That Infamous Pearl

by Alicia Quigley

  "It is not so simple a matter, my lord," she said in a small voice. She realized that if she turned down his request she would appear to be stubborn, but her concerns could not be resolved so easily.

  "My apology is not enough?" Alaric's voice was gently teasing. "What would you have me do, Rowena? Is there some way I can prove my worth to you?"

  "It is a matter of trust, my lord," she said.

  "You don't feel you can trust me. I suppose I can see how that might have happened. I tricked you into marriage, and then I left you alone on your wedding night with only the servants for company. I returned quite drunk and then ordered you out of my bedroom. The next morning I was ill and when I did arise I found my former mistress in the drawing room, insulting you. Perhaps your complaints are justified."

  Rowena gave him a sideways glance. His tone was even, and he certainly seemed to understand her reservations about their marriage.

  "Exactly, my lord. I am not at all comfortable with our situation."

  "What can I do to relieve your anxiety? Believe me, Rowena; I'm anxious that this union be a happy one for both of us."

  As he spoke, Alaric raised his other hand to her chin and gently turned her face towards his. He leaned forward, his green eyes gazing into hers with a serious expression, his mouth hovering only inches from her own. Rowena blinked rapidly.

  "You can honor my request that we spend some time getting to know one another," she murmured, tearing her eyes away from his intent gaze. When he looked at her in that way, she was almost unable to think straight.

  Alaric groaned inwardly. He had hoped that his apology might melt Rowena's heart, and he had some inkling that it had not been totally ineffective. But his bride had her pride, and she was apparently unwilling to give in without a fight. He felt his body clench as he thought of waiting even one more night for her.

  "Very well, we shall spend more time together," he promised. "First I shall take you for a drive in the Park, to reassure the populace in the event that Marguerite attempts to spread more rumors. Then we shall return here for a quiet dinner together."

  Rowena looked up at him, alarm tingeing her expression. "Just the two of us?" she asked. Despite what she had just said, the thought of being alone with Alaric was disturbing. Even now she felt the pull of attraction to the man.

  Alaric laughed softly. "It would be very odd of us to have guests to dinner the day after our wedding. And I thought you wished to know me better. That would be hard to do in a room full of people."

  "Yes, but..." Rowena's voice trailed off. She could hardly argue with him when he was giving her exactly what she had asked for.

  Alaric smiled at the nonplussed look on her face. "Go and change into a driving dress. While I wait, I will write a note to Charles, telling him he received distressing news yesterday."

  That made Rowena smile. "What sort of news was it?"

  "Oh, I will leave that up to Charles. Perhaps the death of an old friend...or, more likely, he lost a great deal of money on a horse."

  Rowena gave a little gurgle of laughter. "Will he humor you, do you think?"

  "Oh, yes. Charles is the best of fellows. He will doubtless think this a great joke."

  "Does he know why we quarreled yesterday?" asked Rowena in a small voice.

  Alaric patted her hand. "Of course not. He immediately presumed it was my arrogance that had caused us to fall out and accused me of being a poor husband. And he was quite right. But I mean to be a much better one, starting now. Hurry and change, my dear. I wish to show all of London my beautiful bride."

  Rowena walked slowly out of the room. Alaric gazed after her for moment, and then moved to the desk, pulling a piece of a paper and a pen toward himself. He picked up the pen and held it over the paper, but he did not immediately begin to write. It had been a long time since he had indulged anyone in the way he was indulging Rowena. He was used to his orders being obeyed and his desires immediately met. What was it about her that made him give way, to try to appease her rather than force her to give in to his will?

  He shrugged the thought away. She was his wife, and he wanted her. That was understandable. He would not have married a woman he did not desire. And she was young and innocent. He could hardly force himself on her without causing tears and upset. Soon she would come to understand that he knew what was best for her, and then all these tantrums would cease. As always when he sought something, it took some small amount of time and effort before all was well. Soon enough Rowena would be a contented wife. He smiled gently and began to write.

  Chapter 17

  Rowena gazed at her husband across the candlelit dining table. As always, she was struck by his attractiveness, which was heightened by his dark evening wear, his black hair shining like silk in the golden glow of the candles, his green eyes glittering. A single emerald shone in his cravat, bright against the white cloth. He was almost mesmerizing she thought, dark and faintly dangerous looking. She watched as he reached for his wineglass and she could see the controlled power in his hand. For an instant she remembered the feeling of his palms on her shoulders that morning and a wave of heat washed over her.

  She raised another mouthful of syllabub to her lips and tried to dismiss the errant thought. Alaric had been very thoughtful and kind to her all afternoon, complimenting her on her appearance when she had come down for their drive, making her laugh in the Park by his amusing commentary on the stares cast at him by the curious ton, and meeting her at her bedroom door, escorting her down to the dining room, his eyes full of admiration. The dinner had been intimate, with only a very few servants waiting on them. Alaric had tended to her every desire, his concern evident. The whole evening had been both gratifying and terrifying. She could feel Alaric concentrating his energy and complete attention on her, and she feared her own reaction to his intense charm. She had the sense that if he touched her she would go up in flames like so much dry kindling.

  Alaric raised his eyes from contemplation of the golden liquid in his glass and looked at Rowena. He smiled gently. She looked like a queen he thought absently, her back very straight, her head with its halo of curls held high. Her expression was difficult to read, but he thought that she was softening, that his attentions were achieving their intended objective. There was a tension about her, a wariness to the way she held herself that told him she was not immune to his presence. Perhaps he would achieve his aim tonight, if he were very careful. If not tonight, tomorrow. He could not wait any longer than that, he thought, his fingers tightening on the stem of the glass. It would be far too difficult.

  "More wine, Rowena?" he asked softly.

  Rowena jumped and looked at him guiltily. She had been concentrating on his appearance, and had lost track of the conversation.

  "No, my lord," she said softly. "Thank you." She hesitated. "Perhaps I should retire to the drawing room now."

  "And leave me to my port?" asked Alaric lazily. "No, thank you. I have no wish to be separated from you this evening. I would far rather accompany you."

  Rowena swallowed. As little as she wished to sit in the drawing room in solitary splendor, she was uncomfortable with the thought of what might come next. How did a husband and wife amuse themselves in the evenings? They could not possibly go out, as that would cause far too much comment, particularly after Alaric's adventures the night before. But sitting alone with Alaric, watching his powerful body, aware that she herself had put restrictions upon what could happen between them, would be too difficult a way to pass the evening.

  Alaric had risen and walked around the table, and now he stood next to her chair and offered her his hand. Rowena looked up at him with curiosity touched with alarm.

  "I have a surprise for you, my dear. Come with me."

  Rowena took his hand, and stood, but resisted slightly when he tried to lead her from the room.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked.

  "Nowhere dangerous, I promise you," he said, his voice amused. "You must really begin to trust me
a little, my dear."

  "I'm not frightened." Her voice was indignant.

  "Of course you aren't. I didn't mean to cast aspersions on your bravery. But our destination will not be a surprise if I tell you now."

  Rowena looked up and saw that Alaric's eyes were full of laughter. She set her chin firmly. She would not allow him to think she was a coward.

  "Very well," she said. "Must I close my eyes?"

  "That will not be necessary." Alaric took her hand and placed it on his arm. He led her out of the dining room and towards the elegantly proportioned staircase that soared to the upper floors of the house.

  Rowena followed him with faltering steps. What if he led her to his bedroom? Would she have the courage to turn him away again? Her pride told her that he should pay a higher price for the insults he had dealt her the night before, but he had been so kind today that she had already almost forgotten them. She peeked up at him from the corner of her eye, her long fair lashes shielding her gaze. He looked very confident and serene, a gentle smile curling his lips.

  He looked down and caught her watching him. "Ready?" he asked.

  Rowena nodded. He led her to the stairs and began ascending them, his tread measured and slow. She became acutely aware of everything around her, of the silence of the house, the gentle rustle of her silk dress as it whispered against her legs, the warmth of Alaric's arm through the cloth of his jacket. She wondered nervously where the servants were. They had all disappeared as if by magic when dinner was over.

  When they reached the top of the stairs Alaric turned away from their bedrooms and led her down a large hall, carpeted so thickly that Rowena could not hear their footsteps. She had the oddest sensation that they were all alone in the world, that everything has ceased to exist except her and the man she stood next to. She swallowed nervously. If he was not taking her to his bedroom, where were they going?

  Alaric came to a halt before a large door, made of sturdy dark wood and secured with an ornate lock. He drew a key from his coat pocket and fitted it, turning it slowly. The door swung open with a gentle creak, and Alaric stepped back, motioning to Rowena to enter. She paused, her hand tightening on his arm.

  "What room is this?" she asked suddenly, her voice breathless.

  Alaric smiled at her. "Do you think me a Bluebeard, sweetheart? Rest easy, there is nothing in here that can harm you."

  Rowena gave him a speaking glance. He had guessed exactly her nervous mood, but his putting her thoughts into words made them seem ridiculous. She was not afraid of anything, she reminded herself. She set her shoulders in a firm line and swept through the open door.

  She cast one look about the room and gave a startled gasp, her hand falling nervelessly away from Alaric's arms. She turned to him, amazement on her face.

  "It's marvelous, Alaric," she said, her voice full of wonder. "How lovely."

  Alaric smiled at her enthusiasm. He had been almost certain that she would enjoy his collection as much as he did, but some part of him had been afraid that she might be bored, or see it only as a group of priceless objects, admirable for their value and little else. But he could see from the glow on her face that she had the appreciation of a true connoisseur.

  Rowena turned back to the room. Alaric had put a great deal of thought into its creation. The walls between several smaller rooms had been knocked out to create the closest thing to a gallery that could be had in a London mansion. It marched the length of the house, with tall graceful windows covered in blue velvet curtains looking out over the back garden. The room itself was simple, with its walls and soaring ceiling painted white, the trim of simple dark wood. It was merely a background for the treasures with which Alaric had filled it.

  Rowena's mouth formed a tiny "O" of surprise as she walked further into the room. Everywhere her eye fell she saw a masterpiece, something unique and precious. She had naturally heard much of Alaric's collection, but she had never before realized how truly amazing it was.

  She paused to look at a book that stood open on a pedestal. The ancient handwriting was spidery and unfamiliar, the pictures in the margins glowed like jewels in shades of red, blue and gold. She touched it with a reverent finger.

  "This is very old," she murmured. "I can imagine the monk laboring over this by candlelight on a cold winter night."

  "It was made at Lindisfarne in the 9th century," said Alaric, touched and pleased that Rowena had commented on the manuscript. "As much as I admire the art by world-famous masters that adorn these walls, the exquisite works created by anonymous men in honor of their God move me in a way that other pieces cannot."

  He reached out and turned a page. He heard Rowena draw in a tiny breath at the new pictures that were revealed.

  "It's exquisite," she breathed.

  "There is much more to see," Alaric said, taking her hand. He led her further into the gallery, enjoying her childlike delight at every new revelation. He noted quickly that she had a well-developed appreciation for fine art and a good eye, picking out the notable points of each object with ease and accuracy. But the artwork could not hold his attention. He found himself watching Rowena as she wandered from object to object. Her hair glowed golden in the candlelight, her white skin begged for the touch of his fingers.

  "Alaric?"

  He started and returned to the gallery. His mind had been somewhere very different, with Rowena naked in his arms. She was by far the loveliest thing in the room, he thought, outshining every masterpiece on display.

  "Yes, my dear?"

  "This is a Botticelli, is it not?"

  Alaric looked at the painting she was gazing at, a young woman with flowing golden hair.

  "One of my more recent acquisitions," he murmured. "She is lovely, isn't she?"

  "Very. I imagine the painter must have been in love with his subject."

  "Possibly," said Alaric. "Or, more likely, he simply desired her. Desire is a powerful emotion."

  Rowena felt a tremor shoot through her at Alaric's words. "As is love," she answered quietly.

  "Indeed." Alaric took her hand in his. "What do you think of my gallery, Rowena?"

  "It is magnificent, my lord. I am impressed by both your taste and your perseverance. It must have been difficult to find and acquire all these objects."

  "When I decide I want something, there is nothing that can stop me," observed Alaric.

  "So I have been told," said Rowena.

  He looked down at her face and cursed himself for his thoughtless words. She had temporarily forgotten the strain between them, and he had reminded her of it.

  "There is much more, of course," he said quickly, hoping to distract her. "Many objects are at my country estate, and some of the most valuable are kept locked in a safe."

  "A safe?" asked Rowena, surprised. "What could there possibly be more valuable than these works?"

  Alaric laughed. "Some items of jewelry and a few other small objects," he murmured. "Let me show you." He gently removed from the wall an exquisite VanDyke painting of a young woman. Behind it was a safe. Rowena watched in surprise as he quickly turned the cylinder, entering the combination.

  Alaric reached into the depths of the safe and removed a box covered in blue velvet. He turned to Rowena, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss in the palm, and then placed the box on it.

  Rowena's eyes widened "What is this?" she asked.

  "Open it if you wish to know," Alaric responded.

  She released the clasp on the box and slowly opened the lid. The glimmer of rubies flashed at Rowena from their bed of blue velvet. A magnificent set of gems nestled there, set in filigreed old gold worked by expert hands. She leaned forward in amazement, awed by their glow.

  "They're beautiful," she breathed.

  "They once belonged to Mary of Scotland," said Alaric. "And now they are yours, Rowena."

  She gazed up at him in surprise. "Mine?"

  "When I bought them I knew that I would give them to my wife one day. I have never found a w
oman worthy of them before. I want you to have them, Rowena."

  She leaned forward and touched one of the gems with her fingertip. "They're astonishing. But much too valuable to wear, Alaric. Put them away again."

  "I want to see you in them. They should be adorning a beautiful woman, not locked away in a safe." He reached into the box and withdrew the necklace. Gently brushing the soft tendrils of hair away, he fastened it about her neck. The gold was cool against her bare skin.

  Alaric smiled faintly. "Even in my dreams I hadn't realized you would look so spectacular," he said. He picked up the bracelet and clasped it about her wrist, then removed the circlet and settled it gently on her gilt curls. He stepped back, admiring her.

  Rowena gave a shaky laugh. "I feel preposterous."

  "You look amazing. I will never tire of this sight. It makes me want to lock you away forever, Rowena." His hand slid over her shoulder, caressing her softly.

  Rowena's eyes widened as she looked up at him. He seemed very serious, deep admiration reflected in his gaze.

  "You are by far the most precious thing in this gallery, Rowena," he continued. "You must understand how greatly I value you."

  She trembled. He had not mentioned love, but perhaps this was as close as Alaric could come to admitting that he had some sort of affection for her. Or maybe he said that he valued her because that was precisely how he felt about her; she was a sign of his ultimate triumph over her family and a valuable addition to his collection, a symbol of Alaric's determination to always obtain what he desired. She searched his eyes again, hoping for some sign of what he meant.

  Alaric smiled gently. Rowena looked confused, nervous, and incredibly desirable. He could see the concern warring with the passion in her gaze. It was important that he find a way to make the passion win. The thought of another night without her was unbearable. Last night he had been drunk, and that was a state of oblivion he would have to find again if Rowena did not take pity on him soon.

  But it would not do to frighten her now. He had made a good start, and he must act on it. "Come, let us look at more of the gallery. We have barely covered half of it."