A Collector's Item: Rowena's After Dark Regency Romance (The Arlingbys Book 1)

by Alicia Quigley

  Alaric made his way towards the door of the ballroom. There was no point in staying longer; his goal had been accomplished and entertainments such as this were not his usual pastime. He had just over three hours to wait until two-o-clock. Lily would surely appreciate a visit from him. His encounter with Rowena had made his body tight with desire, and he needed a suitable outlet.

  Just as he was about to exit the room, a woman stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Alaric took one look at her and his eyes opened briefly in surprise before narrowing again to a wary gaze.

  "Hello, Alaric," the woman said. She was very beautiful, with rich dark curls tumbling artfully about her head, large eyes of cornflower blue and classically elegant features. Her figure was voluptuous, her breasts nearly overflowing the tiny bodice of her almost sheer violet gown. She tilted her head to one side and smiled charmingly up at him.

  "Marguerite." The word was said with no emotion, simply a flat statement of recognition.

  "It's been far too long, Alaric," Marguerite continued. "But surely word has reached you of my return to England?"

  "I heard rumors, and hoped they were merely that," said Alaric baldly. "I thought you were enjoying your stay on the Continent."

  Marguerite smiled. "It was lovely, of course. So many...amusements. But I have always missed England and when my husband died I no longer felt constrained to stay away."

  "You mean that with old Sir Ralph dead you need no longer stick to your agreement with him." Alaric's voice was very cold.

  Marguerite shrugged. "You always were one for plain speaking, Alaric. I prefer to be more delicate. But yes, with Bingham gone I am not only free, but very wealthy. He was grateful for my adherence to our agreement."

  "You blackmailed him. In exchange for taking your embarrassing behavior abroad, he agreed to leave you a large sum of money."

  Marguerite shrugged. "You were eager enough to help me embarrass him once, Alaric. I don't see why you are suddenly such a paragon of rectitude."

  "Twelve years is a long time. Some of us actually learn from our mistakes." Alaric frowned. "Welcome back, Marguerite. We shall deal extremely well together if we stay out of each other's way."

  Marguerite moved a step closer and leaned towards him seductively. "Is that all I was, Alaric? A mistake?"

  Marguerite's sultry scent filled his nostrils. Alaric stepped back, feeling slightly dizzy.

  "A charming one, but an error nonetheless," he said politely. "I will not repeat it, Marguerite."

  "No?" she purred.

  "No."

  Marguerite pouted. "You don't mean to tell me that you are actually interested in that Arlingby girl that everyone is talking about, do you? I had heard of your quixotic attentions to her, but assumed you were still avenging yourself on poor Malcolm. An inexperienced child could scarcely hold the interest of a man like you, Alaric."

  Alaric's eyes grew steely. "I seem to recall that when you were her age, you held my attention, Marguerite. I will give you fair warning now; I do not want to hear of you speaking of Lady Rowena again."

  Marguerite stepped back and a petulant look crossed her face. "I don't see why you are so taken with her. And it will not do you any good. The Arlingbys will never let you near the girl. You burned your bridges with that family years ago."

  "We shall see. In the meantime, I believe it would be best if we avoided one another." Alaric bowed politely and stalked away, leaving Lady Bingham glaring after him angrily.

  Rowena had watched the exchange from the opposite side of the room, a fire of curiosity growing in her despite the knowledge that she should not concern herself with Brayleigh's affairs. She could not tell the nature of their conversation, but it seemed to her that the two were very familiar with one another. She turned to her aunt, an attempt at a disinterested expression on her face.

  "Aunt Louisa, who is that lady in the violet gown? I don't recall meeting her before, and she is very lovely."

  Lady Belmont turned in the direction Rowena indicated and gave a tiny gasp, her hand travelling up to her throat. She made a strangled noise.

  "Aunt? What is wrong?"

  Lady Belmont turned to Rowena, a glazed expression on her face. "That is Lady Bingham. Her reputation does not bear examining, and you need not concern yourself with her, Rowena."

  Rowena gave Marguerite a curious look. "She is very beautiful. Why should I not know her, Aunt?"

  "Why must you forever be asking questions, Rowena?" Lady Belmont looked at Rowena's mutinous expression and sighed. "Your father should have discouraged this unbecoming curiosity of yours when you were a child. Very well, Lady Bingham is...is not at all respectable. She has been living on the Continent, quite apart from her husband, for some years. Ladies of her sort are not proper acquaintances for you."

  Rowena's eyes widened. "Is she very scandalous?"

  "Very." Lady Belmont shut her fan abruptly. "Is that enough information for you?"

  "She was talking to Lord Brayleigh," observed Rowena.

  "Quite likely. That is precisely why I do not want you speaking to him. She is far more in his line than you are."

  Rowena gave Lady Bingham another curious glance. The older woman was very lovely and had seemed to be on intimate terms with Lord Brayleigh. When Marguerite had leaned towards Brayleigh so seductively, Rowena had felt an emotion she could not precisely pinpoint, but she knew that the encounter had made her uncomfortable. She bit her lip. It seemed that Lord Brayleigh had plenty of company. Surely her presence later tonight in the garden would be completely unnecessary.

  Chapter 7

  Alaric stood quietly in the shadow of the garden wall, his eyes fixed on the house that rose in front of him. Only one window on the third floor had a light in it, and he was certain that room was Rowena's. He watched it impatiently, barely holding his temper in check. It was ten minutes past two.

  He knew he shouldn’t be in the Belmont's garden and that it was extremely improper of him to have suggested to Rowena that she meet him there. She was a well-bred young lady, the daughter of an earl, with an unblemished life behind her. She would be expected to marry well and to take her place in Society as a fashionable matron. Meeting older, faintly scandalous, men in the garden late at night was not on the list of activities deemed proper for her.

  But Alaric could not help himself. His polite encounters with Rowena in the ballrooms of the ton were making him increasingly frustrated. He longed to be alone with her, to talk to her freely without every eye in the room on them, to discover if the warmth he thought he glimpsed under the cool facade she showed to the polite world existed. He knew, or thought he knew, that Rowena differed from other women he had been acquainted with, that the intelligence burning in her violet eyes was real, that she was strong, kind, and loyal. If he had known twelve years ago that Rowena existed and would grow up to be such a remarkable woman, he would have handled things very differently.

  Alaric pulled out his watch and glanced at it, cursing softly. It was thirteen minutes past two. He looked up again at Rowena's window. A pipe led up the wall near it, and a stout vine made its way across to the glass. He eyed them thoughtfully. It might be possible to climb up. It would be reckless, he knew, but he had to speak to Rowena tonight.

  He stepped out of the shadows of the tree and moved quickly towards the house. Placing one hand on the pipe he shook it thoughtfully, testing its strength. As he pondered his options, he saw from the corner of his eye a flash of light and realized the kitchen door was opening. He stepped hastily up against the wall, and watched carefully as a head leaned cautiously out the cracked door. Muted light glinted off white-gold hair, and Alaric smiled. Rowena had been unable to resist. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

  He waited silently as Rowena opened the door further and stepped out into the yard, pushing the door gently closed behind her. She looked around nervously, uncertain whether she should stay. She had been determined until the last possible moment that she would not meet Lord
Brayleigh in the garden. His manner earlier in the evening had been altogether too assured, and this meeting was highly improper. Rowena had absolutely no business having dealings with the man who had been her brother's enemy, who was possibly a murderer, and who certainly had an unsavory reputation.

  Nonetheless, when the time he had set was almost past she had nearly panicked, rushing frantically downstairs, fearing that he would be gone. She scolded herself for being foolish, but she could not believe that Lord Brayleigh was beyond reprieve. There was a look in his brilliant green eyes that assured her, each time she gazed into them, that he could not possibly be the monster Aunt Louisa believed him to be.

  She took a few more steps into the garden and then paused, her heart sinking when she saw no sign of Alaric. Perhaps he was gone already, she thought, tired of waiting for her to appear, or perhaps he had never come at all, and he had merely been making a cruel jest at her expense. She pulled her shawl more tightly about her shoulders and sighed.

  "Good evening, Lady Rowena."

  Rowena jumped and squeaked when the voice spoke directly behind her. She swung around abruptly and fixed Alaric with a furious glare.

  "That was not at all kind of you, Lord Brayleigh," she said heatedly. "Surely you were aware that I would be nervous."

  He grinned. "It was irresistible, but not particularly considerate of me. I beg your pardon."

  Rowena smiled as her sense of humor came to the fore. "Did I look very cautious?" she asked.

  "You looked terrified. You need not, you know. I won't harm you."

  Rowena's chin lifted. "I did not think you would."

  Alaric gave her a piercing look. "Not afraid, Lady Rowena? Surely you have heard the stories of how I killed Ingram over the Pearl of Sirsi and allowed your brother to take the blame. You aunt must have warned you that a young lady is not safe in the company of the Earl of Brayleigh."

  Rowena gave a scornful laugh. "I am not such a fool as to believe every story that is told to me, my lord. I have done some searching into your past and I find that the tales of your debauchery are greatly exaggerated."

  Alaric made a choking noise. "You have done some searching?" he repeated.

  "Certainly. I see no reason why I should be expected to simply believe everything I am told. However, my lord, I also find that you are guilty of encouraging the opinion Society holds of you." Rowena looked at him accusingly.

  Alaric’s brows came together in a considering look. "Whatever do you mean, Lady Rowena?"

  "I mean that, despite my best attempts, no one can relate anything truly dreadful you have ever done, my lord, but you seem to delight in and encourage your generally devilish reputation."

  "I took Mannering's entire fortune from him at the gambling table only two weeks ago, only so I might obtain a particular sculpture he owned," said Alaric, perversely prompted by Rowena's words to prove himself a villain. "Do you not find that cruel of me?"

  "He was stupid to play with you, particularly when it became obvious that his luck was out," answered Rowena. "I have no patience with those who have no self-control."

  Alaric looked at her, his eyes hooded. "You do not consider murder to be truly dreadful, Lady Rowena?"

  Rowena gave him a scornful glance. "I found no evidence, outside of malicious gossip, that you murdered Alfred Ingram, my lord. As I mentioned before, I prefer to make my own decisions."

  "So you believe your brother is a murderer?" asked Alaric, surprise written on his face.

  "Really, you try my patience," said Rowena. "Why is it necessary that I believe either you or Malcolm to be a killer? I see no reason why any number of other people could not be the murderer. Alfred Ingram was not a popular man, and that pearl was worth a fortune. Anyone might have desired it."

  "But only I had proclaimed my intention of owning it," interposed Alaric. "Surely that counts for something."

  "And I am told Malcolm just as loudly proclaimed his determination to do anything to prevent you from having it. The two of you created a public situation that any clever person might have taken advantage of."

  Alaric smiled gently. "It just so happens that you are right on this occasion, Lady Rowena, at least partially. I did not murder Alfred Ingram."

  Rowena looked up at the moon, which shed a gentle light into the garden. Despite her earlier brave words, she felt a sudden rush of relief.

  "I thought not," she said eagerly. "We must immediately proceed to solve this mystery, so that Malcolm can come home."

  Alaric paused. "What mystery?"

  "Why, the mystery of who actually killed Ingram. Whoever it is must have the Pearl of Sirsi in his possession. It shouldn’t be difficult to discover the culprit."

  "Not be difficult?" Alaric stared at her. "I cannot imagine why you think it would be easy to locate a pearl only two inches around, and missing for a dozen years, somewhere in the country of England, nor why you feel it is necessary to pursue this topic. If I did not kill Ingram, then it is immediately obvious who did."

  Rowena swung towards him, her eyes alight with curiosity. "Who?" she demanded.

  "Why, Malcolm Arlingby, of course." Alaric shook his head. "Lady Rowena, you did not know your brother well. He was truly a hotheaded young man. As much as I dislike saying this to you, it is almost certain that he murdered Alfred Ingram in order to regain the pearl."

  Rowena froze, and a look of disdain came over her face. "Lord Brayleigh, I had thought you more intelligent than that. It appears I was mistaken."

  Alaric fought down a rising feeling of frustration. The moonlight, shining gently down into the garden, gave Rowena's skin a silken glow that was almost irresistible. He had arranged this meeting in order to be alone with her, and now he found himself arguing with the lady, rather than wooing her.

  "Lady Rowena, I assure you, I do not hold your brother's actions against you. But you must understand that it is not possible to clear his name. He fled the country. If I doubted before that he was the killer that certainly convinced me. An innocent man would have faced the charges."

  Rowena smiled at that. "You see, you did have your doubts. Aunt Louisa told me that you urged him to stand trial. At the time you must have thought him innocent."

  Alaric hesitated. "I admit, that, at the time, I thought it was unlikely that Malcolm would resort to murder. But his subsequent actions changed my mind. I no longer doubt that he is guilty."

  "But it was the family that hurried him out of the country," Rowena pointed out. "He did not wish to go."

  "But he went," said Alaric darkly. "There is no way to argue the point."

  Rowena frowned. "I thought you would help me. That's why I came out here tonight. It seemed that you would want to set matters straight."

  "That is why you came to meet me?" Alaric was astounded. "That isn't very flattering, Rowena." He noted that she did not object to his use of her first name.

  "Why did you think I came?" she asked, her violet eyes wide. She turned towards him, and gave a tiny gasp at the expression on his face. He took a step towards her, and she retreated until she felt the vine-covered garden wall behind her.

  "I thought perhaps you wanted my company," murmured Alaric. He placed his hands on either side of Rowena's head, so she was trapped between his arms.

  "Of course I find your conversation very interesting, my lord," said Rowena, refusing to appear startled. Her heart began to beat more quickly, and her knees felt weak. "But I believe we should return to the topic of clearing my brother's name."

  "I find Malcolm's sister of far more interest than his guilt or innocence," answered Alaric. He gazed down at her, his green eyes glittering. He was sure that beneath her calm exterior he would find fire.

  "My lord, I must go back inside. If someone were to see us..."

  "No one will see us," answered Alaric. He could no longer resist. Slowly leaning forward, he brought his lips to Rowena's, covering her tender mouth with a quick, fierce demand. She gave a gasp of surprise, and he seized the opport
unity to slip his tongue between her lips, softly plundering the warm interior of her mouth. One hand moved from the wall to cup her cheek, urging her face upward towards his.

  Rowena froze in his arms, startled by his kiss, and uncertain what to do. But before she could make a coherent decision, her body betrayed her. She flushed and trembled in reaction, growing breathless and strangely weak. She gave a tiny sigh and leaned into him, raising her lips up to his for more.

  Alaric's hand slipped down her cheek to her neck, and then inched over to slide down her spine, landing on her waist. He deepened the kiss, making it deliberately bold and overpowering, anxious to imprint himself on her. A flare of excitement shot through him when he realized her desire was rising to match his own. He had been right. Under Rowena’s cool exterior was a volcano of passion that he could ignite. He moved his other hand from the wall to clasp Rowena's waist, urging her towards him, anxious to feel her body against his.

  Rowena gave herself up to the sensations Alaric was rousing in her, some tiny corner of her brain knowing she should not, but her mind and body demanding more of his remarkable lovemaking. She shyly placed her hands on his shoulders, urging him closer, responding to his kiss with eagerness.

  Alaric groaned and slid his hands down over hips, easing her lower body up against his. When Rowena felt the hardness of his arousal, she flinched suddenly and moved fretfully in his arms. With a start, Alaric was recalled to reality and released her, looking down anxiously into her eyes.

  "Is something wrong?" he asked.

  Rowena fought for possession of her senses. "Nothing at all, my lord, except that you are kissing me. This is not why I came to meet you tonight."

  Alaric raised his hand and stroked her hair. It felt like silk, and he wondered what she would look like naked, spread out on white linen sheets, her pearly skin bathed in the glow of candles. His body throbbed at the thought.