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

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.’

Belle fell silent. As relentlessly as she had tried to thrust that blue-eyed devil from her mind, regretfully he was still very much in residence. She remembered what it had felt like to be in his arms, how his kiss had made her forget everything but the two of them, how he had sent her emotions spiralling upwards, her passion mounting until she feared for her sanity. In fact, it was something of a shock to her that she was just as susceptible to his absence as she was to his presence.

It seemed far fetched to think that one man could move her to such extremes, yet when she compared her joy at the feelings he had awakened in her to the strange, inexplicable yearning that presently thwarted her mood, what else could she put it down to?

Anger stirred inside her, anger at her response to his seduction, at the betrayal of her body. Damn him, she thought. How dare he do this to her? And now her grandmother had told her his home in Wiltshire adjoined Harworth Hall, and she found herself in the vexing position of how to avoid him in the future. What could she possibly do to save herself now that he looked like some godly being sent to earth to play havoc with her mind and her heart?