Rogue's Honor (33 page)

"I begin to perceive that my definition of
the world and yours are somewhat at odds," Pearl began, but Obelia
cut her off.

"Promise me that you will do nothing to
disgrace your father."

That was a clever stroke, hitting Pearl where
she was most vulnerable. After a long pause, she finally said, "I
will promise to take his feelings and position into consideration
in my efforts to secure a supportable future for myself."

The Duchess relaxed marginally. "So you will
not seek to create a scandal?"

"I will not
seek
to do so, no." But if
scandal was her only path to happiness, she would not shun it,
either, she thought grimly.

Obelia was still regarding her suspiciously,
but finally she nodded. "See that you do not. Your father's health
may seem robust, but he is not as young as he once was. There is no
knowing what a serious shock might do to him."

It was a blatant attempt at manipulation, but
it affected Pearl nonetheless. "My father is at least as dear to me
as he is to you. You need not fear that I will knowingly cause him
distress."

With that half-promise, she rose and left the
room before Obelia could force further concessions from her—
concessions she might not be able to honor. For whether it involved
setting the Town on its ear or cloistering herself away in a
convent, she would not allow her future to be decided by anyone but
herself, she was determined.

* * *

Luke had given in to a slight falsehood when
he had told the Duchess of Oakshire that he had never before
visited Vauxhall Gardens. Though it was true that he had not yet
seen it with the eyes of an adult, in his youth he had more than
once found its more remote and poorly lit walkways a profitable
venue for an enterprising pickpocket.

Arriving just as the sun began to set, Luke
paid his admission and entered by the front gate, instead of
scrambling over the rear wall as he had on his last visit some
twelve years ago. He could not help marveling anew at how far he
had come from those hopeless days when he had lived moment to
moment, never knowing if the next would see him dead or in
prison.

The Gardens themselves did not appear to have
changed much, though he had never seen the Grove and its
surrounding collonades, or the orchestra rotunda, except from a
distance. Even as a jaded man of the world, some of the fairyland
spell that had charmed him as a lad of fourteen remained.

Dusk deepened, the hanging lamps glowing more
brightly as the crowd thickened. Finally, Luke spotted the Oakshire
party, walking from the entrance toward one of the supper boxes.
Moving forward, quickly but not too quickly, he intercepted them as
though by chance.

"Your graces, Lady Pearl, Lord Bellowsworth."
He swept them all his most elegant bow. "What a delight to
encounter you here after all. I am particularly pleased at this
opportunity to extend my thanks, your grace, for your assistance of
some weeks since."

"The pleasure is mine, lad," responded the
Duke affably. "Will you not join us? We are on our way to our
supper box, from whence we can enjoy the fireworks and music that
will be starting shortly."

Luke bowed again. "You are all kindness, your
grace. I thank you." He moved to Pearl's left, ignoring
Bellowsworth's darkling glare from her right. From the corner of
his eye, he saw the Duchess whispering urgently to her husband.

"You are enchanting as always, my lady," he
said gallantly to Pearl, keeping his amusement at the situation
from his voice.

She smiled in return, favoring him with a
knowing glance that stirred his blood. "You are
too
kind, my
lord."

"Have you no party of your own to join,
Hardwyck?" Lord Bellowsworth asked peevishly from her other side.
"I know you will not wish to crowd us."

"Do not be rude, my lord," Pearl admonished
him before Luke could reply. "You know Lord Hardwyck has few
friends in London as yet."

Bellowsworth merely snorted, not even
attempting to hide his ill temper. The man appeared to have no
inkling of how to court a lady, Luke thought smugly, with a
sidelong glance at his petulant frown.

Apparently he was not the only one to make
that observation, for he heard the Duke, just behind him, saying in
an undertone to his wife, "He's done nothing improper as yet, my
dear. Mayhap it will do Bellowsworth good— keep him from becoming
complacent, as it were. We don't want him taking our Pearl for
granted, after all."

"But your grace," the Duchess began, then
broke off, apparently realizing that they might be overheard.

Luke grinned. That the Duchess did not
approve of him was no revelation, but discovering that the Duke had
reservations about Bellowsworth was welcome indeed. Still, he would
have to tread warily around Pearl while in her father's company. If
he had any reason to suspect that Luke meant to dishonor his
daughter, the Duke would no doubt react swiftly and decisively.

They reached the Duke's supper box, which was
not crowded in the least, as it was built to accomodate twice their
number. The Duchess, in an apparent effort to mollify Lord
Bellowsworth, made an inquiry about his mother.

Luke took advantage of his distraction to
seat himself next to Pearl at the table. As her father was on her
other side, Bellowsworth had no choice but to sit next to Luke, or
on the Duchess' far side. He chose the latter, his face reddening
ominously.

"I understand Vauxhall is fabled for its
sliced ham," Luke commented, as though oblivious to Bellowsworth's
discomfiture.

"For the thinness of the slices, yes," Pearl
replied. "But its real fame lies in the entertainments. Listen!
Already the orchestra is beginning, and as soon as it is full dark
we shall have fireworks."

Luke responded in kind, taking no liberties,
tempting as Bellowsworth's glower from across the table made it.
They chatted lightly of the evening ahead, as well as the other
amusements London had to offer, with an occasional interjection by
the Duke, or even the Duchess.

Bellowsworth was all but ignored, simply
because he never spoke a word. Luke had hoped to goad the man into
a display of temper, but he began to wonder if he were capable of
anything more explosive than a pout. A challenge, which had been
his ultimate goal, began to seem unlikely in the extreme.

Still, seated next to Pearl, who positively
shimmered tonight in silver-blue, he found the evening most
agreeable. He promised himself far greater pleasures ahead, for
both of them.

* * *

Wallis Knox, until recently the Earl of
Hardwyck, watched the Duke of Oakshire's party from the shadow of a
clump of trees at the edge of the Grove. He had followed the new
earl at a distance since his arrival in London late that afternoon,
but this was his first clear view of the man. It confirmed his
suspicions.

This nephew, this son of his dead brother
James, whom he had assumed dead these twenty years and more, who
now sat before him, laughing and chatting, was the very image of
James, save that his hair was dark. Yes, there was no doubt of
it—this was the "ghost" who had driven him from Hardwyck Hall, who
had wrung from him a confession.

Who had humiliated him.

His resources might be limited now, but
somehow that deception, that humiliation, would be repaid. Every
man had his weakness, and he would discover what his nephew's
was.

It was only a matter of time, and time was
the one thing he now had in abundance.

The next morning, despite only a few hours'
sleep, Pearl trotted her mare through the Park gates, every nerve
vibrating with anticipation.

Last night at Vauxhall had been an
exhilarating mixture of pleasure and frustration. Pleasure at
having Luke so close by her side, guilty amusement at
Bellowsworth's discomfiture, but frustration at her inability to
have so much as a word in private with Luke. Now, however . . .

"Good morning, my lady!" Luke came around a
turn in the path just then, a short distance ahead of her. If
anything, he looked even more handsome than he had yesterday,
dressed this time in a coat of deep hunter green. "I hoped you
would not be able to stay away."

"With your story but half told? No chance of
that, I assure you," she responded lightly, though her heart
hammered in her breast at the mere sight of him. She was not
certain she liked having anyone, even Luke, wield this much power
over her emotions.

She reached him then, and he turned his horse
to accompany her to the same path they had ridden yesterday. Luke
glanced back the way she had come.

"Where is your shadow today, my lady?"

"John? I persuaded him to run an errand for
me once we left the house. I had to promise not to tell Hettie,
however. He seems most reluctant to incur her wrath." She found the
budding romance between her abigail and the footman charming,
though she knew the Duchess would not.

"Then he is to find you here in the Park once
his errand is completed?"

Pearl shook her head, willing her color not
to rise. "No, I said I would meet him at the corner of Mount Street
on my way back to Oakshire House. I . . . did not know whether we
would stay on the same paths as yesterday." Was she being too bold?
Whenever she was near him, she could not help remembering their one
night of intimacy —and wishing for another such experience.

He looked at her then, his dark eyes warm—
more than warm. "We need not, you know."

"Where would you like to ride?" she asked
breathlessly, meaning something else entirely.

For a long moment, he watched her in silence,
the merest hint of a smile playing about his lips. "Perhaps in the
direction of Hyde Park Corner?"

"Very well. Those paths are broader, should
we wish to, ah, canter." She felt as though they were holding two
separate conversations, one spoken and one unspoken. Or perhaps her
naughty imagination was oversetting her reason.

They turned toward the south, first trotting,
then cantering in the cool morning air. Pearl was content for a
while to simply let the breeze lift her hair, leaving all of her
worries behind her. As they neared the southeastern corner of Hyde
Park, however, they slowed and reality intruded again.

"You were going to explain your plan to me
today," she reminded him, when they had passed several minutes in
silence.

Reining his horse to a walk, he drew closer.
"I was," he agreed, then fell silent again, watching her, for so
long an interval that she wondered whether his thoughts were
traveling the same improper channels as her own.

"And?" she prompted.

"I asked you yesterday whether you cared
greatly about scandal. I had hoped . . . That is, I thought perhaps
I could—"

Transferring both reins to one hand, she
reached out with the other, to touch his arm. Even through layers
of fabric, the contact had the power to stir her senses. "Luke, I
don't care about scandal, truly. At least . . . not much," she
admitted. "If you believe the only way to—"

He pulled to a halt, gazing earnestly into
her eyes. "I don't want to do anything to hurt you, Pearl, not
ever. I'd hoped I could provoke Bellowsworth into challenging me,
simply by persisting in my attentions to you. Then I could free you
of him quite handily."

"But . . . duelling is illegal," Pearl
reminded him, alarmed. "If you shot him, you would be transported
—possibly even hanged. I'd rather marry him than risk that, I
assure you." Worry became anger. "How could you even consider such
a thing?"

He grinned and shook his head. "I didn't
intend to kill the fellow. He's such a coward, I had high hopes of
persuading him to relinquish his claim upon you in exchange for his
safety. I fear I may have underestimated the extent of his
cowardice, however. I am not now certain I can provoke him to a
challenge at all."

"Unless he has reason to believe you have
compromised me," said Pearl, believing she now understood. "Which
is why you asked about my tolerance for scandal."

"Yes. But there
is
another way." He
was watching her again, gauging her. "One that need not involve you
so directly. I can challenge him, over some imagined slight."

Though touched by his concern, she shook her
head. "No, if he is as great a coward as you believe, he might
refuse it, or even bring the law to bear against you, which could
be terribly risky given your recent, ah, lifestyle. Any challenge
must come from him. Besides," she said with a sidelong glance, "I'd
prefer to be . . . directly involved."

The heat in his eyes was unmistakeable now.
"I was rather hoping you would say that. Pearl, since that night
—our one night together—"

"I have dreamed of it, too." Even now, in the
full light of morning, in the open air of the Park, the memory had
the power to arouse her to the point of almost unbearable
longing.

"Will you come with me now, Pearl?" he asked
with sudden urgency. "It is early yet—no one who is likely to
recognize us is about. And Hardwyck Hall is but a short distance
away."

"Now I understand your choice of this path,"
she responded playfully, savoring his obvious desire for her. "But
what matter if we are seen? Is that not the point?"

Again he smiled, his eyes all but devouring
her where she sat, atop her mare. "Not the entire point, no."

She felt as though his gaze were a physical
thing, caressing her body with fire. "Lead on, then," she said,
forcing her voice to lightness. "I'll watch your seat, to see if it
is still as stiff as it was yesterday."

"Stiffer, I assure you. As you will discover
soon enough." Urging his horse to a quick trot, he exited the Park
and turned to the left along Picadilly. Pearl followed close
behind, thoroughly enjoying her view of him, anticipating seeing
more, much more, very soon.