The Romance by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney Page A

would only protest hotly that he had had nothing to do with it and the house party would be made miserable by scandal.
    He found himself gravitating towards Belinda, a cool figure in the inevitable white muslin considered suitable for young girls.
    ‘Did you expect to find a drowned man?’ she asked.
    ‘Not really,’ he said with a smile. One of her black curls had come loose and was lying against the whiteness of her neck. He had a sudden impulse to wind that glossy curl around his fingers.
    ‘Do you not plan to visit your home while you are here?’ he asked.
    Belinda gave a little sigh. ‘I would like to call on my governess, Miss Trumble. She is an estimable lady.’
    ‘Then perhaps you will allow me the honour of driving you there tomorrow.’
    ‘Lizzie, too?’ asked Belinda, ignoring a little snort of disapproval from Lizzie, who had heard this exchange.
    ‘Of course. Shall we say eleven o’clock tomorrow morning?’
    He noticed her hesitation and said gently, ‘Today was unusual. Saint Clair does not rise until two in the afternoon. You will be back inplenty of time to resume the hunt.’
    Belinda gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I feel I should not let you talk to me on such terms.’
    ‘I think you find it a relief to let down your guard and be honest.’
    Gurney Burke watched Belinda and his friend with narrowed eyes. That Gyre, who had remained a bachelor so long, should fall for nothing better than a scheming adventuress called Belinda Beverley was too much. Gurney found himself joined by Mirabel, who languidly waved his quizzing-glass in the direction of Belinda and the marquess. ‘It seems as if my friend, Saint Clair, is no longer a target.’
    ‘Fustian,’ said Gurney crossly. ‘Gyre is a confirmed bachelor.’
    ‘Doesn’t look that way at the moment,’ said Mirabel airily. ‘But he has no chance. Belinda Beverley wants Mannerling and Saint Clair wants Belinda Beverley, and there’s nothing can be done about it and I, for one, only want to see my friend happy,’ with Jane Chalmers, he added silently.
    Perry, too, observed the couple, but with satisfaction. The earl would be furious if the house party ended without St. Clair’s becoming betrothed. But Jane Chalmers was a difficulty. If she turned out to be the chosen one, then the earl would be even more delighted. Jane Chalmers was a rich heiress. Perry discounted the Hartley twins. Saint Clair hadn’t even seemed to notice their existence.
    Mrs. Ingram found herself walking with St. Clair. ‘You are a hero,’ she said in her light, amused voice. ‘But does it not alarm you that someone deliberately tried to drown you?’
    ‘Might have been a prank,’ said St. Clair. ‘I mean, chaps will play pranks. We once sawed through old Lord Eaner’s carriage floor, just enough, you know. Carriage sets off, floor gives way, old boy running like mad. We laughed ourselves silly.’
    ‘He could have been killed, you wicked man!’
    St. Clair beamed at her with approval. He found he liked being called wicked. ‘Oh, I’m a bit of a rip,’ he said complacently. A faint elusive scent was coming from her clothes. Her bosom was deep and generous. He felt an unaccustomed stirring of physical interest. Women usually frightened him. A few brief nasty tumbles in brothels had left him with an extreme distaste of sex.
    ‘What think you of my waistcoat?’ he asked suddenly.
    Mrs. Ingram studied the waistcoat. It was a gaudy creation of sky-blue silk embroidered with sunflowers.
    ‘The pink of fashion,’ she commented.
    ‘You think so? I say, I am glad you are here. It is pleasant to have the company of a mature lady of discernment.’
    ‘Why, thank you, my lord.’ Mrs. Ingram flashed him a coquettish look from her fineeyes and he visibly preened.
    Good heavens, thought Mrs. Ingram, amused. Would it not put the cat among the pigeons were I to attract this amiable fool? I would be saving the beautiful Belinda from herself. But we’ll see…we’ll