Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

seriously. “As soon as the police give you permission, go home. This place is not right for you. You do not belong here.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “You’re a nice girl. A decent person. You don’t belong with a crowd like this.”
    I didn’t know what to say, because I knew that what he was saying was true. I didn’t feel comfortable with them. “So you don’t care if I go?” I dared to ask.
    “Of course I shall be sad, but I care about you more. I don’t wish you to wind up like them. There have been many women in my life and most of their names I have forgotten by the morning. But your name, I do not think I shall forget.” He put a finger under my chin and lifted it up toward him. “If things had been different . . .” he said and didn’t finish the sentence. But he pulled me toward him and kissed me gently. “I have to go,” he said.
    A little later Neville came up to me. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and he was frowning. “I say, you haven’t seen Belinda, have you?”
    “No, I can’t say that I have recently.”
    “Damned rum do. She seems to have hopped it.” He scanned the room hopefully as he spoke.
    My stomach lurched. It wasn’t long since Jean-Paul had whispered, “I have to go.” It didn’t take too much imagination to suggest that Belinda had gone with him. I felt sick and angry and more than a little confused.
    Midnight passed and people started to drift away. The die-hard few had become mellow. Large amounts of liquor had been consumed. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke. The band had stopped playing.
    “How about dustman’s knock?” someone said, laughing.
    “What’s dustman’s knock?” I asked.
    “Like postman’s knock, only dirtier,” he replied. Everyone was chuckling now. I wasn’t sure if I was having my leg pulled or not.
    “Capital idea. Do you have keys, Claire?” one of the men said.
    “I never lock anything,” my mother said. “We’ll have to write numbers on slips of paper. We can put them in this bowl.”
    I knew what postman’s knock was, as I’d played it at parties. A boy was chosen to be the postman and was then sent outside the door while the girls drew their numbers from a bowl. He’d knock, then announce that he had a package for, say, number twenty-one. That particular girl would go outside to receive the parcel, and she’d get a kiss. It was a fun way of pairing up. Fun, but harmless. So I could imagine what this version might entail and I had no intention of being part of it. Maybe if Jean-Paul had stayed . . . I was still perplexed about his behavior to me. Perplexed and more than a little disappointed. When nobody was looking, I slunk away and went to my bedroom.
    I shut the door behind me with a sigh of relief.
    “I’m glad to see you’re alone,” said a voice and there was Darcy, sitting on the end of my bed.

 
    Chapter 29
     
    Villa Marguerite
January 28, 1933—early next morning
     
    Darcy was sitting on my bed, wearing an open-necked shirt. His dark curls were unrulier than ever and those alarming eyes flashed dangerously when he saw me. I felt my heart give a giant lurch. If I had thought I was getting over him, I was hopelessly wrong.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked shakily.
    “Keeping an eye on you,” he said. “I just heard what happened last night. You’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven’t you?”
    “I’m sure it will all be sorted out soon. The police will realize they’ve made a stupid mistake. And Jean-Paul has found me a first-class lawyer.”
    He got up and came over to me. “That’s another thing,” he said. “Your marquis. I want to warn you about him. He’s a dangerous man, Georgie. I can see why you’re attracted to him, but he’s not to be trusted. I’m afraid there are things you might not like to know about him.”
    “Oh, that’s rich, coming from a man like you.”
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “That there are so many things you’ve conveniently forgotten to tell me. Important things.”
    He shrugged. “As for the secrets, I admit that there have been things I can’t tell you. But I have always cared about you. I care about you now—that’s why I’m warning you to steer clear of the marquis.”
    “Are you jealous?” I asked. “Or are you upset that I got over you so quickly?”
    “I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”
    “Funny, but Jean-Paul said the same thing to me, about an hour ago.”
    “Then perhaps