Free Midnight Masquerade by Joan Smith Page B

cheaper. If I had married a really wealthy man, I might have made him a good wife. In any case, Harvey does get a bit jealous if he actually sees me in another man’s arms, and that is why it seemed a good idea to have Bidwell stand guard for us.”
    “But Belfoi didn’t come after all?”
    “No, he didn’t. The storm.”
    The storm had not kept Belami away, however. There was the sound of a man’s voice in the drawing room. “Does Chamfreys get jealous too?” Belami asked with a quizzing smile.
    “I told that idiot servant to stall him. Shall we find out if he gets jealous?” she asked, putting her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. A miasma of musky, heady scent emanated from her white arms and the bedsheets, almost overpowering in its strength.
    That was the trouble with Lennie. She was too much of a good thing. Halfway through a leisurely embrace, he felt a surprising wish to withdraw. It would be too rude to push her away, but really he felt suffocated by her clinging arms. It was purely emotional. Sense told him this embrace meant no more to her than to him. If there was a woman who was not a clinger, it was Lennie Belfoi, but still he wasn’t enjoying this little flirtation. He felt—damme, he felt guilty! It was the image of Deirdre Gower, pokering up and saying a good woman couldn’t stand him, that was causing this unlikely aversion to the most gorgeous woman in the county.
    After a few minutes, she withdrew and smiled at him. That little mole at the corner of her lips—adorable, but all he wanted to do was get out of the room. “Where do you go from here, Belami?” she asked, her eyes suggesting she would not be loath to accompany him anywhere.
    He willed down the urge to read her a lecture, to warn her against being a cat that anyone might pick up and stroke. Coming from him, it would be ridiculous. And besides, he would have further questions for her. “I haven’t been to Paris in an age,” he said leadingly.
    “Oh, goodie! Neither have I!”
    “We’ll speak about it later,” he said, kissing her ear, then he left by the nearest door, to avoid meeting Chamfreys in the drawing room.
    He went back to his own room and took from his jewelry box a small watch fob found in Lennie’s bed the night of his quick search of the rooms. Her bed had been still unmade when he searched it. Her scent was on the sheets, and the small golden acorn fallen off amidst the tangled welter of bedclothes. There was no reason to think Lennie had been doing anything but what she intimated. It was in character for her, and therefore unsuspect, but whether Chamfreys had been her partner was still to be determined.
    At the luncheon table some hours later, Belami produced the golden trifle. “One of the servants found this in the ballroom,” he said, showing it to the group assembled at the table. “Did any of you drop it?”
    The innocent location of its discovery caused Chamfreys to claim it with no hesitation. “By gadrey, I’m glad to get it back. It’s a bit of good-luck piece,” he said as the acorn was passed along to him. This confirmed that Chamfreys had been in her bed, though the exact minutes could not be known. Had he worn his waistcoat and watch? Or had the fob come loose as he undressed? Belami envisaged a hasty ripping off of garments, which would have been necessary if they planned to be back in the ballroom by midnight. All this envisaged evidence supported their tale.
    Of more interest to him was the state of the room where Bidwell had stood guard against Belfoi. He had not been surprised to see a hand of solitaire laid out on the table. The broken glass had been found on the hearth too, to bolster the story of smashing it at midnight.
    When lunch was over, Belami gave a meaningful look to Pronto, which Deirdre observed. When the two men strolled nonchalantly towards Snippe’s room, she was not far behind them. Snippe had something to say about being kicked out of his room,