The Debonair Duke (22 page)

Lady Pamela nudged her mare into a gentle canter along Rotten Row. At such a brisk pace, there was little chance for conversation, and Robert felt he needed to talk with her.

However, no opportunity presented itself to chat privately with her as had been the case in days past. Algie remained as close as a limpet, and others paused to greet the trio. Robert noticed that he received more than the usual number of speculative looks and fumed in silence as to their possible cause. How could a supposedly private conversation be known to everyone in town this morning? He’d wager that Pamela had not confided in a soul.

“What are your plans for this evening?” he casually inquired as he assisted her from her saddle in front of Gresham House, thereby taking advantage of the practice he’d begun and refused to relinquish.

“Lady Anne has planned a quiet evening of music. I understand she intends for you to play for us. I would enjoy that very much. You are extremely talented,” she said softly, with a direct look from those cerulean eyes that cut straight to his heart.

“If you will sing, I will play,” he replied, not caring in the least what Algie or anyone else might think as he stood gazing with rapt awareness at her face.

“Agreed. I am pleased we settled our differences
,
Your Grace,” she replied adding a sweet smile. “Good friends are few and far between. I should not wish to lose your kind friendship.” With that, she slipped into the house.

A friend! She considered him no more than a friend? He was worse off than he’d suspected.

Algie chuckled; it struck the duke as a particularly insulting little sound. He glared at his friend, who immediately subsided.

“Roses wouldn’t hurt in any event,” Algie mused.

His cautious look gratified the duke, who resolved to send a succession of flowers. Immediately, he’d send carnations, for they always came to mind when he thought of Pamela.

Arriving at home, the duke found Sir Cecil waiting for him.

Knowing it was safe to speak in front of Algie, Sir Cecil said, “I happened to overhear something you may find of interest. The vicomte mentioned to a good friend that he is off to some little town east of here—just off the Dover road. I thought it curious he’d leave town at this time.”

At last, an irrational bit of behavior, something to grasp at. Robert said, “When does he go?”

“Today,” Sir Cecil replied.

Robert, a man of action when he wasn’t beguiled by this slip of a girl, took command of the situation and retrieved his pistols. “I’ll go alone. Less conspicuous that way. If I’m not back in a day or so, your assistance will be greatly appreciated.” He grinned, and they all left the house in high spirits, Algie knowing better than to take umbrage at being left behind.

While anxious to reach the Dover road, the duke rode to the Gresham House to tell Lady Pamela what had transpired. She was alone for her mother was calling on Lady de Clifford and his lordship was at his club. Pamela, not having had time to change from her riding habit, was in the morning room when Grimes announced the duke. Robert briefly explained his mission, but was totally unprepared for her reaction.

“Wait here, I’ll go with you,” she said.

“You cannot! That would be the height of dangerous impropriety.” Robert stared at her, shocked. Having a delicate female along was not part of his plan.

“I’ll not be left out of the most interesting part of this, I’ll have you know,” she declared with a tilt of that determined nose. “Timson could join us. He’s discreet and helpful in a pinch.”

“No.”

“You are being stubborn for no reason,” she countered.

“I have every reason in the book! Woman, consider your reputation!” She hadn’t time to think of possible repercussions. He must make her see reason. However, it was very hard to be angry in a whisper, he found.

“Surely, the vicomte would not suspect a couple followed by a groom are chasing
him.
It is too unlikely,” she reasoned. “Now, were you alone, he might be more suspicious.”

“Your reputation,” he repeated, grasping at straws.

“Nonsense. No one would believe anything amiss between us, particularly with Timson in tow. You are being silly and wasting time. I shall be with you in a few moments.”

Why had he not disagreed more vehemently and refused her assistance was beyond him. Perhaps he secretly welcomed her presence. Oh, he did, but not to chase a spy.

* * * *

It was an easy matter to locate the vicomte, for the Albany was not all that far away from the Gresham house. When the vicomte exited, it proved simple to follow him to the Dover road.

“I think you are mad to insist upon coming with me,” the duke chided Pamela, though Timson maintained a proper and discreet distance behind them.

“Not mad, merely determined. My life has been so humdrum. I refuse to miss the excitement after being used as a lure all this time.”

The duke looked at her trim figure, neatly attired in her proper habit, and sighed. She was a lure, all right.

“Don’t worry. We shall discover what is going on,” Pamela said in a placating manner.

“I hope so,” the duke muttered, thinking not for the first time that she had a dashed good head on her shoulders.

Pamela glanced at the duke. She had been right not to rail him about last night. He had expected anger, even a snub. Instead she had done the unexpected and won the day, or at least the hour. As to the vicomte, she wondered where he’d lead them. How odd that he left the city in broad daylight, not taking the least precaution to escape detection.

As they entered a village, cattle thronged the roadway, blocking their passage and raising a cloud of dust in the air. Pamela coughed, quickly covering her face with her handkerchief.

The duke motioned her to the far side of the road, edging into a side lane where they could wait for the cattle to pass. The lowing of the animals and general activity fascinated her, but the dust made it difficult to see. She wondered where the vicomte concealed himself, for he was nowhere in view. When the last of the cattle passed, Pamela moved forward.

“He is nowhere to be seen, Your Grace,” she said, exasperation ringing clear in her voice.

“Given us the slip. Had I been alone, I’d have ridden behind the village and likely caught him.” He bestowed an impatient look on Pamela.

She began to turn her horse when she was attracted by a familiar figure. It was not the vicomte.

“Do you see what I see, Your Grace?” she said just loud enough to be heard.

“Baron Ruchoven!” the duke exclaimed in a tone to match hers. “What do you suppose he’s doing here?”

“He did not attend the dinner last evening. Obviously, he had other interests,” she concluded as she took note of the small valise he carried in his hand.

A woman appeared in the doorway of the cottage, bringing something the baron had apparently forgotten. The gentleman bowed over her hand, then captured it in his while searching her face. The bonnet she wore protected her face from exposure, but it did not prevent the baron from giving his amour a very thorough kiss.

Pamela froze, embarrassed to be witnessing such an intimate scene. At her side, the duke also watched intently. After that tender farewell, the baron entered his carriage and headed back toward London.

Pamela was about to move forward, when another carriage—drab and unfashionable—pulled up before the cottage, one with a crest blurred with mud, but a crest nevertheless. The baron’s amour waited by the front entrance for a maid carrying a satchel from the cottage to join her. When the woman turned, Pamela saw her face and gasped in recognition. “Lady Vane!”

The two women entered the carriage and also set off toward London.

“A tryst!” Pamela exclaimed. “And he pretended to dance attendance on me while all the time he was having an affair with that woman!”

The duke looked at her, surprise on his face. “You sound more indignant than angry.”

Pamela dismounted. She sent Timson to arrange for a small
repast, then ventured her theory. “I have no illusions about any of those three. They may each have a different reason for courting me, but it is not what it appears, that is obvious. I am sorry we lost the vicomte,” she said in apology.

Robert curved his hand about her elbow, intending to lead her to a more secluded place. Nothing on this trip, on this case, for that matter, had gone as he wished.

Suddenly, catching the hem of her habit on a low-lying branch, she stumbled and would have fallen had not the duke caught her. She looked up at him and whispered, “Thank you. You seem to save me from my folly at far too frequent intervals.”

His arms still encircled her lithe body. Robert was too far gone at this point to resist temptation. Indeed, it didn’t occur to him until later that he ought to withstand it. He ignored those warnings in the back of his mind and captured her lips with his in the most ardent of kisses. She fit so neatly in his arms, her mouth so sweet, her shape so utterly delightful.

When her arm crept around his neck, pressing her body more closely against him, he thought it possible to lose what decency he had left. Sanity returned with a rude jolt, and he swiftly ended the passionate kiss.

What was he doing? Kissing a proper young lady in the middle of a village, just off the Dover road? She could be ruined, and it would be his fault. Taking her pretty scarf, he drew it across her face so no one might easily recognize her. There were times when it paid to appear commonplace.

“I apologize, my lady. I fear I have compro…” he began, then was forced to stop when she placed a hand across his mouth, shaking her head most emphatically.

“If I hear anything that sounds remotely like ‘I fear I have compromised you,’ I shall have strong hysterics!” Pamela firmly declared. “I think it a silly business when friends cannot ride off to the country with a groom in attendance without causing a dust-up of the first degree.” A womanly warmth burned throughout her; it required determination to appear so cool after such a flaming encounter. She’d not comment on that kiss. Best to ignore it, even if she would treasure it in her heart forever.

Robert found his fears dissolving in her resolute declaration. “Perhaps you have the right of it,” he said, unwilling to totally agree, for he had felt the kiss to be mutually enjoyable.

Timson arrived with a full market hamper. “All is ready, my lady.”

The groom had arranged for cool cider and fresh buns with cheese, a surprisingly welcome treat. Robert remembered he’d neglected his breakfast and ate with a hearty appetite.

The meal completed, there was nothing left but to return to London. With a glance at her groom, she said, “What a lovely excursion into the countryside, Your Grace. Just what I needed to chase away a megrim.”

Since he knew nothing about any megrim, Robert assumed that her words were said for the benefit of the groom. He agreed, and they set off for town at a good clip.

That evening they again met at the Radcliffes. Robert was pleased to note that their pleasant amiability remained. Pamela greeted the duke with cordiality. No hint of his impropriety this afternoon was detected in her demeanor. She was a downright proper girl that is true, but what a brick, Robert thought with pride and admiration. Not that her eyes didn’t send a message of sorts when they met with his briefly while deciding which song to play. For his part, he’d rather have been back in that dusty village lane with her in his arms.

The evening went charmingly. As they were a select group, no one raised an eyebrow when Robert insisted upon playing accompaniment for Pamela when she sang.

Lady Anne offered a second helping of a delicious lemon tart for refreshment when they had finished their music. “Tomorrow you will attend the Chetwynd-Talbot ball?” she inquired.

“Indeed,” Pamela replied sedately.

“We hope to learn something more substantial,” Robert said, indicating he’d be with her.

“Well, I never thought I would say that I am tired of balls and dancing and rushing from one party to another, but I am. The country appeals more and more,” Pamela said while studying the teacup in her hands.

Robert looked at Pamela, her innocent gaze rising to meet his with only the faintest hint of a blush staining her pale cheeks. He’d rather be in the country as well—that village. He continued to wonder whether she’d been affected by their kiss. So much for wounding her sensibilities.

In this he was wrong. Pamela felt an awareness of the duke that surpassed anything she had imagined. As to that kiss! She vividly recalled every moment and wished he might be serious in his attentions. Bracing herself, she recalled just how sensible a creature she was and that a duke could have the pick of this year’s crop of eligible females—especially the
haute monde
Lady Smythe.

* * * *

Seeing how well her formerly prosaic daughter was coming along in society, Lady Gresham decided to surpass all her previous efforts. The gown chosen for the Chetwynd-Talbot ball glistened with tiny silver-and-blue sequins sewn in patterns of flowers and leaves on a sheer, silvery sarcenet. The skirt floated softly about Pamela; the bodice draped across her in beautiful folds. Above that lowest of necklines, the diamonds and sapphires sparkled enticingly in the candlelight. The diamond earbobs and tiara belonging to the countesses of Gresham looked spectacular with the necklace—so well Pamela almost wished she might forget about finding the true owner of the necklace.

She had been paid court before, but tonight she attracted even more attention. Of course, everyone who was anyone was here. All the eligible young men flocked to her side in droves.

Turning her head she noted that tall, well-muscled body still guarding her from any assailants. All evening the duke had been forced to listen to the flattery likening her to a goddess and a vision of heaven itself. Poor man.

“Thank you for standing guard, Your Grace. Who knows what might happen tonight. I have never had such flummery poured in my ears in my life. A vision of heaven, indeed,” she said with amusement. “Do keep an eye on me while I dance, if you can. Although I imagine you will be dancing, too. Perhaps I ought to enlist Algernon Thynne’s help as well? To spell you, as it were. I feel certain we can depend upon Sir Cecil to aid us. That ought to cover me quite nicely,” she concluded. She accepted the hand of her first partner for a minuet and walked away.