The Debonair Duke (14 page)

Pamela gasped at the very notion of a man entering her room while she slept in her bed. “What should I do?”

“Is the necklace in your father’s safe?”

“He came home after I had gone to bed, and Mama forgot to take it along to give him. When I arose, he had already left for the day. I fear the necklace is still sitting on my bookshelf,” she confessed, feeling quite stupid.

“Well, best see to it that it is carefully stowed before nightfall. Little chance it would be taken during the day, but come night, well…”

“He did question me about our plans for the evening. He hoped to see us at the theater. I told him that Mama planned to attend Lady Beckett’s rout. But after I returned to the house, I learned I had the wrong date
—the rout is tomorrow evening. We are to be at home this evening.”

“Take extra care, then,” he cautioned.

Pamela escorted him down the stairs to the front door, pausing on the bottom step while silently clasping her hands in worry.

When he took note of her concern, he smiled at her
—a kindly, brotherly smile that Pamela was most accustomed to receiving from gentlemen—and said, “I wish I might be here to assist you, but you know
that
would not be the least proper.”

“And I am very proper,” she said with a resigned sigh, watching as he took his leave.

She set about taking a few precautions for the coming night. She slipped down the stairs and into the scullery, grabbing the first heavy thing in sight. Silently, she returned to her room, just missing an encounter with a footman
,
Grimes, and Rose. Then she carefully concealed the jewelry in the box that resembled a book and hoped it looked innocuous.

The heavy object proved to be an iron skillet. She placed it close to hand where she might seize it in an instant should someone attempt to enter her room. With the toe of one slippered foot, she nudged it out of sight, lest Rose spot it and ask embarrassing questions.

That night she curled up in bed and found herself unable to sleep. How silly she felt with the skillet on the floor. The prince wouldn’t actually try to steal the necklace, would he?

She sincerely doubted it
—or perhaps wished it not so. But she was prepared for any eventuality.

In a way it was almost an anticlimax when
—with no moon to light the area and the streetlight but slight—Pamela heard a scraping noise at her window. She silently slipped from her bed, snatched the skillet, and hid behind the draperies.

A figure all in black slithered into the room with so little noise that had it not been for that first scrape and the fact that Pamela expected someone, she would never have heard a thing. Her heart pounded madly. Her palms felt damp, and she wiped them one at a time on her gown. She swallowed with difficulty, her throat extremely dry.

The man began a search of the room while Pamela assessed the size and possible strength of the intruder. She was not so foolish as to try to do battle with someone twice her size. From the faint outside light, he appeared close to her in height, so much the better. She could hear him paw her things with little regard for the delicate objects, and she grew angry at this base intruder. How dare he!

Gathering up her courage, she stepped from behind the draperies, tiptoed across the room, and raised the skillet. Her aim was off. She hit the person a glancing blow, causing him to stagger slightly.

Before Pamela could gather her nerve again, the figure in black spun around, pushed Pamela aside, then dashed to the window and was out as silently as he’d entered, albeit somewhat worse for the bump on the head.

Pamela leaned weakly against her bed, thinking that while she had foiled the burglary, she knew no more as to the identity of the figure in black. Who was it? Could the slender figure actually be the prince? In the pitch-dark of the room, she had barely been able to make out the man. It could have been anyone, she thought, dispirited. Except for the duke. She’d know him even in the deepest of nights.

That left a goodly number of possible suspects.

Chapter Eight

Returning to the warmth and safety of her bed, Pamela trembled at the realization of what had just so swiftly happened. It had taken but moments! Her room had been shockingly easy to enter. At that thought, she whipped back her covers and dashed to the window to look out at her dainty balcony of wrought iron added just last year to decorate the facade of the front of the house. Without it, the intruder would have had a great deal more trouble. She fastened the window lock.

She vowed that come morning she would find a way in which to secure that window against further intrusions. It was utterly intolerable! To think she was so vulnerable! Indignant and angry, her trembling ceased, replaced by a determination to outwit and best this thief.

Following a restless night, Pamela was still abed when Rose entered with her tray. Obviously surprised at this change from the new pattern, Rose said nothing, merely setting the tray before her mistress and offered a cheery good morning to her.

At the sight of the skillet on the floor near the window. Rose halted and cast a dismayed look at Pamela.

A skillet on her bedroom floor merited an explanation, so she might as well tell the truth. “Someone tried to enter my room last night just after I had gone to bed. I frightened him away.”

“Mercy!” the maid cried. “Why did you not call for help?” She picked up the skillet, taking it to the door with the obvious intention of returning it to the kitchen, along with a suitably embellished tale.

“It was not necessary. But I intend to do something about that window, I can tell you. I do not like having intruders when I want to sleep.”

Giving her mistress an awed look. Rose left the room, skillet in hand.

“Silly gudgeon, you were so frightened you could not have called for help had you tried,” Pamela scolded herself.

She received a lecture on foolishness from her father at the breakfast table some time later.

“I had not realized you had taken to keeping a weapon of sorts in your room. Amazing you managed to use it. I must investigate the matter,” he said in his usually vague manner. After her father concluded his admonitions, he inquired, “Why was that necklace not in the safe box?”

“Mama and I do not have a key. For that matter, we do not know where the safe is
—and
you
were not here.” This was the closest she had ever come to openly criticizing her father’s conduct or his apparent lack of faith in their intelligence.

“I should have taken the necklace, but I forgot
—unaccustomed to Pamela having valuable jewelry in her possession,” Lady Gresham added with no real apology in her voice or manner.

It was immediately decided that Pamela and her mother would be provided keys, knowledge of the safe’s location in the paneled study, and freedom to use the safe. Indeed, Lord Gresham exhorted them to place anything of value in the safe.

“All I have to consider is where to hide my key,” Pamela muttered on her way back to her room. When she entered, she found Rose and a footman placing a metal bar within the sash box, bracing it in the upper portion of the window. It would quite effectively prevent the lower part from being raised.

“If you please, milady, we think this might help. His lordship, the Earl of Hampton, has such bars for his windows,” Rose said with a nod to the footman. “Henry served at that house before the earl sold it.”

“Thank you,” Pamela said, thinking that she could not wait to leave London and all the threats posed by living in the city.

She would be glad when the necklace could be handed over to the true owner, whomever that might be.

However, escaping the house for her morning ride brought other complications. No sooner had she entered the park than she was joined by Prince Radinski. She examined his face, looking for a sign that he had been the one who crept so silently into her room late the night before.

“Ah, my fairest princess,” he softly exclaimed in greeting, bowing so low that Pamela feared he might unbalance and fall from his horse. He looked somewhat the worse for wear
—as though he had a headache?

“Good morning, Your Highness. It is lovely to see the sun shining at this hour, is it not?” She gestured to the pattern made by the dance of lacy leaves overhead. “Shall we progress?” Star moved forward with little prompting from Pamela. The mare didn’t like idleness at this hour anymore than did her mistress.

The prince joined her, giving a lazy glance at Timson, who rode behind with marked vigilance.

“Your groom does you credit,” the prince remarked. “He guards you with great care.”

“Mama selected him for me. He comes from our country home and has known me all my life.” Pamela glanced back to bestow a smile on the devoted Timson. “There is no chance that ill might befall me with him on watch.”

The trio rode through the early summer green with every evidence of amiability. Pamela had just decided that the prince could not be the thief when he brought up the subject of her necklace.

“I trust you have that magnificent jewelry kept in a safe place?” Was there an intent to his query?

“Of course. My Papa is most insistent upon that,” she replied. She wondered what had prompted his question. Was he truly concerned? Or piqued that he had been foiled in his attempt to steal the jewels?

“So many people in this city are lax in storing beautiful, priceless things. In Russia, we have small vaults to house our precious items,” he said by way of explanation.

“I suspect that we do as well, at least some of the people.” She hoped that was sufficiently noncommittal.

“Do people place them in their libraries or a bedroom?”

“As to that
,
” Pamela said prudently, “I could not say.”

Again she saw the handsome, distinguished figure of the Duke of Wexford riding across the park in seeming indifference to those who also rode this morning. Pamela suspected otherwise. She was beginning to know his methods.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with a proper deference when he joined them.

“Lady Pamela, Your Highness,” he said with a glance at the sky. “It looks to come on rain before long. I trust you will be home before then, as I should not wish that delightful hat to be ruined. I wonder,” he said to Pamela, “do you attend the Kingscote affair this evening? Lady Anne mentioned it is to be particularly nice.”

“I believe so, Your Grace,” Pamela said with a glance from one man to the other. Would the prince have an entree to the elegant Kingscote party? Most likely. Better to have him there than attempting to enter her bedroom again
—if, indeed, he was the culprit.

The duke maneuvered the trio with the most casual of moves. Without knowing quite how it was done, Pamela found they were retracing their path and leaving the park, headed for her home. When they reached her front door, the duke swiftly dismounted and helped Pamela down before the prince realized what was afoot.

“Trust you do not mind, old chap. I have a matter to discuss with Lady Pamela. We shall see you this evening, I hope?” He gave the prince a bland look that somehow suggested His Highness had an appointment elsewhere.

“Indeed.” The prince bowed, then rode off, stiff-backed and looking a trifle insulted.

“Pouting pigeon,” the duke muttered, escorting Pamela past Grimes and into the entry. Timson ably took charge of the gray stallion. Star followed with an undergroom.

“Many gentlemen affect that style,” she gently admonished, although privately agreeing with the duke’s assessment.

While they walked up to the drawing room, the duke quietly said, “You wear the necklace again this evening?”

“Of course. Fortunately, I still have it despite an attempt last night to steal the thing.”

This shocking remark necessitated an explanation, bringing forth a look of disgust for the villain and respect for Pamela. “I cannot believe entry could be so simple. Please have a care for your safety, my lady.”

“Take comfort. I shall now have a key, and I know behind which panel in the library wall the safe hides. There will be no repeat of the attempt to enter my room.” She explained what the footman had installed and barely restrained the duke, who wanted to see it for himself.

Instead of marching up another flight of stairs to her room, they entered the drawing room, where the duke suavely greeted the countess. “What a pleasure to find you are still to home
,
Countess. I understand you are frequently to be found with Lady de Clifford and the Princess Charlotte.”

Gratified by his acknowledgment of her high position in society, the countess rose to greet her guest, then lead him to the most comfortable chair in the room, close to hers.

They chatted some, then the duke said, “I trust you attend the Kingscote affair this evening. I should like to escort you if I may?”

The countess recovered her speech with amazing speed to murmur, “We should be most pleased, Your Grace.”

Having accomplished what he wished, the duke soon left the house.

Lady Gresham sat with a bemused smile before marshaling herself to plan for the evening. “Pamela, what do you intend to wear? How will it look with the sapphires?”

“I thought to wear the cream satin with the deep blue bows and trim.”

The countess relaxed. The most recent creation from the mantuamaker was undoubtedly one to rival that of any other young lady
—and Pamela would have the necklace. The countess might be forgiven her complacent expression.

* * * *

That evening while driving along in the duke’s carriage, Pamela adjusted the puffed sleeves of her gown, thinking the little inserts of deep blue most becoming against the cream satin. Even her slippers were pretty blue satin. She glanced at the duke, arrayed in white satin breeches with a deep blue coat over a white satin waistcoat. Mama wore mulberry faille trimmed with lace. They were all splendidly garbed for what promised to be a lovely evening.