That Infamous Pearl (3 page)

Rowena considered her
aunt's words. "I see no evidence that either of them is guilty," she
announced judiciously. "It all seems to be a muddle of misunderstandings
and masculine pride to me."

Lady Belmont looked
at her as though she had suddenly sprouted wings and flown about the room. "Rowena,
you mustn't say such things. People will think that you have no loyalty to your
brother. If you love your brother, you must believe Brayleigh to be guilty."

Rowena tipped her
head to one side and considered her aunt's words. "I barely remember
Malcolm. I was only eleven when he died--or when this event occurred--and he
had lived in London and at Oxford for four years before that. I have regretted
his death, but now I find that I do not even need to do that."

Lady Belmont was
shocked. "Never let me hear you say such a thing again, Rowena! We all
hope that someday Malcolm might be proved innocent. In the meantime, that
Monster takes his place in Society, laughing at us behind our backs. You must
promise me never to speak with him again!"

Rowena smiled. "Very
well, Aunt Louisa. I will behave myself as befits an Arlingby. But I hardly
think you need worry; Brayleigh has surely amused himself with me enough. I am
certain he has some collecting to do and has forgotten all about me by how."

"I can only hope
so," snapped Lady Belmont. "The man has no shame. I trust that Lady
Jersey is wrong and he does not intend to pursue you. That would be entirely
humiliating."

A mischievous light
came into Rowena's eyes. "Perhaps I could marry Brayleigh, and then I
would be able to search his house for the pearl. Would that not be the perfect
solution, Aunt? Of course, it would be quite shocking of me to turn my husband
over to the magistrates, but I would be avenging my brother. Then I would truly
be of service to the family."

Lady Belmont gave a
little shriek. "Never think of such a thing, Rowena. If you were to marry
Brayleigh I would doubtless die of palpitations. The man is evil, I tell you. You
mustn't even consider such a notion."

"I was teasing
you, Aunt Louisa," said Rowena soothingly.

"This is not a
laughing matter." Lady Belmont gave her a reproving look. "Have I
your word that you will stay away from Brayleigh?"

"I will do my
best, Aunt Louisa," said Rowena.

"See that you
do. And now, we will not discuss this further. With any luck Society will soon
find something else to talk of than an ancient scandal."

Rowena returned to
her breakfast with a thoughtful air. She had much to ponder. The startling
knowledge that her brother was alive was unsettling enough, without finding out
that either he or the gentleman she had danced with the night before was more
than likely a murderer. Her memories of her brother were faint; he had been
kind to her, but the difference in their ages and the fact that he had gone to
Oxford when she had been six and then returned home only for holidays, made him
seem a stranger indeed. But she had heard enough tales of him over the years to
think that he was unlikely to have committed murder.

Lord Brayleigh was
another matter altogether. Rowena did not find it startling that people could
imagine him killing someone for an ancient pearl. His passion for collecting
was well known, and she had experienced only the night before his high-handed
ways. He had whisked her away from the gentlemen around her as if there was no
question at all that she would dance with him. This was a man who was
accustomed to getting what he wanted and would let little stand in his way.

And yet, Rowena could
not quite believe that he had killed Alfred Ingram. Brayleigh might be overly
sure of himself, but he had not seemed evil. Indeed, Rowena had almost fancied
that she had detected a mischievous air about him, as though he enjoyed making
the
ton
believe him to be a dangerous man. She sighed. It was unlikely
now that she would ever know the truth. She could not possibly pursue the Earl's
acquaintance after what she had discovered today.

Alaric stood in his
study, looking blankly out the windows at the London street. One hand absently
stroked a small bronze statue that rested on the table next to him. It was the
Donatello he had recently won from Mannering, a fine representation of a nude,
exquisitely crafted and as sleek as satin to the touch. However, Alaric found
that somehow he did not feel that satisfaction with it that he had only the day
before. Usually a new acquisition kept him happy for at least two weeks, but he
found his joy rapidly ebbing away.

Alaric frowned and
turned away from the window, his eyes scanning his study. It was a beautiful
room, high-ceilinged and handsomely proportioned, furnished with the finest
examples of Chippendale's art, its shelves filled with rare and unusual
volumes. But today it brought him no peace of mind.

Damn the girl, he
thought angrily, picking up a book from the desk. Lady Rowena was, of course,
the reason for his disquiet, and it annoyed him that he could not banish her
from his thoughts. She inspired in him the same need for ownership that an
exquisite work of art did, he realized. He wanted to possess her the same way
he did the Donatello, his Rembrandts, the folio of Shakespeare's works. It
seemed ridiculous that this should be so. She was just another young woman, and
not even an extraordinarily beautiful one. Blondes were not fashionable, and
she was ridiculously fair, while her features were certainly not classical in
nature. But then he thought of her huge violet eyes and the firmness of her
full lips, of the determined way she had lifted her chin when she had objected
to his forwardness, and he was lost again. He remembered the feeling of her
body pressed up against his, and a tremor shot through him. He put the book
down with a snap. He had never felt this way with any of his paramours and was
not at all certain he wished to now.

She was Malcolm
Arlingby's sister as well, which made the entire business far worse. He could
hardly pay attention to the girl without causing a great deal of unwanted
gossip over a matter that should have been forgotten years before. Lady Belmont
had been forbidding last night, and Lady Rowena had surely been warned off by
now, if she had not known before about his involvement in the matter of Malcolm's
pearl. His chances with her were as slim as they could be.

But the feelings
persisted, and he paced across the room, his anger rising. It was a matter of
simple lust, he decided suddenly. He wanted her in a physical sense, he was
intrigued by her manner, which was so different from the usual simpering misses
he encountered. It was ridiculous to think that there was anything more to it than
that. He would simply have to return to Lily's house that afternoon, he
thought. It would make up for her disappointment in his departure the previous
night. Surely after a few more hours in her company, Lady Rowena would fade
into insignificance. A mere girl could not hold a candle to the charms of Lily
Magdalene. He smiled coldly and, giving the Donatello one final pat, strode out
of the room.

Rowena stifled a yawn
as she sat in her aunt's carriage, surveying the assembled
ton
that
crowded the park. It was that hour in the late afternoon when the fashionable
world came to Hyde Park to see and be seen, riding their fine horses, tooling
about in their carriages, or simply strolling under the trees. It was a
brilliant spectacle, with everyone in attendance dressed in the finest
fashions, but Rowena, much to her aunt's dismay, found the entire routine
utterly boring. Her aunt gave her a reproving look.

"Do try to at
least behave as though you are interested," she implored. "It would
never do if people were to say you lacked manners."

"I thought I
wasn't supposed to show much enjoyment," objected Rowena. "When I
first came to London you told me enthusiasm was only for rustics."

"There is a
difference between polite boredom and giving the impression one is about to go
to sleep and perhaps snore. Please, Rowena."

"Very well."
Rowena adjusted the rim of her engaging chip bonnet and gave a twitch to the
three tiers of elaborate ruffles and cord work that trimmed the hem of her
dress. She smiled prettily at her aunt. "How am I doing?"

"Much better,"
approved Lady Belmont. She looked curiously out over the crowds. "Goodness,
there is Mrs. Allenton, and she is waving at us. It wouldn't do not to speak to
her. I only hope she won't ask about Brayleigh. If she does, Rowena, I don't
want to hear a word out of you."

Rowena gave her an
indignant glance. "As though I would rattle on about Brayleigh. It's you
who won't let the subject rest, Aunt. I have had quite enough trouble absorbing
the interesting fact that Malcolm is alive to worry about possibly murderous
earls."

"Rowena, not
another word!" Lady Belmont twitched nervously.

The carriage pulled
abreast of Mrs. Allenton's, and that formidable matron leaned toward them
graciously, the enormous purple plumes in her bonnet nodding.

"Good afternoon,
Louisa, dear, and Rowena, of course." Mrs. Allenton bestowed a thin smile
on her prey. "I have been longing to talk to you. One has heard such
interesting things about the Willoughby ball last night. I am desolate that I
missed it."

"It was a lovely
evening," said Lady Belmont, ignoring the innuendo. "Dear Diana
always puts on exquisite entertainments. And the champagne was delightful."

Mrs. Allenton smiled
pointedly at Rowena. "Did you enjoy yourself, my dear?"

Rowena pulled her eyes
away from a surprised contemplation of the very tight riding dress a passing
lady was wearing and turned her gaze politely on Mrs. Allenton. "Certainly,
ma'am."

"I heard that
you have attracted a new suitor," continued Mrs. Allenton, in a manner that,
in a less formidable woman, might have been construed as playful.

"I beg your
pardon, ma'am?" asked Rowena blankly.

"Why, Lord
Brayleigh, of course," said Mrs. Allenton triumphantly. "I have heard
of little else today. It seems that he is decidedly interested in Lady Rowena."

Lady Belmont twitched
again. "Nonsense. You shouldn't listen to gossip, Flora."

"Did he or did
he not dance with her?" persisted Mrs. Allenton.

"He did,"
admitted Lady Belmont, "But I'm sure there was nothing in it. Brayleigh is
far too devoted to his collection and his mistresses to worry about young
women. It was surely a passing whim, and not a very gracious one at that."

Mrs. Allenton raised
an eyebrow and leaned toward Rowena. "And what did you think of the
dashing Earl?"

"I barely noticed
him," Rowena answered firmly, annoyed by Mrs. Allenton's question. "I
suppose he dances well enough. He was rather tall."

Mrs. Allenton sat
back, an amazed expression on her face. In a moment she laughed. "Well,
that will be a set down for Brayleigh! I daresay there has never been a young
woman uninterested in his name and fortune. He'll be more determined than ever to
add you to his famous collection."

Rowena opened her
mouth to respond, but Lady Belmont hastily stepped in. "Brayleigh cannot
possibly be interested in Rowena. After all, he's much too old for her, and our
families, as you well know, do not speak. He was merely trying to cause a
sensation, and now he has succeeded. It is too bad of you, Flora, to try to
read anything more into it than that."

As Lady Belmont
spoke, she became aware that Mrs. Allenton's eyes had moved from her face and
were fixed instead on something situated over her left shoulder. She glanced at
Rowena and found that her niece, as well, appeared to be transfixed with whatever
it was that lingered behind her. She turned abruptly and her words died on her
lips.

Lord Brayleigh was
approaching on a magnificent black stallion, a forbidding expression on his
dark countenance. He sat the horse as though he was a part of it, and the
simple elegance of his superfine riding coat and the mirror-like sheen on his
boots contrived to make every other man in the park look either a bit
overdressed or slightly shabby. He was heading directly for Lady Belmont's
landau, and when he reached it he drew his mount to a halt. The spirited beast
seemed inclined to mischief, but Brayleigh's fist tightened just slightly as he
settled his seat almost imperceptibly, and the stallion's antics subsided. There
was a moment's breathless silence as he gazed broodingly at the three women.

"Good afternoon
Lady Belmont, Mrs. Allenton, Lady Rowena," he said finally, his voice
cold. "I trust you are enjoying your drive."

Lady Belmont openly
gaped at Brayleigh, and Rowena gave him a perplexed look, leaving Mrs. Allenton
to fill the breach, which she did admirably.

"Good afternoon,
Brayleigh. I would say that I was surprised to see you here in the park, but
after what I have been told today, that would be inaccurate. I imagine I can
guess what brings you here!"

Rowena cringed at
Mrs. Allenton's coy tone, and dropped her eyes hastily from Alaric's face, but
not before he saw the flash of annoyance in them. He raised an eyebrow at Mrs.
Allenton.

"Indeed. I
thought I was merely exercising my horse and enjoying a lovely afternoon. I
assure you there are no other discernible motives for my presence here."

Mrs. Allenton smiled
archly at Alaric as he transferred his frowning gaze to Rowena.

"I trust you are
well, Lady Rowena," he said.

Rowena started
visibly and then her lashes fluttered up over her eyes. Alaric felt the
now-familiar pang of desire as their violet gaze encompassed him.

"Quite well, my
lord," she said calmly, although she flushed slightly. She could not
imagine what game he was playing. But she had to admit to herself that London
had become much more interesting in the eighteen hours since the Earl of
Brayleigh had entered her life. "And you?"

Alaric allowed a tiny
smile to curve his lips. Rowena was regarding him much differently than she had
the night before, and he now had no doubt that someone had told her about the
old scandal. It was a pity, he thought. He had enjoyed her ingenuousness so
much.

"I am always
well," he responded politely.

Lady Belmont returned
to her senses with a little shake of her head. She looked anxiously from Alaric's
calm face to Rowena's flushed one, and then finally to the look of avid
curiosity which decorated Mrs. Allenton's. She launched hastily into speech.

"I am sure you
are, Brayleigh. And now Rowena and I must continue on our way. It was delightful
to see you again, Brayleigh. Flora, you must take tea with us sometime soon."

Lady Belmont prodded her
coachman in the back with her parasol and the landau moved forward, leaving
Alaric alone with Mrs. Allenton.

"What are you up
to, Brayleigh?" she asked knowingly. "They'll never let you near that
girl, you know. They haven't forgotten what you did to her brother."

Alaric turned icy
green eyes on Mrs. Allenton. "I will remember that, madam." His voice
was stony. He turned his horse abruptly and rode away.

In a few moments he spotted
Lady Belmont's carriage again, now drawn up to pick up a young gentleman. Alaric
watched with a disdainful glare as the man seated himself next to Rowena and
engaged her in conversation. His afternoon with Lily had gone far to assuage
his physical discomfort, but he had found to his annoyance that thoughts of
Rowena still filled his mind. There was something unique about her, he thought,
something that set her apart from other women, like a rare work of art in a
room full of forgeries.

He fought down an
urge to approach the landau once again; to do so would cause more comment that
even he was willing to engender. But he longed to seize the young man speaking
to Rowena by the scruff of his neck, throw him out of the carriage, and then
grab Rowena up and ride off with her.

He sighed in
frustration. Obviously Rowena exerted some pull over him that made him behave
in an irrational way. It had been years since he had lifted a finger to pursue
any woman, much less a young, unsophisticated one. But if he wished to add Lady
Rowena Arlingby to his collection, pursuit would be necessary. She was clearly
not about to offer herself to him. A most unusual young lady, to be sure. But
then, Alaric had always preferred the unusual.

He watched her more
closely, noting the graceful way she held herself, the gentle movements of her
long white hands, the quick intelligence in her face. It was a shame she was
Malcolm Arlingby's sister, that she had to be so closely related to that rash
young man. He frowned slightly at the memory of Malcolm, who had plunged so
recklessly to his fate. He had deserved it, he thought coldly, for his lack of
caution and care. Unfortunately, Rowena would doubtless hold Malcolm's disgrace
against him. It was a difficulty that would have to be overcome. He realized
that he had wanted Rowena from the moment he had seen her, and he was not a man
to allow small things like propriety and conventional behavior get in his way. She
would, eventually, be his.

Rowena looked up from
her conversation with Mr. Grantly, her eyes scanning the park. She had the most
unaccountable sensation that she was being watched, and when her eyes fell on
Alaric, she gave a small shiver. The Earl was gazing at her with a predatory
expression that made her heart beat faster, even from a distance. What did he
mean by coming up to her today and staring at her so boldly, and then speaking
to her in that cold manner? If he was going to cause gossip, the least he could
do was be amusing. Her annoyance rose and was clearly reflected in her eyes,
for Alaric suddenly smiled directly at her. Rowena paused, amazed by the change
that came over his face with the warmth of his smile. Gone was the arrogant,
superior Earl, replaced by a magnetically attractive gentleman.