Midnight Masquerade Read Free Page A

fool. Spring ‘em,” Belami said, wrapping himself in the fur rug, which Pierre had had the foresight to include in the carriage. The groom shivered dramatically as Belami wrapped himself to the eyes in the rug. “Grab a corner if you like,” he offered.
    “I couldn’t keep on the road with my arms wrapped up. She’s slippery,” Pierre said.
    “I thought you were waiting for winter with great impatience,” Belami reminded him.
    “You call this winter? Hah, late summer, I’d call her. I’ve seen colder Augusts at home. I said slippery, not cold.”
    “Does slippery usually set you to shivering?” he asked, pulling a corner of the rug loose and throwing it over Pierre’s knees.
    Any pose of not being cold had to be abandoned. The groom changed the subject to the lateness of the hour instead. “We’ll never make Beaulac in time for the ball,” was his next cheerful speech. “She must have been some frolic, the widow Barnes, to keep you three hours.”
    “We played chess,” Belami said. “Wake me when we get to the home road.” Then he pulled his curled beaver over his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He had deep scheming to do, to figure a way out of marrying Deirdre Gower. He was frequently in hot water with women, but not customarily with innocent debs. It was still half a mystery to him how he had bungled the affair so badly that he had actually stammered out a sort of offer.
    The trouble was, Deirdre was such a flat she had no idea how men acted with women. It was her very lack of knowing how to flirt that had done him in. Chaperones ought to teach their charges how to flirt, for God’s sake. He had mistaken her shyness for haughty indifference. Haughty indifference was irresistible to him. He had to prove to himself he could engage her interest. Well, he had. And it hadn’t taken much work, either. Stood up with her three or four times, walked out with her once, then followed her to the conservatory at her aunt’s ball. That was his undoing. She had looked damnably attractive in the shadowy moonlight, so he had kissed her. What else could one do when alone with a woman in the moonlight, surrounded by the exotic spice of flowers in bloom in December? She shouldn’t have gone there alone; she knew he would follow her. If she hadn’t been a flat she would have known he’d have to kiss her. And if he hadn’t been a complete idiot, he might have suspected old Charney would be lurking at the window, to see the kiss, and insinuate what course was now necessary for a gentleman.
    But Deirdre could still have saved them both, if she’d had the decency to refuse his offer. He was obliged to offer; she wasn’t obliged to accept. It was a trick to nab him, and one trick deserved another, so he had stayed completely away from her while he was in London. Charney and Bertie between them had cooked up this curst ball and the announcement to be made at midnight. He trusted his late arrival would have convinced Deirdre of any lack of real affection on his part. If there was a gentlemanly bone in her ladylike body, she’d turn him off.
    There were some few members of society one did not like to offend, and the Duchess of Charney was one of them. And really he didn’t want to hurt Deirdre either. It was naivety as much as anything that ailed the girl. If only she’d call off the engagement, he was perfectly ready to find her unexceptionable, for anyone except himself.
    Before leaving London, he had taken the precaution of worrying loud and long to a few friends, who were also intimates of the duchess, that some of his investments had gone sour. A diminution of fortune might discourage Charney, but on the other hand, he could hardly claim to have lost three rather large estates within the space of a few weeks. Setting up a high flyer as his mistress would not be sufficient to do the trick. He had had one under his protection at the time Charney put her niece forward. The risk of Bedlam discouraged him from