Rogue's Honor (25 page)

"Wh-what do you want?" The question, when it
finally came, was barely more than a whisper.

"Justice," Luke replied in the voice he'd
been practicing all morning. Flute had assured him it sounded
sufficiently ghostly. He watched the emotions playing across his
opponent's face in the dim light —fear, disbelief, cunning. This
man was almost certainly his nearest living relative, yet Luke felt
nothing but a rather dispassionate disgust toward him.

Hardwyck swallowed a few times, then asked,
"But how? You are already dead."

Luke had his answer ready. "Truth. The whole
truth." He didn't dare anything longer, for fear Hardwyck might
penetrate his disguise.

"Truth? About . . . what I did?" Hardwyck
glanced over his shoulder, as though considering fleeing.

Luke waited until he had the man's full
attention again, then slowly, emphatically nodded. "Truth," he
repeated.

"I . . . I only have to tell you? And then
you'll leave me alone? Leave this house?"

Again, Luke nodded. He had a few ideas for
how he might use whatever information he gained, but they didn't
involve playing ghost again.

"Very well," said Hardwyck. "It
would
be almost a relief—" He cleared his throat, declining to finish
that thought. "Your death wasn't the accident everyone believed. I
had debts— gaming debts. I knew—" Again he broke off. "I cut the
cinch on your saddle, the morning of your last hunt. Whether you
were killed or only injured, I knew I'd have access to the books,
at least for long enough to pay off my debts. I . . . never gambled
again, for whatever it's worth."

But Luke wanted more than that. "Dorothea,"
he said.

Hardwyck flinched as though he'd been struck.
"How could you . . . ? Did she . . . ?" He glanced around the room,
as though expecting yet another spirit to materialize.

It took rigid control, but Luke kept his lips
from twitching. He merely waited, impassive.

"Very well," said Hardwyck in a rush. "Yes.
I'm guilty there, as well. Once you were dead, I decided if I was
in for a penny, I might as well be in for a pound. I had Cranley
burn down the Dower House, with your wife and son inside. He's made
me pay dearly for his silence all these years, too, I can tell
you."

Luke slowly raised one arm to point at
Hardwyck where he stood, trembling and pasty-faced. "Guilty," he
pronounced.

Hardwyck's eyes widened. "What . . . what . .
. ?"

"Guilty!" Luke repeated, more loudly, taking
a step toward his uncle.

"I . . . But . . . " Luke took another step,
and Hardwyck abruptly lost his nerve. Letting out an absurdly
high-pitched shriek, he turned and fled. A moment later, Luke heard
Hardwyck's voice from down the hall. "Cranley! Get up. Pack my
things. We're leaving London at once. Never mind why— just do
it."

Luke stood where he was for a moment,
chuckling quietly to himself. Then he whisked through the hidden
door, to take the servant passage back to his exit through the
storeroom. His work here was finished —for now.

* * *

"Left Town?" Pearl asked Hettie in surprise.
"What do you mean? Why?"

Her abigail shrugged. "Word is, he lit out
for the country in the middle of the night, night before last. I
thought you'd want to know, but I don't know anything else, beyond
the rumors."

"Rumors? What sort of rumors?"

Hettie looked uncomfortable. "I don't usually
listen to such foolishness, mind you. But it's certain that the day
before he left, most of his servants quit his employ. Belowstairs
gossip was that Hardwyck Hall is haunted."

This was so unexpected, Pearl nearly laughed.
"Haunted? You're saying
ghosts
drove Lord Hardwyck out of
London?"

"
I'm
not saying," Hettie corrected her
hastily. "I'm just telling you what the rumors are saying."

Pearl sobered. "I can well believe his guilt
might have induced him to imagine vengeful apparitions . . . but
not that others would have seen them as well. Perhaps he went
suddenly mad, and that frightened the servants."

Hettie shrugged again, unhelpfully. "It seems
as good an explanation as any," she conceded.

For a long moment, Pearl considered. She had
still had no word whatsoever from Luke. It appeared that he
intended to do nothing with the information she had given him. Even
now he might be falling back into a life of crime, out of habit or
necessity. But with Hardwyck out of London, she should be able to
help Luke with minimal risk of retribution from his uncle —the main
thing that had held her back before.

"Send John Marley to fetch Mrs. Steadman,"
she told Hettie with sudden decision. "And check to see whether my
father will be free at any time this afternoon. It is time justice
was done."

Two hours later, having heard all of the old
nurse's story, the Duke shook his head. "It's a damning tale, I
grant you. I've never cared for the fellow personally, but the law
will want more than one person's twenty-year-old recollections to
bring a charge of murder, particularly against someone of Lord
Hardwyck's stature."

"I have already checked the available
records, Father." Pearl pushed the letters she'd received from
Somerset House across the top of the massive desk. "Marriage dates,
birth and death dates —they dovetail with Mrs. Steadman's story in
every particular."

The Duke looked over the documents and
nodded. "That is something, at least. But why are you doing this,
Pearl? Where is Mr. St. Clair, or di Santo, or whatever he calls
himself? Why does he not press his own case?"

"He seems . . . reluctant to put himself
forward," she replied. "To be honest, I suspect he may be
intimidated by the responsibility such a position would entail. He
was not raised to it, you see, not knowing the truth until very
recently."

"What of this Italian uncle of his? Some
relation of his mother's?"

"I believe so," Pearl agreed cautiously. Her
father, of course, knew nothing of Luke's recent life. The old
nurse's story ended shortly after his mother's death. "He put Luke,
er, Mr. St. Clair through Oxford, on condition he take his
name."

Mrs. Steadman regarded her confusedly, but
did not contradict her, to her relief.

"Hmph. Dashed queer business, if you ask me,"
said the Duke, knitting his bushy brows. "How will your Mr. St.
Clair prove his identity? Is there any physical evidence to back up
these accusations? The College of Heralds will insist on more than
hearsay, my dear, I assure you."

Pearl bit her lip. Luke had offered these
same objections, but she had swept them away, assuming he was
merely reluctant to take his place among the class he so despised.
Before she could confess she had no answer, Mrs. Steadman
spoke.

"What sort of proof might you need, Yer
Grace? I have Lady Dorothea's diaries, as well as a trinket or two
she left to me."

The Duke's brows rose. "Do you have the items
here, madam?"

Mrs. Steadman nodded. While Pearl stared at
her in surprise, she fumbled through the pockets of her cloak and
finally drew out two small leather volumes. Then she unpinned a
brooch from her own homespun gown and laid it on the table, beside
the diaries. "Will these help?" she asked.

Though she itched to have a look herself,
Pearl forced herself to sit patiently while her father leafed
through the diaries in silence, then picked up and examined the
brooch. "This is the Hardwyck crest," he commented.

"Aye, Lady Dorothea's husband gave it to her
when they was wed. She never took it off, except to sleep."

He returned to his perusal of the diaries.
"These corroborate the story you have told. But I assume you knew
that. You didn't, by chance, get your story from these
writings?"

The old woman pinkened under the Duke's
shrewd gaze. For a moment, Pearl's confidence wavered. Could it all
be a sham?

But, "Nay, Yer Grace," Mrs. Steadman replied.
"I'm not much of one for readin', though Lady Dorothea did try to
teach me. Just never took to it, except to learn to sign my name
and such."

"I see." The Duke's expression softened into
a smile. "I'd say you were a good and faithful servant to your
mistress, Mrs. Steadman."

Then, turning to Pearl, "My dear, if Mr.
Knox, or di Santo, or whatever he calls himself, can substantiate
that he is the boy named in these diaries, I believe we'll have a
case to put before the House of Lords for transferance of the
title. Send for the lad at once, so I may talk to him."

"Of course." Pearl's spirits were soaring
now.

The Duke continued, "A murder conviction is
still extremely doubtful, you realize. Lord Hardwyck's
influence—"

"I understand." She refused to worry about
that just now. The important thing was that Luke assume his
rightful position. "Perhaps we can leave it to Mr., er, Knox
himself whether he wishes to pursue those charges. Thank you,
Father."

The Duke stood and bowed as she and Mrs.
Steadman took their leave. Once outside the library, Pearl turned
to the old woman. "Would you like to see your Master Luke, Mrs.
Steadman?"

"Oh, aye, milady! Can you bring me to
him?"

"I'll bring him to you, instead. Hettie?" She
turned to her maid, who had been hovering in the corridor. "Take
Mrs. Steadman to the servants' wing and see that she is made
comfortable, then call for the carriage. We have another visit to
pay."

* * *

When he rounded the corner and again saw a
dark blue carriage waiting in front of his building, Luke
experienced a disorienting sense of having lived this moment
before. After only the briefest pause, however, he hurried
forward.

He was in a far better mood today than the
last time the carriage had appeared. Many times over the past few
days he'd regretted his curt dismissal of Pearl after the good she
had tried to do him. Now he had a chance to make things right —and
to share his story, which she was sure to find as amusing as he
did.

Pearl sat drumming her gloved fingers on the
edge of the open carriage window as she stared up at his building,
an impatient, thoughtful expression on her face. He watched her for
a moment, then tapped on the door right next to her. She started
violently, then smiled —and it was like the sun bursting forth on a
dreary day, chasing away the doldrums.

"Luke! I had nearly given up. No one answered
my knock, nearly an hour since, and—"

"And you've waited here that long? I told you
last time you are not safe here, as you should know well after your
own experiences." Though he tried to be severe, he could not hide
his delight at seeing her again.

Her answering grin told him she noticed —and
shared that delight, which sent a thrill of something even stronger
than desire through him. "Come, we must speak again," she said,
opening the carriage door for him. "I have further news."

As before, he entered to sit beside her. "I
have news as well," he told her. "Shall I go first, or would you
rather?"

"Tell me your news first," she said, gazing
up at him with a rapt expression in her lovely violet-blue
eyes.

Luke was assailed by a vivid memory of their
one night together —her touch, her sighs . . . He had to tear his
own gaze away to focus his thoughts. "Very well," he said after
what he hoped was not too obvious a pause. "I have spoken with my
uncle."

"Spoken with him!" Clearly this was not what
she had expected. "You mean you confronted him? With the
truth?"

"You could say that. Though the truth
actually came from him. I persuaded him to a full confession." He
grinned, enjoying her astonishment.

"He confessed? To you? How . . .? When . . .?
But he has left Town, has he not?"

"Night before last, I would imagine. Pity,
really —I had high hopes of extorting money from him, but that will
be difficult with him somewhere in the country. And one might say
that he did not precisely confess to
me
," he clarified,
still grinning. "It was my father's ghost who induced him to come
clean."

Hettie, seated across from them, let out a
small squeak, but comprehension began to dawn in Pearl's eyes. "It
was
you
who haunted Hardwyck House!" she exclaimed. "I
should have guessed it."

"My God, you're quick! Yes, it was I. Once I
discovered that I bear an uncanny resemblance to my late father, it
seemed the obvious thing to do."

Pearl began to chuckle. "I wish I had been
there to see it! Oh! The night before last, you say? Is that when
you confronted him?"

He nodded, and to his amazement she went off
into peals of laughter. His own lips twitched in response, though
he was not sure what the joke was. "What?" he asked, when she
finally sobered slightly.

Twinkling, her eyes met his. "He accompanied
us to the theater earlier that evening —to see
Hamlet
. He
seemed uncomfortable in the extreme, especially after a few, ah,
comments I had made, and left after the first act . . ."

"Only to come home to the ghost of his
murdered brother," Luke finished. "No wonder he caved so quickly!
Lord, that's rich!"

When she began laughing again, he joined her,
until they were leaning against each other for support. Even Hettie
began tittering, if only at the spectacle they presented.

"What a team we have made," he said, as soon
as he could speak again. "And now, what was your news?"

Pearl sobered, though she had to wipe the
tears of laughter from her eyes. "More proof," she said. "Luke, you
must come with me—that's why I came today." He started to shake his
head, but she laid her hand on his sleeve beseechingly. "Please,
Luke. You must!"

"No, my lady, I'm sorry. I—"

With an impatient exclamation, she rapped on
the roof of the carriage. At once the coachman whipped up the
horses —clearly a prearranged signal. Luke was startled, but not
particularly worried, traces of his earlier amusement still
lingering.