A Wayward Woman: Diamonds, Deception and the Debutante / Fugitive Countess. Helen Dickson
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‘You are back for good?’
‘Indeed.’
‘You have been to Ryhill?’
‘I have, but pressing matters of business brought me back to London for the present.’
‘Wellington and Prince George have sung your praises often during your campaigns. From all reports, your regiment was a shining example of a well-disciplined force, which proved itself as valiant in battle as any in the British Army—in particular the battle at Waterloo. You are to be congratulated, Lord Bingham.’
‘No more than any other. Waterloo was a great victory for Wellington. Any officer would have deemed it a privilege to serve under his leadership. You kept up with what was happening?’
‘I read the newspapers,’ the countess replied, her tone stilted.
‘Of course you do.’ Lance’s eyes flicked to Belle. ‘I should be honoured if you would permit me to partner your granddaughter in another dance, Countess.’
‘I imagine you would be. However, I believe her dance card is full. I’m sure you will find some other young lady willing to partner you.’
Her face became alarmingly shuttered and without expression and her eyes darkened until they were almost black. That this impertinent man, whose family had done her so much harm in the past, should have the effrontery to try to ingratiate himself with her granddaughter was insupportable.
Lance nodded, understanding perfectly, but he was quite ready to be summarily dismissed. ‘I’m sure I shall, Countess.’ He looked at Belle and bowed his torso in a courtly gesture. ‘I enjoyed dancing with you, Miss Ainsley. Should one of your partners be unavailable, I am at your service. The night is still young. Who knows? Anything might happen.’ Without another word or so much as a glance at Belle, he bowed and walked away.
Determined to dedicate herself to keeping Lance Bingham away from Isabelle, and having planned to leave for the Ainsleys’ ancestral home in Wiltshire at the end of the Season, the countess considered it might be as well to leave in the next few days. Although even in Wiltshire it couldn’t be guaranteed that Isabelle would be safe from the officer if the wily rascal had a mind to see her.
She was pleased with the way Isabelle had turned out—even if she had enjoyed frustrating all her tutors’ efforts to correct any part of her like some precocious child out to tease her elders. However, her demeanour was much improved. She was at ease and content fraternising with affluent aristocrats with lofty titles and well respected. But there were still times—like tonight and her disagreeable and defiant behaviour over the necklace, and her refusal to send Lance Bingham packing when he’d asked her to dance—when the old Isabelle surfaced to remind her that the spirited, wilful hoyden was still present.
‘If Lord Bingham approaches you again, you will have nothing to do with him, Isabelle. The man believes he can talk his way into, or out of, any situation and I have no wish to see him do you harm. He has charm in abundance, but you will have nothing more to do with him. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Grandmother,’ Belle replied dutifully, knowing that if Lord Bingham had a mind to approach her again, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
As the evening progressed, from a distance Lance watched Belle Ainsley, making no attempt to approach her for the present, though this had nothing to do with her grandmother’s displeasure. No matter how he tried to clear his mind of her, the more difficult it became, for the woman was entangling him in desire and he hadn’t even kissed her yet, never mind possessed her. But he would. Yes, he would. Although Lance considered himself an experienced ladies’ man, with justification he knew when to take a step back. His senses were giving him that message right now.
However, his attention never wavered from the provocative sensuality of her as she danced with more men than she would be able to remember. There was a natural, unaffected sophistication and exhilarating liveliness that drew men to her, and he took pleasure in looking at her, at the vibrancy of her, her laughing face, his gaze shifting now and then to the glittering diamonds resting against her creamy flesh that brought a quiet, secretive smile to his lips.
The festivities were drawing to a close when he saw her standing by a pillar alone. He lazily regarded her, his eyes following her, snapping sharply. Going to stand behind her, he lightly trailed his skilled fingers down the soft nape of her neck, reassured when she did not move away.
Belle recognised the scent of his cologne. She gasped and quivered, a warmth suffusing her cheeks. Though she commanded herself to move, her legs refused to budge. She felt it so strongly, it was as if her whole body was throbbing suddenly and in her head her thoughts were not orderly—just odd, strong responses. And in her breasts—how could a touch, a caress, reach her breasts? Yet it had; it was making them desperate to be touched and it was all she could do not to reach for one of his hands and place it there.
And the sensation moved on, lower, sweetly soft and liquid; small darts of pleasure travelled as if on silken threads to her stomach and inner thighs as the infuriating man continued his rhythmic stroking, with Belle unaware as he did so that he was giving particular attention to the clasp of her necklace. The heat of his hand seemed to scorch her cool flesh and she licked her dry lips. Recollecting herself, she shrugged away from his caress, but not too forcefully.
‘You overstep yourself, sir,’ she murmured, a little breathless.
‘But you enjoy me touching you, Belle, do you not?’ Lance breathed in a tight, strained voice. ‘Would you deny either of us the pleasures of being together?’
Oddly feeling no grudge against him, Belle turned and looked at him surreptitiously. His bold gaze stirred something deep within her, and the sensation was not unpleasant. ‘You go too fast. I hardly know you at all.’
Lance’s eyes gleamed with devilish humour, and his lips drew slowly into a delicate smile. ‘You’re quite right. You must allow us to get to know each other. You could be the light of my life. Have mercy on me.’
Belle lifted her chin. ‘I am hardly the first or the only one. It passes through my thoughts that you are a rake, Lord Bingham, and have probably said those very words to so many women you have lost count.’
‘I cannot deny any of what you say—but then I had not met you. You impress me. You attract me. It is a long time since I said that to a woman.’
Confused by the gentle warmth of his gaze and the directness of his words, Belle was moved by what he said. It was impossible to determine whether he mocked her or told the truth. He was not like any man she had ever met. When she had spoken to hurt him, to insult him, he had taken it in his stride or with humour, with patience, and still he complimented her.
‘You must forgive me if I appear confused. You confuse me.’
The softening in her manner enhanced her beauty, and Lance boldly and appreciatively stared, encouraged by it. He leaned closer so that his mouth was close to her ear. ‘At least we have something in common.’
His warm breath stirred shivers along her flesh, and a curious excitement tingled in her breast. She had to fight to keep her world upright. What was the matter with her? Had she consumed too much wine and was now feeling its effect?
‘Is it too hard to imagine that we could become lovers?’ he asked softly. ‘I find you absolutely fascinating, and yet you suddenly seem afraid. Is it me you fear—or something else?’
The endearment spoken in his rich, deep voice had the same stirring effect on her as his finger on the back of her neck. ‘I am not afraid,’ she said, trying to control herself and the situation, ‘and nor do your words sway me. I realise that this is merely a dalliance to you.’
‘Liar.’ A seductive grin swept across his handsome face. ‘Admit it. You are afraid—afraid of the things I make you feel.’
‘Lord Bingham,’ she gasped breathlessly, ‘I am not a woman of easy virtue and certainly do not intend giving myself to you. Now please go away before my grandmother sees