That Infamous Pearl Page 10

  Alaric glowered at her. "You think everyone is as depraved as you are, Marguerite. Fortunately, there are still some who remain uncorrupted."

  "Until you get your hands on them." Marguerite shrugged and sighed. "Oh, Alaric, I don't know why we quarrel. You would think two old friends such as we are could get along."

  Alaric tore his eyes from Rowena and looked down at Marguerite. "We do not get along, my dear, because you are never honest with me. You have lied to me since the day we met."

  "That is no reason we cannot be friends now," purred Marguerite. She moved a tiny step closer to him and laid her hand on his arm. "After all, it has been so many years. Can we not forget the past?"

  Alaric's lips curled cynically. He was quite certain Marguerite had an ulterior motive for her sudden change of temper. However, he had learned long ago that it was best to keep his enemies close, so as to know what they were up to. In addition, if Rowena, as he half-suspected, was dancing with Voxley simply to spite him, she would learn that two could play that game. He took Marguerite's hand.

  "We can try," he said abruptly. "Shall we dance once, in honor of the past?"

  A seductive smile spread across Marguerite's face. "And if the dance goes well?"

  "Then we shall see."

  Alaric led Marguerite out onto the dance floor and swept her up into his arms. He was quite aware that everyone would take notice of their dancing together. Their shared past was still vivid in many memories. Gossip was sure to follow, but he was unconcerned. Talk had never fazed him. He allowed his gaze to wander over Marguerite's dark curls and sweep the room. Rowena was still dancing with Voxley, giving every impression of perfect contentment. His hand tightened slightly on Marguerite's waist.

  "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  Alaric looked down into her blue eyes. "Not at all. You dance beautifully, as you always did."

  Marguerite smiled. Tonight might turn out to be quite a success.

  Chapter 11

  Rowena continued to smile up at Lord Voxley, but she was hard-pressed to maintain the pose. His lordship's conversation consisted mostly of commonplaces, with a heavy emphasis on his opinion of her beauty, a topic that tended to bore Rowena. She had attempted once or twice to steer the conversation to more interesting subjects, but he resolutely blocked her, always veering back to the delights of London in the Season, his horses, and her own charming complexion. It was only the knowledge that Lord Brayleigh might think she was not entertained that kept her from losing her temper.

  She looked over her partner's shoulder and was astounded to see Lord Brayleigh leading Lady Bingham out onto the floor. Only two days before his lordship had lectured her sternly on Lady Bingham's evil character; now he was dancing with her and giving every impression of enjoying himself greatly. She pasted a smile on her lips, and looked up into Lord Voxley's face, conjuring a laugh for the very dull story he had just finished. She would show Lord Brayleigh that he was not the only man in London who could amuse her.

  Lord Voxley was rather perplexed by his partner. Lady Rowena, while far too pert and independent for his tastes, was very lovely, and she seemed to respond readily to his flattery. He had thought she would be far more difficult to charm and had anticipated perhaps having to trick her, but she appeared to be ripe for the plucking. It would not be difficult, he thought, to carry out Marguerite's plan. Soon all London would be speaking of how Lady Rowena Arlingby had been surprised in Lord Voxley's arms.

  The music came to a close, and the dancers stopped. Rowena, with a great sense of relief, began to search the crowd for her aunt, hoping to make her escape. But Lord Voxley retained his hold on her hand, and carried it gently to his lips.

  "I do not wish this pleasure to end," he murmured, his voice seductive. "Will you share a glass of negus with me? Perhaps we could repair to the anteroom where we might speak more privately."

  Rowena eyes widened. Unless she was much mistaken, Lord Voxley was suggesting something highly improper.

  "Thank you, but no," she said promptly. Not even to annoy Brayleigh would she go off alone with Voxley. The thought was absurd. "My aunt will be looking for me."

  Lord Voxley was surprised by her refusal, and momentarily confused. The young lady he had been dancing with, who had been so encouraging, now seemed anxious to run away. His brows drew together.

  "But surely your aunt has other friends to entertain her," he said. "I have only just begun to enjoy your company."

  "A pity," said Rowena blithely. "Nonetheless, I must return to her. She worries when she does not know where I am. I would not want to bring on a spasm."

  Lord Voxley frowned. He was not particularly quick-witted, but he knew when a young woman was attempting to avoid him. Quite deliberately he moved a step closer.

  "I am heart-broken," he said in a low tone.

  "Nonsense," said Rowena. "You are escorting Lady Bingham and will doubtless have a very pleasant evening. I thank you for the dance."

  She disentangled her fingers from Lord Voxley's and moved away. There was a sudden noise of fabric tearing, and she looked down with surprise to see that Lord Voxley had been standing on the flounce of her gown. A good two inches of it were torn away from the dress.

  "Oh no," she said. "How distressing."

  "You must forgive me for my clumsiness," said Lord Voxley immediately. "I fear I have ruined your gown."

  Rowena sighed. "It is nothing that cannot be mended. I believe I have some pins in my reticule that will repair the damage. I will take care of it immediately."

  "Allow me to help you," begged Lord Voxley. "It is the least I can do for causing you such annoyance. I am altogether too clumsy. I hope you do not think badly of me." He took her elbow in his hand and steered her rapidly away from the dancing, leading her along the wall of the room. "I believe I saw a small chamber here where you might have some privacy."

  Rowena allowed him to lead her along, resigned. Lord Voxley seemed absurdly upset by his clumsiness; it was an accident that could have happened to anyone. But if he wished to make amends, she could hardly refuse him.

  Lord Voxley quickly led her to a small door that was covered by a curtain. Moving it aside, he escorted Rowena into a small, dimly lit anteroom.

  "Thank you," said Rowena. "I appreciate your concern. You may return to Lady Bingham now; I have no further need of your help and she will surely be wondering what has become of you."

  Lord Voxley turned to face her. "She is doubtless much occupied with Brayleigh," he said. "Perhaps we can find some way to amuse ourselves in their absence."

  A slight look of alarm passed over Rowena's face. Lord Voxley had placed himself between her and the door, and was looking at her with a definite leer on his face.

  "Brayleigh is no concern of mine," she said. "If you will not leave, I think that I should. Please step aside, Lord Voxley."

  "You have not repaired your gown," said Lord Voxley gently.

  "I believe I need my aunt to help me. She is much more skilled than I am with this sort of thing." Rowena eyed him nervously, wondering if there was room to move around him to the door.

  Lord Voxley stepped towards her. Rowena retreated until she felt the edge of a couch pressing against her knees.

  "You are far too lovely for me to allow you to leave without a kiss," said Lord Voxley. "Is that so much to ask of you?"

  Rowena felt vaguely sick. Though she had kissed Lord Brayleigh with great abandon only two nights before, the thought of Voxley touching her was repulsive. She looked about her, but the couch prevented her moving backwards, and the room was small enough that Voxley could easily reach her should she try to move around him.

  "I do not find your attempt at humor amusing, Lord Voxley. Please allow me to pass," she said as firmly as she could. She felt ridiculous for having allowed him to maneuver her into this situation.

  "I am not being humorous." Lord Voxley took a step nearer and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  Rowena shuddered. "Nor are
you being a gentleman, sir. It is unfair of you to force me."

  "A young lady who keeps company with a man of Lord Brayleigh's reputation can hardly be expected to be thought virtuous," observed Lord Voxley. "I have a mind to discover what it is he finds so fascinating about you."

  "Lord Brayleigh and I are merely friends," said Rowena desperately. "We are attempting to solve a mystery together."

  "There is no mystery about why he finds you attractive." Lord Voxley grinned knowingly. "I find myself tempted as well."

  Rowena saw his head lower toward hers, and she decided that further argument was useless. She began to struggle, attempting to wrench herself from his grip.

  Voxley gave a small laugh and tightened his grasp on her shoulders. "I won't tell anyone, Lady Rowena. Enjoy yourself. Surely you are curious to know if my kisses are as enjoyable as Brayleigh's."

  Rowena made an exasperated noise and continued to fight. She would have liked to scream, but being found in this position would be ruinous. She drew back her foot and kicked him sharply in the shin, but her satin slippers did little damage.

  "Does Brayleigh like it when you pretend to resist him?" asked Lord Voxley. "I find it most intriguing." His lips finished their descent, and Rowena twisted her head so they fell on her cheek rather than her lips.

  "Stop it," she said fiercely. "Let go of me. You're disgusting."

  Lord Voxley laughed softly. "We shall see how you feel in a little while," he murmured.

  "I shall feel exactly the same," said Rowena firmly. "Please, I beg of you to behave yourself."

  "You had best do as the lady asks."

  Rowena and Lord Voxley both jumped at the sound of a deep masculine voice. Lord Voxley swung about in surprise, releasing Rowena, and she stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. Lord Brayleigh stood in the doorway, his wide shoulders filling the space, a look of sardonic amusement on his face.

  "Thank God," said Rowena. "You cannot imagine how happy I am to see you, my lord."

  "I'm honored." Alaric sketched a bow in Rowena's direction. "I thought perhaps I might be disturbing those who wished to be left alone."

  "Not at all," said Rowena, moving gingerly around Lord Voxley so as to avoid touching him. She felt considerably relieved when she stood between the door and Lord Voxley, although Lord Brayleigh now blocked her way, and she was not sure she liked the gleam in his eye.

  "I was assisting Lady Rowena," said Lord Voxley abruptly. "She tore her gown and we sought to repair it."

  "I saw what you were doing, Voxley," said Alaric acidly. "You should consider yourself lucky that I am too aware of Lady Rowena's good name to call you out."

  Lord Voxley turned pale. Brayleigh was known throughout the ton as a crack shot.

  "Nothing was happening," he repeated. "Lady Rowena came in here willingly."

  "And I wonder how you managed that." Alaric gave him an appraising look. "I imagine the torn dress was your fault."

  "It certainly was," interjected Rowena. "He quite clumsily stepped on it. And now, if the two of you will cease to quarrel over me, we had best return to the ballroom. We are certain to be missed."

  Alaric gave her a considering glance. "By all means. I believe it would be best if Voxley returned to the ballroom."

  He stepped aside and allowed the deflated man to pass, but grasped Rowena's arm when she attempted to follow him.

  "Not so fast," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I think there is more for us to discuss."

  Rowena peeped cautiously up at him. Alaric looked furious, and his grip on her arm was painful.

  "I cannot imagine what you might wish to say, my lord." Her words were precise and formal. "I have to thank you for rescuing me from an unfortunate situation, of course, but I do not care to speak of it further."

  Alaric allowed the curtain to fall back over the door and turned back towards her, his fury evident in his eyes. "You do not care to discuss it, perhaps, but I do. What do you think you were doing to allow Voxley to drag you in here?"

  "He tore the flounce on my dress," Rowena stammered. She indicated the rip in her skirt. "He brought me in here so that I could mend it."

  "Have you no more intelligence than that?" demanded Alaric. "If I had not been watching you, something extremely unpleasant might have happened by now." He fought down the urge to seize Rowena and shake her. She had come perilously near to causing a scandal tonight. Although he was sure Lady Bingham had been behind the entire matter, Rowena should have known better than to fall for Voxley's transparent trap.

  "I fail to see what concern my behavior is of yours," Rowena said with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Alaric advanced on her, much as Lord Voxley had done only minutes before. Once again Rowena retreated, although this time a tiny tingle of anticipation shot down her spine.

  "It is very much my concern. I believe I recently declared my intention of marrying you. The Countess of Brayleigh must be above reproach."

  "And why is that? The Earl of Brayleigh certainly is not," retorted Rowena. "I saw you dancing with Lady Bingham only moments ago. If you may dance with her, I am sure that my acquaintance with Lord Voxley is harmless."

  Alaric grinned. "That rankled, did it? I thought it might."

  Rowena gasped. A cold sense of anger began to rise in her breast. "You danced with her to make me jealous?"

  "And your dance with Voxley had nothing to do with me?" Alaric's voice was indulgent and amused.

  "Of course it didn't," snapped Rowena, flushing slightly at the lie. How dare he look so confident and smug? She had once again backed herself against the couch, and she stood helplessly as he closed the space between them. He stopped only inches from her, so close she could almost feel the heat of his body.

  "You are a poor liar," said Alaric softly. "I'm glad. I will be assured of you telling me only the truth when we are married."

  "I am not going to marry you," said Rowena crossly.

  "You certainly are. If I did not mean to marry you, I would have left you in Voxley's clutches, and a terrible scandal would be brewing even now. But as I have done you this service, I think perhaps you should look at me with some gratitude."

  "Naturally I am grateful." Rowena peeped up at him through her lashes. "And now, please allow me to return to the ballroom."

  "In a moment." Alaric's eyes were fixed on her mouth. "I am glad you didn't allow him to kiss you. I would hate to think you responded so sweetly to anyone except me."

  Rowena felt a sudden wave of desire wash over her at the thought of Brayleigh's kisses and she swayed slightly towards him. Alaric reached out with his strong hands and steadied her, and then gently caressed her shoulders with his fingertips.

  "Shall I remind you?" he asked.

  Rowena watched, mesmerized, as he drew her to him, his hands very gentle on her back. One large hand cupped the back of her head, tilting it up to his, and then Alaric's lips were on hers, demanding and receiving a fierce response. With a tiny sob she leaned into him, opening her lips to his probing tongue, responding with all the pent up fervor and anxiety of the past days. She had dreamed countless times of his kisses, angrily cursing herself for rejecting his proposal. Now she seized the opportunity, reaching her hands up to his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on with passion that suddenly overflowed.

  "By God, you're a passionate creature," breathed Alaric against her lips. "How can you deny me, Rowena? I can tell how much you want me."

  Rowena didn't answer, only holding him more tightly. Her reason was swamped by her need, and she was blissfully unaware of the hundreds of people in the nearby ballroom, and wanting only for Alaric to satisfy the desire that was threatening to swamp her.

  "You can't refuse me any longer," murmured Alaric. He gently eased her down onto the couch, his lips still fastened to hers in a soul-searing kiss. Rowena gave a tiny wriggle of delight when he spread himself on top of her, crushing her into the velvet cushions. It was the most delicious sensation, and she gav
e a tiny gasp of pleasure when Alaric's hand slid up under her skirts, easing up her calf to grasp her thigh. His hands felt like fire against her skin and she wriggled slightly as unaccustomed sensations shot through her.

  "What a shame you are feeling unwell, my dear. Perhaps you might feel better if you rested a moment."

  Rowena heard the voice dimly, but did not connect it to herself until the door to the anteroom opened and the curtain was pushed aside. Charles Montfort and his fiancée, Miss Emily Mattingly, stood in the opening, startled expressions on their faces. If she had not been so appalled she might have laughed at their open-mouthed stares. As it was, she jumped as though she had been struck by lightning and began to push futilely at his lordship's broad shoulders.

  Alaric looked up from Rowena's panic-stricken countenance and into his cousin's surprised face.

  "Charles," he said casually. "And Miss Mattingly. Forgive our appearance."

  "Alaric, what is going on here?" asked Charles, his voice stiff. Miss Mattingly looked away as Alaric unhurriedly pulled Rowena's skirt over her bared leg.

  Alaric stood up unhurriedly and then helped Rowena to her feet, a wicked look in his green eyes. Rowena glared back at him, her expression fierce.

  "You will have to forgive us. We were overcome by the excitement of the moment. Lady Rowena has just consented to marry me." Alaric smiled down into Rowena's astounded countenance.

  Charles gaped at his cousin. "Alaric, is this true? You are to be married?"

  "Certainly. I am the happiest of men. Lady Rowena has only tonight succumbed to my pleadings." Alaric brushed a speck of dust from his sleeve.

  "Is this true, Lady Rowena?" Charles raised an eyebrow. "I am familiar with the feelings of your family towards my cousin."

  Rowena pursed her lips. She would have loved to say firmly that she had no intention of marrying Lord Brayleigh, but Miss Mattingly was famous for being unable to hold her tongue. This story would be all over town by the end of the evening.