The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  "In the morning, nothing would do but that an army of housemaids go through every corner and cupboard, until she was assured nothing could be hiding anywhere in the house," Bellowsworth continued. "She has such a delicate constitution that I always feel obliged to humor her in these things."

  After a discreet —but rather large —sip of champagne, Pearl smiled and nodded. "Of course you do."

  Lord Bellowsworth smiled down at her possessively. "Your compassion is one of the many things I have always admired about you, Lady Pearl."

  She nearly blurted out, As well as my fortune? but limited herself to another smile. The champagne must be affecting her already, she thought with a spurt of amusement —the first she had felt in a week. Since agreeing to this betrothal, in fact.

  It had been a mad thing to do, she realized now. At the very least, she should have attempted speaking with her father first. But no, she had been so determined that no one else know the depths of her folly, giving herself to a man who now detested her. Her abominable pride had gotten her into this, and that same pride would simply have to see her through it.

  "My mother, of course, is quite anxious to have you call upon her as soon as she feels well enough to receive you," Bellowsworth was saying now. "Her health is unpredictable, so it would be best if you could be ready at a moment's notice, should she have an unexpectedly good morning."

  "I'll try to avoid any firm commitments, then," said Pearl, wondering if he realized how absurd such a request was. "At least, to anyone who would be offended by a last-minute cancellation." She drained her glass, to find it immediately replaced with a full one by a hovering footman.

  The Marquess frowned slightly, but whether at her words or her imbibing, she didn't know— nor particularly care. Her sense of the ridiculous had reasserted itself with that second glass of champagne, and the evening did not now seem quite so insupportable. She refused to think of all the evenings to come.

  "I would attempt to give you as much notice as possible, of course," he said, having apparently caught her note of sarcasm —rather to her surprise. Perceptiveness was not one of Bellowsworth's more prominent qualities. His nose, on the other hand . . .

  "Oh, you were teasing. I'm happy to see I have not irritated you with my suggestion," he said then, making her belatedly realize that she was grinning.

  "Of course not," she said quickly, taking another sip of champagne, desirous of maintaining the carefree glow it had produced. She wondered whether marriage to Bellowsworth might not make a drunkard of her.

  To her relief, their conversation was interrupted at that point by a few well-wishers. This was their first public appearance since the betrothal announcement in yesterday's papers, so few people had yet had a chance to offer their congratulations. Pearl hoped she was saying everything that was proper. That third glass of champagne seemed to have left her a bit fuzzy.

  Lord and Lady Mountheath, the Wittingtons, Lady Varens —their exclamations of delight rolled over her, along with various words of advice and a jest or two from the gentlemen. She smiled blandly at it all, wishing, despite the champagne, that she were anywhere but at Lord Bellowsworth's side. A touch on her arm provided a welcome distraction.

  Turning, she found Lady Minerva at her side. "I want to add my good wishes to everyone else's," she said, the tiniest frown marring her smile. "The news quite caught me by surprise, I confess."

  It was clear she hoped for a private word, so Pearl excused herself from the others to step a few feet away for some quick conversation with her closest friend in London. Well, except for—

  Hastily, she closed off that thought.

  "I was never more astonished than when I read the notice in yesterday's paper," Minerva whispered, the moment they were out of earshot of the others. "I felt certain that you had a tendre for the new Earl of Hardwyck —your Mr. di Santo —and he for you."

  Her words cut through the pleasant champagne-induced haze, and Pearl discovered she was not yet quite so numb as she had hoped. "I thought so too, briefly, but you know how such things are," she replied, waving a hand airily.

  "Then this is what you truly want, Pearl? And he is not distressed by this news?" Minerva seemed sincerely concerned.

  Though touched, Pearl only shrugged. "I have no idea whether he is distressed," she confessed, ignoring her friend's first question. "I rather doubt it, however. I have not seen or spoken with him in weeks, despite his presence in Town. He has been quite the recluse."

  To her dismay, she felt an ominous prickle behind her eyelids. She blinked rapidly, hoping Minerva would not notice. But her friend was staring over her shoulder at something across the room.

  "His days as a hermit are over, it appears," she said. "The butterfly has emerged from his cocoon with a vengeance."

  Turning, her heart in her throat, Pearl saw him. Luke had just entered the ballroom, sweeping an outrageously elegant bow to the Regent, his daughter, Princess Charlotte, and her new husband, Prince Leopold.

  Luke was dressed in the absolute pinnacle of fashion, his deep blue coat fitting him like a glove, setting off his broad shoulders to perfection. The snowy cravat at his throat fell in a mathematical cascade, punctuated by the glitter of a sapphire large enough to be visible from across the room.

  "If you don't mind, Pearl, I believe I will renew my acquantance with Lord Hardwyck," Minerva murmured admiringly. "Besides, I'd like to be at hand for your, ah, reunion." With a wink, she drifted in Luke's direction —along with half of the young ladies in the room, Pearl noticed.

  With an effort, she dragged her gaze away from his sartorial splendor —to find Lord Bellowsworth at her elbow. "Have you and Lady Minerva finished your coze?" he asked indulgently. "I presume she approves?"

  Despite the champagne she had drunk, Pearl found it an effort to smile. "Yes, of course," she said mechanically. What would she say to Luke when they inevitably met? What would he say to her?

  Belatedly becoming aware of the stir by the door, Bellowsworth frowned. "I see that the upstart Hardwyck has finally decided to grace Society with his presence. He'd have done better to wait until the press moved on to other news, in my opinion. His appearance here smacks of a taste for sensationalism."

  Despite herself, Pearl could not resist another glance in his direction. He was just bowing over Lady Minerva's hand, responding with a smile to whatever pleasantry she had offered. Then, before Pearl could look away, he raised his head and locked his gaze with hers. Though the width of the room separated them, she felt almost faint with shock at the intensity of that gaze.

  With a lazy smile that somehow struck her as dangerous, Luke sauntered across the ballroom toward her. Though he spoke and nodded in response to various greetings as he passed, he never took his eyes from Pearl's. She felt Bellowsworth stiffen at her side, but found herself helpless to do anything but watch Luke's approach.

  Before she could begin to marshall her thoughts, he was lifting her hand to his lips. "I understand that felicitations are in order," he said smoothly, though his dark eyes still held an ominous glint.

  "Indeed they are," Lord Bellowsworth responded, a shade too loudly. "Lady Pearl has consented to make me the happiest of men."

  Luke flicked a glance at him before returning his gaze to Pearl. "I trust you will be able to make her equally happy. In fact, I insist upon it."

  Pearl caught her breath at a flash of pain behind his eyes, quickly concealed. Could it be that—?

  But Bellowsworth was already blustering. "Your concern is touching, Hardwyck, but unnecessary. Our marital bliss is assured, not that it is any business of yours." Impatiently, he reached for Pearl's hand, which Luke still held.

  Again, Luke glanced at Lord Bellowsworth, releasing Pearl's hand an instant before her fiancé could snatch it away from him. His smile held more of challenge than compliance, however. "Then you would be advised not to make it my business. I wish you every happiness, Lady Pearl."

  Abruptly, Pearl's pride reasserted itself. She woul
d not be quarreled over like a bone between two dogs!

  "I thank you," she said haughtily, "but I quite prefer to be the keeper of my own happiness rather than delegate it to anyone." She pinned them each in turn with her glare. "And now, if you will both excuse me, I wish to speak with Lady Minerva."

  Her friend was hovering just within earshot, too clearly enjoying the exchange. At Pearl's words, she belatedly attempted to look disinterested, but without success. She waited until Pearl reached her to whisper, "I knew he still cared for you! What will you do now?"

  Pearl signaled to a passing footman. "Have another glass of champagne, and wish all men to perdition."

  * * *

  Luke watched Pearl stalk away from him with mingled pain and pleasure. She was even lovelier than he remembered, swathed in violet satin that perfectly complemented her eyes, her honey-gold hair upswept to reveal the flawless column of her throat. He wanted her more than ever.

  And he would have her yet, he decided. Unworthy though he might be, he could make her far happier than stodgy, prosing Bellowsworth ever could. How she had become betrothed to him he had no idea, but he would take his oath she had not done so willingly.

  He turned back to Bellowsworth, who was also watching Pearl with a slightly puzzled frown. "The lady has quite a mind of her own," he commented. "Are you certain that is what you want in a wife?"

  The Marquess glared at him. "I cannot think why you are concerning yourself, Hardwyck. Lady Pearl has been given more freedom than was perhaps wise, but she will make me an exemplary Marchioness. Surely you cannot doubt that?"

  Luke shrugged and turned away. "I've no doubt she will set a new standard —one that most would never dare aspire to." Leaving Bellowsworth to contemplate the meaning of his remark, he strolled back the way he had come.

  Lord Marcus greeted him with raised eyebrows. "What have you been saying to Bellowsworth to make him look so peevish? I thought the point tonight was to take Society by storm, not to antagonize its more prominent members."

  "Bellowsworth was born peevish," Luke replied. "I was merely offering my felicitations on his recent betrothal."

  "Ah, the beauteous Lady Pearl," Marcus exclaimed in sudden understanding. "I just heard about that this afternoon. Bad luck, old chap, but you can have your pick now."

  He gestured to the bevy of young ladies surrounding them, most of them regarding Luke with distinct interest —as were their mamas. "May as well, in fact," he continued with a teasing grin, "as you'll have the succession to think of. Being a younger son does have its benefits."

  Though Marcus clearly expected him to be nettled, Luke merely replied, "The succession is in no danger, I assure you. In fact, I've already made my choice."

  Marcus stared at him in astonishment. "After a mere ten minutes in Society? Who—?" He followed Luke's gaze to where Pearl still stood talking with Lady Minerva. "Not her best friend?"

  Luke continued to smile blandly, and Marcus's surprise turned to alarm. "Oh, no. No, it won't do at all, Luke. Surely you can see that? You're in a position to have anything you want. Don't wreck all by creating a scandal right out of the gate. Bellowsworth may be a stick-in-the-mud, but he's well respected."

  "Anything I want?" Luke echoed. "We'll see, won't we? I may as well put my new position and influence to the test." Ignoring his friend's worried frown, he turned to greet Miss Chalmers and her mother, as well as a cousin they wished to present to him.

  Though he bowed and spoke with his carefully cultivated Continental flair, his mind was busily engaged in planning his next move. He fully intended to guarantee Pearl's happiness, whether she wanted his help or not.

  * * *

  Pearl drained her fourth —or was it her fifth?— glass of champagne and nodded to Minerva. "Exactly," she said. "I gave him his chance, but he didn't take it. So now Bebblesworth has his chance. I don't 'spect much, but I can't very well cry off two days after it was announced. Can I?"

  "I, um, suppose not." Minerva's lips seemed to be twitching, though it might have been Pearl's eyes that were twitching instead. Certainly, they didn't seem to be focusing properly. And why should Minerva think her situation funny? "Pearl, why do we not sit down, in this alcove here."

  "Sit down?" Pearl frowned at her friend. "Why? I don't want to crease my skirts. Isn't this a pretty color?" She held out the violet folds for Minerva's inspection.

  "Breathtaking," Minerva agreed. Another footman approached with a tray of filled glasses but she waved him away before Pearl could reach for one. "I think some lemonade —or perhaps tea or coffee —might do you more good."

  Pearl blinked at her, then suddenly understood. "Oh, do you think I'm bosky?" She considered for a moment. "You may be right. It's rather an interesting sensation. Quite pleasant, in fact. You should try it."

  "Some other time, perhaps." Now Minerva's amusement was unmistakeable, but Pearl couldn't seem to feel offended by it. "Wait here by this pillar and I'll see about getting you something more appropriate to drink, before you do something you will regret in the morning."

  She went in search of another footman and Pearl waited obediently where she was, though her attention strayed at once to the colorful, shifting throng before her. Was Luke still here? There was her gangly fiancé, surrounded by other pompous-looking men, probably discussing politics or something equally dull. She used to be interested in such things, she remembered, but tonight such topics held no appeal. She was more interested in—

  "Hiding, my lady?" As though she had conjured him, Luke stepped around the pillar to join her in the shadowy alcove.

  "Of course not. I'm just waiting for Lady Minerva to return," she replied, remembering that she was out of charity with Luke, though she couldn't quite recall why.

  "Not waiting for your dashing husband-to-be?" His voice was mocking, and she knew on some level that she should be angry. Instead, she found herself giggling.

  "Dashing. I should like to see him do 'dashing,'" she confided to Luke. "He does 'crashing' quite well—as in 'crashing bore.'"

  He stared at her for an instant, then gave a shout of laughter, quickly muted. Glancing hastily around, he asked in a low voice, "Then why did you agree to marry him, my lady?"

  Pearl frowned, trying to clear the fog from her brain but failing. "It was him or you, and I thought you were still angry with me," she explained.

  "What do you mean?" he asked, staring. "Wait. Let's move back a bit, where we'll be less likely to be interrupted." He led her, now unresisting, to the marble bench at the back of the alcove, partially concealed from the ballroom by a large potted palm.

  "Now. What did you mean, it was him or me?"

  The delay had given Pearl time to remember why she was displeased with Luke, however. "You've been avoiding me," she said accusingly. "You never called or sent word or . . . or anything. All this time you've been in London —my London —and you've ignored me. It was most ungallant of you."

  One of his dark eyebrows quirked upward. "Lady Pearl, have you been drinking?"

  "What has that to do with anything? A glass or two of champagne, perhaps." She refused to be dissuaded from her question. "If you do not still hate me, why did you stay away?"

  "Hate you?" he asked in amazement. "I may have been angry, but never for a moment did I hate you! You're more precious than . . . that is . . ."

  "Yes?" she prompted, her irritation vanishing at what he had almost said.

  But he shook his head. "Never mind. I thought it would be better —for you—if I stayed away, but perhaps I was wrong."

  Her spirits plummeted again, as she recalled her entire situation. "Yes. Now I'm betrothed to Lord Beb—Bellowsworth."

  "And just why is that?" he probed. "I thought you were determined to remain unmarried."

  "I was," she agreed. "But Obelia was going to make me . . . make you . . ."

  "Make us what?"

  She stared at the marble floor for a long moment, then looked up at him sorrowfully. He might as well know all—h
e was the only person in the world she could tell. "She found out about your . . . our . . . that night we . . ."

  Sudden understanding lit his dark eyes. "That I compromised you," he stated quietly.

  She nodded. "She was going to tell my father, so that you would have to marry me, once you had your title. She'd actually known for weeks, but—"

  "But had no desire for you to wed a nobody." His voice was bitter, and Pearl wasn't sure whether he was angry only at the Duchess or at her as well.

  "I couldn't let her . . . I thought the last thing you would want was to marry me," she said in a small voice, staring again at the floor.

  His gloved fingers touched her cheek, then lifted her chin so that she had to meet his gaze. What she saw there penetrated the champagne-colored fog and warmed her to her core. "So you agreed to marry Bellowsworth, her first choice, a man you despise, rather than allow my hand to be forced. That may be the bravest thing I've ever known anyone to do, Pearl."

  She shook her head slightly. "I . . . Despise is perhaps too strong a word."

  "But you don't love him." His eyes still held hers, compelling her honesty.

  "No," she whispered. It was Luke she loved. Only Luke. Tipsy as she was, however, she retained enough sense to keep those words to herself.

  His fingers glided along her jawline to the nape of her neck, drawing her gently closer. It did not even occur to her to resist. When their lips met, for a long delicious moment she felt as though she had come home after far too long an absence. This was right. This was—

  "Pearl! My lord!" Lady Minerva's urgent hiss cut through the euphoric mist. "Are you both mad?"

  Startled, they sprang apart. At once, Luke rose and bowed. "My apologies, my lady," he said, though his eyes told her he was not sorry at all. "I had no right to take such a liberty."

  "I . . . I suppose not." Pearl tried to gather her scattered wits about her, to act appropriately, mindful of Minerva's watchful eye. Had anyone else seen them?