Grand Passion

whispered.
    Cleo opened her eyes. “What's wrong?”
    “You and Max.” Sylvia waved her hand meaningfully. “The two of you.”
    “What about us?”
    Sylvia groaned. “You fell for him, didn't you? I knew something was happening. I could feel it. We all felt it. Thank goodness he wasn't around long enough to seduce you.”
    Cleo said nothing.
    Sylvia cleared her throat. “I said, thank goodness he wasn't around long enough to seduce you.”
    Cleo swallowed the last of her coffee.
    “That bastard,” Sylvia muttered into the stark silence.
    Cleo put her cup down on the desk. “He's not a bastard.”
    “Yes, he is. This makes me so mad. I liked Max. Sammy liked him. Andromeda liked him. Trisha liked him. Even Daystar liked him. Why did he have to be such a bastard?”
    “He'll be back,” Cleo said evenly. But deep inside she could feel the cold wind that was chilling her bones.
    Sylvia was right. Facts were facts. Max had come to the inn in search of his precious inheritance from Jason. Last night he had at last appeared convinced that Cleo didn't know what had happened to the Luttrell paintings. This morning Max was gone. The conclusion was obvious.
    But she could not quite bring herself to accept the obvious.
    “Poor Trisha,” Sylvia said wearily. “I think she was really beginning to hope that Max meant it when he said he would find Benjy.”
    “He did mean it,” Cleo insisted. The man who had made love to her last night was not a liar.
    The inn door swung open, interrupting Sylvia's next disgusted comment. Cleo glanced through the office window and saw a tall, blond, elegantly slim woman stride into the lobby. The woman moved with the singular air of confidence and muted disdain that indicated the sort of wealth and social standing that reached back more than one or two generations.
    “Uh-oh,” Cleo said. “Something tells me that, yes, indeed, once again our humble little inn has been mistaken for a five-star hotel in the south of France.”
    Sylvia grinned reluctantly. “Boy, is she in for a disappointment. She looks like she just stepped out of Vogue , doesn't she? That little silk suit must have cost a bundle. I'll handle her, if you like.”
    “No, that's all right.” Cleo swung her silver shoes down onto the floor and rose from the chair. “I need something to take my mind off Max.”
    She put on her most polished innkeeper's smile and went out to the front desk. “May I help you?”
    The woman raked Cleo with an assessing glance. She did not appear to be impressed with what she saw. “I'm looking for Max Fortune.”
    Cleo sucked in a small, startled breath. “You and everyone else.” So much for distracting herself with non-Max thoughts. “I'm afraid he's not here at the moment. We're expecting him this evening.”
    “I'll wait.”
    “ Late this evening,” Cleo said carefully. Like maybe never , she added silently.
    “In that case,” the woman said, obviously annoyed, “perhaps you'd better give me a room for the night. I don't intend to sit out here in your quaint little lobby for the next few hours.”
    “Certainly.” Cleo whipped out a registration card. “If you would just fill this out for me, I'll get you checked in immediately. Will you be using a credit card?”
    Without a word the woman reached into a discreetly expensive black leather bag and produced a credit card that looked as if it had been stamped out of solid gold. She handed it to Cleo.
    Cleo glanced at the card. Kimberly Curzon-Winston . She took another look at the middle name. “Curzon?”
    “Yes.” Kimberly scrawled her name on the registration form.
    Cleo swallowed. “Any relation to Jason Curzon?”
    Kimberly frowned. “His niece. You knew my uncle?”
    “Sort of.” Cleo smiled wryly. “But not as well as I thought, apparently. He seems to have had a much more interesting family background than we realized.”
    “I can't imagine how you came to know Jason Curzon, but I suppose it doesn't really matter.” Kimberly put down the pen. “You said Max Fortune would be returning late this evening?”
    “As far as we know.” Cleo crossed her fingers behind her back and smiled bravely. He would return, she told herself. He had to return.
    “Would you mind telling me where he is at the moment?” Kimberly's patience was obviously wearing thin.
    Cleo glanced at the tall clock. “Right at this moment he's probably in a little town called Garnly.”
    Kimberly looked startled. “Why on earth did