That Infamous Pearl

by Alicia Quigley

  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.

  Chapter 4

  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 h
er 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.

  "Lady Rowena?"

  Rowena pulled her eyes away from Alaric's sparkling green ones, and turned back to Mr. Grantly, who was obviously somewhat affronted by her lack of attention. She set out to soothe his ruffled feelings as well as to demonstrate to the Earl of Brayleigh that his attentions meant nothing to her. It seemed she succeeded, for when she next looked in his direction, he was gone.

  Chapter 5

  Six nights later, on the night of the Shackleforth ball, Rowena decided that something had to be done about her situation. The incessant insinuations made to her over the past week about the Earl of Brayleigh, and her aunt's constant state of alarm should the man so much as enter the same room she was in, had contrived to exasperate her. Thus, when Alaric strolled casually into the candle-lit ballroom and sought her out, a predatory look in his heavy-lidded eyes, she smiled at him welcomingly rather than turning away as she usually did. She noted with a certain amount of satisfaction the surprise and then pleasure that lit his emerald eyes, and steeled herself as he strolled towards her, willing herself to ignore the powerful attraction he exuded. But she could not remain entirely unaware of the breadth of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, and the glimmer of humor in the back of his eyes.

  He reached her side and raised her hands to his lips, pressing a very real kiss to her fingers. She drew in her breath. She could almost swear he was laughing at her, daring her to say something.