Midnight Masquerade (20 page)

“Get out! Get out of my room,” she said, her voice low, quavering with sudden fright.

“Would you prefer the clothespress?” he asked with a teasing laugh. “Cramped quarters, but we shan’t mind that,” he said, following forward as she retreated.

“If you don’t leave at once, I’ll scream,” she threatened, her voice shaking.

“No, you won’t. It would raise too much conjecture. As to why the irrepproachable Miss Gower has a gentleman in her chamber, for example. No smoke without
fire,
you know. If she truly wished to stop him, why did she let him in in the first place? A man of Belami’s stamp too, the blackest sheep ever weaned,” he said with gusto as his arms went around her.

“Dick, don’t you
dare!”
she said in a breathless whisper as he tightened his arms around her.

“But you want to see how it is done, Deirdre. You’re playing your role perfectly. A token show of maidenly resistance is to be expected. The villain in the case,
videlicet
Lord Belami, being the black-hearted knave intent on seduction, pays no heed to milady’s token chagrin. He proceeds to
ravish
her,” he said with dramatic emphasis, and placed his lips on hers while his arms squeezed her relentlessly against his chest.

The details of the situation conspired to betray her. Her mind was already on lovemaking from her suspicions of Lenore and Belami. It quickened her blood and filled her head with images never dared before. Soon her eyes were drawn into the betrayal. There in the shadowy reflection from her mirror she saw herself in his arms, his head leaning over hers. She saw in the mirror when he lifted a hand and began to stroke the back of her neck, gently, with warm fingers. It had the exciting effect on her of watching clandestinely while someone other than herself was embraced. His fingers cupped her neck, sending shivers of emotion tingling down her spine, scuttling along her arms, till the hairs stood up straight. Momentarily distracted, she did not hear the footsteps in the hallway. A pang of alarm sent her fingers clutching at Dick’s waistcoat when a sharp knock was heard at the door.

She looked up into his eyes and said, “It
can’t
be Auntie. She’s playing cards. Oh, I
know
it’s her!”

“She wouldn’t knock,” he said. “Ask who it is.” While this was going on, he didn’t loosen his hold on her, but only raised his head.

“Who—who is it?” she called, her voice barely audible.

“It’s me, Huldie, milady. Are you in your room for the night? I’ll bring up your cocoa now if you like.”

“Later, thank you, Huldie,” she called back, relief washing over her at the unimportance of the interloper.

“Very well, mum,” the servant answered, and departed.

“Now, where were we?” Belami went on, as calmly as though there had been no interruption.

“You were about to leave,” she told him, attempting a stiff tone. Even her voice betrayed her. It sounded soft, breathless, inviting. Her ears picked up the unusual tone, and Belami’s light, answering laugh.

“You’re in a hurry for me to get on with the lesson,” was the interpretation he chose to put on her words.

“I am not!”

“Excellent, then we can take our time and do the thing properly. I have made my unsavory intentions clear and you have encouraged me with faint protests. Being a gentlemen, I naturally ignore them and . . . kiss you,” he said, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to hers. Her will was suspended, an involuntary collaborator in the scene. She too closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the novel sensation of being vigorously embraced by the most dashing rogue who ever broke a lady’s heart.

His lips felt warm, soft, yet demanding. She yielded to them, but her arms hung loose at her sides. She felt them rise to go around him, as though they had taken on a life of their own, but she retained enough sense to will them down. Belami reached for one arm and pulled it into place around his waist, without interrupting the kiss. The other arm she allowed to do as it wished. It went to his neck, where the fingers played in his hair. This trifling encouragement increased his ardor.

The pressure from his lips and arms increased, till she was being squeezed so mercilessly tight that breathing was difficult. Some nameless, amorphous thing mushroomed in her breast, growing into her throat, till she felt weak, as though she would burst from the strain of containing it. Yet while it weakened her will, it imparted strength to her arms and lips. She was aware, at a hazy distance, that she was returning every pressure of the embrace, that she was not only enduring it, but enjoying it.
I am being seduced—how lovely it is
was the last conscious thought she had before yielding completely to those physical sensations. The perimeters of her own body were erased. She became a part of Belami, who was a part of her, the two of them a part of something beyond mere physical bodies.

When he finally released her, a sigh hung on the air. She hoped it was Belami who had emitted it, but thought it was she herself.

Opening her eyes, she saw Belami frowning at her. It was unexpected, like a dash of cold shower on a beautiful, sunny day.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing. I knew you had—rhythm, but I didn’t know you were such a good dancer.” He dropped his arms and stepped back, examining her, still with traces of that unexpected frown. “I must go now. I have a million things to do,” was all he said.

“Don’t let me detain you,” she said with chilly hauteur.

A fleeting smile lightened his face. He lifted her hand and placed one quick kiss in its palm, then closed her fingers over it. “Save it for later,” he said, and he was gone, with no apology, and no explanation.

She stood alone for several minutes gazing at the door, with her fingers tightly holding that unexpected kiss. She slowly opened her fingers and smiled at it. There was nothing to see, but her palm tingled beautifully.

It was not till she emerged from the ephemeral cloud surrounding her that she remembered his cavalier refusal to explain or apologize. An unlikely tale of hiding in Lenore’s closet did not constitute a real explanation of his presence there and did not even begin to explain the planned trip to Paris. She could find no satisfactory reason why he should
frown
after embracing her, either. Was she that poor at being seduced? She doubted he frowned after being with Lenore.

Soon shame had added its mite to her worsening mood. Between vexation, curiosity, and shame, she was in little better mood than when she first climbed the stairs. She remained in her room for the rest of the evening and by morning had decided that the only proper position for such a wronged damsel as she was astride a very high horse.

Belami, being an impetuous optimist, had reached a quite different decision. The proper position for a man in love was within the bonds of matrimony. And he was in love with Deirdre Gower. That little touch of resistance made her more desirable. She had been properly reared—a real lady, but without any stiffness, once you got to know her. How strange that he had grown to love her after all, and stranger still that she should care for such a ramshackle fellow as he. All that would end, of course.

He fell asleep amidst plans of his reformation.

Chapter 14

Deirdre dreaded to be alone with Belami again, yet looked forward to it with hardly another thought for company. Her first relief at seeing Herr Bessler at the breakfast table the next morning quickly turned to annoyance. For once, Pronto had slept in. She might have had Belami to herself were it nor for Bessler, polishing his monocle and smiling his greeting. The gentlemen arose punctiliously as she entered, but soon their conversation turned to general matters as they ignored her.

They finished eating before her but remained at table. Belami took up a newspaper from the chair beside him and glanced at it, occasionally reading an item aloud.

“That would be stale news from before the New Year,” Bessler remarked, between sips of coffee.

“No, it is yesterday’s paper,” Belami told him. “My groom walked to Luton and brought it back with him.”

“Are the roads open, then?” Bessler asked eagerly.

“Unfortunately this strip here in front of Beaulac is the worst of the lot. If
you
could get through the mile or so that has drifted here, it would be easy sailing. Réal  walked the ten miles on snowshoe, however. Marvelous contraptions. Miss Gower and I have given them a try.” He arose and went to the fireplace, where a fire burned sluggishly. He kicked a log with his boot and sent a shower of sparks falling into the grate.

He stood with his back to the fire, still looking at his paper. “Here’s some shocking news,” he said.

Bessler sat nibbling his under lip. Deirdre asked what the shocking news was that he referred to.

“A bad fire in London during our absence. Half a block burned down—no one killed, thank goodness. At Glasshouse Street, by Great Windmill. I wish we had some of the blaze here. This fire is going out.” On the last speech, he reached forward and poked the fire with his newspaper, then threw the sheets into the fire, where they were soon blazing up the chimney.

Bessler’s head turned slowly, reluctantly toward him. “Did you say Glasshouse Street, at Great Windmill?”

“Damme, I’ve forgotten already. Why do you ask?”

“I live there!” Bessler said, his eyes staring wildly, helplessly.

“Yes, that’s the address he said,” Deirdre told them.

“And like a fool I’ve burned the paper,” Belami said. “I should be beaten. There was a fair-size article about it too—must have been something of particular interest, though I can’t imagine what it would be. Does someone important live there, Doctor?”

“No, no, it is not a highly social spot. Have you any idea what the article referred to?” he asked rather fearfully.

“I hardly glanced at it. I believe I saw the words Bow Street. Must have been arson, I suppose. I’ll send Réal  over to Luton for another copy.”

“No!” Bessler said, arising. “I would not dream of inconveniencing you, milord. Excuse me, I must go at once.” He arose from the table, his hands trembling noticeably and his legs unsteady as he lurched toward the door.

“Poor man!” Deirdre exclaimed, and got up to follow him.

Belami stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder gently pushing her back into her chair. “I’ll do it,” he said, and followed Bessler from the room. She noticed that he did not walk quickly enough to catch the old man. He followed some yards behind and waited at the bottom of the stairs while Bessler pulled himself up, using his hand on the banister for support.

Deirdre sat wondering whether this news was momentous enough to awaken her aunt, and decided against it. Within five minutes, Bidwell was in the breakfast parlor, his toilette indicating a hasty dressing.

“You heard the distressing news about Herr Bessler’s apartment burning down?” he asked Deirdre.

“I was here when Belami told him. So unfortunate. I wonder where he will go,” she said, fingering the handle of her cup in her dismay.

“I’ve no idea. Where is the paper? I’d like to have a look at it.”

“Belami used it to stoke up the fire. It’s gone.”

“Jackass!” Bidwell said angrily, and went to the grate to see for himself the charred remains.

“He didn’t realize it was Bessler’s apartment building.”

“He might have thought the rest of us would like to have a look at a new newspaper. Just coffee for me,” he told the servant, and sat back in agitation.

“Belami’s groom got through to Luton, I hear?” he asked.

“Yes, the worst of the snow is right here, at Beaulac. It looks to me as though the snow is melting rapidly. I think we’ll be able to get through today.”

“I think you’re right,” Bidwell said, jumping up to walk to the window. A row of icicles dripped in the sun. There was a space of six inches between the walls of the house and the snow beyond, where heat from the house had melted the blanket.

“Do you know, I believe I’ll tackle it,” Bidwell said. “I have prime goers hitched to my rig.”

Belami reentered the parlor. “Have you heard the dreadful news?” he asked Bidwell.

“If you refer to Bessler’s apartment, I’ve heard. He was to return to London with me. He stopped in to see if there was any chance of getting back today. What do you think, Belami? Would there be any point on tackling it?”

“I’ll speak to my groom. Réal  knows snow intimately,” he replied blandly, and walked off.

After a stretch of silence, Deirdre said, “I don’t suppose another day would make much difference. If the apartment is totally ruined, then there is nothing to be done, and if it is not, there will be someone guarding it against looting.”

“I doubt very much that you would sit twiddling your thumbs if your home had burned to the ground,” Bidwell remarked irritably.

“I suppose not. If it is possible to get through, Belami will arrange it.”

“Belami!” he said scornfully. “He hasn’t arranged the recovery of your aunt’s diamond very well, has he, Miss Gower?”

She sat a moment in angry silence, finding him insufferably rude, before she began to wonder how he knew the recovery of the diamond was a ruse. Belami must have told Bertie, who would certainly let it out to the first person she spoke with. She had just opened her mouth to ask Bidwell how he knew when she noticed that Belami had returned. He stood in the doorway behind Bidwell’s back, unseen by him. He was staring at that back with a peculiar little smile on his lips and a noticeable glow in his eyes. He immediately walked on in, rubbing his hands.

“Réal  tells me he is raring to tackle it. He will ride into London and check out Herr Bessler’s apartment.”

“Ride?
You mean drive, surely,” Bidwell said, turning around to look at Belami.

“No, I mean ride. The cold won’t bother Réal. He will do what can be done in the way of safeguarding anything that remains unburned. I’ve ordered him to have a good look around. Bessler will have to give him a letter stating he is acting on his behalf and empowering him to remove any valuable papers or personal effects.”

“Is getting a carriage through quite out of the question?” Bidwell asked, staring hard at Belami, who smiled softly in return.