The Debonair Duke (24 page)

Her shock at having her stays mentioned was forgotten when the duke fired the second pistol, after tossing her the first to hold. He’d aimed lower this time and seemed to hit the man’s arm. The thief shot back at the duke, but the bullet missed its mark. The would-be robber wheeled his mount and headed out of town, unable to reload. The duke seemed to hesitate, most likely worrying about convention with the gently bred miss at his side.

“Follow him!” Pamela cried, quite ignoring the impropriety of the situation. “You cannot let him get away.”

They jounced over the cobblestones at bone-jarring speed. In spite of the weight of the carriage that might have slowed them, they kept the horse and its rider within sight, thanks to the light offered by a half-moon above and some very skillful driving.

Pamela clutched the side of the carriage, hoping they might reach wherever it was the would-be thief intended to go without falling apart in a heap. When they attained a smoother stretch of road, she managed to reload one pistol after finding the bullets, Timson having taught her the skill some years ago.

“Give me the other one,” she called out. He didn’t question her, but handed the other pistol and accepted the reloaded one in its place.

The rider in front of them veered off the road and into the shadows around a large country inn. In a twinkling he was lost to their view.

The duke swore softly, bringing the carriage and horse to a halt, then jumping down to search the area. He checked the side and rear of the inn, finding no sign of a recent arrival.

Unwilling to remain alone in the carriage and vulnerable to who knew what, Pamela clambered down and followed him as he entered the inn.

Once inside, the duke gave the common room a searching look, noting the boisterous patrons and teasing serving maid. The landlord scurried back and forth with trays of foaming tankards of ale. The people appeared to have been there for some time. He grabbed Pamela by the hand with the obvious intent of going up the stairs. They were near the top when he paused. The latch on one of the doors clicked, and the door swung inward.

“Cover your face,” he whispered, and pulled her into the shadows of the staircase where they waited.

A slim fellow—about the size and height of the would-be
robber—left one of the bedrooms. He paused, glancing in both directions. Instead of coming their way, he hurried down the back stairs, and was gone in an instant.

“Why did you not stop him?” Pamela demanded, freeing herself from the duke’s light hold.

“He wasn’t our man—wore a different coat, and I’d swear he was stouter.” The duke pulled her along the hall to the room that the man had left so abruptly, pushing the door open with the toe of his dancing slipper. There was no sound within. “I am curious, I’ll admit.”

They slowly entered the room, Pamela clutching the duke’s arm, leaving the door open. A candle sputtered on a bedside table. Evidence of a struggle could be seen here and there. Then Pamela halted, gasping in dismay. On the floor a pair of boots angled toward them from the far side of the bed. They did not look to be empty.

“I do believe,” she began in a quavering voice, before the duke placed a warning finger to his mouth.

He went around the end of the bed and bent over the figure on the floor, rolling it to one side. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured, checking the body for signs of life.

Unable to withstand this intriguing comment, Pamela followed him. “Dear heaven!” she whispered, mindful of the need for silence. There on the floor, and very dead, was the baron with a knife in his chest!

A noise in the hall brought the duke to his feet. He glanced about the room and saw what Pamela also noted. There was no place to hide, the floor on the far side of the bed being well occupied at the moment.

In a flash the duke swept her into his arms and—keeping her hood carefully over her hair—proceeded to kiss her, crushing to her in a passionate assault that caused Pamela to forget everything else in the world.

If she’d known tingles when waltzing, they were nothing compared to the feelings that swept through her now. It was impossible not to yield, submitting to his expertise with something akin to abandonment had she considered it, which she couldn’t, being far too occupied.

The footsteps paused a long moment, then slowly continued along the hall. Then all that could be heard were the normal sounds found in a busy inn.

Pamela was abruptly released, staggering slightly as she sought to regain her self-control. The duke carefully checked the hall, then beckoned to her.

“Shh,” the duke cautioned. “Keep your hood down as much as you can and come with me. We must leave here at once.” He grabbed her hand and hauled her along the hall, down the stairs, and then outside until they reached the carriage. No groom had attended the poor horse, and he stood with stoic patience for his owner to return.

The carriage clattered away from the inn back toward London, continuing along the road until they reached the outskirts of the city. Here he stopped, getting down to check the horse, then rejoined her.

“Whew! That was close.” He turned to look down at her, frowning. “It would never do were we to be identified. Think of the scandal. We had nothing to do with that poor fellow’s death, but who would believe it? The kiss provided excellent cover.”

“It all seems exceedingly odd,” she began, ignoring the kiss for now. “Do you know,” she said slowly, “this is most bizarre, but it is almost as though that thief wished us to follow him, wished us to find that body and be entangled in an investigation.”

“Impossible. The man who most likely killed the baron left as we stood in the shadows. I couldn’t recognize the fellow. As to why he’d kill the baron, I can only guess.”

“You think it involves Lady Vane?”

He gave her an admiring look. “Yes, I feel sure that she is mixed up in this somehow.” He thought for a few moments, then adjusted the reins, obviously intending to go on. “Now, we had best return you home. As it is, it’s almost morning, and we’ll scarce make it there before the muffin man.”

The sky to the east had lightened even as they talked. The city stirred to life, with dustmen and street hawkers beginning to head for their chosen areas.

“About that kiss,” he said with some reluctance, “I know I ought not to have done that, but I felt that whoever lingered in the hall would not enter the room were we so occupied.”

“A diversionary tactic, as it were,” Pamela said, hoping she sounded as prosaic as desired. “I quite understand, Your Grace.”

“Were you not such a proper miss, you’d have known any number of kisses.” However, the duke admitted to himself that he rather liked the notion of being the first to kiss this amazing young woman. Her slim form slid over to the far side of the carriage as they turned the last corner. There, she remained. “I meant no disrespect, you know.”

“Of course,” she replied, sounding muffled from within the depths of her hood. “But there might be repercussions after all. Although my cloak is ordinary, your attire is distinctive. You may have to think of a woman with whom you might have been having a light dalliance following the ball.”

“You aren’t supposed to know about things like that,” he scolded, yet sounding amused.

“I am aware of that
,
Your Grace,” she quietly replied. “But then, I know a number of things I’m not supposed to know.”

When they stopped before Gresham House, the duke assisted Pamela to the ground. He studied her shadowed face for a moment, wondering what actually went on in her head.

“Good luck, Your Grace.” With those parting words, she hurried up the steps and into the house. He heard the click of the key in the lock before he moved off.

* * * *

That morning Pamela rose far later than had been her custom. But then, she didn’t make a habit of middle-of-the-night dashes after a would-be robber.

Upon entering the house, she’d made certain the jewels were safely tucked in the small vault in the library before retiring to her room. Now she glanced at her stays where they lay in a jumble with her splendid gown. One or two sequins dangled from the skirt, otherwise the dress seemed amazingly free of damage. The consideration of the duke for her apparel made her realize again the great difference between them. That he
might think of such a thing while kissing her was somehow lowering.

* * * *

“Roses for you, my dear,” Lady Gresham said when she bustled into the bedroom, her arms full of glorious pink roses the color of a country wild rose, but far more beautiful. “His Grace sent you a tribute worthy of a duchess.”

“Mama, I told you not to allow your hopes to run away with you. We are good friends, nothing more.” Pamela might wish it were more, but wishing didn’t make it so.

“Well, I appreciate the gentleman. He told me his mother’s nostrum for the headache, and it worked like magic. I slept better than I have in ages. Dear man! I ought to send
him
roses!” The countess beamed a smile at Pamela, then perched on the side of her bed with a look of curiosity. “You enjoyed the ball after I left?”

“I did, although we did not remain long, for Lady Anne also acquired a headache. She wondered if they were catching,” Pamela said in an attempt at humor.

“The room was a trifle stuffy, I suppose. And I admit I have known more than usual concern. I confess I did not expect you to take so well, my dear.” The countess studied her hands a moment, then looked at Pamela. “I can only hope you will marry someone worthy of you,” she added unknowingly echoing the duke’s sentiment.

“No one has asked for my hand, has he?” Pamela said with alarm.

“Your father has rejected one offer as beneath your regard. With the duke at your side so often, your standing has risen a good deal. In spite of those magnificent roses, I truly do not expect him to offer for you, but perhaps a gentleman of polish and rank will emerge from that court that gathers about you at every ball and party you attend. Do you favor anyone in particular?”

“It is difficult to say. Mama,” Pamela hedged. She could barely sort out names, for the duke tended to overshadow all others. “Mr. Thynne is nice, and he is the heir to Baron Lyndon.”

“You would retain your style as countess, of course,” her
mother mused, staring off into space as though she might see a wedding before her. “Baron and Lady Pamela Lyndon sounds lovely, and your son would inherit the title of earl through you and the barony from his father. It is awkward when a woman outranks her husband, but I feel sure you would cope graciously with the matter.”

“Well,” Pamela said, her practical nature asserting itself, “he hasn’t asked me as yet, nor has he shown a marked partiality for my company. He is always with the duke and so asks me to dance. But the Season is not over, and there is time for other things to happen
.
” She carefully omitted to mention that the duke hovered at her side far more often than any other man, and as for those kisses—best to disregard them. She ought to resist them, and didn’t.

Quickly dressing for a ride in the park, Pamela ate some toast and drank her tea with more haste than the grace her mother attributed to her. Adjusting her hat before the looking glass in the entry hall, she went out the front door to greet Timson with a calm smile. They set off toward the park at a discreet walk, with Pamela deep in reflection.

How naughty to give her mother the notion that poor Algernon might be interested in her. It was most unfair. But what else could she do? When Algie and the duke joined her in the park, she gave him a highly self-conscious look that brought a frown to the duke’s brow.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Pamela said without the faintest tremor in her voice as her gaze happened on the duke. It really was too bad of him to look so utterly smashing this morning, refreshed as though he had slept the entire night.

They fell in beside her, one to each side. She welcomed her guard, as it were.

“The roses are beautiful, Your Grace. Thank you. And Mama extends her appreciation for the treatment you recommended,” Pamela said earnestly. “Her headache left shortly after she consumed the herbal potion, and she slept better than she has in ages. Please pay her a call so she may thank you in person. Those megrims are truly horrid,” Pamela concluded.

“I have my mother’s assurance that it is a blessing, and I’m pleased if it helped the countess.” He studied her face that she was certain looked pallid and drawn from her lack of sleep. “And you? I trust no bad ogres haunted your sleep?”

She smiled at this bit of foolery. “No, I was far too tired for that. I confess that I will be happy when the true owner of the necklace is found and I can be free of its responsibility.

“Should have had a guard with you,” Algie said with a dark look at his friend. “Stands to reason with the ransom in jewels that you’ve had on display around your neck at every ball and party in town that someone might try to steal them. Not well-done, Wexford.”

“Cut line, Thynne,” the duke replied more formally than in the past. “What happened was totally unexpected. Why didn’t the thief attack the Gresham town coach? Because he knew Lady Gresham had gone home
alone.
As well, Lady Anne and Sir Cecil were not accosted, and she wore a very fine necklace of emeralds last evening. How did the chap know Pamela was with
me!
He had to be watching the house mighty well—or have an accomplice on the inside who knew what was going on.”

Pamela gave them each a dismayed look, hoping they did not part enemies because of her. “Gentlemen,” she began.

“There ought to be a better way,” Algie argued, ignoring Pamela’s soft objection. “Ain’t fair to subject this lovely lady to such hazards.”

Pamela thought of the mad dash to the country inn on the outskirts of London and the body they’d found. Unable to prevent a shudder, she had to listen to Algie when he scolded the duke again. “Even now she trembles at the thought of what she endured.”

That was worse, because her mind flew to that breathtaking kiss that even now set her on fire. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks; she must resemble a cooked beetroot at this point. Rather than have them remark on her high color, she nudged her mare to a canter, calling gaily, “Come, let us work out our fidgets. You can quibble later.”