Chapter 1
The Willoughby ballroom grew suddenly silent when Alaric Montfort, fifth Earl of Brayleigh, paused for a moment at the top of the stairs, regarding the assembled members of the ton with a mocking gaze. The hush spread for a moment, washing to the far side of the room, and then the chatter of voices began again, rising over the determined scrapings of the fiddlers in the corner. Alaric smiled cynically. Somehow he felt sure that the topic of conversation had changed drastically since he had made his entrance.
He walked down the steps and moved quietly through the crush of people, nodding occasionally to acquaintances, but not stopping to talk. The crowd parted before him as if by magic, leaving a path for his tall, elegant figure to pass. His height allowed him to see over the heads of most of those present, and eventually he spotted his quarry and made his way toward it, a grim smile on his lips.
"Brayleigh!" The voice cut through the chatter surrounding Alaric and he turned, mild displeasure showing in his brilliant green eyes. He did not wish to be deterred from his path. But a blonde man was pushing his way toward him through the crush, grinning broadly. He seized Alaric's hand and shook it with pleasure.
"Alaric, I'm amazed," the man said jovially. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"And why not?" asked Alaric sardonically. "Am I suddenly persona non grata among the finer hostesses?"
Charles Montfort colored slightly and shook his head. "Of course not, Alaric. But it had been presumed that you would stay out of London until the talk had died down over the manner in which you obtained the Donatello from Mannering."
Alaric smiled gently at his companion, but his eyes remained stern. "I won the Donatello quite fairly, Charles. Whatever could there be to talk about?"
"But you won it at the gaming table, and you practically ruined Mannering in the process. He has almost nothing left, apart from his estate." Charles shook his head. "You know that sort of thing causes talk, Alaric."
"I offered to buy the sculpture from Mannering numerous times, Charles. He forced my hand by refusing to sell." Alaric bowed gracefully to a beautiful young woman who was attempting to catch his eye. "It was regrettable, but necessary."
"I say, you are a cold-blooded fellow, aren't you?" Charles ran a hand through his fair hair. Although he was only a year younger than his companion, his open countenance and casual air made him appear by far the junior of the two men. "If I weren't your cousin, I'd be worried about my own belongings."
Alaric smiled, this time a true smile that reached his eyes and made his face blindingly charming. "You needn't be concerned, Charles. You have nothing that I want."
Charles laughed and shook a finger at his cousin. "Nothing I own is good enough for your collection, Alaric?"
"Nothing," responded Alaric firmly. "Your taste, dear Charles, is execrable. You are fortunate your person is very much more appealing."
Charles laughed aloud at this, and a few nearby guests turned toward Alaric and his companion with curious looks. It was rare to see the Earl of Brayleigh in such an accommodating mood.
"That damn collection of yours," said Charles. "Is there anything in this world that interests you as much?"
"Certainly not." The cold, imperious look returned to Alaric's face. "People are unreliable, Charles, and likely to disappoint you. My collection, on the other hand, makes me very happy and never argues with me."
"You're almost inhuman, Alaric. I hope to see you someday married with your children about you, thinking of something other than inanimate objects."
Alaric shuddered. "I will have to marry someday, of course, but my children will be properly installed in the nursery and my wife will, I trust, be a quiet soul, not much given to interference in my life. You have the most appalling ideas at times, Charles."
"But your collection can hardly keep you warm at night, Alaric." Charles grinned at his cousin.
"Companionship has never been a problem for me, as you very well know," retorted Alaric.
"But a wife, Alaric. A wife would be a helpmate as well as a lover, someone to share your hopes and dreams with. Surely you have needs to be met other than the purely physical?"
Alaric smiled again. "You are ridiculous, Charles. I am sure that is why I tolerate you. I'm the happiest of men."
"Then the rumors aren't true?" Charles cocked an inquiring eyebrow at his cousin.
"Which of the excessively tedious rumors spread by Society have you heard now?"
"Why, that you are seeking a bride. One who would be a worthy addition to your collection." Charles grinned.
"If the perfect young woman should present herself, Charles, I should be delighted. But I'm not optimistic."
"The trouble with you, Alaric, is that you're spoiled. You're too handsome and too rich for your own good. You have women falling at your feet and you find a way to own anything you could possibly want. Decadent, I call it." Charles shook his head.
"Jealous, Charles?"
"Damnably," answered Charles merrily. He looked around the room. "Unless you're planning on dancing, Alaric, would you care to accompany me to the card room?"
"You know I never dance," said Alaric. "But I came here on another errand. I understand Lord Benby has recently inherited a Botticelli from his father. I'm interested in seeing it. I already own several works by the artist, but if this one is particularly fine, I would not mind adding it to my collection."
"Benby doesn't intend to sell the Botticelli, Alaric," protested Charles, his voice tinged with alarm. "It's been in his family for generations."
"I feel sure he can be persuaded somehow to part with it. The matter of Mannering must surely be a warning." Alaric smiled wickedly. "Come with me, Charles."
"You're a devil, Alaric," grumbled Charles, reluctantly falling into step beside him. "I don't know why I put up with you."
"Because you are so fond of me, of course," said Alaric absently. He scanned the room as they walked, once again seeking Lord Benby. But he saw something else instead, and came to a sudden halt, a bemused look on his face. Charles, following the direction of his cousin's gaze, laughed softly.
"So, you've spotted her. Fascinating, isn't she?"
"Extremely." Alaric's eyes wandered boldly over the young woman who had captured his attention, his keen interest reflected in his suddenly avid gaze. The lady looked up, almost as though she sensed him watching her, and he found himself staring across the polished floor of the ballroom into a pair of vivid violet eyes that betrayed curiosity rather than the conventional maidenly modesty. He smiled gently and bowed.
"Who is she?" he demanded.
"She's newly arrived in London, and has caused a sensation, although she's three-and-twenty and lived in the wilds of Yorkshire until this year. Her father was a well-known scholar, and she helped him with his work until his death a year ago. She's staying with her aunt this Season and everyone is charmed by her original ways." Charles paused for a moment and licked his lips nervously. "Her name is Lady Rowena Arlingby."
"Arlingby?" echoed Alaric.
"Precisely. I thought you would remember the name."
Alaric shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You must present me to her."
Charles was aghast. "How can you say it doesn't matter? She's Malcolm Arlingby's sister, Alaric."
"Which matters not a whit to me, Charles. Now, will you present me, or must I get someone else to do so?" Alaric looked at his cousin impatiently.
"I wish I had your gall, Alaric," observed Charles. "Very well, I will present you. But I'm not responsible for anything that might result from it."
"Of course not." Alaric gave his cousin a mocking glance.
Charles shrugged and moved toward the young lady Alaric had been eyeing so intently. Alaric fo
llowed in his wake, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
She stood near a wall, gently fanning herself, speaking to the gentlemen surrounding her with a faint smile on her lips. As Alaric and Charles approached she turned slightly to face them, and Alaric once again saw her amazing violet eyes. They were set in a face that, while it did not possess the classic Grecian features generally felt to be necessary for true beauty, was charming and piquant, with finely carved cheekbones and a tender mouth with full lips. Her neck was long and delicate; her figure slender, but gentle curves were visible under the ethereal drapery of her white and silver gown. Her hair was an astonishing shade of gilt, and shining under the many candles it appeared almost white. It was cropped short, a style Alaric did not usually care for on women, but on this lady it emphasized the elegant shape of her queenly little head. A true masterpiece, he thought. There would be no duplicate of this creature to be found.
"She doesn't appear to have a docile temperament," Alaric murmured, noting the aura of composure she presented and the hint of mischief that he thought he could discern in her eyes.
"Perhaps not, but she certainly has an air about her," answered Charles. "She is much sought after."
"Is your heart engaged, Charles? I would be loath to cut you out."
Charles laughed. "But you would do it anyway. No Alaric, I admire Lady Rowena, but my affections remain with my fiancée, Miss Mattingly. You needn't worry about me."
"I'm relieved. I would be sorry to cause you pain."
The pair approached Rowena, and she turned her head fully to look at them. Alaric could swear that she had been covertly watching their approach and that a spark of interest lit her face.
"Lady Rowena, allow me to present my cousin, Lord Brayleigh," said Charles, bowing politely. "He's anxious to make your acquaintance."
Alaric bowed and took Rowena's hand in his. He pressed a polite kiss on it and then held it for a moment longer than was quite proper. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Lady Rowena. I see now that the stories I've heard of your beauty were not exaggerated."
Rowena smiled. "What a pretty speech, my lord." Her voice was clear and musical, and expressed quite openly her courteous disbelief in his statement.
"Would you honor me with this waltz, Lady Rowena?" Alaric asked smoothly. Without waiting for her reply, he tucked her hand through his arm and maneuvered her toward the dance floor. Rowena followed, somewhat annoyed by his lordship's calm presumption that she would accompany him, but intrigued despite herself. Whatever else he was, Lord Brayleigh was apparently a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.
"I say, Brayleigh, you can't just come in here and steal Lady Rowena like that," protested one of the men who formed her court.
Alaric paused and looked back, one eyebrow raised. "Are you going to stop me, Matthews?"
"No, no, of course not," stammered the man, stepping back a pace at the patent threat in the Earl's gaze.
"I thought not," said Alaric. He turned away and led Rowena to where the other dancers swirled about the room. Placing one hand on her waist, he swung her into the waltz.
Chapter 2
Rowena looked up at him through her golden lashes. "Are you always this forward, Lord Brayleigh?" she asked calmly.
Alaric smiled. She was an excellent dancer, he noted, and she felt feather-light in his arms. Her head came just to his shoulder, which suddenly struck him as the perfect place for it. "Only when I see something that I'm interested in, Lady Rowena."
"Then I presume I should be flattered by your attentions." Rowena's voice was sharp.
"Certainly. I rarely dance." Alaric gazed down at her, laughter in his eyes.
Rowena's violet eyes widened as they locked with Alaric's brilliant green ones. She drew in her breath, forgetting the tart reply she was about to make. It had been impossible to ignore the Earl of Brayleigh; she had heard countless stories about him since her arrival in London, and she had been aware of him from the first moment he had walked into the ballroom. But she had not thought they would meet, much less that she would find herself held so close to him. She could feel the lean strength of his thighs through the delicate drapery of her dress, and while she had waltzed with countless men over the past weeks, none had come close to arousing the odd feelings that coursed through her now.
His lordship was dark, with thick black hair worn unfashionably long and a chiseled countenance with sharp angles and planes that combined for an extraordinary masculine beauty. He was tall, broad shouldered, and impeccably dressed, but Rowena felt that there was an air of ruthlessness about him, as though he kept his barely restrained power under a tight, but tenuous, hold. He was emphatically not a typical London gentleman. She tore her eyes from his, and studiously regarded the top of his plain white waistcoat.
"I didn't think you would be so easily silenced," said Alaric, regarding the top of her golden head with satisfaction. She fit quite perfectly against his body, he reflected. It took little effort for him to imagine how it might feel to hold her even closer and press his lips to hers.
Rowena raised her eyes, and he saw a touch of anger in their violet depths. "I am unused to being carried off in such a peremptory fashion."
Alaric smiled. "You didn't protest."
"I was unwilling to cause a scene," said Rowena, frowning up at him. She knew that she was lying; she had gone with him because she wished to. But it would hardly do to admit that.
"I'm glad. I will try to be more circumspect in the future."
"We have a future, sir?" asked Rowena, her voice unconcerned.
"Most certainly we do," answered Alaric. "You may be sure of it."
The music stopped, and Alaric halted. He raised Rowena's hand to his lips, his eyes seeking hers out and then holding them with a direct gaze.
"I look forward to our next meeting," he said, pressing her fingers lightly with his.
Rowena blinked skeptically. The Earl seemed to be trying to convey something to her, and she was not sure that it was entirely proper.
"I doubt we will encounter one another again," she answered with a shrug. "I have heard enough about the Earl of Brayleigh to know that this sort of entertainment must seem very tame to you."
"It all depends on the company in which I find myself. I dislike being bored, but if there is something to hold my interest, I can be the most charming of companions."
"I am sure that I will not hold your interest, my lord." Rowena's chin came up under his scrutiny. She felt as though his lordship was measuring her, assessing her merits and faults as a connoisseur would. She did not care for the sensation. "A gentleman such as yourself must have many far more interesting pursuits."
"You underestimate yourself, Lady Rowena. Just now I can think of nothing more interesting than pursuing you." Alaric squeezed her hand gently again, and smiled to himself as she snatched it away. Lady Rowena had strength of character. It was refreshing to meet a young woman who did not immediately try to attract him.
Alaric looked up and saw several gentlemen bearing down on them, clearly intent on rescuing Rowena from his clutches. He took her elbow in a steely grip that looked casual, but brooked no argument. "Allow me to escort you to a quieter spot, Lady Rowena. This room is quite warm and I am sure you need some fresh air after the exertions of the dance."
Before Rowena was quite aware of what was happening, he had whisked her across the ballroom to where large French doors stood ajar to provide some relief from the heat. Alaric escorted her out onto a shallow wrought iron balcony that overlooked the gardens.
"Lord Brayleigh, I'm quite capable of attending to my own needs," protested Rowena. "I am sure my next partner is looking for me."
"If he isn't, he's a fool."
In the moonlight Rowena seemed almost to shimmer, her fair hair and skin touched with silver. His eyes raked over her once and then came to rest on her lips with a considering gaze. Rowena shivered. Although he hadn't touched her, his gaze was shockingly intimate.
"Then you w
ill understand if I return to the ballroom." Rowena turned to go, but found her arm once again caught in Alaric's firm grip. His ungloved hands were warm, the palms slightly rough. The feeling against her bare skin was unexpectedly exciting.
"Running away?" he asked.
Rowena returned his challenging gaze. "There is nothing to run from, my lord. I have had enough fresh air and wish to dance again."
Alaric released her arm and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. Rowena could see the tiny ripple of his muscles moving under the fine cloth of his coat and realized that this was no lazy gentleman of fashion she was facing.
"Wouldn't you rather talk to me?" he asked, his eyes still lingering on her mouth, then sliding down over her slender figure.
"I'm sure we have very little to discuss," snapped Rowena.
"On the contrary, I think we could find a great many things we have in common if we only tried." Alaric leaned toward her. "It could be quite enlightening."
"Your reputation precedes you, I'm afraid," said Rowena. "You, Lord Brayleigh, are a collector of fine art objects and beautiful women. I am neither, nor do I wish to be collected. That leaves us with very little to share."
"On the contrary, you are both a lovely woman and an exceptional work of art," murmured Alaric. He stepped forward until he was only inches from Rowena and allowed his hands to drift down to capture her wrists. She stood still, scarcely breathing, aware that she should pull herself away from him, but snared by the gleam in his emerald eyes. He paused for a moment, his lips only inches from hers, as she wondered frantically what he would do next.
"Rowena, dear. I'm so glad I've found you. Mrs. Sheridan is asking after you." The gentle voice was agitated, and Rowena turned quickly to see her aunt hovering just inside the ballroom and peering out the door, her alarm evident.
"Aunt Louisa, where did you spring from?" asked Rowena, hastily disengaging herself from Alaric. "Are you acquainted with Lord Brayleigh?"
"I have met Lady Belmont on many occasions," said Alaric promptly. He took Lady Belmont's hand and bowed politely over it, shooting her a wicked smile.
That Infamous Pearl Page 1