The Debonair Duke (15 page)

Once past the receiving line, she became aware of the stares cast in her direction from a good many people, since the duke was obviously arriving as one of the Gresham party. Pamela walked into the drawing room with a new confidence.

The first gentleman to be presented to her was a German diplomat. Baron Johan Ruchoven. With a meaningful glance at the duke, Pamela walked off, hand properly placed on the baron’s arm, to join in the next dance.

She hoped the duke had taken note of what had struck her immediately. The baron’s initials. This J.R. had made a dead set at her the moment she entered the room. He was, if anything, purposeful. He also was charming, for a German. Pamela had found that too often they tended to be pompous and overbearing. The baron might be a trifle pompous, but he did try to please. He danced well, too.

“My lady, you are the most charming sight in the room, I vow,” the baron said with a gracious smile.

“How kind of you,” Pamela replied while wondering how he would manage to arrive at the topic of her necklace. It did not take him long.

“That is a magnificent necklace. Such a heartwarming story it has,” he said, his accent lending a certain charm to his words. He gazed at the jewels with what she thought to be a covetous look. But then, that gaze also roamed over her upper torso as well, causing her bosom to swell with indignation. Really!

“English ladies dress with such style,” he commented. “You obviously know how to best display that pretty bauble.”

Pretty bauble, indeed, thought an irate Pamela. He probably was calculating precisely how much the necklace was worth, right down to the pence. The effect of all this was to cause Pamela to lose her customary attitude of reserve and made her appear infinitely more desirable. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, she was dazzling.

The duke stood on the far side of the room, watching the progress of his little “protégée” with the foreign diplomat. What was the bounder saying to Lady Pamela to make her color up like a wild rose? Only fulsome compliments could do that, he knew. She was delightfully graceful, and it must be admitted, the baron danced well.

That perfectly splendid bosom was such a charming resting place for the sapphires and diamonds. He felt a stirring within as he watched her lithesome figure swing about in the pattern of the dance, knowing an urge to hold her in his arms again, experience her touch. For such a prosaic little creature, it was amazing how she had become such a part of his life. He couldn’t explain his feelings in the least, and it certainly puzzled him. He resolved to claim the next waltz. He would hold her, and soon.

When the baron returned Pamela to her mother, he bowed low, then commented, “Lady Gresham appears more your sister than mother, I vow.” As a compliment Pamela thought it a trifle heavy-handed, but Mama adored it.

The duke stood behind the countess, determined to have his way. Having spoken to the bandleader, he moved to take possession of his quarry. He quietly remarked to Pamela, “I trust you noticed what I did. The chap’s initials.”

“Was he on your list?” Pamela inquired, her tones dulcet. “The prince wasn’t. Odd that neither of us considered foreigners in our calculations.”

“No convenient list of them,” the duke grumbled. “And no, in answer to your question, he was not on my list. No one on that list has come near you, in fact.”

Oddly annoyed with His Grace, Pamela dared to say, “If we do not dance, people will place more importance on our association than warranted. You must not spend much time conversing with me, or they will gossip.”

Since the strains of a waltz had begun
—as requested by the duke—he simply slipped his arms about her and swept her into
the dance. He noted with gratification the displeased look on the baron’s face. Pompous diplomat.

Pamela chided herself for goading His Grace into dancing with her. What a deliciously naughty thing to do. Her eyes sparkled with delight as they revolved slowly around the room in a graceful swirl of her skirts. His touch was just as sure as before, his effect on her just the same. If anything, she had fallen more deeply under his spell. And she was determined that he would not know how she felt, for that would be a disaster.

“Could the baron have been the one who attempted the theft of the jewels?” the duke inquired.

“It was too dark to tell for certain, although he is of the proper height. Maybe I ought to go about checking gentlemen for lumps on their heads?” she said mischievously, a smile dancing in her eyes as she looked up at him.

The image of her bending over gentlemen to examine possibly wounded noggins while their eyes were level with her lovely bosom did not set well with the duke.

“I doubt that would work,” he muttered. “Just keep your eyes and ears open. You are a clever girl. I feel certain something will occur to us in time.”

How lovely to be called clever
—which she might or might not be. It was nice to be treated as though she had something other than cotton wool in her head.

The duke seemed reluctant to return her to Mama’s side when the dance concluded. Perhaps he had not finished with his suggestions? A minor battle waged within her at the moment. On one side she relished the attention from His Grace, no matter that it was in aid of hunting out the truth. On the other, she wished most heartily to have the mystery of the jewels solved so that life would return to normalcy. And didn’t that have a dull ring to it?

At this moment the charming and proper Lord Raeburn modestly asked Pamela to dance, quite beating out the prince, who had arrived late and looked highly displeased at the growth in competition.

“Good chap,” muttered the duke as he more or less handed her over to Lord Raeburn, quite ignoring the prince.

How marvelously kind of the duke to vet her partners, she thought, faintly tired with the efforts of men to rule her life. Naturally, her father set forth rules to be supplemented by her mother. And she supposed that once married, her husband would follow suit. Yet that did not mean she did not yearn to make her own decisions or to have a husband with whom she might jointly discuss problems and reach decisions.

Her present partner looked kind and undemanding; a pleasant, unassuming fellow, by all accounts. She’d wager he would be a nice match, gentle and understanding. Why could she not be attracted to someone like him?

When he returned her to her mother’s side, Pamela was intrigued to find a dashing gentleman of moderate height wearing the very cream of fashion. She gave her mother an inquiring look, expectant.

“The Vicomte Jean Reynaud requests the pleasure of your company for the next dance, my dear.” There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Mama’s voice as she uttered these words. The vicomte was known to dangle after the diamonds of society, those belles of every ball. Had Pamela really ascended to these heights? Was it the necklace, or had the attentions of the duke drawn the eye of these notable gentlemen to herself? Whatever it was, she was delighted to be in fashion for the moment, happy to accept the civility showered upon her by these sophisticated men.

“Vicomte Reynaud, I am pleased to accept your hand for the next dance,” she said with shy courtesy, even though she grasped the significance of the man’s initials almost immediately. First there was Baron Johan Ruchoven and now Vicomte Jean Reynaud. She wondered if all the other men with those particular initials would be attracted to her as well? How very, very odd.

“Ah, mademoiselle, you are
très enchante.
There is no other to compare to you this evening.”

His smile made her uneasy. She also knew his words were pure flattery of the most blatant sort. He went on, blithely extolling virtues she was becoming accustomed to hearing. Yet, she had to confess it
was
charming. The duke issued directions and was all business. He would not sully her ears with such nonsense, more’s the pity.

The dashing Frenchman gave the proper baron a bored look of disdain when the German diplomat attempted to reclaim the hand of the charming belle of the evening. The prince couldn’t come close to Pamela. From afar the duke watched the display of masculine outmaneuvering with a grim smile. If this failed to turn the head of the pretty Lady Pamela, she would be a most unusual girl. The duke resented the Frenchman’s attitude almost as much as he disliked the baron’s proprietary manner. Being watchdog to an heiress that possessed a stolen sapphire-and-diamond necklace was more than a little wearing on a chap.

She was laughing at some nonsense that Reynaud tossed off, as the duke knew he was rather good at doing. Wit and charm were Reynaud’s stock in trade, as it were, and it appeared he was set to charm Lady Pamela. How could she resist such foolery? Far more sophisticated women than Pamela had tumbled to that facile bewitcher.

The duke sought her out the moment he had the chance. “I do not suppose you had an opportunity to learn anything about our Frenchman? He seemed to do most of the talking, which means he controlled the conversation, which also means he asked many questions, particularly concerning the necklace. Am I correct?”

She clapped her gloved hands—in mock admiration, he suspected.

“You are precisely correct, Your Grace. He poured flattery over my poor head until I thought I should sink beneath it. Never have I been so praised. It makes me very suspicious of his motives, you see.” Pamela gave the duke a frank, open look. “And he asked a great number of casual questions about the necklace. He wanted to know who had created such a masterpiece. Was it true that my great-uncle had commanded I wear it in memory of a lost love? And of course, did I guard it properly? How odd that everyone desires to know how it is kept safe,” she declared in a wry voice. “Not to mention where.”

Robert placed her hand on his arm and led her toward the refreshment room, thinking it a pity they had so little freedom to meet for discussions during balls.

“We must plan carefully to trap the guilty one. Could you meet me tomorrow at the Radcliffe library? There we will be able to discuss this without the worry of listening ears.” He instructed the footman to place a number of delicacies on two plates, then took them to a small table near the doorway.

Pamela glanced thoughtfully at the duke. How her life had altered since the necklace had been mistakenly sent to her. Before, her days had been tediously the same. Now she scarce had a moment to work on her needlepoint. And she was certainly mixing with the
crème de la crème
of society!

“The Radcliffe library? At ten of the clock? Of course. I shall come directly when I return from my morning ride.” She placed a morsel of lobster salad in her mouth and almost choked at the duke’s next words.

“Doubtless both the baron and Vicomte Reynaud will pursue you. Do you feel up to handling the situation? Diplomats are trained to be very persuasive. You might find yourself agreeing to something outrageous before you know it.” The duke’s gaze seemed to be sympathetic.

Pamela found his understanding to be far more dangerous to her senses than the foolish flattery the others had heaped upon her. The warmth in his eyes possessed far more power to seduce than empty phrases.

“Thank you for your concern. I promise you that should I feel things are a trifle out of hand, I will summon your able assistance.” She gave him a speculative look, then added, “It is reassuring to know I may depend upon your help. I could not attempt this otherwise.”

Robert looked deeply into the honest blue eyes of pure cerulean that gazed so directly into his. How confident she was now. No coquetry, no flirting, just a straightforward appeal and an appreciation he’d swear was genuine.

“Tomorrow at ten, and please know that I would never fail you, should you seek my assistance,” he found himself saying—something he’d never said before.

“Well, if it isn’t the belle of the ball in hiding,” Lady Anne cried with glee as she rushed up to Pamela. “Are your poor slippers worn through? Or perhaps you have to brush out the flattery from your hair?” She giggled at Pamela’s amused expression and seated herself on a chair pulled forward by her ever-attentive husband.

“We will be meeting at your library in the morning to discuss what must be done,” the duke began. “There are now three suspicious gentlemen who have presented themselves to Lady Pamela. They have the right initials, are the proper height, and ask improper questions about the necklace,” the duke said with a lift of his brows.

“You poor darling,” Lady Anne said, placing a hand over Pamela’s. “How dreadful to suspect every word said to you and know that one of your admirers could have been the burglar in your bedroom.”

“I can trust the duke…and you two. Indeed, all others are questionable. It is most amusing, however, to change from being a wren to a swan.” Pamela laughed at herself, exchanging amused looks with her friends.

“Time to return to duty, my lady.” the duke insisted.

Pamela chuckled at his mock seriousness. “Aye, aye, sir,” she murmured, walking at his side to the ballroom.

Once with her mother, she wondered what might happen next. It was not long before the prince claimed a country-dance and the baron his waltz. And then it was time to leave.

The ride home was quiet, with the duke in a reflective mood. He said little when he left her.

Pamela took her new key and carefully placed the necklace into the safe before going to her room. Once there, she gave the protective bar that slanted across her window a resigned look, then pulled the draperies to hide it. Still, she’d sleep better tonight.

* * * *

The following morning at ten in the Radcliffe library, she faced the duke with a merry smile and lighter heart.

“You were quite correct last evening,” she reported with a beguiling grin. “The baron and the vicomte vied for my attention this morning until I almost lost patience with them. What
a pity they cannot learn from you that a lady appreciates a few well-chosen words far more than an ocean of false flattery.” She gave him a soft smile.

“You think their praise false flattery?” the duke asked, oddly touched by her tribute
.