Rogue's Honor

by Brenda Hiatt

  For a long moment she did not reply, but watched the Park gates draw near as they clattered along Mount Street. "Oh, very well," she said at last, as he slowed the horses.

  The traffic was thick at the Grosvenor Gate, requiring all his attention to navigate the pair of chestnuts through the queue of carriages and riders entering the Park for the fashionable hour. Once they were able to progress again, along the carriage path, he turned to her expectantly. "Well?"

  She gave a little laugh, which seemed directed more at herself than at him. "It seems rather silly, now I try to put it into words. I . . . I was hiding from my stepmother, so that she could not force me into marriage."

  He was startled by the fury that gripped him. "Force you? By what means could she possibly do such a thing?"

  "That's just it," she replied with a self-deprecating smile that reminded him sharply of Purdy. "In retrospect, I realize she couldn't. She had, however, tried to maneuver me into a compromising situation. It was only by chance that I discovered her plan in time."

  "But once forewarned—" He felt his anger fading, though his opinion of the Duchess was lower than ever.

  "Precisely. Simple caution would suffice. In fact, that is my current strategy to avoid her machinations. It is easier, however, with my father's support. I left because he was going out of Town."

  Luke's skepticism must have shown, for after only the slightest pause, she continued earnestly. "I did have another motive —one you may find just as silly, but which was important to me. I wished to discover for myself what it was like to live as a commoner, without the advantages of rank and wealth. And indeed, thanks largely to you, it proved a more educational experience than I'd hoped."

  "I don't think that's silly at all," he said truthfully. Though it was in keeping with what Marcus had told him about her, he doubted one girl in ten thousand would have attempted such a thing—or even considered it. "If more of . . . your class were to do what you did, I imagine we would see real reform in short order."

  "My thoughts exactly." She leaned toward him in her intensity, placing a hand on his sleeve. Her nearness and the sweetness of her scent were distracting, but he forced himself to focus on her words.

  "I believe that those who hold the fates of others in their hands owe it to themselves as well as their dependents —and their country —to fully understand every viewpoint," she said. "What better way than by experiencing it firsthand?"

  He smiled, and she suddenly seemed to recall herself. Flushing, she drew away from him.

  "I apologize. I tend to become strident on this topic, as anyone who knows me will tell you. You must think me quite the zealot."

  "No, I think you remarkably clear-eyed," he told her, though he had to pull his gaze away from those passionate violet eyes. They reminded him far too vividly of what he could never have— something he had never realized he wanted before last week. "In my experience, most of the nobility goes through life with blinders on, willfully oblivious to anything they don't wish to see."

  She fell silent again, and he feared for a moment that he had insulted her. Everyone she knew— family, friends —were of that class, after all. When she finally spoke, however, it was slowly and thoughtfully.

  "You can't imagine how refreshing it is to hear someone else espouse these views. I've read them, of course, in the Political Register and other such places, but that isn't the same. And those who hold such leanings tend, for obvious reasons, not to move in the same social circles as the Duke of Oakshire."

  She met his eyes candidly. "I love and respect my father, of course, and he has even listened to my views, but I can tell that he considers them the idealistic dreamings of a female who knows little of the world. And perhaps he is right. Soon, however, I shall have the opportunity to put my ideas into practice, and demonstrate that they are sound."

  Her breast rose and fell, her beautiful eyes gleaming with fervor. Luke had never desired her more. Almost, he missed the purport of what she was saying, so entranced was he by the way she conveyed it. Almost. "What opportunity is that?" he asked.

  Now she smiled, with a conspiratorial air that was most endearing. "If I can keep my stepmother and her string of eligible suitors at bay until the end of June, I will become mistress of Fairbourne, a small estate in Warwickshire. Once I have it secure, I may manage it as I see fit. A test, if you will, of my theories."

  His eyes widened with admiration —and surprise. It was nearly unheard of for a woman to hold property, he knew, even a woman of her rank and independence. "And you feel able to do this on your own?" he asked before considering his words.

  Lifting her chin defiantly, she replied, "I see you are not so completely different from the others after all. You consider a mere woman unfit for such a responsibility?"

  "No! That is—" He was interrupted by a duck taking sudden flight from a pond by the path, startling the horses so that they nearly shied into an oncoming carriage. For a moment, he had all he could do to bring them back under control, unused as he was to driving. By the time he was able to turn back to her, he had his answer ready.

  "I wouldn't feel up to such a task myself, you see. But I forget —you are Lady Pearl, daughter of a Duke, raised to the task. Still, it seems an ambitious goal for just one person —of either sex—to attempt."

  She regarded him suspiciously for a long moment. "I'll have stewards, of course, who will carry out the bulk of the changes I am planning. And they will have men under them. I'll hardly be working alone."

  He couldn't resist a grin. "What, no women in supervisory capacities? Do you consider them unfit for such responsibility?"

  After a moment's startled pause, she laughed —the first full laugh he'd heard from her. It was a lovely sound, and oddly erotic to his heightened senses. "Why, Mr. St. Clair, I do believe you're more radical a reformer than I am!"

  "Mr. di Santo, if you please," he reminded her. "And I was merely pointing up the inconsistency in your position, not necessarily espousing it myself."

  "Your point is taken." She was still smiling, apparently considering him an ally now. Was that good or bad? He wasn't sure, but he liked it. "I'd be very interested in hearing your opinion on my specific plans, actually. Your perspective might open my eyes to other, ah, inconsistencies."

  He bowed as best he could, considering that he was seated and holding a pair of reins. "Having seen the efficacy of your social crusading at first hand, I would be delighted to be of assistance, my lady. But oughtn't I be getting you back soon? It grows late."

  She sighed with a regret that lifted his spirits, foolish though that was. "Yes, you're right. But we will have more opportunity for conversation this evening at the theatre, I hope, though the Duke and Duchess will be accompanying me after all."

  "We may talk during the performance, then?" The had reached a cross path, so he was able to turn the horses. "I've never sat in one of the boxes, you see. I'm afraid it wasn't just for the Duchess' benefit that I claimed to be unfamiliar with London customs."

  "You may safely follow my lead, Mr. di Santo." Her smile was both mischievous and indulgent. "I'll be certain to nudge you when silence is expected."

  The thought of her nudging him in a darkened theatre sent a shaft of anticipation through him. He strove to subdue it, remembering what he needed to tell her. "Thank you. If a simple nudge doesn't silence me, feel free to knock me to the floor."

  She laughed again, but then he added, "Even if you do, I'll treasure the experience. It's likely to be the only such opportunity I will ever have."

  That sobered her at once. "Why do you say so?"

  He guided the horses out of the Park gates to return her to Berkley Square. Though he hated what he had to say, he forced himself to speak matter-of-factly the words that would sound the death-knell to the hopes and dreams that taunted him.

  "Because I am but a visitor in your world, Lady Pearl. Now that I've reassured myself as to your safety and your future, I must leave it—and the sooner the better."<
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  CHAPTER 9

  Pearl stared at Luke in dismay. Since meeting him, life had taken on a luster it had lacked for some time. Indeed, the idea of unraveling the mystery he presented had promised to make the Season bearable.

  "Why must you leave Society? You seem to fit in remarkably well. I cannot believe you are as alien to my world as you claim to be. What of the time you spent with your uncle? And at Oxford?" And last Season, with Lady Simcox, she thought but did not say.

  They turned onto Berkley Square and he pulled the phaeton to a halt before her house, his manservant leaping down to place the steps for her descent. She did not move, but held his gaze with her own, compelling him to answer.

  "I've become rather good at playing whatever role is expected of me," he finally replied. "But that does not make the role me. Can you understand that at all?"

  Recalling everything he had told her, she nodded. "I understand that you hold the upper classes to blame for your mother's misfortunes —and your own. And I can see why you choose not to affiliate yourself with them . . . us. But do you not see?"

  Fired by a sudden idea, she spoke eagerly. "You can do more to change my world from within than without. That is what I am striving to do, after all. You can help me." A vision of him by her side, working for the same causes, thrilled her in more ways than she cared to examine.

  He shook his head with a wistful smile, and she tried to take what little hope she could from that wistfulness, even as her spirits plummeted again. Climbing down from the phaeton, he walked around it to help her to the pavement.

  She placed her hand in his and descended, but instead of releasing her once she was on the ground, he covered her gloved hand with both of his. The sense of connection was so strong she had to force herself not to lean into him, though she gazed up into his dark eyes.

  "I admire what you are trying to do, my lady, and I am grateful that I've had this chance to speak with you again. Let's make the most of this last evening we will have together, and not allow our differences to mar it."

  She read intense emotion in his gaze—an emotion she needed to understand. Before she could try again to convince him, the front door opened, and she had perforce to allow him to escort her up the wide stone steps and make his farewells.

  "I shall look for you at the Drury Lane Theatre in two hours' time, sir," she said. "We can continue this discussion then."

  He bowed over her hand, his fingers warm against hers. "Until tonight, then." With a nod to the butler, he released her hand, leaving it suddenly chilled, then turned away.

  Head held high, Pearl entered the house without a backward look. She could not have the servants gossiping that Lady Pearl had formed an attachment for this newcomer. But as she mounted the stairs to her chambers, she knew she was in danger of doing precisely that.

  She couldn't deny that she was fascinated by the man, by his contradictions and unconventional history. He was unlike anyone she had ever met before. If he were to join her cause, he could surely do enormous good. And that was the reason that she must somehow convince Luke to stay in her world.

  Then, unbidden, she remembered again the feel of his lips upon hers. Every time she was with him, she felt more alive than she had ever imagined anyone could feel. When they were apart, it now almost felt as thought she were , but half alive.

  She refused to consider what losing him forever might do to her.

  * * *

  "The theatre? With the Lady Pearl?" Lord Marcus was visibly impressed. "Dancing last night, driving this afternoon, and now this? I've never heard of her showing this sort of preference toward any man before. And you met her only last night?"

  Luke nodded, earning him a growl from Marcus's valet, who was striving to repair the damage done to Luke's cravat by the inexperienced Flute. "We seem to have a few interests in common. 'Preference' is perhaps a strong word, particularly since I doubt I'll be in London long enough for anything to come of it. She's rather above my touch anyway, wouldn't you say?"

  Marcus snorted. "Yours and everyone else's! Any number of fellows have attempted to run the gauntlet of gaining both the Duke's and the Duchess' approval, courting Lady Pearl in the approved style, only to be refused in no uncertain terms. I confess, I'm rather surprised her parents are allowing your suit."

  "They haven't had an opportunity to intervene—yet," Luke told him with a grin. Then, to the valet, "Thank you, Clarence. A vast improvement indeed. Were you watching, Flute?"

  The lad nodded, and Luke turned back to Lord Marcus. "And as I said, there's no suit for them to allow. I expect I'll be gone in a day or two, after which it's unlikely I'll ever see her again." In vain, he tried to ignore the hollow feeling that assailed him every time he reminded himself of that—which he tried to do frequently.

  "So soon? I thought you were fixed here for the Season. You'd take to London if you'd just give it a fair shot, you know. We could have some grand times." He grinned, reminding Luke of the trouble the two of them had courted, standing up to older and more influential students in defense of those who were younger and poorer.

  "And the Lady Pearl may not be as out of your reach as all that," Marcus continued. "Stranger things . . . well, not stranger, perhaps, but no one thought Lady Haughton would have Jack Ashecroft—Foxhaven, now—a Season or two back. Have my brother Peter tell you about it some time. Of course, Jack had a title in his favor, but his reputation was even worse than—" He caught himself. "That is to say . . ."

  Luke was touched by his friend's eagerness for him to stay. "That's not the point, I'm afraid." And indeed it wasn't. Already his funds were running out. "I'm expected by my aunt in the country. She quite depends on me."

  For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have someone —anyone —truly dependent on him. Unlucky for them, assuredly, and more responsibility than he ever wished to shoulder. Just as well it was unlikely ever to happen.

  "Well, you're welcome here for as long as you wish to stay—if not this time, then on a future visit," Marcus assured him with every appearance of sincerity —a sincerity Luke knew he didn't deserve.

  He stifled a twinge of guilt, wishing he could take his friend into his confidence but knowing how foolhardy that would be. "I'll keep that in mind, Marcus. Thank you."

  * * *

  "Pearl, it simply will not do for you to encourage Mr. di Santo," Obelia insisted as the carriage neared the Drury Lane Theatre. "A single dance mattered little, but this will be your third time in his company in a single day. Pray remember that your reputation may be in question already, due to your foolishness last week."

  Pearl shrugged, enjoying the scandalized rise of her stepmother's brows. "I find his conversation both entertaining and informative," she said. "He has experiences outside the purview of other gentlemen of my acquaintance."

  The Duke chuckled. "That's my Pearl, always learning. Surely books would be safer, however, my dear." As always, he sought to appease both Pearl and his Duchess.

  Pearl was in no mood to be appeased, however, still irritated by Obelia's insistence that they accompany her to the theater after all. If she could not manage a few moments of private conversation with Luke, this was likely to be the last time she would ever see him— something she refused to accept.

  The moment they were inside the theater, she walked ahead of the Duke and Duchess, eagerly scanning the crowd for Luke. Her eagerness received a slight setback when she spotted him. Two ladies, clearly from the lower fringes of Society, were claiming his attention, tittering and simpering behind their fans as he spoke to them. At least he did not appear to be encouraging their flirtations, as far as she could tell.

  "There you are, Mr. di Santo," she greeted him with forced cheerfulness. "I feared we should never find you in this crowd."

  * * *

  Luke bit back an oath and turned with a smile. He'd known it was a mistake to come here tonight, where he would be known by far too many unsuitable people— unsuitable to introd
uce to Lady Pearl and her parents, at any rate.

  To his relief, the two women who had been flirting with him— acquaintances from last Season— discreetly melted into the throng as he bowed over Lady Pearl's hand. He kept it no longer than propriety demanded, keenly conscious of the Duke's watchful eye.

  "Then I would have found you, my lady," he assured her. "You outshine everyone else to such a degree that you would draw me like a beacon."

  "Very prettily said, Mr. di Santo," the Duchess commented, rather sourly, he thought. "So nice to see you again so soon."

  The Duke's greeting was more affable, but his slight frown as Luke extended his arm to Pearl bespoke his concern —not that Luke could blame him. As the four of them progressed toward the ducal box, Luke was acutely aware of Pearl's gloved fingers upon his arm.

  "I hear that Edmund Keane is very good," he said as they walked, mostly for the benefit of the Duke and Duchess. "I'm pleased I'll have a chance to see him before I leave London."

  "I've seen him perform several times," she replied almost absently. "His Iago is said to be particularly brilliant. I'm certain you will enjoy his portrayal."

  They chatted about the play and Shakespeare in general until they reached the elegant, curtained box with its excellent view of the stage. Four plush chairs awaited them, and Luke noticed how deftly Pearl placed herself between himself and her father, with the Duchess on the Duke's other side.

  Just before releasing his arm to seat herself, she pressed it to get his attention, then followed that with a significant look. Luke held her gaze and nodded slightly, to convey that he understood. She wished to speak with him alone, if possible.

  She sent him the very slightest of smiles, drawing his attention to her full lips in a way she likely didn't intend. For a moment, he could think of nothing but what those lips had tasted like beneath his own. So soft, so yielding . . . Guiltily, he jerked his glance away and took his seat— which was closer to hers than he'd realized.