A Wayward Woman: Diamonds, Deception and the Debutante / Fugitive Countess

He cursed himself for letting Belle Ainsley affect him in this way. He went from hot to cold, a sensation not normal for him, a man who had always had a woman at his whim, had enjoyed a woman casually and made love to her for his pleasure. Now this young woman needed to be taught a lesson and he could hardly keep his hands off her.

Belle’s anger was boiling. Every single word she uttered seemed to make it worse, as if it were feeding upon itself. And having no other outlet for this anger, it would continue to grow and fester.

‘A kiss that would have led to other things—which was what you had in mind you—you lecher—had I not had the presence of mind to end it,’ she flared, furious with herself for not only responding to it, but liking what he had done to her. ‘You forced your will on me, forced me to kiss you. I did not invite you to do that.’

‘I forced nothing,’ he said, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘You brought it on yourself when you decided to invade my bedchamber, don’t forget.’

He sounded entirely too smug in saying that. ‘Only because I thought it wouldn’t have you in it. I am here because I had no choice if I was to retrieve the necklace.’

‘Choice? Yes, indeed.’ He turned her angry words aside as he walked round the bed to stand before her, the burning heat back in his eyes. ‘Choice you are, my love.’ He ran his fingers down the soft curve of her cheek. ‘The very cream of the lot.’

His soft answer and soothing caress awoke once again tingling answers in places Belle tried to ignore. This betrayal by her own body aroused an impatient vexation. She had foolishly thought that all the quickening fires she had just felt in his arms had been thoroughly quenched by her anger. But she was becoming increasingly aware of the folly of that conclusion. Where his finger touched, she burned. It was a hard fact for her pride to accept. He was capable of scattering her wits in a thousand different directions. She wished she could deny it, for she realised he had a way of affecting her that made her uneasy of future encounters.

He stood before her, his wide shoulders narrowing her world to a dark, limited space. She glanced past him, but quickly dismissed the idea of darting for the door, for she strongly suspected he was as quick as he was strong. Shaking her head, Belle stepped back from him and pressed a trembling hand to his chest to hold him away.

‘You have been too long with the military and got too comfortable with the camp-followers to know how to treat a lady. I’ve heard how soldiers like to dally here and there at their leisure—I can’t imagine officers being any different.’

‘In some cases your imagination is correct, Belle. After years of soldiering, adjusting to civilian life is not an easy matter, and I, for one, intend to try.’

‘And I am not gullible enough to believe in miracles,’ she bit back. ‘I am not one of your common women. I will not be tumbled between the sheets and left to bear a child in shame. This was a mistake, a mistake you will have cause to regret.’ She walked past him, heading for the door.

‘A mistake for you, maybe, but not for me. You see, I know you now, Belle. I know how you react to my kiss, to being in my arms. The next time you may not be so eager to leave.’

She whirled in a flare of rage. ‘Why, you conceited—buffoon. There won’t be a next time. I would see you in hell first.’

Striding towards her, he bent his head, his laughing breath touching her brow as he chucked her playfully under the chin. ‘Your endearments intrigue me, but I did not fight with every measure of skill and wit at my command to preserve my life as well as my company of men on the battlefields of Spain and Waterloo, to have it taken away in peacetime by a mere slip of a girl.’

‘The slip of a girl you speak of I left behind in America, my lord.’

‘My eyes confirm what you say, Belle,’ he murmured, his eyes probing with flaming warmth into hers. ‘You are what any man would desire—softly rounded in all the right places, yet slender and long of limb. You have whet my imagination to such a degree that my pleasure would be to throw you back on to the bed and make love to you.’

She stepped back. Behind the pattern of her beautiful face, she was outraged. The red blushes on her cheeks had settled into a dark glow, the flush of sudden battle in her face. Her retreat was necessary to cool her burning cheeks, and to ease to some degree the unruly pacing of her heart. ‘Stop it. You should not be saying such things.’

‘Come now, Belle, believe me, after surrendering your virginity you will be amazed at the pleasures to be found in the arms of a lover.’

‘Lover? Ha!’ she scoffed. ‘The man I surrender my virtue to will be my husband. It is not something I shall give away in the weakness of a moment in the bed of the vilest of rakes.’

Lance did not seem surprised or insulted. Undaunted, he lifted his brows quizzically, a twist of humour about his beautifully moulded lips. But never had he looked more challenging. ‘This is indeed a crushing moment, Belle! I have been called some names in my life, but I must confess never to have been called—the vilest of rakes.’

Belle saw him struggling to hold back his deep amusement. Then, to her rising dismay, he threw back his head, letting out rich, infectious laughter. ‘This has really made my day—”the vilest of rakes”.’

‘You are insufferable,’ Belle cried angrily, her rage pouring out. ‘Let me out of this room this instant.’

‘You needn’t be distressed by what has just happened between us,’ he said, no longer laughing, but still quietly amused. ‘Making love can be just as pleasurable for a woman as for a man. Are you so fearful of losing your virtue, Belle?’

She thrust her face forwards to deliver her own angry rejoinder. ‘With you? Yes!’ she answered with a finality that brooked no discussion. ‘I will not allow myself to be sullied and then tossed aside by you, leaving me little hope of attracting a respectable husband. Rumours have a way of shattering lives, my lord. No man wants spoiled goods.’

Lance offered her a cajoling smile, appealing to her with all the charm he was capable of putting into play. He had not got to where he was in life without becoming aware that many women he had known had been intrigued and captivated by the smile on his lips.

‘I’ll have you know that right now you’re presenting a definite challenge to me,’ he accused, amusement gleaming in his eyes. ‘I’ve never before known a woman who seems to loathe me one minute and the next accept my attentions as you did just now on the bed. Can I not persuade you to relent?’

‘You certainly know the right words to entangle a gullible maid’s mind, my lord. But I am not gullible and certainly know the risks I would encounter if I allowed myself to be taken in by the likes of you. What woman would willingly invite such disgrace?’

Cocking a magnificent brow enquiringly, Lance peered down his noble nose at her. ‘Not all women who know me would consider it a disgrace.’

‘Just how many women have you addled with comments of that sort, my lord?’ Belle asked snidely. ‘If any of them believe you then they must be simple minded. You can say what you like, but any lady would be upset to be involved in a conversation such as this. It is hardly a topic to soothe one’s nerves.’

His eyes danced as he probed the bright green orbs. ‘I’ll allow the subject itself wouldn’t soothe your nerves, Belle, but the joining of our bodies in the ritual of making love would do wonders for relaxing you. I’d be more than willing to show you.’

‘I’m sure you would, but I’m not going to give you the chance. Now please stop it. You are far too persistent for my peace of mind.’

‘When I see something I want, I go for it.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘It’s in my nature. At least the men under my command thought so.’

‘I’m not one of your men,’ she retorted, and had cause to wonder what would follow as his eyes gleamed tauntingly into hers.

‘Believe me, my lovely Belle, looking as you do, I would never mistake you for one of them—not even for an instant. None of my men ever looked even remotely appealing to me.’ Lance chuckled softly. Devilment shone in his blue eyes as he placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Relax. I’m not going to kiss you again. At least not yet.’

Suddenly Belle found herself trying to gather the shattered pieces of her aplomb. His persuasive voice seemed to bombard her very being.

‘Just be thankful I’ve decided to let you leave.’

She met his warmly alluring eyes with a cool stare as she warned him crisply, ‘I should jolly well hope so. If you lay one hand upon me, my lord, I’ll scream the house down. That much I promise you.’

‘In which case, I shall comply with your wishes. Your presence in my bedchamber would take some explaining to my guests.’

Belle now had cause to regret her impulsive decision to come to his house. It was the kind of bad behaviour she had indulged in when she was a child—too hasty to jump in, too stubborn to draw back before it was too late, and suffering regret afterwards. There was more than just regret this time, however, much more.

She flung her head backwards so that more of her hair was loosed from its pins, coiling down her spine, so gloriously a shade of rich brown, now as dark as night. Her chin jutted dangerously and her eyes flashed.

‘How noble of you,’ she uttered sarcastically. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you will never lay hands on me again.’

Her lips curled back over her teeth in a snarl, and Lance thought she was like an animal on the defensive. Dear God, she was a magnificent creature, but heaven help the poor devil who got landed with her as a wife. He liked his women quicktempered, spirited and with fire in their veins. It made for a satisfying and exciting relationship, but Belle Ainsley with her bull-headed stubbornness would not only need a husband as strong-willed as herself, but with the patience of a saint.

‘As to that, Belle, I shall make no promises. Who knows what will come from our association? I will tell you now that I consider my independence of great importance. I am not necessarily anxious to give it up immediately now I have returned home, but I may just decide to forget the promise I made to myself to remain a bachelor and take you to wife just to show you what delights can be had between a married couple.’

Belle glowered at him and spoke with derision. ‘What subtle ploys you practise, Lord Bingham. If you think to get me into your bed with your liberal use of the word marriage, you will find I am not as gullible as you think.’

Lance laughed outright. ‘I get the message, Belle, so continue with your parties and concentrate on finding a husband—which is what the Season is all about. I’ve seen the many smitten swains following at your heels. I would think you’d find it difficult to choose among them. Although I can almost pity the man you eventually settle on. The poor man won’t have a moment’s peace.’

‘Like you I am in no hurry to wed, and Grandmother is not putting pressure on me to do so. I have only recently come to England and I am testing the water, so to speak. I am quite happy with my single state.’

‘Ah, but you will be caught and settle down to connubial bliss with one of your suitors ere long.’

Angry and humiliated beyond anything she had known in her life, as she watched him turn to retrieve his discarded jacket, Belle vowed to make him regret in a thousand different ways that he’d tampered with her. Her eyes settled on a small table where he had put the pouch and the smile that tempted her lips was one of cunning. Starting with the necklace.

So, he thought he had outwitted her, did he, by telling her some lame story about it belonging to his own grandmother? How easily she had swallowed it. How gullible she had been, but no more. She would not give him his victory. While picking up the pouch, which she slipped into her pocket, she grabbed hold of her hat, dropping it. She bent to retrieve it, and, turning round, Lance halted abruptly, for he found himself confronting a very fetching derrière stuck up in the air.

He emited a low groan with the gnawing hunger she aroused in him, for he had never seen anything quite so stimulating as those snugly bound buttocks, for the tight trousers left nothing to the imagination. Tempted to go to her and slide his arm around her waist and pull her back to him, to forget all logic and again sweep her down on to his bed, he halted, prone to wonder if he was having another lewd fantasy involving this precocious young woman, and it came as no surprise to him that she had sharply awakened his manly cravings like none other before. He stepped back as she straightened up, having retrieved her hat.

Aware of the pouch in her pocket, unaware of Lance’s lewd thoughts, her smile turned to one of triumph at her own cleverness. It was the perfect payback. Pulling her hat down over her ears, tucking her wayward locks beneath it, she turned to the door.

They were descending the stairs when Belle’s worst nightmare was realised. Rowland Gibbon emerged from the dining room without bothering to close the doors behind him. Some of Lance’s guests followed him into the hall. Cursing softly, Lance immediately took Belle’s arm and was already pulling her back up the stairs in an attempt to forestall a calamity, but too late. Rowland had seen them. He let out a loud gusto and started towards the bottom of the stairs, his heels clicking on the black-and-white tiled floor.

‘Ha! What’s this, Lance? Trying to hide from your guests. I won’t have it. Already Lady Marlow and the other ladies are feeling quite bereft and have sent me to find you.’

Realising the futility of trying to escape, Lance and Belle made a final descent of the stairs.

Rowland’s eyes shifted to Lance’s companion, whom he thought to be a youth hanging back. Rowland raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘And who have we here?’ he asked, bending over to peruse the face under the hat. He turned to Lance with a grin. ‘So, you had another engagement. Are you not going to introduce me?’

‘You’ve already had that pleasure.’

‘I don’t think so—although the lad does seem somewhat familiar.’ Without more ado he snatched the hat from Belle’s head, drawing a shocked gasp of furious indignation from her. Rowland uttered a soft whistle when her hair cascaded about her shoulders. His exclamation was one of disbelief and he chuckled softly. ‘Why, ‘tis no lad I see before me.’

The guests let out a collective gasp, and a few giggles came from the maids of the house, who had stopped in their tracks to gawp at the youth who had a definite feminine air about him, only to be shooed away by an irate butler.

‘Leave it, Rowland,’ Lance uttered through his teeth.

Rowland wasn’t going to let it drop. With Belle’s identity revealed, he turned his incredulous look on Lance and back to the slender, black garbed figure. ‘Good Lord! If it isn’t Miss Ainsley!’

Belle felt physically ill and glanced towards Lord Bingham’s guests. She recognised several of them as being elite members of the ton. The expressions on their faces ranged from amusement to icy condemnation. Knowing there was no help for it but to brazen it out, in a defiant gesture she thrust out her chin and squared her shoulders.

‘As you see, sir,’ she replied coolly. ‘Please don’t ask me to explain what I am doing here dressed like this. You would not believe it.’

Smiling broadly, Rowland laughed. ‘I might. I shall certainly enjoy hearing it.’

‘Miss Ainsley took the opportunity of me being otherwise engaged to steal into my house to retrieve the necklace I took from her last night,’ Lance told him, careful to keep his voice low. It was bad enough that his guests had witnessed Belle coming down his stairs with him attired as she was, without providing them with her reason for being in his house.

Comprehension dawned in Rowland’s eyes, quickly followed by astonishment. ‘Ah, she did?’

‘Indeed. My disguise didn’t deceive this clever young lady and she must be complimented on her success. She was about to walk off with the necklace when I returned home unexpectedly and took it back.’

‘Did she, now? Then she is to be congratulated, but I’m sorry you got it back. I would have been in order to demand my money back, for I would have considered I’d won the bet.’

Belle frowned, but what Sir Rowland was implying didn’t sink in immediately. Until she saw Lance cringe.

‘Take no notice of what Rowland says, Belle.’

But as if he hadn’t spoken, she said, ‘A bet? Am I to understand last night, when you posed as a highwayman and put me through hell, was all about a bet?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘It wasn’t?’

‘No,’ Lance assured her. ‘I told you, I was simply retrieving my own property.’

‘That’s what you told me,’ she flared. ‘But now I am not inclined to believe you.’

‘It’s true. Believe me.’

‘And the bet?’

‘Was merely a reaction to Rowland’s scepticism.’

Belle glanced at Sir Rowland to see him somewhat shamefaced now. ‘You mean he didn’t believe you would succeed?’

‘I didn’t,’ Rowland said. ‘Not for a minute.’

Belle didn’t reply immediately. All she could think of was Lord Bingham and his friend laughing together at her when they’d made their bet. As the colour mounted high in her cheeks and warmed her ears, the people crowding in the doorway became a blur.

‘Well, I’m glad you had some fun at my expense—enjoying yourselves enormously, I don’t doubt.’ The look she turned on Lance was murderous. ‘You accost me in the early hours—at gunpoint, I might add—you steal my grandmother’s necklace, scare me half out of my wits by threatening to shoot me—and all because you had money riding on it.’ Moving to stand before him, she thrust her face close to his. ‘My God! My breaking into your house was nothing compared to that, you—you animal. I hope you enjoy your winnings.’

Turning on her heel, she strode past him, past a stupefied butler, who was standing with his mouth agape, her only thought being to get out and away from her tormentor and his astonished guests as quickly as she could.

‘Belle, wait. Your grandmother?’

She spun round. ‘What about her?’

‘She will have to be told.’

‘I don’t think so—you see, there is nothing to tell.’

‘Wait.’

‘Go to hell,’ she bit back, whirling round and hurrying to the door, unable to say more because she couldn’t get any more words past the lump in her throat.

Lance followed, but she rushed out of the door before he could stop her. With her coach waiting down the street, she was inside and on her way home within moments.

Lance stood in the doorway, watching her coach disappear.

After ushering the guests who had watched the whole scene back into the dining room and closing the door, Rowland came to stand beside him and casually remarked, ‘I take it she didn’t know about the bet?’

‘Of course not.’ Lance spun round. ‘Do you see stupid idiot written on my face, Rowland?’

He shrugged. ‘Why should it matter to her if we made a bet? You won, don’t forget—and besides, Miss Ainsley’s intrusion into your house was not the action of a respectably reared young lady, now, was it?’

‘She came here for all the right reasons.’

‘Well, I think you’ve come out of it pretty well. You have the necklace and two hundred pounds.’

Frowning, Lance closed the door. Something puzzled him—Belle’s parting remark about her grandmother. She had nothing to tell her, she had said. Why would she say that—unless …?

Lance looked at Rowland. ‘Wait here.’

‘Lance—what.?’

‘Wait.’

Rowland watched his friend bound up the stairs two at a time. Not a minute passed and he was back.

‘Well?’ Rowland asked, unable to hide his curiosity.

‘She’s taken them.’

‘Taken what?’

‘The diamonds.’

Rowland smiled, his face almost comical in its disbelief. ‘Do you mean to tell me that the delectable Miss Isabelle Ainsley has outwitted you?’

‘This time, Rowland—and it will be the last. When I get my hands on that green-eyed witch, I’ll.’

Rowland could clearly see that Lance’s pride had suffered a grievous blow. ‘You’ll what?’

A smile flickered into Lance’s eyes as he shot a wry look at his friend. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet. But whatever I decide, she won’t like it.’

He stood and looked at the closed door through which Belle had disappeared, thinking of her in his arms, of her soft warm body curving to him, of her long, lovely limbs entwining with his. The hot blood surged through him and he chuckled to himself, amazed that one young woman could make him feel like this. He was worse than any rutting stag in her company.

In helpless misery Belle leaned back against the upholstery inside the coach, her heart filled with dread in anticipation of the condemnation she would ultimately receive from her grandmother. Had her departure from Lord Bingham’s house not been witnessed by his guests, she could have returned the diamonds to their rightful place and her grandmother would have been none the wiser.

She was confident the coach driver and the two footmen wouldn’t say anything about being held up. They were terrified she would accuse them of being irresponsible. After all, they were supposed to be taking care of her granddaughter. They were armed and should have been prepared for such a thing happening.

As it was there was nothing for it but to tell her grandmother everything. There would be no redemption for her, she knew that. People were too quick to judge and condemn. She had already tarnished her reputation with her liaison with Carlton Robinson when she had known no better, and there were those among the ton—ladies mostly, who saw her as an American upstart who outshone their own daughters, and deeply resented her popularity among London’s eligible bachelors and therefore reducing their chances of making a good match—who would take vindictive delight in her downfall. In their eyes she was a shameless wanton.

As for Lord Bingham, she could not see her actions reflecting on him, she thought bitterly. If there was a scandal, she doubted he would be embarrassed by it. The man was a complete and utter scoundrel and she hoped never to set eyes on him again—and yet she did wonder how he would react when he discovered she had taken back the necklace. She could only hope that he would concede defeat and not pursue it, but deep down she knew he wasn’t the kind of man to let it drop.

Her grandmother arrived home the following afternoon feeling much better, but insisted on going to her room to lie down, summoning Belle to follow her up.

From her bed where she was sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, the dowager countess looked at her granddaughter perched on the edge of a chair next to the bed. ‘Did you enjoy yourself at Carlton House the other night, Isabelle?’

‘Yes, very much,’ Belle answered, putting off the moment to tell her of the awful thing she had done. ‘I always enjoy parties and the Prince Regent excelled himself.

The countess’s gaze became pointed. ‘Are you feeling well, Isabelle? You are very pale.’

‘Yes—I am quite well. I—I didn’t sleep very well last night.’

‘Then you must have an early night. I must say that I would have preferred you not to have had anything to do with Lord Bingham. I sincerely hope he has not approached you since?’ The countess noticed that a bright pink had swept into her granddaughter’s cheeks, a sure sign that the girl was guilty about something. ‘He has, hasn’t he—the scoundrel.’

‘I—I happened to encounter him yesterday after visiting you. He—he rode part of the way home with me.’ She quailed at the look that entered her grandmother’s eyes—a mixture of disappointment, hurt and anger. ‘I’m sorry, Grandmother. I know you asked me not to have anything to do with him, but I—I couldn’t avoid him.’

The countess rested her head against the pillows and closed her eyes, deep in thought. ‘That man is too persistent,’ she murmured at length. ‘I have decided we shall leave for Wiltshire earlier than I intended. I would like to think that at Harworth Hall you will not be so easily available to him. Unfortunately that may not be the case. The Ryhill estate borders Harworth Hall, so unless our neighbour remains in London—as I sincerely hope he will—then there is every chance that the two of you will meet some time. Hopefully it will be later rather than sooner, and in the meantime Lord Bingham will have found himself a wife.’