Free Lady Pamela by Amy Lake Page B

were not so broad, or his features less chiseled? Lady Pamela was fascinated by the sharp planes of the duke’s face, the well-shaped eyes, as blue as her own.
    And the hair, thick and blond, that was always a bit tousled, never perfectly in place–
    I cannot explain.
    Somehow, without her awareness, the duke had swept her into his arms and had begun the steps of the waltz. He waltzed superbly, as she already knew. They moved effortlessly through the other dancers, their movements harmonious and sure.
    And yet she had nothing to say to him, no possible conversation. She should never have agreed to the waltz, it could only make them even more uncomfortable with each other.
    So convinced was Pam by these thoughts that her own voice, soft and composed, was a surprise.
    “’Tis a lovely room, I think,” she said. “Lord Marthwaite had it entirely rebuilt, you know, not two years past.”
    “Mmm.” The duke’s mind seemed to be elsewhere; he was gazing at her intently, but as if the words did not register.
    “Lady Marthwaite has been fortunate in her choice of colours. The Roman influence, I suppose, but done with taste.”
    “Ah. Yes.”
    What did he want? Why would he not respond? The duke’s hand burned on her back, and she seemed to sense every movement of his body. She remembered too well the feel of the wide muscles of his back under her fingertips, the strong corded sinews of his thighs....
    His thighs? Goodness . Lady Pamela’s eyelids had drifted half-closed; they shot open now, and she found herself again caught in Lord Torrance’s gaze. Why is he staring at me? She caught a deep breath–fought to slow her racing heart–forced herself to make another attempt at conversation.
    “I was...surprised to see you, your grace,” she said. “I was unaware that you had arrived in town.” Lady Pamela wondered if the words, coolly formal, sounded as awkward to Lord Torrance as they did to herself. Unaware? Perhaps...She had considered the possibility, had she not, during that past sennight? Wondered if he was in London, as she had strolled, uninvited, through his house?
    The duke had flinched at ‘your grace,’ and she remembered that he hated that title.
    “I... it was time,” he answered, “to see to Marchers. The house is in poor shape, as you...”–he hesitated–“as you may know.”
    ’Twas Lady Pamela’s turn to flinch, as they glided through another turn. Had he seen her and Maggie, then? Pam blushed hotly. If he had seen her, ’twould be better to confess it before she found herself forced into the admission, or into a lie.
    “Oh, yes, of course,” she said brightly, as if mentioning some trifle that had, until that moment, slipped her mind. “I happened by Marchers just the other day–”
    His eyebrows rose.
    “–the door was ajar. ’Twas most unaccountable, you know, and my maid could not rest easy until we had assured ourselves all was well.”
    Of all the fustian nonsense, to drag poor Maggie into this. And–was Lord Torrance laughing at her? The duke’s expression remained bland, but his eyes twinkled in a way that unnerved Lady Pamela. As if he knew. As if he had seen her, most days these past few months, walking past his home.
    Like a love-sick schoolgirl , Pamela added, to herself. How utterly mortifying. She was furious with her own weakness, furious with the wayward strain in her own heart that had led her to Marchers, led her to open that door.
    Perhaps it was the mortification that brought her next words; mortification, or that dreadful need, which Lady Pamela had never felt with another man, to attack before one was attacked in turn.
    “But I can’t imagine that my affairs would be of any interest to you , your grace,” she said. Pam continued to smile, but the sudden bitterness was poorly concealed, and the duke’s eyes told her that he had sensed the emotion behind these words.
    “I assure you–” began Lord Torrance, but the blood was pounding in her ears and she