“Mere curiosity and an opportunity to get you alone.” He took a deep breath. “Look, Georgie. I’ve got a confession to make. After that wedding thing I got a tad drunk. I made a bet that I could lay you within a week.”

“So when you took me back to your place, after the boat accident, you didn’t really care about me at all. You were trying to win a stupid bet?”

He squeezed my shoulder more tightly. “No, that didn’t cross my mind at all. When I pulled you out of that water, I realized that I really cared for you.”

“But you still tried to get me into bed.”

“Well, I’m only human and you were looking at me as if you fancied me. You do fancy me, don’t you?”

“I might,” I said, looking away. “If I felt sure that . . .”

“The bet’s off,” he said. He turned me toward him and kissed me full and hard on the mouth. His arms were crushing me. I felt as if I were melting into him and I didn’t want it to stop. The hubbub that was still going on on the terrace faded into oblivion until there were just the two of us in the whole universe.

Later, when we walked back to the house together, our arms around each other, I asked him, “So who was the bet with?”

“Your friend Belinda,” he said. “She said I’d be doing you a favor.”

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Rannoch House
Sunday, May 8, 1932

It was almost morning by the time I finally fell into bed. I had spent the rest of the evening giving my statements to police. Chief Inspector Burnall arrived from Scotland Yard sometime during the night and I had to repeat everything. Finally Tristram was led away screaming and weeping disgracefully. Sir Hubert would have been mortified at his behavior. According to Darcy he’d been a rotten egg even at school, cheating on exams and get Darcy blamed for something he had stolen.

I drove home with Whiffy, Belinda, and Marisa the next afternoon and arrived at Rannoch House just in time to witness Binky’s triumphant return. A crowd had gathered outside on hearing the latest news and when Binky appeared from a police car, everyone cheered. Binky went quite pink and looked pleased.

“I can’t thank you enough, old thing,” he said when we were safely inside and he had poured us both a Scotch. “You saved my life, literally. I’ll be in your debt forever.”

I didn’t like to suggest that he find a way to resume my allowance as a small thank-you gift.

“So how did they find out it was this blighter Hautbois who killed de Mauxville? Did he confess?” he asked. “I’ve only had the most sketchy news so far.”