A Duke in Danger Read online

  “That is nothing to do with you!” she said angrily. “I presume Ivar can speak for himself.”

  Then, as if she thought this attitude was unwise, she rose from the sofa, went to the Duke, and slipped her hand in his.

  “We will talk about it when we are alone,” she said very softly.

  The Duke, as was expected of him, raised her hand to his lips.

  “We will meet tonight at Carlton House.”

  “I am sure you will be kind enough to take me home afterwards,” Isobel said in a child-like voice which she used when she was at her most dangerous. “Papa hates his horses and his coachmen being kept out late.”

  The Duke could not think of a reasonable way he could refuse, and she flashed a smile at Gerald but her eyes as she looked at him were hard as agates.

  Then, as the Duke hurried to open the door for her, she moved down the room with a contrived grace which made her appear like a young goddess who had just stepped down from Olympus.

  As she reached the Duke, she said in a voice that only he could hear:

  “Au revoir, my love. I shall be counting the hours until tonight.”

  When he had seen her to her carriage at the front door, the Duke returned to where Gerald was waiting in the Drawing-Room.

  “I suppose I ought to say ‘thank you,’ ” he said. “I do not know whether you have made things worse or better.”

  “I do not think they could be much worse,” Gerald replied, “unless you intend to marry Isobel.”

  The Duke did not answer, and he said:

  “You know, Ivar, I never interfere in your love-affairs, but I think you ought to know that I learnt just now when I went to White’s that the reason she left Paris so quickly was not only that she was following you.” The Duke waited, with a questioning look in his eyes, and Gerald went on:

  “After you left, she behaved so outrageously with the Duc de Gramont that the Duchesse was furious, and there was a highly dramatic scene at a party, where I gather the whole of Paris was present, which made it imperative for Isobel to leave the next day.”

  The Duke walked across the room and back again before he said:

  “I am glad you have told me. I am in a mess.”

  “I thought you would be,” Gerald replied. “I told you she was determined to be a Duchess, and I cannot imagine a worse fate for any man than to be married to Isobel.”

  The Duke knew this was true, but because Isobel had been so persistent, he had played with the idea of making her his wife.

  Now he knew that he could never envisage her at the Castle, caring for his people who worked for him and worrying herself as to whether their children were educated or their grandparents had medical attention.

  At the same time, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was half-committed, and that Isobel, fastening onto him like a leech, would do everything in her power to prevent him getting away from her.

  As if Gerald knew what he was thinking, he said:

  “For God’s sake, Ivar, be careful. She is a dangerous woman, and you will find it impossible to be free of her.”

  “No-one, not even Prinny, can make me marry someone I do not wish to marry!” the Duke said firmly.

  “Do not be too sure of that,” Gerald replied, “and the last thing you want at this particular moment is a scandal.”

  “That is true,” the Duke agreed. “It is just another problem on top of the ones I am weighed down with already.”

  “I will give you something else to think about,” Gerald said. “You may find it even more unpleasant.”

  “What is that?”

  “Jason is calling on you tomorrow morning, and, from all I hear, you will either have to bail him out or let him go to the Fleet.”

  The Duke started.

  The Fleet, which was the prison for debtors, was so notorious that any gentleman who was sent there for not being able to pay his debts received a great deal of publicity in the national newspapers.

  He could not imagine anything which he would dislike more than for the world to know that his relative, and a Harling, was there.

  At a moment when he was preparing to take his place in the House of Lords as the fifth Duke of Harlington, it would be impossible to admit that his cousin was incarcerated in the filth, vulgarity, and degradation of the debtors’ prison.

  Because it upset him even to think of it, the Duke’s voice was harsh as he replied:

  “I have already decided to see Jason and tell him that I will give him a fairly generous allowance, as long as he behaves himself.”

  “It will cost you a pretty penny to rescue him in the first place. I do not suppose he will thank you for it or agree to your conditions.”

  “I will make him agree!” the Duke said fiercely. “How?” Gerald asked simply.

  The Duke knew uncomfortably and unmistakably that he did not have the answer to that question.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE PRINCE REGENT retired early, with Lady Hertford on his arm.

  One of the few things for which Lady Hertford was liked was that she did not wish to keep the Prince up late.

  She was in fact getting on in years and was only too willing to end the evening far sooner than was hoped by those who surrounded the Prince Regent.

  The Duke, watching them go, looked round for Gerald Chertson and saw him deep in conversation with Viscount Castlereagh, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

  As he did not like to interrupt them unnecessarily, he walked slowly through the Reception-Rooms, noticing

  how many additions had been made since he was last in England.

  The Prince’s passion for collecting was one of the bits of gossip which had percolated through to the Armed Forces, besides rumours concerning his amatory affairs.

  But, while the majority of the Duke’s fellow-officers had strongly criticised the pile of debts accumulating from the treasures installed at Carlton House and the Royal Pavilion at Brighton, the Duke was sympathetic.

  He was quite certain that future generations would acclaim the Prince Regent as a man of exceptionally good taste, but for the moment the only things that concerned the populace were his interest in women and the huge pile of unpaid debts.

  Now the Duke stopped appreciatively before some Dutch paintings which the Prince Regent had bought early in the century, and thought how wise he had been to acquire them when they were inexpensive.

  There were also some outstanding statues and a collection of miniatures which he appraised carefully, thinking with satisfaction that they were not as good as those he himself owned.

  When he felt that Gerald must have finished his conversation, he saw him coming down the room towards him.

  “Are you ready to leave?” Gerald asked.

  “I am,” the Duke replied, “but I did not like to interrupt you when I saw how seriously you were talking to Castlereagh.”

  “He was being extraordinarily interesting,” Gerald said. “I will tell you about it as we drive home.”

  As they moved towards the door, he said as if it was an after-thought:

  “By the way, I have not seen Isobel for some time.”

  “Neither have I,” the Duke replied. “Do you suppose she has left?”

  “It seems surprising that she should do so, unless she is annoyed with you.”

  The Duke thought this might be the reason.

  He had ignored the invitation in Isobel’s eyes when the gentlemen had joined the ladies after dinner and had deliberately talked to one of the other guests.

  He had known without looking round that her eyes were dark with anger, and she had been tapping her fan irritably on the arm of her chair.

  However, he had no intention of parading himself in public as a captive at Isobel’s chariot-wheels, which he was sure she intended he should do.

  Instead, he had gone out of his way the whole evening to avoid talking to her.

  Therefore, he expected she was by now in one of her black moods, with whic
h he had become familiar, and had probably found somebody else to take her home, being quite certain it would make him jealous.

  There was certainly no sign of her amongst the other ladies who were collecting their wraps, and as he and Gerald settled themselves comfortably in the carriage that was waiting for them, Gerald said:

  “You look pleased with yourself, Ivar, but I am quite certain Isobel will not let you off the hook so easily.”

  The Duke stiffened, and his friend knew that once again he was resenting the intrusion into his private affairs.

  “I am sorry, Ivar,” he said, “but because I am so fond of you, I want to make quite certain that your freedom, if nothing else, is not in danger.”

  The Duke did not reply, and after a moment Gerald went on:

  “The night is still young. I suppose you would not like to do anything amusing? The Palace of Fortune has some extremely attractive new Cyprians whose praises were being sung in the Club this morning.”

  “To be honest,” the Duke replied, “I have not only had quite a long day but I also have a lot to think about—in fact too much!”

  Gerald laughed.

  “You would soon be bored if you had nothing to do! All right, we will have an early night, but tomorrow I am taking you out on the town, whether you like it or not, otherwise you will find yourself growing old and staid beyond your years.”

  The Duke laughed.

  “Now you are frightening me,” he said, “but have it your own way. I shall need somebody to cheer me up after I have seen Jason tomorrow morning.”

  “That is underestimating the effect he will have on you,” Gerald answered.

  The carriage drew up outside the house in Berkeley Square and the Duke alighted, telling the coachman to take Major Chertson to his lodgings in Half-Moon Street.

  “I shall not need you anymore,” he added.

  The coachman saluted, touched his top-hat, and drove away.

  The Duke walked through the front door, which he saw had been opened by one of the new footmen.

  He was a young man who looked quite intelligent, and the Duke asked:

  “What is your name?”

  “Henry, Your Grace.”

  “And what were you doing before you came into my service?”

  “I were in the Navy, Your Grace.”

  The Duke asked him what ship he had been in, and learnt that he was too young to have served for more than a year at sea, but on being discharged when the war was over he had found it difficult to obtain employment.

  He told the Duke how grateful he was to be taken on at Harlington House and that he hoped he would give satisfaction.

  The Duke, liking his bearing and the way in which he spoke, replied:

  “I am sure you will, and remember to take notice of what Mr. Bateson tells you. He has been in service all his life, and there is nothing he does not know.”

  “I’ll do me best, Your Grace.”

  The Duke smiled, and without going into any of the downstairs rooms started to climb the stairs to his bedroom.

  When he reached the landing he looked back to see that Henry, having locked the front door, had installed himself comfortably in the round-topped padded armchair in which as night-footman he would spend the long hours until dawn.

  Walking along the corridor, the Duke reached the Master Suite, which had been occupied by all the Dukes of Harlington.

  Like his bedroom at the Castle, it was dominated by a huge, curtained four-poster bed which had been installed in the house in the reign of Queen Anne.

  He entered the outer door into the small hallway in which a candle had been left burning in a silver sconce bearing the Harlington crest.

  He saw there was a light in his bedroom, but when he pushed open the door he was surprised to find that his valet was not waiting for him.

  The Duke told himself somewhat irritably that this was a slackness he could not countenance, and he walked across to the fireplace.

  He had put out his hand towards the bell-pull when a soft voice from the bed said:

  “I told your man I would wait up for you!”

  The Duke started and turned round.

  Lying in the great bed, half-hidden by the draped curtains, was Isobel.

  She was wearing nothing but an emerald necklace which, even in his surprise at seeing her, the Duke realised was new.

  It flashed through his mind that it might have been a gift from the Duc de Gramont.

  Then in a slightly irritable tone he asked:

  “What are you doing here, Isobel?”

  “I am waiting for you, darling.”

  “I thought you had gone home.”

  It was a somewhat banal remark, but for the moment the Duke was finding it hard to think what he should do or how he should get rid of Isobel without creating a scene.

  He realised she was being outrageous and behaving in a way which, if it ever became known, would cause a tremendous scandal.

  He guessed, however, that this was what she intended, and he had walked into the trap she had set for him, from which it would be difficult to extricate himself.

  As he stood looking at her, she held out her arms.

  “I will explain to you everything you want to know,” she said softly, “but it will be much easier to do so if you are closer.”

  Lying in the darkness, the Duke could hear Isobel’s even breathing and knew she was fast asleep.

  It was not surprising, as their love-making had been fiery and, from a physical point of view, very satisfying.

  At the same time, he was aware that she had tempted him into a position from which it had been impossible to free himself without extremely unpleasant recriminations.

  To save these, he had given her what she wanted.

  The one candle which had been left alight in the room had flickered out, and now the only light came very faintly from the sides of the curtains so that the Duke thought there must be a moon in the sky.

  Very softly, moving with the stealth that came from a perfectly controlled body and from the training he had instigated and insisted upon amongst his soldiers in Portugal, Spain, and France, he crept from the bed and crossed the carpet towards the door.

  As he did so, he picked up from a chair the clothes he had been wearing, and still making no sound opened the door and passed outside.

  His actions were as stealthy as any Tracker’s, and as silent as those which he had taught his men were indispensable in making a surprise attack on the enemy in order to confuse and bewilder them.

  In fact, the French had often been appalled to find, when they least expected it, that they were either surrounded or infiltrated by English soldiers whom they had neither heard nor seen approaching them.

  Once outside the bedroom, the Duke moved into the room where he bathed and where his clothes were kept in large mahogany wardrobes.

  He dressed himself swiftly, putting on the same silk stockings and knee-breeches he had worn at Carlton House, and his evening-coat with its long tails, on the breast of which were pinned a number of diamond-encrusted decorations.

  He had managed, still without making any noise, to extract a fresh cravat from the drawer of the dressing-table, and he tied it swiftly with an expertise which always infuriated any valet who looked after him.

  Then, looking exactly as he had done when he dined with the Prince Regent, he went from the Master Suite along the corridor and down the stairs into the Hall.

  Henry was by this time asleep, and only when the Duke deliberately stepped noisily onto the marble floor did he awake with a start.

  He jumped to his feet, and the Duke said:

  “I have to go out again, Henry, and I expect I shall be late, but as soon as I have left I want you to run to the Duke of Melchester’s stables at the back of Melchester House in Park Lane. Do you know where I mean?”

  “I think so, Your Grace.”

  “Wake the coachman and tell him to come round here immediately to collect Lady Isobel Dalton and
take her home.”

  “I’ll do that, Your Grace.”

  “When the carriage arrives,” the Duke went on, “fetch the head housemaid—I have forgotten her name—and ask her to help Lady Isobel downstairs and into the carriage.”

  He thought the footman looked puzzled, and added: “Explain to her that Lady Isobel is feeling ill and is therefore lying down until the carriage arrives. Do you understand?”

  “I understands, Your Grace.”

  “Then do exactly as I have told you,” the Duke said, “and try not to make any mistakes.”

  “I’ll do my best, Your Grace.”

  “Good man!”

  The Duke turned towards the door and Henry hastily unlocked it for him. Only as he stepped outside did the footman say, as if he had just thought of it:

  “Your Grace don’t want a carriage?”

  “No, I am not going far,” the Duke replied.

  He walked away quickly, finding his way to Gerald Chertson’s lodgings in Half-Moon Street, where the sleepy porter opened the door for him.

  The Duke climbed a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor, where Gerald rented two small rooms for himself and one for his servant.

  It took the Duke a little time to get any answer as he knocked on the flat door.

  When finally it was opened by Gerald in his nightshirt his friend stared at him in astonishment.

  “Ivar! What are you doing here at this hour?”

  The Duke walked past him into the bedroom, where Gerald had lit one candle before responding to the insistent noise which had awakened him.

  Briefly, in as few words as possible, the Duke explained what had happened.

  “So that was why Isobel left early!” Gerald exclaimed. “We might have guessed she was up to some mischief!”

  The Duke did not reply, and he said:

  “You realise what this means, Ivar? She will tell her father tomorrow where she has been all night, and the Duke of Melchester will insist that you marry her.”

  “That is where you are mistaken,” the Duke replied quietly. “I have sent my footman to Melchester House for her carriage to take her home, and have told him to wake my head housemaid and explain that Isobel has been taken ill and she is to help her into it.”