The Debonair Duke (18 page)

But this morning she would see the vicomte—if he followed his previous attentions. What would she say to discreetly draw out more information? How could she conceal her knowledge of his peculiar behavior of the evening past? Ordinarily, one did not leave a party to exchange a packet of papers with another in a dimly lit street, particularly if he was a potential enemy.

Even Lady Vane had been concerned about his absence, commenting in her soft, hesitant voice. If the widow was anxious, it could easily explain Pamela’s concern.

The park was devoid of riders, it seemed. The weather was not good, coming on to mist before long. Only one familiar gentleman on a gray stallion rode her way.

“Your Grace, good morning,” Pamela said when he drew close. “It seems we are the only riders out and about.”

“Slugabeds, most likely. An excess of wine can do that, you know, or a late night of gambling.” He shared a smile with her of the sort she treasured.

Pamela suspected there were other, more intriguing things that might cause one to oversleep as well. She did not say this, naturally. Once in a while prudence still reasserted itself.

“It is Almack’s this evening, if I recall,” the duke continued as they walked their horses along the Row.

“Yes. I am prepared,” she said, thinking she sounded like one about to be sacrificed, and that was not the case. “I truly enjoy the dancing, for the music is delightful—even if the refreshments lack a certain something. And you know Almack’s is where one can find a suitable husband. I shall require one once this riddle is solved and I am free of the necklace,” she added.

“Husband,” he repeated as though the word, indeed the concept, were foreign to him.

“Yes, silly man,” she dared to say. “It is not surprising that I must marry, is it? Every young woman knows it is her duty. Since Papa did not have a son, I am to pass on the very ancient family title to my son. It is a great responsibility, and one of the prime reasons I wish to wed, and soon. I suppose I’d best look for a husband who comes from a large and prolific family. I suspect it might prove a sensible approach to the matter, as I do wish for many children.”

Since the duke had remarked that those with large families seemed to produce the same while flipping through his copy of the peerage, he merely grunted something incomprehensible in reply. That he would certainly qualify in the last respect, he did not mention. Having four sisters and three younger brothers ought to fit Pamela’s requirements—were he interested in such a thing. But then, it was possible Pamela knew of his family, for she had studied the peerage book with intensity.

“For example a man—such as yourself—who comes from a family with eight children would be a possibility. I understand Lord Raeburn is from a family of ten siblings. I’d find that most encouraging,” she declared with a serious nod.

“No money, however,” the duke pointed out. “You would do better to look in my direction.” Why the devil he said that he couldn’t understand. Surely, she would not take that as an indirect proposal? He slanted her a cautious look.

She laughed, a silvery, fluting sound that irritated him, for it sounded suspiciously as though she thought the idea of anyone marrying him preposterous.

“You are a wonderful jokester, Your Grace,” she said with an infectious grin lighting her pretty face. “You have remarked
that I am a sensible, practical girl, and so I am. One as practical as I knows better than to sigh for the moon.” She turned her attention to the approaching gate and the traffic beyond. The mist that had held off now began to fall, creating a cool, damp curtain around them.

There ought to be a feeling of relief within him, and there wasn’t—which was odd when he considered it. Was he coming to realize that what his family had been saying for some time was correct? That he must find a proper wife? He glanced at the pretty young woman at his side, and knew that if propriety were the deciding factor, he could do no better than marry this girl.

“What do you mean—sensible?” he seized upon one word she had used. “You who are involved with a diamond-and-sapphire necklace of mysterious origin, political intrigue, and international flirtations?”

“Why, and so I am,” she said prosaically. “I have passable looks, do needlework quite well, ride properly, and can perform all the other tasks required of a countess—but I do not believe I have special qualities to make me stand out beyond my peers. That is, until the necklace came my way,” she added in a considering afterthought. “I believe it affects the way men perceive me.” She looked at the duke with a frank, speculative expression on her face.

He wanted to tell her that she was truly exceptional, but he doubted if she would believe him. It would scarcely be proper for him to mention her splendid bosom and charming figure as points in her favor. A gentleman simply did not say something like that to a young unmarried woman no matter how he might think it.

They drew to a halt before her home, and the duke assisted her before the groom could dismount.

She stood close to him for a few minutes, the damp air bringing her scent of carnations to tease his nose. The rich fragrance seemed at odds with her propriety, but hinted of a deeper sensuality that he knew lurked beneath that prim exterior.

“Thank you for your company and conversation,” she said
with a delightful smile. “Not having had a brother, I appreciate the frank and open words we exchange, Your Grace. I value your friendship and assistance with the necklace.”

“There is much I could say in regards to the absurdity you spout, but now is not the proper time.” He glanced at the sky, where it seemed the clouds had decided to rain in earnest. “I shall see you this evening.” He turned to remount his steed, then paused, looking back at her. “What is your attire this evening?”

“In addition to the necklace?”

He thought of the necklace gracing her figure and nothing more, and gave himself a mental shake at the sensual image that produced. “Indeed,” he responded dryly.

“It will be a gown of pale blue aerophane crepe—the sheerest made—over a white taffeta slip. I am acquiring quite a wardrobe of gowns in white and blue, I wonder what other color would enhance the sapphires and diamonds?” She gave him a rueful smile and dashed up to the door, which had been opened for her by the sour-faced Grimes. “If you think of anything, do let me know,” she called out before the door was shut behind her.

* * * *

He sent her a wreath of forget-me-nots and white carnations to wear in her hair for that evening. When he viewed the results, he felt unaccountable pride in his choice. She looked utterly lovely. Wild roses bloomed in her cheeks when her gaze met his across the ballroom at Almack’s. The gown she’d mentioned floated about her in sheer delight, the pale blue emphasizing the stones and the purity of her skin. Her neckline dipped in a very low vee in the front, meeting at a point somewhere between that magnificent bosom. At his side Lady Jersey glanced at Pamela, then tapped Robert on his arm.

“Do I smell the scent of June roses in the air?” she inquired archly.

“If you refer to me—not that I know of, Lady Jersey. There are many ladies I admire, and I suppose some year I shall have to select one of them for my duchess. At least, my mother reminds me it is necessary.” He gave the countess an absent
glance, then pretended he didn’t know or care when the baron led Pamela onto the floor for a country-dance
.

“We are considering allowing that naughty dance, the waltz, to be permitted here,” Lady Jersey said in a teasing voice. “I understand you partake in waltzing parties?”

“True,” he admitted. “I look forward to it here, you may be sure. I suspect you would be exceptionally graceful while performing it,” the duke said courteously. He then excused himself, and was about to head in the direction of Lady Gresham when he was waylaid by his own mother on one of her infrequent appearances at Almack’s.

“I am pleased to see you doing your duty, Robert
.
If you find a young lady that meets your standards, do let me know in time to plan a wedding. I want no hole-in-the-wall affair,” she said with a wry smile, knowing how her son detested pretentious display, yet desired proper ceremony.

He nodded perfunctorily—it was far better than arguing, he’d found—and instead inquired of his mother, “Can you tell me anything about Baron Ruchoven?” Not that he expected his mother to be particularly helpful, but it was an excellent diversionary tactic.

“I had considered him as a possible match for your sister Susan. However, I discovered an unsavory bit of information about the gentleman. Although he comes from a fine old family, he is extremely short of funds. And, upon additional inquiry, it appears he has spent German government money on his own pleasures.”

Robert decided he had best never underestimate his mother again. He had not expected her to assist in his investigation! By her stress on the word pleasures, the duke assumed she referred to a mistress, or certainly the petticoat line.

“Were he doing what was expected of him, he would be bribing officials in the usual manner, obtaining information useful to the German court. Fool!” The dowager duchess flicked a disdainful look at the baron before excusing herself to join a cluster of friends on the far side of the room.

Could it be that the
baron
had purchased the necklace for his paramour, and it had been misdelivered? Might that account for the hungry expression in his eyes as he stared at Pamela during the pattern of the dance? Robert found he did not care for the fatuous expression on the baron’s distinguished face as he ogled Pamela’s admittedly splendid bosom.

The moment the dance concluded, Robert intercepted the pair on their way to Lady Gresham’s side.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” said Lady Pamela, giving Robert a heartfelt smile.

He took her hand from where it properly rested on the baron’s arm and drew her along with him, giving the baron the curtest of nods. He did not ask her if she wished to dance, for he had never in his life been denied what he wished and didn’t expect to now.

“The flowers are lovely. Thank you so much,” she said as she flashed another smile at him before resuming the proper mien expected at Almack’s.

“I thought they would complement the jewels. And to return to a point that you made this morning, surely you do not credit your flare of popularity solely to the necklace—even if it is splendid.” He began the pattern of the minuet, executing the steps with the casual elegance that came from familiarity and an inborn grace.

“Of course not,” she agreed. “I fear some of the credit must be laid at your feet, bringing me into fashion as it were. It is known that where the Duke of Wexford goes, others follow. For that I thank you again.” Her eyes sparkled, and she executed the intricate steps with consummate grace. Lady Pamela was very light on her feet.

“Rubbish,” he grumbled, but not without a modicum of pleasure in her evaluation of his influence.

“As you wish,” she said just loudly enough for him to hear.

“I spoke with my mother. When the dance is over, walk with me—I suppose it must be the refreshment room again. I have something to tell you, and we can speak there.”

Pamela’s heart fluttered for a moment, then resumed its normal beat. Whatever the duke had to say doubtlessly had to do with the mystery surrounding the necklace, nothing more. She
had better remember that no matter what she wished, she’d not likely have her way in things as it seemed the duke always did.

When the strains of the music faded away, she turned to His Grace and asked, “Tell me—out of curiosity—do you always have your way?”

He reflected a minute, then nodded. “I suppose I do. It becomes a habit after a time.”

“I suspected as much.” She gave him a look that Robert interpreted as a rebuke.

“I am a duke,” he reminded her as they walked.

“A very spoiled one, I make no doubt.” Her words were softened by a beguiling smile. “Now, what has happened?”

He explained what his mother had learned, and Pamela exclaimed with amazement.

“Goodness, your mother ought to be working as a spy for the government. But then, I expect my mother would do the same were she considering a particular gentleman for me.”

Robert thought it curious that she had not done so.

“What do we do now?” she said.

“Ah, the sapphire lady that has London society wagging tongues,” exclaimed Algernon Thynne come seeking a dance. He tilted his head and gave Lady Pamela a comprehensive look that would have earned him a set-down had he not been Robert’s best friend. Even then it annoyed the duke. He tossed Algie a warning glare.

“Is it true?” she said in a dismayed tone. “Oh, dear, that does not seem very proper. What is being said?”

Algernon looked a trifle uncomfortable and glanced at Robert with uneasy eyes. “There is always more than a little speculation when people gossip, my lady. However, I come to tear you away from this fellow. I beg your hand for the next dance. You perform the Scotch reel very well.”

“But, of course,” Lady Pamela replied.

Robert wondered how long it would take for her to worm out the rest of the story from his friend. While the music of the country-dance flowed about him, Robert looked over the current crop of girls making their come-outs. There were a few stunning beauties to be seen. Most were a trifle ordinary and would require someone superior to bring out their specialness. The rest were dreadful. Heiresses, most likely—platter-faced, freckled, plump, or graceless. He noted Lord Raeburn paying court to one of them and wondered if the chap was being kind or thinking of his empty pockets.

Interesting how so many of the men who paid attention to heiresses were in need of funds. He suspected that Pamela’s necklace also played a part in her attraction, but to what extent he could only speculate.

* * * *

“I should like to know what else is being gabbled about me, Mr. Thynne,” Pamela said with determination when she met Algernon in the pattern of the reel.

“Nothing of import,” he replied with maddening insouciance. “Sometimes it is better not to know.”