That Infamous Pearl

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 followed
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.

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 will
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.

Lady Belmont snatched
her hand back as though it had been burned, and seemed to flutter for a moment,
her eyes looking everywhere except at Alaric. "Yes indeed," she
gasped. "We have met before. Charmed to see you again, Brayleigh. If you
will excuse us, Rowena is wanted elsewhere."

A bored look masked
Alaric's face. "Ah yes, Mrs. Sheridan awaits," he said. "What a
pity. I hope I'll meet you again soon, Lady Rowena."

"I am sure you
will, if you attend many parties. I'm out a great deal these days." Rowena
noted out of the corner of her eye that Lady Belmont made a hasty gesture and
then subsided with an audible sigh.

Alaric grinned at
Lady Belmont and then turned to Rowena. "I am not in the habit of
attending many social functions, but perhaps I will change my ways. I look
forward to our next encounter."

He bowed low as Lady
Belmont, smiling nervously, led Rowena away. She waited only until they were a
few feet distant from him, before seizing Rowena's arm and shaking her
slightly.

"Whatever were
you thinking of to dance with Brayleigh?" she demanded. "And then
going outside with him! Everyone will be talking."

Rowena gave her aunt
a blank look. "He asked me to dance in front of numerous people, and then nearly
dragged me onto the floor. I could hardly refuse him without creating a scene. And
why should I?"

"Oh, I do wish
he had not come tonight." Lady Belmont clasped her hands together. In her
agitation she resembled nothing so much as a bird, fluttering about and
attempting to protect her nest from predators. "Everyone said he was
certain to be out of town for the rest of the Season due to the Mannering
scandal. I hope he doesn't mean to pursue you. It would be so distressing, and
so like him to try to cause difficulties." Lady Belmont clutched her fan
tightly and took a deep breath. "You must not dance with him again,
Rowena."

"What nonsense
is this, Aunt Louisa?" asked Rowena. "I'm aware that Brayleigh's
reputation is not unsullied, but I hardly think he could do anything to me in
the middle of the Willoughby's ballroom. He is invited to all the best houses
and I have never heard of him kidnapping anybody."

"This is not a
laughing matter. He is dangerous," whispered Lady Belmont. "That is
enough for you to know."

Rowena laughed at
that, and Alaric, watching from a distance, drew in his breath at the sight. She
was transformed from a beautiful woman to a magnificent one, warm and generous.
He felt his body tighten with unbidden desire.

"Aunt, that is
hardly enough for me," said Rowena. "When was I ever so docile? I'm
not a child to be ordered about. You must give me a good reason to stay away
from Lord Brayleigh, or I won't heed you."

Lady Belmont
hesitated. "Not here and now, Rowena. There will be enough talk as it is. If
someone should overhear us.... I will tell you tomorrow. In the meantime,
please stay away from Lord Brayleigh, for my sake."

Rowena shrugged. "Very
well. But I hope this reason of yours will be worth the wait. I grow more
intrigued by the moment."

Alaric lounged
against a marble pillar, openly watching from across the room, as Rowena joined
the dance with a new partner, a rather callow looking youth, whose tailor
Alaric wrote off as only marginally competent. Charles shouldered his way
through the crowd to his cousin's side and stood next to him, also watching the
swirling dancers.

"Alaric, you are
a devil," he said feelingly. "I don't know how many people have
stopped me in the last five minutes to ask about your intentions toward Lady
Rowena."

"Can I help it
if Society is so starved for titillation that it must interest itself in my
actions? I merely asked a charming young lady to dance." Alaric bent
innocent eyes on his cousin.

"No, that's
coming at it a bit too strong. I know you're up to some mischief. You don't do
anything without reason, and no one can remember the last time you danced with
an unmarried woman. What are you up to?"

"Why must I be
up to something?" asked Alaric plaintively.

Charles frowned. "Because
you always have an ulterior motive. And when Alaric Montfort dances with
Malcolm Arlingby's sister, people are going to ask questions. They say you're
planning on ruining the girl, just to show the Arlingbys you can have anything
at all that you want."

"It is a trial
to be so sorely misunderstood," said Alaric. "I had thought better of
you, Charles."

"Dash it,
Alaric, she's a nice girl," protested Charles. "It won't do for you
to try to entangle her in your schemes. What do you mean by this?"

"You are far too
inquisitive, Charles. I mean nothing at all." Alaric brushed an invisible
piece of dust from his sleeve. "I find that this subject grows tedious. Shall
we repair to Watier's for the remainder of the evening?"

"Alaric, you can't
simply come to this ball, dance with one girl, and then leave to play Macau at
Watier's. People will talk."

"I can do
anything I please, and people talk anyway, no matter how I behave,"
observed Alaric wearily. "There's nothing I can do to stop them. Nor has Lady
Rowena's reputation suffered any damage; indeed, people will be positively agog
to meet the young lady who caught my eye. I'm known as something of a
connoisseur of feminine beauty, after all."

Charles shrugged with
ill grace. "If you care no more for your good name than that, I suppose I
will accompany you."

"Thank you,
Charles. You comfort me."