When You Give a Duke a Diamond Page 8

  But Juliette knew what it was to feel as though she were worth less than the rug on the floor, and she could never treat anyone else that way.

  A door banged open, and Juliette jumped at the sound. She whirled, her heart in her throat. Seeing Pelham staring at her from the open doorway did not calm her. In fact, her heart kicked again.

  He was handsome. She would give him that. He was handsome and not a little bit scary. His dark blue eyes took her measure, and his brown hair was wickedly disheveled. He was still dressed in ball attire, and except for that hair, he looked as though he had just left his valet, not been crawling in the grass with her mere hours ago.

  But his hair… that hair would not cooperate with his attempts at order and rigidity. It had a stubborn streak, an unruly streak.

  She liked it. It gave her hope.

  “You,” he said. The slash of his lips thinned.

  She gave a mock curtsey. “Will, how good to see you again.”

  “I wish I could say the same, madam. What do you want?”

  She cut her gaze to the butler who was standing behind Pelham. Without looking at the man, Pelham said, “Richards, leave us.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” And he was gone.

  “I repeat, what do you want?”

  “Is this how you treat guests? No offer of refreshment? You won’t even show me into your parlor?”

  “You are not a guest. You are an interloper.”

  “Did you find Lady Elizabeth?” Juliette asked.

  His blue eyes narrowed. “You know I did not.”

  “And do you believe me yet?”

  “No. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for what you think you saw and Lady Elizabeth’s absence. I have instructed her parents to send word the moment she arrives home.”

  “She won’t be going home.”

  “Then that will be one more item to discuss with the magistrate in the morning.”

  Juliette stared at him. “Magistrate? You called for a magistrate?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t think this business important enough to drag the man out of bed. He will be here at first light. I will send him to you after I speak with him.”

  Not important to get the man out of bed? The man’s fiancée had been murdered. Perhaps she had been wrong in assuming Pelham could protect her. He was obviously a complete numbskull.

  “I thought I told you Lucifer has expressly forbidden me to go to the magistrate. He said he would hurt me and all I cared about.”

  Pelham scoffed at her. “A vague threat.”

  She closed her eyes. “I don’t know why I thought you might listen to me. Why you might suddenly use your brain and realize we are in danger. I need your help, Will.” She stepped closer to him, and he took a step back.

  “I fail to see how I can be of assistance.”

  “When I arrived home tonight, my servants informed me a man had come looking for me. It must have been Lucifer. Now I know he saw me, and he means to kill me.”

  “Madam, calm yourself.”

  “Someone wants me dead. This is calm.” She stepped toward him, and he retreated again. They now stood in the parlor, a large, airy room with paper-hangings, wainscoting, and a liberal use of silk upholstery. “And like it or not, Will, you are involved in this as well.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “I heard her—before he killed her. They were arguing. He was incensed because she lied to him about the diamonds. I don’t know what she told him or when, but I have to assume she told him I had them and that was the reason he sought me out.” She stepped forward again, but this time he didn’t retreat. She almost wished he would. She was too close for her own comfort. She could smell the mint soap he used.

  “That makes no sense.”

  “It does if you read the Morning Chronicle. All of London thinks we are having a romantic liaison. Your fiancée obviously stole these diamonds and told Lucifer she gave them to you, and you, in turn, gave them to me.”

  “Rubbish. That’s the most far-fetched—”

  “But Lucifer came after me and his diamonds. He’s not a fool—like some”—she poked Pelham in the chest—“and realized I had no notion of any diamonds. And so he went back to Eliza and asked again where they were. She was frantic, trying to save herself, and said something about you. That means you are involved in this, like it or not. And when Lucifer can’t find the diamonds, he will come after you. That’s why I’m here. You’re a duke. I thought you, of all people, could protect me. Perhaps I was wrong.”

  “Eliza,” he murmured.

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You called her Eliza.”

  “I—I did? I suppose that’s because he called her Eliza.”

  Pelham sank into a blue silk armchair, his expression puzzled. “No one calls her that. No one but her parents and her closest friends. I don’t even call her Eliza.”

  Had she finally gotten through to him? She’d at least made him pause to consider she could be telling the truth. “No offense, Your Grace, but I don’t think you knew her very well.” Juliette sat opposite him on a cream settee. She realized her legs were shaking with fatigue, and sitting felt wonderful.

  “At least you called me Your Grace before offending me.”

  “Don’t become accustomed to it.”

  He gave her what she thought might be a small—a very small—smile. Then he raked his hands through his hair, further disordering it. “I cannot believe I am doing this,” he said.

  Juliette sat forward. “Doing what?”

  “If I allow you to stay the night—one night—you will not argue about leaving on the morrow?”

  “Will you allow me to stay tonight?” She did not answer his question, and that was not an accident.

  “Devil take it. Yes! The last thing I need is your blood on my conscience.”

  “I feel so… grateful,” she drawled.

  “Is your coach waiting?”

  “No. I thought it too risky. I took a hansom cab.”

  He stood and leaned one arm against the fireplace, staring absently at a painting of an old castle.

  “Is the likelihood of my death all that changed your mind?” she asked in an effort to distract herself from his fine form, displayed to advantage when he stood. How did he manage to wear such tight breeches? And that coat all but strained over his shoulders. She wondered what his bare chest looked like…

  “I have questions I need answered,” he replied, not looking away from the painting. “I believe you might have some of the answers.”

  “That and you want me present when you speak to the magistrate.”

  There was that whisper of a smile again—gone so quickly it might have been a wisp of smoke. “The possibility that you are a flight risk did occur to me.” He pushed away from the mantel and rang the bell for a servant. “I’ll have my housekeeper show you to the red room.”

  “The red room?”

  “Yes, it’s where I put all the courtesans who stay for the night.”

  She thought he was joking, but with him, she couldn’t be certain.

  The bedroom was indeed accented with silk and velvets in crimson, but as with everything else in the house, it was tastefully done. The bedroom was neither large nor small, which meant the duke did not consider her overly important or unworthy of space. The bed was large with crimson drapes, also in luxurious velvet. The housekeeper pulled them back and set Juliette’s valise on the bed.

  “I will send a maid to assist you with your toilette, madam.”

  “Thank you,” Juliette said absently. She had gone to the window, parted the red-and-white damask drapes, and stared at the street below. Mayfair was quiet at this time of night—rather, morning—everyone was finally snug in their beds after a long evening
of soirees and balls. She yawned. It must have been close to four.

  “Before you retire, the duke wanted me to inform you of the rules.”

  Juliette turned, letting the drapes fall closed behind her. “Rules?”

  “Yes. His Grace is very particular.”

  “What a surprise.” Juliette wondered if the woman was weary. She did not look it. Her clothing looked fresh and clean, her cap starched, her hair perfectly coiffed in a simple bun. Juliette was also in a clean, pressed gown, but she’d had Rosie pull her hair into a simple tail tied with a blue ribbon to match her gown.

  “Breakfast is at eight, precisely, and lasts thirty minutes,” the housekeeper informed her. “Followed by a thirty-minute walk in the gardens. Next, the duke prefers to work in his library, but I have been informed the magistrate will arrive at nine, so the duke will have to put off his work for a quarter hour.”

  Juliette raised a brow. “How do you know the magistrate will finish his questions in a quarter hour?”

  The housekeeper frowned at the question, her expression indicating it was impertinent. “Because he will be shown out at quarter past nine. The duke can hardly be expected to tolerate more than a fifteen-minute change to his routine. The duke prefers to eat a midday meal at—”

  “It’s past four now,” Juliette interrupted. “Surely His Grace cannot expect me to be at the breakfast table at eight, an ungodly hour by most anyone’s standards. I will breakfast in my room while I complete my toilette in preparation for seeing the magistrate.”

  The housekeeper shook her head vehemently. “That is unacceptable, madam. The duke requires all guests to keep to his schedule and to dine in the dining room unless a dire illness prevents it.”

  Juliette crossed her arms. “Why?”

  “Why? Because that is how it has always been done, and because His Grace is a duke and he says it should be so. I will send in a maid. Good night, madam.”

  “Good night. Not that I’m going to get much sleep.” She opened her valise, without waiting for the maid, and found the simple, white-linen nightshift she’d had Rosie pack. Next she loosened her hair and shook it out. Her head ached, and it felt good to run her fingers through her hair and massage her scalp.

  “Oh, miss! You should allow me to do that!”

  Juliette turned as a young girl rushed into the room. She wore a starched uniform, bobbed an equally starched curtsey, and set about fussing over Juliette’s hair. “I really only need help with this gown,” Juliette told her. “I can do the rest myself.”

  “Oh, no, miss. His Grace wouldn’t hear of that.”

  “Well, then we shan’t tell His Grace.”

  The girl shook her head, her curly brown hair bouncing as she did so. “But he’ll know, miss. He always knows everything.”

  “I highly doubt that, but I’m too fatigued to argue. And there’s no need to call me miss. I haven’t been a miss for some time.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “And what is your name?”

  “Jane, madam.”

  She began unfastening Juliette’s gown. “May I ask you an impertinent question, madam?”

  Juliette smiled. “Is there any other kind, Jane? Go ahead.”

  “Is it true? Are you really a courtesan?”

  “It’s true. They call me the Duchess of Dalliance.”

  “And did the Prince Regent really give you that name?”

  “Oh, Jane, I can’t tell you all my secrets. At least, not on our first night together.”

  Jane laughed, the sound like a bell tinkling.

  “Now, Jane, might I ask you a somewhat impertinent question?”

  In the mirror above the dressing table, Juliette saw Jane bite her lips. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

  “Why is the duke so particular about his routine? The housekeeper acted as though it were akin to treason not to dine with His Grace.”

  Jane helped Juliette don her nightshift and began brushing her hair. “I don’t think I should speak of it, madam.”

  Juliette raised a brow. A secret? The Duke of Pelham had a secret? How utterly unexpected. “I promise to be the soul of discretion.”

  “That’s not it, madam. It’s just… I suppose… I feel sorry for His Grace.”

  Juliette spun around, knocking the brush from Jane’s hand. “Why?” She could not imagine anyone less worthy of pity than the Duke of Pelham.

  “It’s not his fault, you see,” Jane said, bending to lift the brush. “He doesn’t want to be so… so…” She waved a hand.

  “Regimented?” Juliette offered.

  “Yes.” Jane nodded. “That’s it. Regimented. But His Grace can’t help it.”

  Juliette did not think she had ever been so intrigued. She did have a weakness for secrets, but she had not lied when she told Jane she would be discreet. She never told a secret not hers to tell. “Why can’t he help it?” Juliette asked. She could see in Jane’s face that the maid had already gone past what was comfortable for her. Juliette knew she should not push—that was not the way to unearth a secret. But she couldn’t help it. She had to know. If the duke had some vulnerability, some Achilles’ heel that would mean he was actually human, she wanted to know it.

  Jane shook her head. “I’ve said too much, madam. Far too much.”

  “No,” Juliette tried to reassure her. “You haven’t. I promise you—”

  “Is there anything else you require, madam?”

  Juliette sighed, knowing when to admit defeat. “No.”

  “Then I shall see you in the morning, madam.”

  Juliette climbed into the bed with the velvet drapes and grasped one in each hand. “Jane?”

  “Yes, madam?” The maid turned back.

  “It’s already morning.” And she closed the drapes and fell back against the pillows. She expected to be assailed by images from the horrors she’d witnessed this evening. She expected to shiver in fear.

  Instead, Juliette felt safe. The duke’s house seemed an impenetrable fortress against the terrors of the outside world. Even the street noise was muted. London seemed far away here inside the duke’s crimson room, behind his crimson drapes, under his crimson coverlet.

  She closed her eyes and felt the weight of exhaustion press down on her. And for the first time in years, she fell asleep in peace.

  Eight

  Pelham paced his long, rectangular dining room and checked his pocket watch again. Where the devil was she? He whirled on his housekeeper, who was standing at attention near the full sideboard, fidgeting with the frilly white apron she usually wore in the morning. “You told her breakfast was at eight sharp?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “You informed her we have a schedule to keep?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Pelham looked at his watch again. “It is five past eight, and she is not here. This is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Shall I fetch her, Your Grace?”

  Pelham let the question hang in the air for a moment while he surveyed his dining table. Everything was as it should be. His plate and teacup were in their usual place. His copy of the Times was folded in half and placed to the right of his plate. The correspondence he had asked to review the night before was stacked neatly to the left of his plate.

  At the other end of the table, another place setting had been laid. He did not often have guests, and the anomaly of the extra plate drew his eye. He had requested a copy of the Morning Chronicle be placed to the right of that plate and a small vase of roses from his garden placed to the left. By God, he had thought of everything a good host ought. So where was his guest?

  “I’ll fetch her,” he informed the line of servants waiting to serve him.

  “Your Grace?” The housekeeper followed him out of the dining roo
m and scurried up the marble stairs after him. The sound of his boots on the marble echoed through the house.

  “You heard me.”

  “I did, Your Grace. Are you certain you wish to do this? She may not be dressed.”

  “Then I’ll close my eyes.” He’d do no such thing. He’d drag her stark naked to the table if need be. He quickened his stride—past busts of kings, portraits of former dukes, and tapestries from keeps long gone—and finally left his housekeeper to catch her breath.

  When he reached the door of the red room, he knocked loudly. He did not need to knock. This was his door and his room, but he reminded himself he was a gentleman.

  Behind the door, all was silent, and Pelham, growing increasingly impatient, knocked again.

  Inside, he thought he heard a voice. He turned his good ear to the door and… nothing.

  He rapped on the door a third time then tried the handle.

  It was locked.

  “Go away!” came a groggy voice from within.

  “Open this door immediately,” he roared.

  Behind him he heard the scurry of footsteps and turned to see his housekeeper and a young maid approaching. “What’s the meaning of this?” He pointed accusingly to the door.

  The maid bobbed up and down like a marionette. “I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace. Please, please forgive me.”

  He looked to his housekeeper for an explanation. “Jane tried to wake the guest, Your Grace, but the lady was uncooperative. Jane was coming to fetch me in the hopes I could be of assistance.”

  Pelham pulled out his pocket watch. “It is now ten past eight. The time for assistance and cooperation is long past. Move aside.” He prepared to kick the door down.

  “Wait! Your Grace.”

  Pelham glanced at the young maid. She held a key out to him. Glowering, he took it. But just as he made to use it, the door opened.