That Infamous Pearl (30 page)

"Come with me,
Lord Brayleigh. I insist that you lead us on our tour. This first work is
believed to be a Rubens, and I am quite sure that the attribution is correct.
You notice the fine tint of the pink in the flesh, and the voluptuous lines of
the body."

Alaric frowned up at
the painting, which represented an extremely fat naked woman, great quantities
of red hair surrounding her heavy face, leering out at the viewer. It was
clearly a forgery, he thought, done by an inexpert hand.

"Very nice,"
he said shortly.

Sir Peter beamed at
him, and led him to the next painting. As Alaric peered at it, trying to decide
in the gloom if it was a representation of another obese woman reclining on a
couch or simply a large pink pig, he felt Rowena moving away from his side. He
turned towards her hastily, but she only shook her head quickly and frowned,
flicking her eyes towards where Lady Bingham stood, watching them all closely.
Alaric realized she intended to put her plan into motion, and that he couldn't
stop her without causing a scene. He glared at her, but she merely smiled and
glided away, leaving him at the mercy of Sir Peter.

"This is another
Rubens, I believe," the baron said cheerfully. "My grandfather
purchased it in the Netherlands, and it hung for many years over his bed."

It must be a woman
then, thought Alaric grimly. Reluctantly he turned his attention away from
Rowena and towards the painting. She would pay for this later, he promised
himself.

Rowena moved towards
the back of the group, trying unsuccessfully to stifle the small giggle that
rose in her throat. It amused her to see Alaric, usually in control of
everything around him, at the mercy of the well-meaning but vulgar Sir Peter.
She paused momentarily to look for Lady Bingham, and saw to her relief that the
baroness had detached herself slightly from the group and stood several feet
away, gazing up at a painting of a large couple embracing. Rowena took a deep
breath and stepped towards her.

"Lady Bingham."

Marguerite turned,
her cornflower blue eyes widening when she saw who addressed her, and then
narrowing as she assessed her opponent.

"Lady Brayleigh.
I am surprised you are not listening to your husband's opinions of the
paintings."

Rowena tried to
smile. Standing this close to the woman, she could feel her malice as a
physical entity. "I wouldn't understand anything he had to say," she
answered. "I'm afraid I have no true appreciation of art. It all looks the
same to me."

Marguerite laughed
softly. "How well-matched the two of you are." Her voice was sarcastic.
"Alaric should never have married you. I always knew it was solely for
revenge."

Rowena hung her head
and avoided Marguerite's eyes. She strove to put the right note of anxiety into
her voice. "I thought he cared for me," she whispered. "But now
I don't know. He's so cold...he frightens me."

"Frightens you?"
Marguerite's eyes raked over her. "It takes a real woman to stand up to
Alaric. You're just a little white mouse, aren't you? I imagine he would eat
you alive."

A twinge of anger
shot through Rowena at this disparagement of her courage, but she fought it
down. It would not do to tip her hand. "I...I didn't believe the stories
before. But now I think maybe they are true. Can you tell me the truth?"

Marguerite smiled
triumphantly. "I thought you knew him far better than I do? Weren't those
the brave words you threw at me not so long ago? Why should I tell you anything
now?"

Rowena willed a tear
to appear in her eye. "At first I thought all was well. But now--now I
have heard some things which frighten me. I do not know what to believe, and
Alaric refuses to tell me anything."

"I was right to
bring Malcolm back," said Marguerite with satisfaction. "I thought it
might be interesting if you met your brother again. You married his greatest
enemy. You shouldn't have done that."

"He compromised
me," said Rowena, her voice mournful. "I had no choice. My aunt
forced me into it. But now I think I might have been better off if I had been
ruined. I must know the truth. Am I married to a murderer?"

Marguerite glanced
over at the group that was moving slowly down the gallery, viewing the
paintings and listening to Alaric's terse comments on them.

"Not now,"
she said softly. "I will tell you everything you want to know later. But
we must have privacy."

"When?"
asked Rowena anxiously. "I cannot wait another minute."

"You will have
to. Tomorrow afternoon, when everyone is resting. Come to the solarium. I'll
wait for you there."

"You'll tell me
everything?" asked Rowena.

"You'll know all
about your husband by the time I'm done," said Marguerite. "I only
hope you can handle it, you pitiful child."

"Why did this
have to happen?" asked Rowena, striving to put the right note of
pettishness in her voice. "I cannot believe he would be so cruel as to
marry me only to hurt Malcolm."

"Your husband
would do anything to get revenge," said Marguerite. "He hates Malcolm
and will not stop until he is dead. Your well-being means nothing to him."

"I don't want to
believe that," whispered Rowena. "But it is so hard, wondering about
this."

"You won't
wonder much longer." Marguerite's eyes wandered over Rowena's shoulder and
rested on Alaric. She smiled thoughtfully. "Soon you will know far more
than you wish."

"Thank you,"
said Rowena fervently.

"Don't thank me
yet," murmured Marguerite. "You might not be happy with what you
hear."

"The truth is
the only thing that matters to me," vowed Rowena.

"Then you shall
have it." Marguerite looked back at the group of people, who had moved
some distance down the gallery. "You had best rejoin your husband, or he
will be furious. And I don't think I want another taste of his temper."

Rowena achieved a
shudder. "He can be frightening. I had no idea, before the marriage."

"You shouldn't
have played with fire. Alaric is far too much man for you."

Rowena hung her head
and fought the urge to slap Marguerite. Soon enough, she told herself, the
baroness would pay for her words.

"Rowena."

She turned at Alaric's
voice and saw that he had stepped away from the group and was beckoning her.
Grateful for the chance to escape she shot one more frightened glance at
Marguerite and then returned to her husband's side. He gazed down at her with a
look that spoke volumes.

"You should be
at my side, my dear. I am sure everyone would like to hear your opinions of the
paintings as well. Tell me, what do you think of this portrait? Sir Peter
assures me it is a Rembrandt."

Rowena gaped at the
painting, which represented yet another nude woman, this one admiring herself
in a mirror, so that a fine view of both her front and back were represented.
It was executed poorly, although with a great deal of enthusiasm.

"Stunning,"
she said breathlessly, overwhelmed by the vast expanse of pink flesh.

"My feelings
exactly," said Alaric.

Later that evening as
Rowena sat in front of her dressing table in her petticoat and chemise,
preparing for dinner, the adjoining door between her room and Alaric's opened
and her husband entered. He was dressed very elegantly in his customary sober
black, his coat fitting tightly over his well-muscled shoulders, his crisp
white cravat tied in intricate folds. She couldn't resist a surge of excitement
as she watched him approach her, and a pang of regret for the interruption of
their afternoon tryst.

"Good evening,
my dear," he murmured, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. "Are you
enjoying our visit?"

"Very much,"
said Rowena. "You were very diplomatic this afternoon, Alaric."

He sighed. "My
reputation as a connoisseur will never survive Sir Peter's reports that I
admired his collection. But I suppose it is a small price to pay to clear your
brother's name."

Rowena cast a warning
glance at Lawson, who was on the opposite side of the room, fetching her
mistress's dress from the wardrobe.

"Thank you,
Lawson. I believe I can manage now. Lord Brayleigh will give me any help I
might need."

With a curtsey and a
look of disbelief Lawson retired, and Rowena turned back to Alaric. "It is
not only Malcolm we shall help, but you as well. People will no longer be able
to suspect you of murdering Ingram."

Alaric shrugged and
picked up a diamond bracelet from the table. He idly turned it back and forth,
watching the stones sparkle in the candlelight.

"I have lived
with that for twelve years. It doesn't really bother me."

Rowena smiled. "I
know. Indeed, I think you like it. Tell me, Alaric, will you be sorry when your
reputation for evil has been destroyed?"

Alaric shook his
head. "I was content to leave matters as they were when I thought Malcolm
was guilty. But now that I know he is not, it is important to me that the true
killer pays. It would not do to let a murderer go unpunished." He smiled
at her. "And my wicked reputation will not be put to rest. There are
plenty of other tales about me, you know, many of them true. And Society has a
short memory. Soon the story of how I murdered Ingram will circulate again, and
the true killer will be forgotten."

"That is unfair,"
said Rowena indignantly.

Alaric smiled gently.
"I don't care what the world thinks of me. But I do care what you think,
Rowena. Perhaps we should discuss what happened earlier this afternoon."

Rowena froze. She
looked into the dressing table mirror, her eyes searching his reflected face.
He looked very serious, but she could not tell if he was pleased or angry at
the words she had allowed to slip out.

"Oh, when I left
you in the gallery to speak to Lady Bingham," she said hastily. "I am
very sorry if I annoyed you, Alaric, but it was necessary. I was very
convincing, you know. She truly believes that I am frightened of you and
suspect you of murder. I almost laughed to see her congratulating herself on
the success of her plan to bring Malcolm back here. It was quite ridiculous. I
am sure she will give herself away. She thinks me a guileless fool."

She paused for a
moment, and Alaric placed a hand on her shoulder.

"That was not--"
he began, but Rowena took a deep breath and continued.

"Malcolm will be
very pleased when I tell him. And I promise you I will be very careful, Alaric.
We are to meet in the solarium tomorrow afternoon, and you can stay close by
and make sure that nothing untoward happens. But I cannot imagine that
Marguerite will be dangerous. She cannot possibly carry a weapon about with her
here at Brandfon Abbey, can she?"

Alaric's fingers
tightened on her shoulder, and she stopped talking, her eyes meeting his in the
mirror.

"I was speaking
of earlier, when we were here in your room," he said softly.

"Earlier?"
Rowena feigned confusion. "Oh, when Charles interrupted us. That was a
great pity, to be sure, but it was just as well. I had a chance to speak to
Lady Bingham, after all, which is our main purpose here."

"Do you remember
what you said to me?" Alaric tried to catch Rowena's eye again, but she
resolutely looked away, taking the diamond bracelet out of his hand and
clasping it about her wrist with shaking fingers.

"Did I say
something?" she asked. "I said I should obey your commands, I
remember, but you must not hold that over my head. Women will say strange
things in the heat of passion. I do try to be good, Alaric, but I'm afraid I
will never be a perfect wife."

"You are the
perfect wife for me," said Alaric softly. "Do you truly not remember
what else you said?"

Rowena looked up at
him, surprised by his gentle tone. Her eyes locked with his, and she drew in
her breath at the tender light in his eyes. Was he trying to tell her
something? She paused, but then her courage faltered. Alaric had made his
opinions on love very clear to her.

"I don't know
what you're talking about," she said hastily. "Goodness, is that the
dinner bell? Quickly, I must put on my dress."

"I didn't hear
anything."

Rowena dove for her
gown and buried herself in it, trying to pull it hastily over her head. "I
am sure I heard the bell. Is this on straight?"

Alaric walked over to
her and viewed her silently, reaching out to twitch the rose colored silk into
place, and adjust one sleeve minutely, then fastened the tapes at the back with
precision. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you,"
she gasped, picking her fan up off the dressing table. "Shall we go down?"

Alaric shrugged. "Of
course." He drew her arm through his. "Come along, my dear."

Rowena shifted
restlessly on a brocaded settee, her fingers playing nervously with her fan.
The ladies had retired to the drawing room after dinner while the men lingered
over their port, and she was finding the conversation of Lady Brandfon and Mrs.
Brenderby trying. It seemed to consist mostly of a detailed comparison of their
dressmakers' skills, and Rowena could not keep her mind from wandering.

Marguerite sat across
the room from her, supposedly reading a book, but occasionally casting a
curious glance at Rowena's nervous countenance. At least, thought Rowena, her
obvious anxiety must serve to convince the baroness that she was truly afraid
of Alaric. In truth, however, she was far more nervous about confronting Alaric
later than she was about her upcoming talk with Lady Bingham. She could handle
Marguerite, she was sure, but her husband was another matter altogether.

She stood up and
wandered to the French doors, gazing out into the garden. Moonlight flooded the
view, casting weird shadows from the elaborately-sculpted shrubbery, and Rowena
thought sadly how very romantic it looked. It would be wonderful to stroll
there with Alaric and perhaps share a kiss, forgetting all the problems that
beset them.

Rowena jumped when
the shadow of a nearby shrub moved, and Malcolm emerged from behind it,
beckoning to her. She shook her head hastily, but he continued to gesture, and
she decided that he would not go away until she joined him. She looked back
over her shoulder at her hostess, who was still rapt in conversation.

"I'm feeling a
bit warm," she murmured. "I think I'll take a turn in your lovely
gardens."

Lady Brandfon glanced
at her and smiled. "Certainly, my dear. It is a beautiful night."

Rowena smiled and
slipped out the doors, hurrying across the gravel path to where Malcolm stood.
She pushed him hastily back behind the hedge and followed him, shaking him
slightly.

"What are you
doing? Anyone might have seen you. If someone did, they will think I'm having
an affair with my groom."

Malcolm grinned
unrepentantly. "I never thought of that, by Jove. That would put Brayleigh's
nose out of joint, wouldn't it?"

Rowena gave him an
exasperated look. "Annoying Alaric should no longer be part of your plans,
Malcolm. What is it that you want?"

"Well, I can't
help it. He's so damned self-righteous, ordering me to stay out of the way. I
have a right to know what's going on."

"Is that why you
came up here? You want to know what's going on? Malcolm, you could get yourself
into terrible trouble. It's not worth it. What if you were caught?"

"Don't read me a
lecture, little sister," he answered sulkily. "I can't abide sitting
about in those stables, wondering. There isn't even any decent liquor about. I
should have brought my own. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to go
looking for Brayleigh?"

Rowena sighed. "Very
well. I spoke to Lady Bingham and we are planning to meet in the solarium
tomorrow afternoon. She is going to tell me the truth about my husband."

Malcolm gave a hoot
of laughter. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall during that encounter. Good
work, Rowena. By this time tomorrow maybe I'll be cleared."

"I certainly
hope so," said Rowena pettishly. "All this deception and skulking about
is fraying my nerves. I'm hardly myself anymore. And Alaric--well, Alaric is
being most trying. I don't know what to do about him, Malcolm."

Malcolm looked at her
shrewdly. The misery in her eyes told her tale. "Did something stupid, did
you?"

"I told him I
love him," she whispered.    

Malcolm gaped at her.
"What did you want to go doing a damn fool thing like that for? Saying
something like that to your husband is bound to make the man uncomfortable.
Very bad form, Rowena."

"I couldn't help
it," said Rowena miserably. "I've been in love with him since before
we were married." She sniffled as tears threatened to overwhelm her.

"Lord, don't
cry. I can't abide tears." Malcolm patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Well,
if you've gone and done it, there's nothing more to be said. But don't go
telling the man again. It won't make him happy, I promise you."

Rowena hastily wiped
her eyes. "You don't think he'd like to know?" she asked softly.

Malcolm looked
dismayed. "No man wants to think a woman's in love with him, much less his
wife," he assured her. "The minute they fall in love it's all demands
and tying you to the house, and tears...like now. A man like Brayleigh can't
abide a woman weeping at him."

"Perhaps he'd
like to know that I care."

"Maybe if he was
one of those poet types, always mooning after some female or the other."
Malcolm grimaced. "But Brayleigh's a man of the world. He's had enough of
love and hysterics and all that with his mistresses over the years. He wants
his wife to respect him, but love isn't something he's interested in. Much too
messy an emotion. Take my advice, Rowena. Stay mum about this."

Rowena nodded slowly
as she considered Malcolm's words. The tender way Alaric had behaved earlier
had almost convinced her to confide in him, but surely her worldly brother
would know the best way to behave. After all, he had known Brayleigh for many
years.

"You're probably
right, Malcolm. He'd only despise me for being so weak." She swallowed. "Thank
you. I might have gone and done something stupid without you to advise me."

"That's what
brothers are for, hey?" said Malcolm jovially. He gave her a suspicious
glance. "You're not crying any more, are you?"

Rowena gave a watery
chuckle. "No." The sound of an owl hooting in the woods made her jump
and look nervously over her shoulder. "I have to go back inside, or they
will wonder what has happened to me. It wouldn't do to give ourselves away when
we're so close to our goal."

"Well, you just
be sure that I'll be nearby tomorrow afternoon. I'm not going to let you get
into any danger, Rowena. Your husband thinks I'm reckless, but I'll show him I
can take care of you."

"Please Malcolm,
be careful. If you were to give us away, it would be terrible. It is very
important to be circumspect now that we are so close to our goal." Rowena
grabbed his arm and squeezed, willing him to understand her.

"I'm the soul of
discretion. Don't you worry about me," said Malcolm cheerfully. "I'll
show you that it isn't only your husband who can take care of you."

Rowena eyed him
doubtfully. "Do be cautious, Malcolm."

"As though I
would be anything else. When have I ever been indiscreet?"

"Well, coming up
here was very rash of you." Rowena began to tick her points off on her
fingers. "Coming to England at all was folly. And to think of all the
things you have done over the years, from running off with Marguerite after
Ingram was killed, to gambling away the Pearl of Sirsi, I think I can be
forgiven for being somewhat nervous."

"Well, I like
that. You're becoming as depressing as Brayleigh. The two of you are
well-matched." Malcolm shook his head. "I never thought you'd grow up
to be such an old sober-sides, Rowena. I'd best head back to the stables.
Believe me, I'll take care of you whether you think I can or not."

Rowena watched him
stalk off, the straightness of his spine indicating his wounded pride. She
stifled a giggle. She couldn't imagine two men more different than her husband
and brother, and yet she loved them both.

The thought
immediately sobered her, for her love for Alaric was an immediate problem. The
words that had slipped so carelessly from her tongue earlier in the afternoon
assumed gigantic proportions in her imagination. Malcolm was surely right.
Alaric would only be disgusted if she displayed such unseemly emotions. He
expected her to be a good wife, to supply him with a son, and to cause as few
ripples as possible on the serene surface of his life. She had already driven
him away once, and it would kill her if she did so again. The subject would have
to be avoided until Alaric forgot it. Surely in the excitement of catching
Marguerite the next day his thoughts would turn to other matters.

She retraced her
steps to the terrace and slipped back into the drawing room. The men had
rejoined the ladies and Alaric stood on the far side of the room, his head
turned slightly to catch the words of Lady Brandfon. He smiled briefly when he
saw Rowena enter the room, and in a very few moments he detached himself from
his hostess and came to her side.

"Let me guess,"
he whispered. "Malcolm came up to the house."

She glanced up at him
in surprise. "How did you know?"

"With your
brother, such behavior is inevitable. I find it no surprise that he got himself
into so much trouble, and only regret that it is necessary to rescue him for
your sake." Alaric smiled to soften the words.

"You would have
done far better not to have married me," she said, trying for a light
tone.

Alaric shook his
head. "On the contrary, I would not be nearly so amused as I am now. While
it is occasionally uncomfortable having my world turned upside down, at least
it is not boring. I was very bored before I met you, Rowena."

Rowena's heart jumped
nervously. It was not a traditional compliment he had just paid her, but she
felt that it was sincerely meant. She looked up at him, her attack of nerves
returning. If he kept being so charming, she was sure to let her tongue slip
again.

"I...I think I
should go to bed now," she said rather abruptly, anxious to get away. "It
will be a busy day tomorrow."

"I will come
with you," said Alaric promptly, squeezing her hand. A wicked light
gleamed in his green eyes. "Perhaps we can continue our discussion of this
afternoon."

Rowena caught her
breath. "I have a terrible headache, my lord," she said. "I
think I had best go alone. I...I wouldn't be very entertaining, I'm sure."

Alaric's heavy
eyelids dropped, shielding his eyes. He bowed politely to her, raising her hand
to his lips. "By all means. I would not wish to trespass if you are not
feeling well."

"I...I'm sorry,"
she murmured.

"You cannot
avoid me forever," he said softly as she moved away.

Rowena gave him a
nervous look over her shoulder, but couldn't be sure if she had heard him
correctly. As she made her apologies to her hostess, she turned Alaric's words
over in her mind. Why did he seem so anxious to pursue the topic? Perhaps he
was still annoyed with her for her deception and was seeking to punish her. It
would be sweet revenge, she supposed, if she were to admit she loved him. She
bit her lip, silently vowing to reveal nothing to her husband.

She said a quiet good
night to her hostess and slipped out of the room, knowing that Marguerite was
gazing at her speculatively. At the very least, her nervousness was surely
convincing the baroness that she was truly afraid of her husband. It must be
obvious to everyone watching that she was as jumpy as a cat when she was around
him.

Rowena went quietly
up to her room and undressed without summoning Lawson, slipping between the
sheets of her bed with a sigh. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep,
but rest eluded her. And it was not thoughts of tomorrow's encounter with Lady
Bingham that haunted her, but rather thoughts of her husband and the mistake
she had made that afternoon.

When she heard the
door adjoining his room to hers open an hour later she hastily closed her eyes,
willing herself to breathe steadily and quietly. Alaric's footsteps approached
the bed, and he stood next to it for a moment, gazing silently down at her. In
her mind she could see him, his dark hair curling about his forehead, his
velvet robe wrapped about his muscular body. She almost opened her eyes,
knowing that he would come to her, but she resisted temptation. She was far too
embarrassed to face him tonight.

After a long pause,
she heard Alaric retrace his footsteps and close the door between their rooms.
With a sob Rowena rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. She would
deal with her feelings for her husband later, when she had accomplished her
task of clearing his name.