Dennis Wheatley - Duke de Richleau 07 (2 page)

Only a few
belated guests were now arriving, so the great staircase was no longer crowded,
and the wing that he approached had only one couple coming down it. The man was
young, slim, shortish, and fair-haired. The girl upon his arm was as tall as he
was, so by comparison seemed taller. She had chestnut hair, on which rested a
delicate filigree ornament forming a crescent of stars, each set with a yellow
diamond. It was almost too light to be termed a tiara, but the Duke was a
connoisseur of jewels, and as he glanced up at her he recognized at once that
it was an antique piece of considerable value. Below her mask, he saw that she
had a generous mouth with a slightly pouting lower lip, fresh-complexioned
cheeks, and a round but determined chin.

He was only two
steps below the couple, and about to pass them, when the young man slipped. In
a second he had pitched forward, unavoidably dragging the girl with him. Too
late, he snatched his arm from hers: she was already oft her balance and about
to take a header. De Richleau swiftly side-stepped to avoid collision with the
man. Then, tensing his muscles, he caught the girl as she fell. Instinctively
her arms had flown out, and now closed round his neck.

She was no mean
weight, but her body was soft and pliant as, following their sudden impact, he
held her tightly to him for a moment. Her face was within an inch of his and
slightly above it, but he saw the swift flush that had turned her cheeks bright
pink at finding herself so unexpectedly in the embrace of a complete stranger.
With a little gasp she freed herself, then murmured her thanks in awkward
English with a strong foreign accent.

Meanwhile, the
fair-haired youth had tumbled to the bottom of the stairs. As two footmen ran
to help him to his feet he gave an “Ouch!” of pain, looked up, and said, “I’m
terribly sorry. That was awfully clumsy of me. I—I’m afraid I’ve twisted my
ankle.”

“Not badly, I trust?”
inquired the Duke.

The young man
tried the injured member gingerly, and screwed up his face. “It hurts a bit—not
much, but I’d rather not put my weight on it till the pain has eased a little.
Would you oblige me, sir, by taking my partner back to her chaperone, while I
go to the cloak-room and find out if it’s swelling?”

“It will be a
pleasure, sir,” De Richleau replied, and bowed to the girl.

She gave a
little inclination of her head, then asked her ex-partner anxiously: “Are you
assured you are not gravely hurt?”

He nodded,
smiling up at her. “Yes. I promise you it’s nothing serious. I’m jolly glad,
though, that this gentleman happened to be there to prevent your coming a
cropper with me. I hope I’ll be able to claim our second dance and sit it out
with you. But if the ankle drives me home, you must forgive me. I’ll not let it
prevent my seeing you tomorrow, anyway.”

As he hobbled
off, the Duke turned again to the charming charge who had been thrust upon him,
and said: “Allow me to introduce myself. I am “

“But, no !” She
quickly put up a hand to check him. “This night it makes for the gaiety that
the guests of Lady Holford talk and dance together without knowing who is
which. But my English is much muddled. You speak French perhaps?”

“Mais, oui, Mademoiselle
,” he assured her. Then, with a quizzical smile, added in the same
language, “Or should I say
Madame?”

She laughed at
that and, breaking into rapid French, declared: “Not yet, but soon, I hope;
otherwise I shall be counted, as they say, upon the shelf. But your question
makes it clear that you do not know who I am. So far this evening everyone I
have spoken to has recognized me. That is most dull, and an encounter like this
between strangers is much more in the spirit of the party.”

“True! And, as
this dance has only just started, I trust that you will not insist on my
escorting you back to your chaperone until it is ended.”

Seeing her
hesitation, he went on quickly; “You were, I suppose, going downstairs to
partake of some refreshment. Shall I conduct you to the buffet, or would you
prefer to dance?”

The strains of
the ‘Blue Danube’ floated down to them.

“Do you waltz?”
she asked, and added with barefaced frankness, “Really well, I mean. Except for
duty dances, to which I am compelled by politeness, I waltz from choice only
with the best partners.”

As she stood
there, her gown of shimmering blue satin moulding her graceful figure, and
coppery lights glinting in her high-piled chestnut hair, De Richleau judged
that even if her mask did not conceal great beauty, she was fully attractive
enough to command a good choice of men. But her words and manners struck him as
those of a spoiled, impertinent chit, who needed a lesson, so he replied
smoothly.

“Then out of
politeness you shall dance with me, and find out for yourself whether my
waltzing is up to your high standard.” And, taking her firmly by the arm, he
turned her towards the ballroom.

For a second he
glimpsed a pair of defiant dark blue eyes staring at him through the slits in
her mask. Then she laughed again, allowed herself to be led up the stairs, and
murmured: “This is a strange way to behave, Monsieur. Do you always treat the
ladies of your acquaintance in such a cavalier fashion?”

“But certainly,”
he shrugged. “Have you not heard the English proverb— ‘The woman, the dog, and
the walnut tree: the more you beat ’em, the better they be!’ I have found it an
admirable precept.”

The blue eyes
turned to stare at him again. “You are joking. You cannot possibly mean that
you would really beat a woman.”

The Duke’s good
looks alone were a sufficient passport to the initial interest of most members
of the opposite sex, but experience had taught him that the swiftest way to
intrigue them was to say and do the unexpected. With or without a handsome
profile to back it, he was convinced that audacity almost always paid high
dividends, and that there were very few women who did not secretly love to be
shocked. So, having decided that this ‘haughty Miss’ was well worth powder and
shot, he adopted his usual technique by lying glibly.

“I have often
given a woman a beating. It is an ancient and admirable custom, making for
peace and obedience in the home.”

She looked at
him in astonishment. “You are married, then How! I pity your poor wife!”

He smiled. “You
may spare yourself the trouble, Mademoiselle, for I have not got one.” Then he
added mischievously: “But, since you have said that you hope soon to be
married, you are old enough to know that men of the world sometimes contract
less orthodox alliances.”

“Monsieur!” she
exclaimed, flushing scarlet. “How dare you mention such matters to me. Your
behaviour is outrageous. Now we have reached the ballroom, I desire you to take
me to the lady with the grey hair seated over there near the band. You may then
relieve me of your obnoxious company.”

De Richleau knew
that it had been a little wicked of him even to hint at the existence of such
things as mistresses to an unmarried girl, but he was surprised by the violence
of her reaction, and immediately decided that he could not possibly allow her
to leave him in the belief that he was an ill-bred fellow of the baser sort. So
he said:

“If I did as you
suggest, Mademoiselle, that would be a great pity, for I was about to give you
the best waltz you are likely to get this evening.”

“So, you
can
waltz well,” she countered sharply, “but add to your other
horrid qualities that of a boaster.”

Suddenly his
voice changed to a low, vibrant tone. “Try me, and see. Forget this silly
nonsense I have been talking. Dance with me once round the room, and I promise
you that you will not regret it.”

His brilliant
grey eyes were smiling straight into hers, and the anger faded from her blue
ones. For a second she hesitated, while the haunting strains of the music now
came clearly to her above the swish and rustle of the dancers, and in that
second she was lost. His arm slid round her waist, with the hand to which her
big blue ostrich feather fan was looped she automatically caught up her dress,
and they glided away into the whirling throng.

For the next ten
minutes they did not exchange a single word. In becoming an accomplished
swordsman De Richleau had acquired an admirable sense of balance, and his
slender body concealed considerable strength; so he was able to guide and
control his partner with smooth, unerring steps. From the first few turns he
found that she too was light, supple, and fully capable of timing her movements
in perfect union with his own. Without a shadow of hesitation she followed his
lead as they spun, first one way, then the other, in wide circles round the
crowded floor; often missing couples only by inches, yet touching none. Soon
both of them were entranced with the ease and excellence of the other’s
performance, and gave themselves up entirely to the intoxicating rhythm of the dance
until, at the end of their most daring spin, the music ceased.

As he released
her, murmuring his thanks, her fair face was flushed, her blue eyes sparkling,
and she asked a trifle breathlessly, “Where did you learn to waltz like that?”

“In Vienna,” he
smiled. “And you, Mademoiselle? Surely, only by also learning in the home of
the waltz could you have achieved such perfection?”

She shook her
head. “It was in Munich that I took my first steps. I spent much of my youth in
the Bavarian capital. But I am flattered, Monsieur. It is a new experience for
me to receive a compliment from a cave man.”

“Oh, come!” he
protested, as he offered her his arm and led her out of the ballroom by an
entrance opposite to that by which they had come in. “I cannot believe you
really think me that.”

“I admit that
neither your figure nor your dancing fit such a part. But before we danced you
tried to make me believe you a veritable ogre. Only drunkards, savages, and
semi-barbarous people like the Russians, beat their—beat women in these days.”

“I am half a
Russian. My mother was a Plackoff,” he announced, with secret amusement at
being able to surprise her with another unexpected reply, while this time
adhering to the truth.

“I intended no
slur on the Russian nobility,” she assured him quickly. “And the Plackoffs are
allied to the Imperial family, are they not? You must then, after all, be a
gentleman. Do you know, I had almost concluded that you were an adventurer who
had gained admission here by false pretences, trusting in your mask to protect
you from being found out?”

Unwittingly, she
had given him another tempting lead, and he took it. “Being well born is no
guarantee against a man becoming dissipated, unscrupulous, and cruel. Some
people believe me to be all those things, and perhaps you will do so too when I
admit that you were right. I
am
an adventurer.”

Her smooth
forehead wrinkled in perplexity. “If that were true, why should you confess it
and risk my telling our host?”

“I might well do
so, counting on your natural reluctance to involve yourself in the unpleasant
scene which would be certain to result from such a step.”

From the
ballroom they had emerged on to a semi-circular balcony, from which a flight of
iron steps led down into what was normally an open courtyard with a few elm
trees growing in it, but was now entirely enclosed under a great marquee. As
they reached the bottom of the steps she took her hand from his arm and,
turning towards him, said:

“I believe you
are making fun of me. If I could see your face I would be better able to judge
of that. But since I cannot, and am most averse to remaining in the company of
anyone who might possibly turn out to be a jewel thief, I think you had better
take me back to the lady I pointed out to you before we danced.”

The Duke saw
that in seeking to intrigue her he had overplayed his hand; but he was now more
loath than ever to let her go. His life was far too fully occupied for him to
devote much of it to the pursuit of women, and on the rare occasions when he
entered on an
affaire
it had usually been with some sophisticated beauty nearer
his own age. He guessed his partner to be a good ten years younger than
himself, but she certainly was not a debutante, as she was entirely free of the
shy, awkward coquettishness usual in young girls just entering society, and
appeared to be fully mature. Yet she possessed a special fresh, youthful
quality that he could not quite define. It was the unusual combination in her
of youth with poise that he found so refreshing, and he swiftly cast about in
his mind for a means of keeping her with him without admitting for the time
being that he had deliberately misled her about himself.

The marquee in
which they were standing contained not a trace of the bare, cold, courtyard
that it roofed over. The magic of money had, in a few hours, converted it into
a semi-tropical paradise. Sir George Holford’s hobby was growing orchids. A
fleet of vans had brought many hundreds of rare, exotic blooms up from his
hot-houses in the country. With their pots now hidden by banks of greenery,
they rose in tier upon tier over concealed heaters, forming a score or more of
alleys, bays and nooks, in which couples could sit and flirt unseen by anyone
more than a few paces distant.