When You Give a Duke a Diamond Page 7

  “Poachers?”

  And before he knew what she was about, she thrust open the door of the carriage. He reached for her, expecting her to try and flee, but she pointed toward the street. “We are in London—do you see? There aren’t poachers in the park!”

  He had to admit it was far-fetched, but no more so than her assertion. When he said this aloud, she shook her head and let out a small scream. “You are completely daft. Completely!”

  Behind her, the small crowd gathered around the carriage, closed in, trying to catch her words. “Madam, if you would lower your voice. You are attracting a crowd.”

  She jumped out of the carriage before the footman could even assist her. “Do you think I care? After what you did tonight, my reputation is in tatters.”

  “Interesting observation,” he said, stepping out of the carriage after her. “You are a courtesan. I didn’t think you need worry about your reputation.”

  “That’s because you are daft.”

  There was a sharp gasp from the crowd, and she turned to them.

  “That’s right. Will here—the Duke of Pelham—is daft. He should be committed to Bedlam. But instead, I am going to traipse behind Carlton House with him and then admit myself to Bedlam, because only a daft person would go back.”

  She grabbed Pelham’s hand and pulled him forward. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “You said you wanted to see the balcony. Obviously I shall not be allowed to leave until I prove what I said to you. So let us proceed.” She tugged him back toward the gates of Carlton House. The crowds followed until they reached the men guarding the gates. At that point, Pelham and she were admitted again and the crowds barred.

  Pelham noted the crowd did not take their exclusion happily. There were jeers and boos and several scuffles.

  Mrs.—Juliette seemed oblivious to it all. She pulled him along, wending her way toward the back of the house rather than starting for the portico and the formal entry. Pelham tugged his hand free of hers, but when she looked back at him, he motioned for her to continue. He followed silently, the only sound the faint strings of the orchestra and the crunch of his shoes.

  When they’d reached the back of the house and the prince’s gardens, Juliette paused, ostensibly to study the house and determine which balcony they had stood on.

  “That one,” Pelham said, pointing to one in the middle.

  She nodded and started forward again. She took two steps and lost her footing. Pelham grabbed her arm, righting her before she could take a spill.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. This dress is not made to traipse about in gardens.”

  He did not comment, but he kept his hand on her elbow as they made their way along the gravel path. No Chinese lanterns had been strewn about tonight, and the gardens were deserted. It was a cool night, and the prince had obviously not expected anyone to consider taking a stroll.

  As they drew nearer, Mrs.—Juliette glanced about nervously, and he could feel her tremble. He drew her closer, shielding her with his body from the open park. He did not believe anyone was going to fire at them, so it was no heroic gesture. He wanted her to continue walking, not be overcome by fear.

  When they stood directly below the balcony, she stopped. “I don’t understand. I saw him toss her over the balustrade.”

  Pelham made no comment. It did not surprise him that the ground beneath the balcony was empty, the grass undisturbed. But if she were merely trifling with him, why would she lead him all the way back here? Why not admit her ploy in the carriage? “Perhaps you had too much champagne,” he suggested as much to her as himself.

  “No!” She turned to him. “I had three sips at most. I did not imagine what I saw.”

  “Madam, you are obviously overwrought.”

  She stomped away from him, closer to the balcony, skirting around it and bending in the darkness to get a closer look. “She fell here,” she said, looking up at the short drop. “I was hiding on the other side, and they stood there.” She stood on tiptoes. “Look! There! I see blood.”

  Dutifully, Pelham stood beside her and glanced up. There was indeed a dark smear of something on the balustrade, but he could not determine what it was.

  She continued to stare up at the balcony, and Pelham looked down. Perhaps she had seen a lady’s wrap or shawl fall and mistaken that for a body. He studied the manicured grass below the balcony for any sign of such a garment. The clouds moved away from the moon, and a weak shaft of light filtered through. In that moment, he saw a glint of… something.

  He bent, but the clouds obscured the moon again, thrusting them back into darkness.

  “What is it?” she asked. “You started.”

  He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he lowered himself to his knees and ran his hand along the dark foliage. He could practically feel grass stains forming on his breeches, and it bothered him a whole lot bloody more than it ought to have done.

  And then his fingers closed on something cool, and he forgot about stains. He lifted the delicate diamond necklace out of the grass and let out a slow breath.

  “What is it? A necklace?”

  Pelham stood, the necklace clenched between his fingers. “My mother’s necklace. I fastened it around Lady Elizabeth’s neck tonight.” He rounded on the courtesan, and she took a step back. “Where is she?” he demanded. “What have you done with her?”

  Her eyes blazed. “Do not raise your voice to me, sir.”

  “Then tell me where she is.”

  “I told you what happened,” she said quietly.

  “You told me some rubbish about Lucifer. Now I want the truth.”

  “That was the truth! Lucifer killed her and threw her body over the balustrade.”

  Pelham gestured to the grass. “Then where is the body? Where is she?”

  “I… I don’t know. But I don’t think we should stand about here searching. Lucifer might come back. He’s already shot at me once.”

  “Do whatever the devil you want. I’m looking for more evidence.” He bent again to search the grass, but even after the moon reappeared, he didn’t find any other clues. Had Lady Elizabeth fallen, as the courtesan claimed, or had something else happened to his fiancée?

  Or perhaps he was imagining this entire charade, and Lady Elizabeth had simply left the ball of her own accord. What was it her mother had said about running off? “I think we had better return to the ball,” he said. “I want to question some of the guests.” But when he turned, he was alone. He looked right and left, but there was no sign of the Duchess of Dalliance.

  As he made his way back into Carlton House, he wanted to be glad he was rid of her, but something told him this was not the end of their acquaintance.

  Seven

  Her gown was ruined, and it had been a very expensive gown. But Juliette didn’t care. She picked her way through the dark garden behind her town house until she came to the kitchen door. She rapped on it, hard, and then stood shivering in the chilly darkness.

  She’d deliberately come from the back of the house, though it had been no small feat and rather scary to negotiate some of the dark alleys. But it wasn’t as frightening as Lucifer. No, she would rather a dark alley than to encounter him again.

  She didn’t know if he was watching her town house, and she didn’t want to take any chances. As soon as she could, she would get out of London. She had been planning to go to Somerville, but now she wondered if that was the best idea. She didn’t want to endanger Lord and Lady Sinclair.

  She rapped on the door again, harder, and prayed one of her servants would hear.

  She wondered if Pelham was still climbing about on all fours under the balcony. She couldn’t forget the look on his face when he’d found that necklace—amazement.

  He really hadn’t believed her,
the obstinate man.

  She was sorry about his fiancée, truly she was, but from what she’d seen, he’d be better off without the woman.

  Not that she wanted him for herself. They would never suit—her being human and he a complete ass.

  The door opened a sliver, and Juliette’s cook peered out into the night.

  “Thank God!” Juliette said. “Cook, it’s me.”

  “Oh, Duchess!” The cook grabbed her shoulders and pulled her forcibly inside. Cook was a stout, red-faced woman with bright orange hair, ample hips, and the largest bosom Juliette had ever seen. The kitchen was overly warm as usual, but for once Juliette didn’t mind. “You’re freezing, Duchess! I’ll get you some tea and a bit o’ broth.”

  “Thank you.”

  The cook ushered her into a chair, and Juliette felt her muscles relax slightly. She ached from the strain and stress of the night. Everything in her was taut and rigid.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Cook said as she put the kettle on and ladled vegetable broth into a bowl. She added a warm crust of bread to the plate and set it on the table in front of Juliette. “We were worried. A man came looking for you.”

  Juliette choked on her first sip of broth. “What?”

  Cook immediately looked repentant. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Rosie told me not to say anything. She said you were exhausted, and news could wait until morning, seeing as how the additional footmen you hired shooed him away.”

  Juliette blinked dumbly. Lucifer had been here. Looking for her. Thank God for those footmen, but how long would they be able to hold Lucifer off? If he could get to Lady Elizabeth at a ball at Carlton House, he could get to her. Footmen or no.

  “Duchess?” Cook said softly. “Here’s your tea.”

  Juliette rose. “I have to go.”

  “No, Duchess. Sit and eat your broth. You need something warm in your belly. You’ll catch your death of cold or starve to death.”

  “I’m fine,” Juliette said. “I’m far from starving, I assure you.” She raced out of the kitchen and into the house proper, taking the steps to her bedchamber two at a time.

  “Duchess!” Hollows called. “Is all well?”

  “Send me Rosie,” Juliette answered. But when she reached her room, she saw Rosie was already waiting for her.

  “You know,” Rosie said. “Who told you?”

  “Shh. I have to think.” Juliette paced the room. Think, think, think.

  The answer came to her once, twice, three times, but she pushed it away.

  “Duchess, let me prepare you a bath,” Rosie said.

  “That can’t be the answer,” Juliette muttered. “It can’t be.”

  Rosie put her arm around Juliette. “A nice warm bath and hot tea. That’s what you need.”

  It did sound heavenly, but Juliette shook her head. “I have to get out of here, Rosie. Before they come back.”

  “But, Duchess, he’s gone and—”

  “Pack a small valise and help me change. Is there any blunt in the house?”

  “I… I think you have a few pounds in your drawer, ma’am.”

  “Pack it, as well.” She gave Rosie her back, and the maid began to unfasten tapes and pins.

  “Where are you going, Duchess?”

  “I can’t tell you that. The less you know the better. And, Rosie? Do me a favor. As soon as I’m gone, pack your things. Tell all of the servants to do the same. All of you, get out of London for a little while. Visit your mother or your brother. Just go away.”

  “All right,” Rosie said slowly, helping Juliette out of the exquisite silver gown.

  “I’m sorry about your wages,” Juliette said, rushing to her clothespress in her stays and shift and quickly picking out a warm gown suitable for traveling. “I’ll try to pay them. Somehow.”

  “Don’t fret about it, Duchess. You’ll be back soon.”

  Juliette turned to her. “I hope so, Rosie. I hope so. Now, hurry. Help me dress.”

  ***

  Juliette stood on the Duke of Pelham’s doorstep and stared at the large black door. It shone. Even in the cloudy darkness of London’s night, it shone a gleaming ebony.

  She did not want to be here. She did not want to knock on his door and ask for his help, but she didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t safe at home, and she was afraid of going to Fallon’s or Lily’s for fear she might endanger them. She’d written a hasty note and had a footman deliver it to Fallon’s residence before she’d departed. In it, she’d said she was going on ahead to Somerville tonight, and she would see them there. Hopefully, Fallon and Lily would follow without question. Then they, too, would be out of London and presumably safe.

  Safe.

  Juliette didn’t know the meaning of the word. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt safe. It seemed ages since she hadn’t had to look over her shoulder or could sleep without waking in a feverish sweat. And now Lucifer had come for her, as well.

  No, she did not want to be standing on the Duke of Pelham’s doorstep, but she did not know where else to go. The duke did not trust her, and she could hardly blame him for that. He was obviously a man of rote and routine. She’d churned up his placid pool.

  Most of the dukes Juliette had met were used to having their own way. They had power, influence, and usually wealth. They expected to be catered to, and they always got what they wanted. And that was what she was counting on. Pelham could arrange for additional security for them. Not two more footmen to keep guard, but a small army, if he chose.

  Now, how to make him so choose…

  She would simply lay out the facts, and those were, like it or not, he was involved in this business with Lucifer. Before Lucifer had killed Eliza, he had asked about the diamonds. Eliza had said something about the duke before Lucifer cut her off. Juliette didn’t believe the duke knew any more about these diamonds than she did, but if Lucifer couldn’t find them elsewhere, he might come after the duke.

  And that made them partners—or at least gave her reason to stick close to him. While he protected himself from Lucifer, he could protect her, as well.

  But how to broach this with…

  The door swung open, and a butler with pinched lips stood scowling in the doorway. He was younger than Hollows, her butler, and undoubtedly more arrogant. Butlers of dukes always were. His nostrils flared as though he smelled something unpleasant. “Madam, may I help you?”

  “Oh! I…” She supposed she was going to have to ask to see the duke, though it was most inappropriate for a lady to call on a man at his bachelor residence. Not that she worried overmuch about propriety, but she could see this butler did.

  “You have been darkening our stoop for the past quarter hour,” the butler informed her. He did not merely speak; he intoned.

  “That long?”

  “Yes. I have kept the time.” He indicated his pocket watch. “You have had ample time to think of what to say. I do not know what it is you want, but you will not find it here. Kindly remove yourself and your belongings”—he nodded at her valise—“from this illustrious doorstep.”

  Illustrious doorstep? She had heard of illustrious people, but doorsteps? The butler made to shut the door in her face, but Juliette pushed it open again. The butler might have closed it anyway. He was a robust forty with black hair, streaked with distinguished gray at the temples. He was handsome—or would be if his lips weren’t pinched—tall, and immaculately groomed. He stared down at her with undisguised impatience.

  “I need to see the duke.”

  “No.” The door began to close again.

  She shoved harder. “I must see him. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “Whose?”

  “Mine.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Juliette blinked.
The man was heartless, but she had years of practice dealing with servants. This butler was good; she was better.

  “Sir!” she said in her most authoritative tone. The butler paused in the act of closing the door on her fingers. “What is your name?”

  He straightened. “Richards.”

  “Very good. Richards, tell His Grace the duchess is here.”

  Richards stared at her. Juliette could tell he was digesting this new information and deciding whether she was to be believed. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Even if you were a duchess, which I don’t believe you are, no duchess would come, alone, and knock on a man’s door in the middle of the night.”

  “As I said, it’s a matter of life and death. Mine, at present, but it could easily be Will’s life soon. Now, please fetch Will—I mean, His Grace, immediately.”

  It was the Will that did it. She saw the change in the man’s expression as soon as she called Pelham by his Christian name—her version of it, anyway. But he was a proud man, and he would not capitulate easily.

  “Come inside and wait here,” he said, opening the door just enough for her to squeeze inside. She set her valise on the marble floor of the vestibule—if one could call it that. The ceilings soared, and the butler’s voice echoed in the tall, open space. Lavish marble stairs curled toward the first floor, and balconies embellished with carved columns waited for a princess or a king to walk their lengths.

  “Do not touch anything,” the butler warned her. “Do not sit. Do not move. Do not speak to anyone.”

  “Is it all right if I breathe?”

  He gave her a dark look. “No.” And he disappeared through a dark wood-paneled door nearby.

  Juliette stood, waiting. The silence in the house surprised her. She could hear a clock ticking somewhere and the rasp of her own breath, but otherwise, the house was as silent as the grave. She saw a footman glide by on noiseless feet and noted Pelham’s livery was red and gold.

  It was a beautiful home. She had no doubt it was furnished tastefully and elegantly throughout. But it was a tomb. There was no life here. The servants were as quiet as mice, and unlike her modest town house, here no one dared make a sound. Juliette had always liked to hear the servants’ banter and laughter when she was home. It made her feel less lonely. She supposed that made her a bit unusual, when most who employed servants preferred to pretend their maids and footmen did not exist.