The Debonair Duke (21 page)

The men joined the women in short order, causing Pamela to wonder who suggested the departure from normal. She studied the prince, who paid attention to one of the Hardesty
girls—a platter-faced creature of no charm and even less taste, but sizable dowry.

“The port was barely tolerable, so we cut that part of the evening short,” the duke quietly explained while he leafed through a pile of music atop the pianoforte. How he managed to move about with such quiet speed mystified Pamela. She wished she had that ability.

“It seems the last Lord Vane did not believe in leaving a well-stocked cellar behind him,” Pamela said.

“That is not all,” the duke said. “There are indications of missing pictures here and there. I suspect the gentleman left his widow none too plump in the pocket, either.”

“There is nothing terribly unusual in those circumstances, you must admit,” Pamela said with sympathy clear in her manner.

“I cannot decide what part Raeburn plays in her life.” He picked up some music, pretending to examine it.

“He assisted her by playing host for the evening, nothing more,” Pamela said, glancing up to see the duke watching her hands hover over the keys. Her fingers moved downward creating a discordant sound. Aware a number of people stared at her, she smiled, then began a sprightly Mozart air.

“Sorry,” he apologized in her ear. “I did not mean to cause you problems.”

Pamela almost stopped midpoint in the musical selection. Problems? The man obviously did not know the meaning of the word. She completed the piece, then rose from the bench.

The duke slipped into her place. “Sing something,” he commanded in carrying tones.

She could scarcely refuse, having agreed to provide a bit of music. When he played the introduction for a light, popular tune, she nodded and sang with what she hoped was good grace. It was one of those ditties that had a catchy tune and somewhat ambiguous words that Pamela suspected might be taken more than one way.

But she would not perform again, in spite of the applause. Enough was enough, and she rarely sought the limelight.

Slipping away from the pianoforte and the duke, she crossed the room to gaze at a picture on the wall. From where she stood, she noted that two others were obviously missing. The duke had been right. Pamela felt compassion for the pretty Lady Vane, then she wondered about something that seemed most peculiar.

“And why do you frown?” the duke said, who had casually strolled her way following his own brief performance on the fine instrument provided for entertainment.

“If Lady Vane is hard-pressed for money so that she must sell some of the paintings, why give this elaborate dinner for a goodly number of people?”

“A need for display? Or perhaps she seeks to find a new husband, and this is her avenue?”

“Lord Raeburn?” Pamela glanced in his direction, returning to the hint made by the duke earlier. The gentleman in question now conversed with Lady Gresham.

“Not likely, but one never knows about motives, or what goes on in another’s head.”

“How true,” Pamela said with heartfelt agreement. “You had best circulate
,
Your Grace,” she added after a speculative look sent their way by Lady Hardesty. “It would be unwise to encourage any conjecture regarding us
,
do you not agree?”

He nodded and drifted away from her side with unflattering speed.

Abominable creature, she thought, feeling decidedly grumpy.

The prince and the vicomte compensated for the duke’s defection, both descending upon her with their charming words of praise and elegant encomiums.

The prince, in particular, seemed to take it in his head that he could claim her sole regard. He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm and proceeded to amble about the room, pointing out various objects of beauty, and avoiding comment on the missing paintings with correct civility.

Pamela considered his conduct most fitting, though he tended to dominate her company. However, she was content to be in the company of one of the more sought-after gentleman in London—after the duke, naturally. The prince’s polish and
Russian charm wore a trifle thin after a time, but she’d not complain about that in the least. Not when the duke glowered at her like a overzealous guardian.

As they were rejoining the main group, the vicomte claimed her attention from the prince with a laughing admonishment.

“You want nothing to do with that fellow,” the vicomte declared with a suave smile. “You would hate the Russian winters. Moscow is bad. St. Petersburg is little better. In summer, there are millions of little bugs to drive you insane. In winter, the wolves haunt one everywhere.”

“I had not realized you knew Russia so well,” she said. “I confess, I find the Continental wanderings of the various gentlemen perplexing. Baron Ruchoven seems terribly homesick for Germany and his family, and yet he must remain here in his government’s service. Do you not long for your home at times?” She recalled that exchange of papers and wondered what else he had been up to lately.

“Perhaps. Until the war is over there is little point in yearning for something I cannot have. Life is a gamble.” He gave her a hooded look, which seemed far too sober for a polite social gathering.

“Were you able to bring some assets with you when you left France?” Pamela sought to find out what she might from this man of whom she suspected something. After all, he was—along with two others—of a height with the thief.

“My family has had investments in England for many years, most prudent, as it turned out. I cannot live in the first style, but I am comfortable enough. I am flattered at your concern, my lady.”

Lady Smythe claimed the attentions of the duke, leaning against him in a highly intimate manner that Pamela thought indecorous. But then, a widow seemed to be able to do a great number of things that an unwed maiden might not.

“You have many friends in this country, Vicomte?” she asked turning her attention back to the gentleman at her side.

“It is pleasant to be invited here and there, both in the country and the city. My only difficulty is that it is almost impossible for me to reciprocate.”

“I suppose so,” she said vaguely, trying to think how he might accomplish entertaining a group while living at the Albany as he had mentioned. Impossible. Grillon’s, perhaps, but that was expensive and most likely above his touch.

Pamela excused herself to retreat to the ladies’ withdrawing room. Upon exiting, she discovered the duke pacing the hallway. At least she could think of no better word to describe the way he wandered back and forth just beyond the drawing room.

“There you are. I was beginning to think you had done a flit down the back stairs,” he said impatiently.

“Nonsense. As if I would ever do anything so stupid.”

He took her arm and walked with her along the passageway. “You are courting disaster, my girl.”

“I am doing nothing of the kind.” she replied with quiet heat. How dare this man think he might make such personal observations about her behavior!

“First you disappear with the prince—who was paying you such outrageous court before you left the room that I can scarce imagine what happened after.”

“Not one thing!” she declared emphatically. “Not that it is any of Your Grace’s business,” she added, irritated at his highhandedness.

“Well, then you left with the vicomte in much the same manner.”

“And
now
I stroll along with you!” she exclaimed haughtily. “Forgive me if I point out that this is scarcely less odious than the others.”

“But you are with me
,
” came the self-satisfied reply.

“More’s the pity,” she snapped. “I shall return to my mother’s side immediately. As the hour is late, I will also suggest we leave at once. I, for one, have had enough of the company!” She glared at him, leaving no doubt of her feelings, then turned sharply about and disappeared into the drawing room.

Chapter Twelve

The duke stared blankly at the morning paper. With his reputation as the most polished of gentlemen when it came to dealing with the fair sex, how had he made such a mull of things last night? For that matter, what was the trouble with him? Never had he acted in such an utterly fatheaded manner—making wild accusations of the proper Lady Pamela! He charged her with unseemly conduct, when she was obviously attempting to solve the mystery and coming a sight closer to it than he was.

The duke was becoming obsessed with the most extraordinary creature, that’s what it was. Her pretty little nose tilted up in a beguiling way when she was annoyed. And her luxuriant hair of softest brown curls sparkled when the sun blessed its strands with its golden rays. Those incredible cerulean blue eyes did not coyly flirt with him, but gazed candidly into his own, revealing unsuspected depths for a girl her age.

Her straightforward, frank manner might be considered daunting by some, but he found it enormously refreshing after being toadied to all his life. And that was another aspect about that young woman he’d considered so ordinary to begin with—she didn’t give a fig about his rank. The Wexford silver gilt coronet with eight golden strawberry leaves apparently held little appeal for her. She treated him much as she did Algie Thynne, who was no more than heir to a barony. For the duke, who had been accustomed to the deference due his title from birth, it was a highly novel experience to say the least. She might look forward to becoming a countess in her own right, but that couldn’t compare to the title of duchess. The notion that he might be found wanting in any manner piqued his pride.

Considering her further, she possessed a number of charms that set her apart from other young misses. Uppermost in his mind was the image of that magnificent figure. She was perfection in all those delicate curves and quite deliciously formed—particularly her splendid bosom.

In truth, she had requested his assistance in solving a mystery. No flirting, no guile, only proper manners, which placed her in the realm of those women with whom one did not dally, but married. Then he had taken advantage of her, kissing that delectable rosebud mouth when unable to resist the temptation—another inconsistent part of his behavior. He was beyond that sort of thing—or so he believed.

In turn, he had done blasted little to solve that mystery. Oh, they had searched the peerage, narrowing the field, and had latched on to the three most likely men, but had done precious little since then. Where had all his analytical abilities gone? All he had managed to do was parade this lovely young woman in that necklace, wearing daringly low-cut gowns—never mind that most society women wore gowns with similar necklines; she was special. And by now he had hoped that someone would have shown an excessive interest in the jewels.

But truth be told, Robert had been so diverted by Pamela’s exquisite body that a chap might have shown an extravagant interest in the necklace and he’d have missed it.

It was definitely time to pull himself together. There were reputations to consider—not only hers, but his. As a debonair gentleman of the
ton
and successful amateur sleuth, his standing could not come into question.

It was crucial to ascertain
if
a crime had been committed. Bow Street had no report of missing jewelry that matched the necklace. No fellow had quizzed Pamela regarding the story of her great-uncle and his lost love. So where did it all lead him? In a bit of a pickle, that’s where. Frustration was becoming an integral part of his life, and he couldn’t say it was particularly pleasant.

What was even more unpleasant was the probability that Pamela would not even speak to him this morning. He was reluctant to take his customary ride for fear she’d snub him. It would be a new experience, and one he was anxious to forgo.

Steps in the hall brought his attention to the doorway. He was pleased to see a grinning Algie saunter into the breakfast room.

“I take it you are having a good morning?” the duke said with a trace of cautiousness. Algie looked a trifle too pleased with the world.

“Thought you might want company on your ride today.” He glanced at the duke’s untouched plate of food, the near-empty cup of coffee and nodded. “As I thought, you need help. Heard all about it.”

“I need your help? What did you hear?”

“You made a cake of yourself last evening at the dinner Lady Vane gave for a select few. Word reached me that you gave Lady Pamela a dressing down that did not please her in the least.”

“If you heard about it, I had best attempt to mend my fences immediately.” He crisply folded his paper, setting it aside.

“It will take more than a dozen roses to do that if I make no mistake,” Algie said complacently, helping himself to a plate of ham, buttered eggs, with toast and marmalade.

“Naturally, I cannot placate this proper young woman with jewelry. Perhaps a book?” The duke studied the expression his friend wore, trying to estimate how much Algie exaggerated.

“You’re losing your touch, my friend,” Algie said with a grin between forkfuls of the excellent ham.

“I’ll have to think about a suitable atonement to the lady in question. When you finish stuffing yourself, be prepared to ride.” He’d ride today; he was no coward where ladies were concerned.

* * * *

On this sunny day the park was more popular than it had been for some time. He spotted Pamela immediately. She had a precise seat that no other woman matched.

“Good morning, Lady Pamela,” he said, greeting her effusively. “It is nice to see an improvement in the weather.”

Pamela gazed fixedly at him, and for a terrible moment Robert believed she intended to cut him dead. With an amiable look, she nodded. “It is indeed a lovely day. In fact, ‘tis far too pleasant to hold to grudges or anger. I quite forgive you for the words spoken last evening. I trust you were merely concerned for my reputation. What woman would not be flattered at such consideration from a fine gentleman.”

Feeling as though someone had punched the air from his lungs he took a deep breath. “You are most gracious, my lady, far more than I deserve. My wretched tongue…” he began, then recalled that Algie was there, all ears. “Shall we ride?”