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. 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.
Chapter 11
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 very revealing white dress. 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 of 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 to be 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 Watiers, 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 fall for 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. 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 te
rrible."
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 gamer, 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. 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 first hand 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.
"What happened then?" asked Rowena, drawn in despite herself. Marguerite’s words about Alaric adding Marguerite to his collection had struck a nerve. The same thing was being said of her, she knew. Was it possible Lady Bingham had been a faithful wife when she had first encountered him?
"Alaric flew into a tremendous rage. He swore to ruin both Malcolm and me. He arranged for my husband to find out about our affair. I thought it would kill poor Bingham! He was bedridden for days, and then refused to see me again. I was never allowed to plead with him for forgiveness. And then Alaric framed Malcolm for Ingram’s murder. He must have been very happy; his revenge was complete."
Rowena considered Lady Bingham’s words; she seemed to be quite sincere. Was it possible, she wondered, that Alaric was indeed the villain of the piece? She shivered slightly.
Marguerite gave Rowena a sly glance from under her eyelashes. It seemed her arrows were striking their mark. "I tell you this only because you asked about Malcolm and because I wish to protect you. Do not make the same foolish mistake I did, Lady Rowena. Brayleigh is never to be trusted."
"Lord Brayleigh is nothing more to me than a casual acquaintance," said Rowena promptly. "While I appreciate your good will, I have no need of the warning. My heart is quite whole, I promise you."
"I hope it may remain so," said Marguerite quietly. "If you should ever wish to talk more, child, I would be delighted to do so. And perhaps sometime I can tell you more of your brother. But if I speak to you too long, Brayleigh will doubtless become enraged. He has told me in no uncertain terms that I am to stay away from you. He was quite terrifying."
"He has?" Rowena looked at her with surprise and a sense of rising annoyance with Alaric. He had no right to meddle in her life this way.
"Certainly. He feels I may corrupt your innocence." Marguerite chuckled. "I gather he feels only he has that right."
Rowena fl
ushed and looked away. She had no intention of letting Marguerite know exactly how corrupting Brayleigh’s influence had already been. She clenched her thighs together under her gown as she recollected it.
Marguerite eyed her sharply. She thought that perhaps she had said enough on the matter of Alaric for tonight. It wouldn’t do to press the point too far.
"In the meantime, I approached you for quite another reason," she said. "Lord Voxley is most anxious to dance with you."
Rowena gave Lord Voxley a doubtful look, as he was lounging languidly against the wall, watching the passers-by, and showed no sign of any great eagerness to join them. However, at Lady Bingham’s words, he stepped forward, a charming smile covering his face.
"I have been anxious for the opportunity to approach you since we met at the opera," he said. "I have long admired your skill on the dance floor. Will you honor me with this waltz?"
Rowena hesitated. There was something about Lord Voxley that she did not quite like, and his presence made her feel as though she had just touched something slimy. She began to formulate a graceful excuse, but as she did so she saw Alaric bearing down upon her, wearing a somber black domino. His face was unmasked, but was covered instead with a look of towering fury.
Rowena turned to Lord Voxley with a pretty smile. "I thank you, I would be delighted. There is nothing I enjoy more than dancing with a handsome gentleman." She took Lord Voxley’s arm and allowed him to whisk her out onto the dance floor just as Alaric arrived, clearly infuriated.
He swung toward Marguerite, his face like a thundercloud. "I thought I told you to stay away from Rowena," he snapped.
Marguerite smiled. "I was merely honoring Voxley’s request that I urge her to dance with him. Derrick is quite charmed by her beauty, as are so many others, of course."
A Collector's Item: Rowena's After Dark Regency Romance (The Arlingbys Book 1) Page 10
