The Debonair Duke (11 page)

“You are in danger of growing smug, Your Grace,” Lady Anne said from the opposite seat of the carriage.

“I do have rather good ideas, you must admit,” he replied, forgetting the idea was partly Pamela’s. “Give me the case and I shall tend to the letter and delivery of the same. Her dotty old great-uncle is about to become most cherished.”

“How cynical, to think he could only be loved if he bestows a handsome gift on her.”

“Perhaps not Lady Pamela, but certainly the mother,” the duke replied, silencing his friend. “I shall consult the peerage to find the precise direction of the old chap, as well as his name. It ought to make the parcel appear most genuine.”

* * * *

The following day saw the delivery of an interesting package to Pamela, brought by courier at a time when the entire family was at the breakfast table together.

“A courier just arrived with this, you ladyship,” Grimes said, but handing the parcel to Pamela. “ ‘Tis for Lady Pamela.”

“Whatever can it be?” Lady Gresham said with more than a little curiosity. Life in London had become exciting as of late.

Pamela glanced at the direction on the package, setting it aside for possible inspection later, swiftly opened the package, then the box, exclaiming with delight at the jewels within.

“Who dares to send such an expensive gift to you,” her father roared.

Unfolding the crisp note, Pamela read the contents to her increasingly amazed parents.

“Great-uncle Charles? I had no idea he had a lost love. Chap never married, you know. This must be why,” Papa said musingly.

“Well, I do not recall any such relative on your side, but he would have been a brother to your grandfather, so that is not surprising,” Lady Gresham said while studying the magnificent jewels. “I do not know about Pamela wearing these…” She gave her husband a doubtful look.

“Of course she shall wear them,” the earl cried. “It would be an insult for her
not
to wear them. Do not think that because he isn’t here, he wouldn’t know. Word can reach the most peculiar locations.”

Pamela’s heart sank at this pronouncement. “I will write him a letter and give it to you to frank for me, Papa,” she said at last. Knowing that her parent was fully capable of reading her letter, Pamela took ages to compose the most polite and properly vague letter of thanks that had most likely ever been written. What he could not know was that after franking, the letter would simply disappear.

Then she had Rose alter her ball gowns, particularly the one intended for the all-important Sefton ball.

So it was to be at this ball that Pamela not only would wear the magnificent sapphire-and-diamond jewels, but now her blue satin ball gown had a far lower neckline than when originally made.

“Rose, tell me I do not look like a brazen woman,” Pamela said softly to her maid while she inspected her reflection in the looking glass. The diamonds coupled with the sumptuous richness of the satin gave her delicate skin a soft blushing glow while the sapphires matched the vivid blue of her eyes.

“No, milady,” her gentle maid replied with a smile. “You look a treat for the eyes in that pretty dress. And the necklace is sure to draw attention.” Naturally, Rose dared not mention her lady’s décolletage was made audacious by the recent alteration.

That was precisely what Pamela feared. She was all about in the attic to proceed with this mad scheme. It went against her grain to partake in deceit
—yet she must, for she desired to restore the jewels to the rightful owner and it seemed to require drastic measures.

It was evident from the moment she removed her cloak at the Sefton house and came forward to greet her hostess that the duke had done as promised. “So these are the lovely jewels from your great-uncle! What a charming gentleman, to harbor such love, then do this for you, my dear,” Lady Sefton concluded before passing Pamela along to the earl, who studied the necklace with a connoisseur’s eye.

Pamela still felt somewhat undressed, not the least accustomed to a neckline that barely
—to her sensitive nature—seemed proper. However, she reasoned that most of the people would be far more interested in her jewelry than the low cut of her gown, so she tried to appear serene.

“Ah, Lady Pamela, Lord and Lady Gresham,” Lady Anne cried. Sir Cecil, the duke, and Algernon Thynne were clustered around the pretty Lady Anne in light conversation when Pamela and her mother entered the room followed by the earl.

Lord Gresham nodded pleasantly to the duke, then headed for the room reserved for cards.

“Lady Gresham, how nice to see you this evening,” the duke said with proper reserve. “Lady Pamela, I trust you will grant me a dance this evening.” To Algernon he added, “We will have to fight our way to her side, I expect, for everyone will want to see the exciting new heiress to the fabulous sapphire-and-diamond necklace.”

The music began and before Pamela could think of a sufficiently scathing retort, the duke took her gloved hand, smiled at Lady Gresham, and swept Pamela off to the dance floor.

“I do not recall being asked to dance, Your Grace,” Pamela said in a smothered voice, wanting to say a great deal more but unable because a minuet did not permit much conversation.

He twirled her about, then retreated in the steps of the courtly dance and grinned most annoyingly at her.

When possible, Pamela said quietly to him, “Have you thought what I am to do when I must give these to the rightful owner? What then to my heiress?”

“Do not borrow trouble from tomorrow,” he said with a frown when able to speak without another overhearing his words. “We have enough on our plate for now.”

Pamela dipped a regal curtsy at the conclusion of the dance and turned to leave the floor. The duke took a possessive hold of her arm, so her progress was slowed. Before she had reached her mother, Algernon Thynne joined them.

“I have requested permission for your hand for the next dance. I trust you enjoy a Scotch reel?”

Pamela tossed a narrow look at the duke, then graciously placed her hand on Algernon’s arm and left with him to frolic on the dance floor.

Robert pensively watched his good friend walk off with Lady Pamela. The sight of the jewels on her skin was even more enticing than he had expected. What incredibly lovely skin, so satiny and soft-looking. She was the perfect foil for the jewels, all blue satin, her brown curls dressed with blue ribands threaded in them and discreet diamond-and-sapphire earbobs to match the necklace
—no doubt the notion of her mother. They were excellent, as was her bosom, he added to himself with another look in her direction. She certainly did justice to the gown. He’d had a hard time keeping his gaze from fastening on the enticing view exposed by that low neckline.

Again he knew the feeling that he wished to keep her away from other dashing men who were attending the ball. He gave himself a mental shake and went off to make note of the men who intended to claim the hand of the Earl of Gresham’s charming daughter for a dance.

The stir around Pamela began in earnest when Algernon Thynne returned her to Lady Gresham. The press of gentlemen begging the favor of her hand in a dance was unlike anything she had ever known. She would have been a most unnatural creature to be completely unaffected by the attention.

At the introduction prior to each dance she paid close attention to the name of each man who partnered her. Not a J.R. in the lot, it seemed.

An hour later the duke sought her out again. As the strains of a waltz drifted over the heads of the dancers, many left the floor, unwilling to jeopardize their standing and unsure of what would be proper. Though this might be a ball given by a patroness, it did not mean everyone wished to waltz.

Pamela gave the duke a questioning look and asked in a low voice, “Are you sure this is proper?”

“I asked Lady Sefton if I might have the honor of leading you out in a waltz. She had to be persuaded to allow it. I believe a Scotch reel was scheduled to be next.”

“And you wished to talk without causing comment,” Pamela guessed.

“Clever girl,” the duke replied while gracefully sweeping her around in continual circles. At first they were one of only a few couples who dared to attempt the waltz. Lady Anne and Sir Cecil were another pair, soon followed by Algernon Thynne and others Pamela recognized from the waltzing party.

“Do you have anything to report?” he queried while Pamela tried to cope with his nearness and the feelings that deluged her at his expert touch.

“I have listened carefully and noted each name as a partner was introduced to me, and I am sorry to say that there has been no success to this point,” she replied.

“It is still early in the evening. You will not leave here until sometime around four in the morning. I shall consult with you over supper.”

Pamela dropped her gaze, fastening it on his diamond stickpin. Monstrous creature, to expect she would fall in with whatever he wished
—which, of course, she would.

If she was breathless when they finished revolving around the room, it had more to do with the effect the duke had on her senses than merely circling. Never had she been so acutely aware of a man
—his touch, his voice. She could have closed her eyes and immediately known his identity were he to approach her, even before he said a word. It bothered her, for she knew that once they had solved the mystery surrounding the jewels, she would most likely not see him again, except from a distance. Ordinary girls did not attract a man of his stature, not even the daughter of an earl with a healthy dowry. He could have a bird of paradise, and she was a sparrow—albeit a bejeweled one. Her reflection in the looking glass revealed a potential she’d not expected. Perhaps…

Her mother sat a trifle straighter as a dashing gentleman in a decidedly foreign-looking uniform of formfitting white pantaloons, a magnificent blue dolman dazzling with gold braid, and a short fur-trimmed pelisse slung over his shoulders in the manner of a hussar, made a bow before her. The gentleman was blond, with a thin, aristocratic face decorated with an elegant mustache, ice-blue eyes, a generous mouth, and an air of one who is accustomed to having his way. In that he reminded Pamela a little of the duke, although this gentleman was shorter in stature.

“Madam,” he said while fastening his gaze upon Pamela, or more specifically on her necklace, “Prince Jaroslav Radinski at your service. I beg the hand of this exquisite creature for a dance.” He bowed low before Pamela, and she stifled the urge to giggle because he was so preposterously outrageous in his manner. Mama was impressed.

Within moments Pamela found herself as partner of the dashing prince. They were spinning along the line of a country-dance when it hit her. The prince had the necessary initials: J.R.! Could that account for his fascination with her necklace? It was possible. She must do something to keep the prince at her side so she might query him.

When the dance came to an end, Pamela fanned herself, not without cause, for the room was warm and the dance had been an energetic one. “Oh, please. Prince Radinski, might we stroll along the side of the room to the central hall? I find the air in here a trifle warm.”

“But of course,” the prince said with delightful enthusiasm.

“You are the most charming of many charming ladies here this evening, my Lady Pamela. It is impossible to take my eyes from such a vision of English loveliness. At home, you would be feted, heaped with more jewels, betrothed to a prince of the land.” His eyes caressed her, particularly her bosom and the necklace. Were it not for the need to flaunt the necklace, Pamela would have been utterly mortified by his attentions.

“My goodness,” said an undaunted Pamela, thinking he found the jewels more to his liking than her person. “A prince? Are there many princes in Russia?” Perhaps this might deflect his attention from her bosom and the jewels for a few moments while she probed for information.

“One must be a prince,” he exclaimed, “to be less is unthinkable. And there is no money in being ordinary.” he said with disarming frankness. “The army is the way of things for young men of noble rank.”

“So you look for an English heiress?” Or
,
she added mentally, some sapphires and diamonds.

“It is a possibility, dear lady. But only if she were as beautiful as you.” His voice had the quality of fine honey, flowing over her senses with soft, smooth words. Oh, he was a wily one, she decided. He had to be, to call her beautiful and charming, a considerably un-English thing to do after a first dance.

He continued to cozen her with flowery phrases and high-flown allusions until she thought her head would spin.

After a time spent strolling along the large hall, in company with a good many others who sought respite from the heat of the ballroom, Pamela said, “I must return to my mother
,
Your Highness. It would be highly improper for me to remain here much longer. Besides, I must explain my absence to the gentleman who had asked my hand for the following dance. I fear I have disappointed him.”

“He will be desolate, poor fellow. I fear I may have to fight the duel.”

Pamela laughed, thinking that was a good bit of nonsense. Taking her gloved hand, the prince properly returned her to her mother.

The Duke of Wexford appeared to chat pleasantly with Mama, but his gray eyes looked as though a thundercloud had taken permanent residence on his brow.

“Your Grace,” Pamela said, dropping a perfectly proper curtsy before him after exchanging a look with her mother.

He bestowed an icy glare on the prince that must have reminded him of a Moscow winter. “Prince Radinski, I do not believe we have met.”

“Your Highness, may I present the Duke of Wexford,” Pamela said with diplomatic tact, removing her hand from the prince’s arm with cautious propriety.

“You do not wish to duel, do you?” the prince said with a disarming smile.

Clearly startled, the frown left the duke’s noble brow to be replaced by a questioning look at Pamela, as though she ought to explain such odd words.

“May I enjoy a glass of ratafia with you
,
Your Grace?” Pamela said with daring, knowing it was not at all the thing for her to do, but desperate to isolate the duke from the prince before one of them said or did something stupid.