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

by Alicia Quigley

  "Isn't it, Rowena?" he asked.

  "Definitely not," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I wished to speak with you about Malcolm, of course."

  "We spoke of Malcolm. I believe that topic has been thoroughly covered. Now we have other things to talk of."

  "Such as?" Rowena moved away from him quickly, putting distance between her treacherous body and his.

  "Such as you and me." Alaric stood still, watching the graceful movement of her hips under the drapery of her dress. It was all he could do not to close the distance between them with a quick stride and gather her into his arms again.

  Rowena paused. Alaric could see a slight tremor pass through her body, and his senses quickened in response.

  "There is nothing to discuss, Lord Brayleigh. As long as the situation stands as it does with my brother and yourself, there can be nothing between the two of us."

  Alaric’s eyes narrowed. "And if I found a way to clear your brother?"

  Rowena hesitated. She could feel her heart still hammering under her ribcage. "I will be honest with you, my lord. I have heard much discussion of you in the past days. Many people feel you are pursuing me from a sense of pique, to punish my family for insisting on your guilt in the matter of the Arlingby pearl. Others think that you feel I would be an unusual and worthy addition to your collection. No one seems to think that you might be in love with me."

  "Love is a difficult and dangerous emotion," answered Alaric. "I find that I do better without it."

  "Then why do you pursue me?" Rowena turned and regarded him gravely. She did not care to admit it, but she had felt a sense of desolation at his response. "I suppose it would be more flattering to be considered collectible than to be an instrument for revenge, but I cannot say I find either prospect precisely enticing."

  Alaric frowned. "I do not intend to use you for either purpose, Rowena."

  "Then I repeat my question. What is your interest in me?"

  Alaric moved towards her, stopping only when he was so close to her that they almost touched. "Do I need a reason, Rowena? Didn’t that kiss say enough to you?"

  Rowena’s eyes dropped from his. "It was very interesting, my lord," she admitted. "But I hardly think that a shared enjoyment of kissing is enough to bring us together."

  Alaric laughed softly, a sensuous, dark sound. "You might be surprised, Rowena." He raised one hand and stroked her cheek. He marveled at the softness of her skin, like rose petals. Another fierce spark of desire shot through him. His thumb grazed her full lower lip, and Rowena struggled to hide her tremor of response from him.

  "And the circumstances also make it quite impossible," continued Rowena, attempting to ignore the intimate touch. "Even were I so foolish as to wish for you to ruin me, my aunt will never allow me to be a friend of yours so long as Malcolm is blamed for the death of Alfred Ingram."

  "I had not thought you so easily cowed by your family, Rowena." Alaric spoke absently, fascinated by the glimmer of the moonlight on her eyes.

  "I am not," said Rowena defensively. "But I will not allow people to believe you are using me as a sort of revenge against my family. It will only make me appear foolish, and you more devilish."

  "But you do not personally object to knowing me better," said Alaric.

  Rowena frowned. "That depends on what you mean by knowing you better. I would be glad to be your friend, provided the matter of Malcolm’s innocence is settled."

  "Friends? Friends do not kiss each other as we have, Rowena."

  "Then we shall not kiss anymore," said Rowena crossly. She tried to step back from him, but he grabbed her wrists and held them lightly in his hands, gazing down at her with a brooding expression.

  "If I try to clear Malcolm’s name, you will be my friend?" he asked slowly. Alaric had no doubt that Malcolm Arlingby was guilty of murder, but he was willing to humor Rowena if it meant he could spend more time in her company.

  A brilliant smile broke out on Rowena’s face. "I would be so grateful, my lord," she said eagerly. "Indeed, I would like to help you in the attempt. We could work together to discover the true killer."

  Alaric’s eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hunting murderers is hardly work for young ladies."

  "But I would be of inestimable value," urged Rowena. "I have access to my family’s information and it would not be at all unusual if I were to ask questions about Malcolm, whereas anything you might say would immediately be suspect. And I helped my father with his scholarly work, so I have a trained, analytical mind. Please say that I may work with you."

  Alaric pondered her suggestion. He had no hopes of clearing Malcolm’s name, and he doubted Rowena’s abilities as an investigator, but if she were involved in this it would give him an excuse to have more meetings with her. And soon enough, he was sure, he would be able to convince her not only of the futility of attempting to clear her brother, but also of his own desirability. He had felt in her kiss that she was not immune to him; it would not take long for him to build that flame into a bonfire.

  "Very well," he said. "I will let you help me. But you must obey my instructions. I will not have you endangering yourself."

  Rowena nodded eagerly. "When shall we begin, my lord?"

  Alaric bit his lip. Convinced of Malcolm’s guilt, he had no idea of how to begin a sham investigation.

  "I will make some preliminary contacts and I will report to you again tomorrow at this time. Will you be here?"

  "Certainly." She gave him a grateful look. "You will see, my lord, how successful this endeavor will be."

  "Far more than you know," murmured Alaric. "And now, Rowena, I suggest we seal this agreement with a kiss."

  Before she could speak he had lifted her chin with his forefinger and brushed his lips gently against hers. This was not the hard, demanding kiss of earlier, but she still felt it deeply, a gentle tingling from her head down to her toes. She closed her eyes briefly and swayed towards him. Alaric smiled.

  "Until tomorrow then, Rowena," he murmured.

  Rowena opened her eyes and blinked at him, dazed. She nodded as he smiled down at her, and followed him obediently when he led her to the kitchen door and opened it, urging her in.

  "Good night, Rowena," he said softly. "Pleasant dreams."

  "Good night, my lord." She stood, her shawl hugged tightly about her as he disappeared into the shadows. A lingering excitement tingled in her veins and she raised one hand to her lips.

  "Nonsense," she said aloud. "I am only doing this to help my brother."

  The kitchen cat, surprised by her voice, mewed in annoyance. Rowena started. "It is the truth," she told the animal fiercely. She spun on her heel and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Chapter 8

  Alaric glared across his desk at the white-haired lawyer. Bright afternoon sunlight slanted across the library, glinting off the highly polished furniture and illuminating the priceless works of art that decorated the walls. The Donatello, forgotten in the Earl’s newest interest, had disappeared behind a sheaf of papers. Alaric tapped his fingers impatiently on the desktop.

  "But my lord, I do not see why you care to look into the Arlingby matter," protested the lawyer. "It would only bring forward old questions that are best left unasked."

  "Only if you presume I am guilty of murdering Alfred Ingram," said Alaric coldly. "Do you believe that I killed him, Mackley?"

  "No, no of course not, my lord," stammered Mackley. "But you cannot deny that many do. It will cause a great deal of unnecessary talk if word should get out about this."

  "Then we will have to make sure that word does not get out. Personally, I do not care what the world says, but there is a lady involved." Alaric placed the tips of his fingers together and gazed at Mackley over them.

  "A lady?" repeated the lawyer.

  "Precisely." Alaric frowned. "I do not want her name involved in this inquiry."

  Mackley’s brow furrowed. "Is the woman in question Lady Bingham?"

  Alaric glowered at his
lawyer. "I beg your pardon?"

  Mackley flushed. "I only thought that since her husband's death you might wish to clear your name once and for all in order to marry the lady yourself," he said, his voice trailing off at the look of amazement on Alaric's face.

  "You are my lawyer, Mackley, and are to follow my orders without speculating on them. Do you understand?" Alaric's voice was icy.

  "Yes, my lord," answered Mackley, subdued.

  The anger died out of Alaric's face as he gazed at the lawyer. The man had served his father and himself for many years, and his presumption could be excused on the basis of long familiarity. Alaric realized with a touch of shame that he had overreacted. But Lady Bingham was a topic he found difficult to ignore.

  "I have no intention of having anything to do with Lady Bingham," he said in a much softer voice. "She is in my past and will remain there. The lady I referred to is simply someone I wish to aid. Her name will be kept out of this."

  "Certainly, my lord. I will look into the matter immediately." Mackley stood and began to collect his papers. So the rumors were true, he thought. His lordship was intrigued by Malcolm Arlingby's sister.

  He paused, giving Alaric an uncertain look.

  Alaric sighed. "What is it, Mackley?"

  The lawyer looked uncomfortable. He shifted his feet uneasily on the floor and then seemed to make up his mind.

  "You should be aware, my lord, that Lady Bingham appears to remain interested in you," he said in a low voice. "It is said that she claims she will be married to you by Christmas."

  Alaric smiled mirthlessly. "Is that so? Where did you have this information from, Mackley?"

  "One of my junior clerks is quite friendly with a clerk in the office of Mr. Bonham, who represents Lady Bingham. I do my best to stay current on matters that involve my clients," he said, somewhat defensively.

  "And I thank you for it," murmured Alaric thoughtfully. "Rest assured, Mackley, that Lady Bingham will not become the Countess of Brayleigh if I have any control over the outcome."

  "Do you have another candidate in mind?" asked the lawyer.

  Alaric raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason for your inquiry?"

  "Only that the estate needs an heir," answered Mackley stoutly. "I would be glad to see you married, my lord."

  Alaric grinned. "My cousin Charles would be quite capable of taking my place were I to suddenly disappear, Mackley. But I appreciate your concern. No, I have no one in mind for the position."

  The lawyer bowed politely. "I hope you will change your mind, sir. I look forward to my son acting as lawyer to your's."

  Alaric watched absently as Mackley exited the study. Despite his disclaimer, the lawyer's words had brought a vision to his mind of a life with Rowena at his side, their son the heir to Brayleigh. He shook his head to dispel the image. It was nonsense. She was lovely and charming, and he would like to set her in a frame to preserve her forever, but one could not collect people, at least not on a permanent basis. He knew his longing for her would soon dissipate, as his desires always did. Once an item had been added to his collection, he immediately began to search for something new. He would doubtless grow weary of Rowena soon.

  "What a crush," observed Rowena, gazing about with annoyance. She, along with Lord and Lady Belmont, was attempting to make her way to the Belmont's box at the King's Theatre, and Rowena was finding her patience sorely tried. Usually she enjoyed the opera, less for the music than for the extraordinary display the members of the ton put on, bedecked in their finest fashions, jewels glittering everywhere, but tonight Rowena found herself anxious for the evening to be over. She wondered if Lord Brayleigh had uncovered any information about the murder of Alfred Ingram.

  "It is always so," agreed Lady Belmont. She made her way into the plush box, and proceeded to seat herself, fanning vigorously. "Goodness, look at that ridiculous dress Agatha Brierton is wearing. It makes her look enormous."

  Rowena scanned the five tiers of boxes, finally sighting the object of her aunt's scorn. She nodded vaguely.

  "It is hideous," she agreed. Her eyes continued to search the boxes, crowded with bejeweled lords and ladies, and then she turned towards the pit, where the fops and dandies crowded, showing off their extraordinary interpretations of fashion. A slight frown crossed her face.

  "Are you looking for someone, child?" asked Lady Belmont. "I cannot imagine who it might be. All the world is here tonight."

  "All the world, indeed," said Rowena. She refused to admit, even to herself, that she had felt a jolt of disappointment when she realized that Lord Brayleigh was not present.

  Lady Belmont glanced around the boxes and then suddenly froze, a gasp escaping her lips. "Such effrontery," she whispered to her husband. "One wonders how she dares."

  Lord Belmont grunted, and Rowena followed the direction of their gaze. Lady Bingham, dressed in an alluringly sheer gown of blue silk, was waving in their direction, a beautiful smile lighting her face. Lady Belmont drew back into the shadows of the box.

  "Whatever shall I do if she tries to talk to me?" she demanded. "This is impossible. First Brayleigh makes a nuisance of himself and now this! We shall never live it down."

  "Quiet, Louisa. The girl is here," said Lord Belmont, glancing at Rowena, who was watching her aunt with avid curiosity.

  Lady Belmont started and closed her mouth with a snap. Rowena leaned forward, anxious to find the cause of the excitement.

  "Whatever is going on?" she asked. "Why is Lady Bingham waving at you?"

  Lady Belmont gave her a wild glance and sighed with relief as the curtains opened. "Hush, Rowena. The opera is beginning."

  Rowena sat back in her chair, frustrated and curious. Her aunt's words and actions had been very odd. Nothing Lady Belmont had said previously indicated that there was any reason Lady Bingham might be showing such familiarity. Indeed, her aunt had expressed only scorn for the baroness.

  Rowena glanced over at Lady Bingham's box and was startled to find that lady's eyes resting on her with a speculative gaze. Her surprise must have shown, for the baroness smiled wickedly. She turned to her companion, a red-haired gentleman with a dissolute countenance, and said something that made him glance up at Rowena and laugh. Rowena flushed and looked away. She determined to demand an explanation from her aunt at the first interval.

  But when the interval came Lord Belmont, with a glance at his wife, excused himself to go talk to a friend, and Lady Belmont immediately launched into a long and rapid discussion of the relative merits of the woman singing the lead part, not pausing for breath until the door to the box opened and Mrs. Brierton entered, her son in tow. A look of relief crossed Lady Belmont's face.

  "Agatha! How delighted I am to see you. What a lovely dress you are wearing. Yellow becomes you so. And Martin. I daresay you came to speak to Rowena. She will be delighted to see you again."

  Mr. Martin Brierton, a thin and inarticulate young man of twenty-five, looked at Rowena and flushed. It was his mother's greatest wish to see him married to Lady Rowena, the niece of her dear friend Lady Belmont and the heiress to a handsome fortune. He came forward and seated himself next to Rowena, stammering a greeting.

  Rowena responded civilly, but Martin’s dull conversation failed to hold her attention, and she found herself reflecting that she much preferred dark men, perhaps a bit more mature, to young, blonde ones. With an effort she drew her mind back to the theatre and responded to her companion's polite, if labored, discourse.

  "I tell you, it is positively shocking to see her parading herself about so. Who would have thought she would be so brazen?"

  Rowena's ears pricked up at Mrs. Brierton's words, and she smiled encouragingly at Martin to indicate to him she was fascinated by the long and convoluted story he was telling her of a recent trip to his father's hunting lodge. She turned slightly in her seat in order to better overhear her aunt's conversation.

  "I live in fear that she will approach me," Rowena heard her aunt say. "I would be mortifie
d. And Rowena must not find out, of course. It has been bad enough for her with Brayleigh's inexplicable behavior."

  Mrs. Brierton murmured sympathetically.

  "It is enough to give me a spasm," continued Lady Belmont. "It has nearly reached the point where I am afraid to show my face in public. If I had not promised Rowena's father that I would find her a husband, I swear I would fly to the country."

  "Oh no, you must not do that," soothed Mrs. Brierton. "Think how people would talk."

  "But they do already," countered Lady Belmont. "At least I should not be here to listen to it."

  "It is a pity that Brayleigh should have been paying such marked attention to Rowena prior to this," observed Mrs. Brierton. "It would be best if she were married swiftly and out of this situation."

  "I can only hope that she will become engaged soon. There are countless men who are interested of course; the girl is positively headstrong, however, and wishes to marry for love, if you please." Lady Belmont sighed. "If she only knew the disaster that hangs over our heads."

  "Surely not a disaster," said Mrs. Brierton. "Lady Bingham would never have the temerity to speak to you, I am sure."

  At that moment the door to the box opened and Lady Bingham entered, a malicious smile on her lips. The blue gown, enticing at a distance, was almost indecent up close, clinging to her figure in an exaggerated manner and leaving little of her fine bosom to the imagination. A splendid diamond necklace decorated her deep decolletage, while it was clear that her petticoats had been damped to encourage her gown to cling to her hips and legs. She swept forward, her bright blue eyes reflecting considerable amusement as the red-haired man followed in her wake.

  "Lady Belmont," she exclaimed. "How splendid to see you again. It has been far too long."

  "Twelve years," said Lady Belmont gloomily.

  "Is it indeed? What a pity that I should be so long without your company," exclaimed Lady Bingham. "And Mrs. Brierton. How have you been? Is this your son? He has grown very handsome."