Rogue's Honor (31 page)

Pearl relinquished it readily enough, though
now she was forced to squint into the sun as the carriage turned
north upon entering the Park. Riding backwards was beginning to
make her stomach lurch, as well.

Lady Bellowsworth continued to complain about
one thing after another, keeping her son occupied with trying to
alleviate each symptom and freeing Pearl to gaze around her at the
fashionable crowds strolling, riding and driving along the paths.
This drive could not last forever, she consoled herself, trying not
to think of the years stretching ahead. Perhaps Lady Minerva would
be here, or someone else she knew . . .

"Good afternoon, my lady," came a familiar
voice from behind her. Turning, she saw Luke, atop a tall black
gelding, looking particularly fine in a dark blue riding coat and
buff breeches.

Her heart increased its pace as the events of
last night— those she remembered, anyway —came rushing back. She
could also feel the color rising to her cheeks. "Good afternoon, my
lord," she responded formally.

Across from her, Lady Bellowsworth said
something to her son, who shook his head. She then poked at him
with Pearl's parasol, and he turned with a pinched frown.
"Hardwyck, allow me to present my mother, Lady Bellowsworth.
Mother, the new Earl of Hardwyck."

"Charmed, my lady," said Luke, bowing from
the saddle.

Lady Bellowsworth squinted up at him. "I
cannot see you properly without twisting my neck, Lord Hardwyck.
Pray get down."

"I'm certain he has only stopped for a
moment, Mother," Lord Bellowsworth protested, but Luke was already
swinging down from his horse.

"My apologies for discommoding you, my lady,"
he said with a charming smile that Pearl was just as glad was not
directed at her. "Is this better?"

"Much better. Thank you, dear boy. So you are
the new Hardwyck, eh? I met your father once, you know. You're
remarkably like him." Lady Bellowsworth was simpering just like
every other lady who got within speaking distance of Luke, Pearl
noted with amusement.

Luke lightly held his reins in one hand and
leaned against the carriage, to Lord Bellowsworth's obvious
irritation. "Several people have told me so, my lady. I regret I
was never able to know him myself, though a painting at Hardwyck
Hall bears out the resemblance."

"A good man, by all accounts," she said, then
abruptly recalled her own numerous concerns. "There, Burford, look.
My feet are starting to swell, just as they always do. I knew I
should not attempt a drive today."

Bellowsworth at once busied himself with
trying to alleviate his mother's distress, offering to loosen her
shoes or to take her back home at once.

"No, I must elevate my feet, as I do at home.
If Lady Pearl could be induced to vacate her seat, I could prop
them there."

Lord Bellowsworth was clearly torn between
concern for his mother and his duty to Pearl, so she made the
choice for him. "Of course, my lady. I would be happy of a chance
to walk a bit." Without waiting for any response from Bellowsworth,
she stepped from the carriage, Luke moving forward quickly to
assist her.

"Now, Burford."

Though it was clear he would have preferred
to step down with Pearl, Bellowsworth had no choice but to assist
his mother in propping up her feet—a surprisingly involved
process.

"So we meet again," Luke murmured to Pearl
while the others were thus engaged.

Another carriage was bearing down on them
from the opposite direction, so she quickly stepped to the verge of
the path, several feet away. Luke accompanied her, his horse in
tow.

"He seems a well-mannered beast," she
commented, preferring to stick to a safe topic, acutely aware of
Luke's nearness and Lord Bellowsworth's darkling gaze.

"He is indeed, which is why I bought him. As
you can imagine, I've had little chance during my chequered life to
become a proficient rider. Still, he
looks
dashing enough,
does he not?"

Examining the tall black gelding with the
white star on his forehead gave Pearl an excuse to avert her
flushed face. "He certainly does. Has he a name?"

"Star, I was told, but it seems supremely
unimaginative. Perhaps you would care to give him a new one?"

Pearl looked up at him in surprise, then
quickly lowered her eyes, disturbed by what she saw in his. "That
would be . . . inappropriate, I think, under the circumstances."
Just that brief glance had her senses humming.

"I considered calling upon you this morning
—which I'm sure would also have been inappropriate." He kept his
voice low, so there was no possibility of it being overheard by
Bellowsworth.

She nodded. "Yes, I fear it—"

"That's not why I didn't come," he
interrupted her. "I suspected you might not be feeling your best,
so preferred to wait to see you again when you would be in full
possession of your faculties."

Startled into looking at him again, Pearl
exclaimed, "How could you know that?"

He grinned down at her. "Think you I don't
know the symptoms —and aftereffects —of too much wine? Permit me to
say, however, that you make a most charming drunk."

She felt herself blushing scarlet and glanced
nervously over her shoulder at the carriage. Bellowsworth was still
fussing with his mother, folding the carriage rug to place it just
so beneath her feet.

"Then you know that I was not . . . not
entirely responsible for . . ."

"Of course," he said gently. "Nor should I
have taken advantage of your impaired state as I did. If I caused
you to do anything you now regret, I apologize."

His eyes captured hers, and she read his
sincerity there, along with a question —one she dared not answer.
Still, she felt compelled to honesty. "I don't so much regret what
I did as what I said. I never meant to burden you with . . .
with—"

"With the truth?" He raised one eyebrow
quizzically. "And why should you bear that burden alone, when the
responsibility is as much mine as yours?"

Again she glanced back at the carriage, this
time to find Bellowsworth glowering in their direction. She spoke
quickly, unsure how much more time they might have for private
speech. "No, the fault was mine —you only did what I asked.
Therefore you have no responsibility in the matter."

"Do you really think I had no choice?" he
asked sharply. "That because you are Lady Pearl, you had merely to
command and I to obey, lowly street thief that I was?"

She blinked. "No! I merely—"

"Was I more than a tool to you, Pearl?" His
voice was low and urgent now. "I must know. If you wish to have
nothing further to do with me, if you really wish to spend the rest
of your life competing with Bellowsworth's mother for his
attention, let me know now."

She swallowed, knowing what her answer must
be, but unable to utter the words. He would know them for the lie
they were, however necessary that lie might be. He knew her, she
realized, better than she knew herself.

"I . . ." she began, but her voice stuck in
her throat. She tried again. "You were never a tool, Luke. You must
know that. But you are now free to live your life as you choose. My
future is not your responsibility."

"Unless I choose to make it my
responsibility," he said with a slow smile that made her tingle
right down to her toes.

For an instant, she felt herself swaying
toward him, then abruptly caught herself, remembering where they
were and who was watching. But the twinkle in Luke's eyes told her
he had seen her moment of weakness.

He took her gloved hand in his own and raised
it, unresisting, to his lips. "I have just begun a regimen of early
morning riding in the south end of the Park," he told her. "It is
excellent exercise, and a chance to improve my horsemanship. The
morning air, I have found, promotes clarity of thought. You should
try it."

Bellowsworth joined them then, and Luke
released her hand, though not her eyes.

"Come, my lady, it grows late," Bellowsworth
said, his voice rigid with disapproval. "Mother believes we can
both now fit onto the seat while her feet are yet elevated. In any
event, she wishes to return home. We must go at once."

Pearl obediently placed her hand on his arm
so that he could escort her back to the carriage. Before
disengaging her gaze from Luke's, however, she said, in answer to
the suggestion he had left hanging in the air, "Thank you, my lord.
I believe I will."

Bellowsworth glanced down at her curiously,
clearly thinking she had spoken to him, but Luke sent her a small,
secret smile, showing he understood. Doffing his hat to her, he
remounted his horse and trotted off without a backward glance as
she allowed Bellowsworth to help her back into the carriage.

Despite Lady Bellowsworth's plaintive
commentary upon her feet, her neck, her eyes, and sundry other body
parts all the way back to Oakshire House, Pearl's spirits were
sufficiently revived that she was able to smile and nod without the
least effort. Lord Bellowsworth watched her approvingly now, but
she cared no more for his approval than his mother's complaints.
Her thoughts were focused on one thing alone.

Tomorrow morning, early, she would see Luke
again.

Luke arrived at the gates of Hyde Park before
six o'clock the next morning, along with the milkmaids who grazed
their tiny herds of cows there. Pearl was not likely to appear for
hours, if at all, but he would take not the slightest risk of
missing her if she was able to get away. He was certain he had not
misinterpreted her response, but it was entirely possible she might
have reconsidered. No matter. He was here.

Determined to put his time waiting to good
use, he set Star into a canter along a deserted bridle path, then
returned at a trot. The horse responded well, though he knew his
own seat could be better. He wondered idly how good a rider
Bellowsworth was— not that he believed for a moment that Pearl
actually cared for the weak-chested fellow.

Turning again, he kicked the horse back into
a canter, just as a covey of quail burst from cover in a small
copse, right before the gelding's nose. He shied violently, and
Luke was nearly unseated. Tightening his knees, he kept a firm hold
on the reins and pulled the startled horse to a halt, then patted
his neck as they both regained their equanimity.

"Well done!" came Pearl's voice from off to
the side. Turning, he saw her trotting toward him from the north on
a dainty bay mare. "Either you are making excellent progress, or
you are not so inexperienced as you claim," she said, pulling level
with him.

She looked divine this morning in a
wine-colored riding habit with gold epaulets, her honey-colored
hair in intricate loops beneath the matching tall hat. A groom on
another bay paced a respectful distance behind her.

Following Luke's gaze, she shrugged slightly.
"Hettie wouldn't let me come alone, but John is completely
trustworthy —and discreet."

Luke hoped to put that discretion to the
test— though perhaps not this first morning. "I'm delighted you
could come at all," he said. "I rather feared you would think
better of it."

"I did." Her expression was frank— but
charming. "I nearly talked myself out of coming, but . . . I needed
the exercise," she concluded with a toss of her head, clearly
backing away from whatever else she'd been about to say.

Thoroughly bewitched, Luke drank in the sight
of her. "Then let's get that exercise," he suggested. "Shall we
canter?"

In answer, she flicked her reins and at once
her mare sprang forward into an easy lope. He hung back for a
moment, admiring her from the rear, before kicking his own mount
into motion. At the first turning she brought her mare about, just
as he caught up with her.

"Where to now?" she asked.

Glancing back, he saw that the groom had not
followed, though he was still within sight at the head of the path.
"A trot down and back, perhaps?" he suggested. "You may give me
pointers on my form, if you would care to."

One side of her mouth quirked up, but she
only nodded. "Very well. You begin and I will follow."

Luke set his horse into a trot, acutely aware
of her eyes upon him. He'd never felt less skillful, cringing at
every slight mistake he made. When he'd nearly reached the groom,
he turned and trotted back, Pearl dutifully following. Back at the
turning, he halted. "Well?"

"Your, ah, seat is well enough, though a bit
stiff," she said, pinkening slightly. "And you need to lighten up
on the reins. Otherwise, it's merely a matter of practice, I should
say." She swallowed visibly, not quite meeting his eye.

"I thank you for your advice," he said
lightly, then, in a deeper voice, "Pearl."

She faced him questioningly, almost
fearfully.

"Tell me you do not mean to go through with
this absurd marriage to Bellowsworth."

For an instant she closed her eyes, as though
his words pained her, then opened them with a frown. "It is not as
simple as that, I'm afraid. The marriage settlements have been
drawn up, the expectations of Society aroused. If I were to cry off
now, it would create a scandal, and my stepmother—"

"Hang your stepmother. I thought scandal was
what you wanted —so that you could thwart her plans for your
future."

For a long moment she hesitated, then dropped
her gaze to her hands, encased in their kidskin riding gloves. "I—I
thought I did. But the idea of Society talking behind my back,
looking down their noses at me, not to mention losing my father's
good opinion . . . At the moment, I'm not certain
what
I
want."

"As your presence here this morning attests."
He kept his voice light, teasing, but watched closely for her
reaction. His own course of action —nay, his very future— hinged
upon it.