."

Her brow cleared, then drew down in a frown.
"You have put that boy at risk, taking in stolen goods? Even
helping you to steal?"

He opened his mouth to defend himself, to
tell her that he had rescued the orphaned Flute from a far worse
fate at the hands of a vicious master, but then closed it again.
Better that she believe the worst of him. She would forget him more
quickly that way.

Instead of condemning him, however, she only
said, "By returning to thievery, you will put him at even greater
risk —and yourself as well. I have a proposition instead."

"Another proposition?"

She chuckled, but there was no real mirth in
the sound. "I don't wonder you are concerned, but this one is
solely for the benefit of the wretched denizens of Seven Dials. I
have money and to spare, and will soon have even more. I can supply
you with whatever is necessary to meet their needs —and yours."

Until the addition of those last two words,
he had almost been tempted. It would be so simple. But the idea of
Pearl supporting
him
was intolerable. He would not become
one of her social projects. "Thank you, but I'll manage," he said,
perhaps more stiffly than he intended. "I always have."

For a moment she looked as though she meant
to argue, but then, apparently realizing she had offended him, she
let the matter drop. Instead, she said, "As we're unlikely to see
each other again, will you tell me more about yourself, and your
past, before you go?"

He suspected he had not heard the last of her
plan to help him, but he welcomed the change of subject. He led her
back into her sitting room, to stand before the hidden servant
panel.

"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer that I
simply disappear without a trace?"

She smiled briefly, acknowledging his teasing
and her own curiosity, but then became serious. "It is possible
that my father may already be making inquiries into your
background, which could well prove disastrous for you. If—"

"He'll find nothing," he assured her,
grateful again for her concern. "At worst, your father will
conclude that I am an imposter, a fortune hunter. He'll discover
nothing whatsoever about my real background, simply because it
doesn't exist."

Clearly confused, she frowned. "Don't be
absurd. Of course you have a real background, however unsavory it
might be. What of your mother? She was a real, flesh-and-blood
woman, was she not?"

"She was," he conceded. "But I can tell you
little more about her, save her heroic character. Her name was
Dorothea St. Clair— though whether that was her true name, I can't
say for certain. Even as a child, I knew she was afraid of
something or someone. We moved frequently until I was eight or nine
years old, sometimes at a moment's notice."

He paused, remembering. "I never knew my
father," he continued after a moment, "nor did she tell me anything
about him, except that he was a good man, and that he was dead. I
did ask her once, shortly before she died, whether I was
illegitimate, but she denied it." He had never dared to believe
that, much as he'd wanted to.

"You told me she died when you were still
young— eleven or twelve?" Pearl prompted him. "What did you do
then?"

Again he hesitated. "I stayed with my old
nursemaid briefly, but she did not have the wherewithal to care for
me, nor did I feel she should have to. I went out to find
employment and fell in with . . . an unsavory crowd." It was an
understatement, but he saw no point in arousing her pity.

"Is that when you turned to thievery?" she
asked gently, apparently guessing some of what he'd left
unsaid.

"Yes. I joined a ring of pickpockets, whose
leader offered to teach me the trade. I was reluctant at first, of
course, but I soon discovered that it paid far better than anything
else a twelve-year-old boy could do. Well enough that I was able to
lay enough money by to break away from them eventually."

"And go to school." Her gaze seemed almost
admiring, which shamed him.

"Yes, to school. You'd think once I had a
university education to my credit, I'd have turned to a respectable
trade, wouldn't you?" he asked wryly.

"Why didn't you?" No condemnation, just
simple curiosity.

Luke shrugged, then sighed. "I did try,
actually. I held two or three different positions —first as a
clerk, then apprenticing with a barrister. I don't take orders
well, however, nor do I do well in situations where I have to
acknowledge others as my betters."

"Perhaps because they really are no better,"
she said with a smile. "I have little patience with fools
myself."

He had to restrain the urge to laugh wildly
—for surely there could be no greater fool in England than Luke St.
Clair! It was high time he took his leave.

But what he would do then, he honestly didn't
know.

The distant, forlorn look in Luke's eyes as
he told his story made Pearl want to fold him against her breast
and comfort him, but she did not dare—not now, knowing what his
touch did to her. Knowing he must leave.

Watching him as he spoke, the light of the
fire playing about the firm line of his lips, his expressive brows,
Pearl felt again, more poignantly, the crushing disappointment that
had assailed her the moment she saw Lady Glinnon's bracelet in his
hand. Then an idea, perhaps born of desperation, struck her.

"Since you know so little about your parents,
it is possible your birth is perfectly respectable," she said when
he did not reply. "Have you considered that?"

"As a lad I thought of little else." His
chuckle seemed a bit forced, she thought. "I spent long hours
fantasizing about my royal heritage —how one day, out of the blue,
someone would appear to tell me I was actually a prince, or heir to
a dukedom." He shook his head. "At best, I suppose I might be the
byblow of someone important."

"Don't you want to find out? Have you tried?"
She tried to bank the sudden, wild hope flaring to life from the
ashes of her despair.

But his expression hardened, closing her off.
"No. What would be the point? As things stand now, I am beholden to
no one, free to live my life as I choose. Besides, I have no place
to start looking, even if I wanted to—which I don't."

Despite the pain his words caused her,
Pearl's quick mind was already formulating the beginnings of a
plan. She would say nothing to him about it yet, as he was so
resistant—not until she knew what fruit it might bear.

Instead, she asked, "So what now, Luke? Do
you mean to vanish at once, or will you go back to Lord Marcus'
house?" She needed to know how to find him, just in case.

He regarded her warily. "That depends upon
you. On what you mean to do now that I've given you . . . what you
wanted." The words were harsh, and he seemed to realize it, for he
softened them with a smile.

The thought of never again experiencing the
wonder they had shared tore at her, but she had known beforehand
that was the way it must be. "I won't put you at risk, of course,"
she told him. "Not until you are safely away will I make use of my,
er, changed circumstances. I trust that you can disappear without a
trace, as you have done before? Back to Seven Dials?"

He nodded, though his eyes searched her face.
She was careful to allow no trace of hope to show there.

"Tomorrow, then? Once I know you have gone, I
can confess what has happened. I'll . . . say that you seduced me,
then fled. That you were not what you seemed to be."

"Yes, you can claim to have been deceived,
along with the rest of the
ton
." Now a smile lurked behind
his eyes, though she read pain there, too.

She fought down a sudden surge of panic at
the idea of facing the censure of her peers alone. "I think you
enjoy deceiving the
ton
rather too much," she said with mock
severity, to distract herself.

"I have in the past," he confessed, suddenly
sober again. "But now—" He pulled a small stack of calling cards
from his pocket, fingering them for a moment before suddenly
flinging them into the fire. "There. That is the end of the Saint
of Seven Dials."

He faced her again. "I hope you'll believe me
when I say that never for a moment did I enjoy deceiving you,
Pearl."

She reached up and touched his cheek with a
smile, enjoying for one last time the rough feel of the light
stubble on his jaw against her bare fingers. "You had no choice—and
I forgive you."

He took her hand from his face and kissed the
very tips of her fingers. "Yours is the truest heart I've ever
known, my Lady Pearl," he said, sincerity shining from his eyes.
"Farewell."

Releasing her hand, he moved as softly as a
shadow to the hidden servants' door. Then, with one last
bittersweet smile, he was gone.

Pearl stood rigid before the cold fireplace,
the fingers he had kissed at her own lips. Despite what she had
told him, despite her need to secure Fairbourne, she doubted she
would ever tell another soul what had happened here tonight.

* * *

Luke slipped soundlessly along the narrow
passage, pausing at one juncture on hearing voices, waiting until
they moved on before proceeding. Hurrying down two flights of
steps, he cracked open a door that led to the kitchens. He watched
and waited until he had a clear path to the outer door, then
whisked out while the servants were busy dealing with a minor
crisis of spilled sweetmeats.

Quickly he moved through the kitchen gardens,
then out to the alleyway behind the great houses. There he paused
for a moment, breathing in the cool night air. Looking up, he
identified the window that would be Pearl's. What was she doing
now? Thinking now? He prayed she wasn't already regretting what
they'd done . . . what
he'd
done.

He had difficulty regretting it himself.
Never had he bonded so completely with a woman, been so willing to
sacrifice everything for her. He turned away and began walking
quickly in the direction of Lord Marcus's house, self-loathing
again effacing his euphoria.

Sacrifice? Instead, he'd sullied the only
thing he cared about. He should have stood firm, knowing the world
as he did. Knowing the risks.

Unbidden, a vision rose before him, of Pearl
at her most alluring, pleading with eyes and body, using her
considerable intelligence, equally attractive to him, to formulate
persuasive arguments. In her, Luke had finally met his match.

But what of that? By her own admission, they
must never meet again, nor would he be fool enough to attempt it.
If he thought he could protect her from scandal by standing at her
side, he wouldn't hesitate. But his presence would only make things
worse— especially if he were arrested for thievery. A fat lot of
good he could do her swinging from a gibbet.

Pushing his conflicting feelings down deep,
into an obscure corner of his heart, he quickened his pace until he
was nearly trotting. Letting himself into Marcus's house, he
hurried up to his temporary chamber without encountering any of the
servants. Good.

"Flute?" he called softly. "Are you
here?"

The lad emerged from the dressing room,
rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I were just takin' a bit of a catnap,
sir. You're back early, ain't you?"