That Infamous Pearl (9 page)

"Of course not,"
he said gently. "I may not have convinced you to marry me, but I trust you
will not cut me altogether."

She smiled warmly. "Thank
you, my lord. I look forward to hearing any news you might have."

"You will be the
first to know," he promised.

Rowena climbed down
from the curricle and walked slowly up the stairs to the house. She heard the
clatter of horses' hooves as the carriage pulled away. Struggling to tamp down
her emotions, she went into the house, hoping not to encounter her aunt. She
couldn't bear the thought of being questioned as to where she had been, and she
wanted to be alone to ponder what had just happened. Not only had Lord
Brayleigh actually proposed to her, she had turned him down.

She wondered if it
was a terrible mistake. When Alaric first said that he meant to marry her, it
had seemed that all her dreams had come true. But then he had dumped a bucket
of cold water over her head by making it clear he had proposed only because it
was his duty as a gentleman. He had said quite clearly that he did not love
her. And Rowena did not wish to be married to a man whom she loved hopelessly,
but who did not return her feelings. That, she thought savagely, would surely
be hell.

Alaric tooled his
curricle through the streets of London, his face grim. He was still
experiencing a strong sense of outrage at Rowena's rejection of his proposal. In
the past fifteen years innumerable women had tried to trap him, but never once
had he been sufficiently moved to make an offer of marriage to one. Now Rowena
Arlingby felt that she could turn him down simply because he had not declared
his love for her in a romantic fashion. Surely she didn't expect love poems
from him. He was a sensible man, and had presented to her a number of sensible
reasons why they should be married.

His eyes narrowed as
the carriage rapidly rounded a corner, missing a wagon by mere inches. She had
not only turned him down, she had then asked him to continue to help her in her
ridiculous attempt to prove Malcolm innocent. Lady Rowena would have to learn
that he was not to be dismissed in this manner. The Earl of Brayleigh was not
one to take a loss with a graceful smile. He had never yet been turned from his
path when he was determined to possess something, as many had learned to their
regret. He would be damned if Rowena was the exception.

Alaric threaded his
way through the throngs at the Thornwood masquerade ball. As always, when
people thought their actions would go unobserved, there was a heightened sense
of frivolity and intrigue in the air. The ballroom was decorated with colored
lanterns and enormous plants so as to resemble a garden, and the brightly
colored dominos worn by the guests gave the scene an air of unreality. Tonight
was a night for mischief, Alaric reflected, and he intended to be the one in
control of events.

He scanned the crowd,
looking for some sign of Rowena. Despite the fact that she would be shrouded in
a domino and masked, he was quite certain he would recognize her, not only by
her coloring, but by the exquisite way she carried herself. His heart began to
beat a shade faster at the thought. It had been two days since she had rejected
his offer of marriage, and his thoughts had since been consumed with his
determination to make her his own.

His eye fell on a
dark-haired woman, clad in a red domino that hung open to show her daring white
dress, its tiny, nearly transparent, bodice making a bare nod to modesty with
the addition of a spangled, silvery fichu. A silver mask covered half her face,
but Alaric recognized quickly the blue eyes sparkling behind it. Marguerite
smiled enticingly at him, but he merely bowed coldly and turned away. Her
activities did not concern him as long as she stayed away from Rowena.

Marguerite made a
face and turned to her companion. Lord Voxley wore his purple domino with a
negligent air and he carried his mask in his hand. A bored expression covered his
dissipated face.

"Lord,
Marguerite," he said. "Whatever made you want to come here? Dashed
dull I call this, when we could be at Barkley's gaming house enjoying some real
sport."

"There is sport
to be found here as well, Derrick," answered Marguerite. "A different
sort, of course, but equally amusing. And you will help me."

Voxley raised an
eyebrow. "And what do you have in mind, Marguerite?" He was well
aware of Lady Bingham's tastes in entertainment. His agreed with hers almost
perfectly, and he found her creative imagination to be a source for a great
deal of pleasure.

Marguerite gave him a
seductive smile. "Although I know your heart is mine, darling, I rather
think that there will be a young lady here tonight that you should work your
magic on. I wish the world to discover that she is not the paragon it thinks
her, and what better way to achieve that than to have her found languishing in
your arms?"

Voxley licked his
lips. As much as he enjoyed Marguerite, fresh game was always interesting to
him. "And who is this miss? I hope she is attractive."

Marguerite wrinkled
her nose. "I don't find her so, but many men are positively foolish about
her. I speak of Lady Rowena Arlingby."

Voxley smiled
wolfishly. He had found Rowena powerfully attractive when he had met her at the
opera, but she had not been at all encouraging, and he had stayed away since,
preferring easier game. But he was not adverse to any dalliance with a
beautiful young woman.

"I see," he
said. "This is a little game you are playing with Brayleigh, isn't it?"

"Of course not,
darling. I simply find her a bit haughty and in need of taking down a peg. Think
how embarrassed her family will be when she is discovered kissing you in a
corner. It will be most amusing. And I, of course, will be very grateful to
you."

Voxley grinned. He
was familiar with Marguerite's gratitude. "Lord, I don't care why you want
it done. I'm happy to oblige. She's a pretty piece, though not exactly in my
style. And it's been a long time since I've seduced an innocent. It never hurts
to get some practice."

Marguerite gave a
little crow of laughter. "Thank you, Derrick. I knew I could count on you.
And now we must find our pigeon before Brayleigh does. I'm sure he is searching
for her; the man seems to think of nothing else these days."

Her eyes swept over
the crowd, alighting finally on Rowena, who stood at the far end of the room,
engaged in conversation with an attentive young man. Rowena was hard to
mistake, for despite her midnight blue domino and golden mask, her short,
brilliantly fair hair gave her away instantly. A smug look came over Marguerite's
face.

"Wonderful. She
is here and Alaric has not yet attached himself to her. Come, Derrick. How very
entertaining this will be."

At almost the same
moment that Marguerite saw Rowena, Alaric also noticed her. He paused a moment
to contemplate her, noting the quiet assurance with which she held herself and
the amused twinkle in her violet eyes. Who was she talking to, he wondered. She
seemed terribly friendly with the young man. A sense of annoyance welled up in
Alaric, and he started across the ballroom at a rapid pace.

"Alaric! Where
are you off to in such a rush?"

Alaric paused and
turned to see his cousin Charles bearing down upon him. He sighed and managed a
smile.

"I haven't seen
you since we were at Watier's, Charles. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

"I haven't been
anywhere, Alaric. It is you who have been impossible to find. You're not to be
discovered in any of your usual haunts." Charles shook a finger at him
teasingly. "They say you're enamored of the Arlingby girl. They're taking
bets in the clubs on whether she'll take you or not."

Alaric was annoyed. "Shouldn't
they be betting on whether or not I'll ask her?"

Charles laughed. "No
one seems to doubt that you will come up to scratch. They all think it's some
dark scheme of yours, most likely sinister in nature. No one believes Alaric
Montfort would marry without ulterior motives."

"And what do you
think, Charles?" Alaric's voice held a touch of anger.

"Oh, I don't
believe a word of it. She's a pretty girl, but I don't see you marrying anyone,
Alaric. You're too damn fussy for that."

"You think I'm
hard to please?"

"I know you are.
I love you like a brother, Alaric, but no woman's going to keep you happy for
long."

Alaric considered his
cousin's words. "You may be right, Charles. But one never knows until one
tries."

Charles gaped at him.
"You don't mean to tell me you're going to offer for her?"

Alaric paused as a
thought occurred to him. This encounter with Charles might provide him with the
very edge he needed in his contest with Rowena. "Perhaps. We shall see. In
the meantime, Charles, I need a favor from you."

"Anything,
Alaric. When I think of all the things you've done for me, I should think I owe
you."

A glimmer of a smile
came to Alaric's face. "I won't ask you to pay my gambling debts."

Charles laughed
loudly. "No, that's what you do for me. I don't know why you're so
understanding, cousin."

"You really
should stop, Charles. It's a waste of your money. Your luck is terrible."

Charles shrugged
lazily. "It's in the blood. Nothing to be done about it. My father gambled
away an entire fortune."

"And you'll
gamble away a second one, given the chance. Does your fiancée have any idea how
deep you plunge?"

"Not so long as
I have you to pay my debts," said Charles laughingly.

Alaric shrugged. He
did not truly expect Charles to listen to him. He was an addicted gamester, and
though Alaric did not enjoy paying his debts, he did so from a sense of family
obligation and an affection for his carefree cousin.

"Well, you can
pay me back some of what you owe me tonight. At half past eleven I want you to
come into that anteroom near the door. Bring someone else with you. Your
fiancée would be an excellent choice."

Charles looked
surprised. "What are you up to, Alaric? This sounds like a plot."

"Not at all. You
will simply be helping me to add to my collection." Alaric's eyes left
Charles's face and swept the ballroom again. Rowena had moved and he could no
longer to see her. He frowned.

"You're very
mysterious," said Charles. "But I'll indulge you, Alaric. Not only
because I owe you, but also because I have a fancy to see what it is you're up
to."

Alaric smiled. "Thank
you, Charles. You will not be disappointed. And now, you must excuse me."

With a smile he
turned away and resumed his search for his quarry.

Rowena played idly
with her fan as she waited for her partner to bring her a glass of lemonade. The
ballroom had been fantastically decorated to resemble a summer garden, complete
with rose bushes and bowers, and the candle light made it glow with the light
of a summer evening, while the crowd in attendance was the cream of the haut
ton
,
yet somehow she could not enjoy it. But Rowena refused to entertain the thought
that the Earl of Brayleigh was the cause. Although she had neither seen him nor
heard from him in two days, she would not admit that she missed his company and
hoped that he would be present tonight. She had scanned the crowd for his dark
head, which usually loomed over those around him, and when she had not seen him
she had resolutely determined to be as pleasant as possible to every gentleman
she spoke to tonight. After all, Alaric Montfort was not the only man in the
world. He would see that she was not pining after him. At least he would see if
he were only present.

"All alone? That
will not do at all, Lady Rowena."

Rowena started, her
defiant thoughts interrupted, and found Lady Bingham standing at her elbow,
Lord Voxley at her side.

"You have
dropped your fan," said Lord Voxley. "Allow me to restore it to you."
He leaned down gracefully and rescued the fan, handing it to Rowena with a
gallant smile.

"Thank you,"
she murmured. Behind her mask, her thoughts were racing. This would be a
wonderful opportunity to get some information from Lady Bingham on the subject
of Malcolm. Alaric had forbidden her to speak to the lady, of course, but his
opinion hardly mattered now; if perchance he did hear that she had been
speaking to Lady Bingham, it really would not bother Rowena at all.

"It is a
delightful entertainment, is it not?" asked Lady Bingham airily. "I
always enjoy masquerades. It is possible to do things one ordinarily might not
on a night such as this."

"Lady Bingham, I
wonder if I might ask you some questions about my brother," said Rowena,
deciding that the direct approach would be the best. "I understand that
you were once a close friend of his."

"That is one way
of describing it. Yes, I was Malcolm's friend."

Her tone made Rowena
flush, but she pressed on. "As you left the country when Malcolm did, I
must presume that you do not think him guilty in the murder of Alfred Ingram."

Lady Bingham smiled. Her
intention had not been to speak to Rowena of Malcolm, but as the girl was
offering her this opportunity, she was perfectly willing to seize it.

"Of course
Malcolm did not murder Alfred Ingram," she said. "That is complete
nonsense. Malcolm would never resort to violence."

"How wonderful."
Rowena smiled delightedly. "Did you say that at the time?"

"Of course I
did. But my word was suspect because of my friendship with your brother, and
then when I fled with him, everyone believed me to be lying for his sake."
She paused for effect, lowering her voice to a thrilling whisper. "But I
know who the true killer is."

Rowena clutched her
fan, her heart beating faster. She felt a thrill of triumph. She would be only
too glad to tell Brayleigh she had solved the case on her own. "Who?"

Lady Bingham cast her
a pitying glance. "Why, Alaric, of course. The man is a monster. Surely
you have learned that by now. He has been playing fast and loose with you these
past days."

Rowena's heart sank. "I
do not think Lord Brayleigh is guilty," she said stoutly.

"Are you so enamored
of him, then?" Marguerite laid a sympathetic hand on Rowena's arm. "His
evil is legendary, and I have firsthand knowledge of it. He attempted to place
the blame on Malcolm because of me, you know. Alaric was tremendously jealous
of my affection for your brother, and swore he would get rid of him at any
cost."

Rowena frowned. Alaric
had told her that he had not killed Ingram, and she had no reason to doubt him.
But Lady Bingham was regarding her so seriously, her blue eyes so full of
concern, that a tiny seed of doubt began to grow in her mind.

"Oh, I know I
was very foolish," continued Marguerite, looking down at the ground. "I
should never have become involved with Alaric; I was warned on all sides that
he was dangerous and would only hurt me. But he pursued me so persistently that
I was eventually won over and agreed to become his mistress. I regret it deeply
to this day."

"Perhaps you
should have said no," observed Rowena tartly. "You did have a
husband, after all."

"I was faithful
to my husband until Alaric entered my life," said Marguerite, her blue
eyes filling with tears. "But he was so charming and I was terribly young
and innocent...I am sure you can understand, my dear. But he was cruel to me
and I slowly realized that he didn't care for me at all, but was only using me.
I was a prize of sorts, another woman who could not resist him to add to his
collection. I was distraught, and your brother was kind enough to comfort me."
Marguerite paused.