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

‘Is it my imagination, or is everyone watching us?’

‘It is not your imagination. In the light of the bad feeling that exists between our two families, it is hardly surprising. Ride with me and I will show you just how inflamed the gossip is.’

‘You are extremely impertinent and I do not think I should. The last thing I want to do is to create a scandal that will upset my grandmother.’

Lance’s eyes darkened and his gaze was challenging. ‘What’s the matter, Belle? Afraid of a little gossip? Your grandmother isn’t here to see—and by the time she hears of it it will be too late.’

Something of the man she had met at Carlton House resurrected itself when he suddenly grinned wickedly, and despite Belle’s resolve to remain unaffected by him, she could not quell the small shiver of delight that ran through her. His teasing eyes were so lovely and blue, so blissfully familiar and admiring.

‘Very well,’ she murmured, forcing an uninterested politeness into her voice. ‘But instead of riding in the park, perhaps you would care to ride with me a little way back to Hampstead.’

‘Gladly.’

Together they rode out of the park, her groom following at a discreet distance. Belle could feel the fascinated stares of everyone in the park as they left. As they rode up Park Lane, the steady pace of their mounts eased their tensions and they began to unbend, each filled with the other’s presence.

Just like the night before when they had danced together, they drew attention from passers-by. Isabelle’s beauty and Lord Bingham’s tall, lean handsomeness made them unique. And he was handsome, perhaps the most handsome man Belle had ever seen, so there was little wonder he attracted attention, she thought, smiling to herself as she quietly admired her partner. In his broadcloth jacket, which fit his wide shoulders perfectly, his dark hair beneath his hat shimmering in the sunlight, he was devastating. She had to keep her eyes away from his, or at least she tried to, because it was so easy to get lost in his gaze and forget what he had done.

Lance turned his head and looked at Belle. She was like a magnet to his eyes, and now he felt an odd kind of possessiveness. Not the kind one felt on owning material things, but something else. There were different types of possessiveness, and he didn’t even want to think of the more common form, which had no place in his emotions.

‘I see you’ve dispensed with your military attire, my lord,’ Belle commented airily at length, the cut and seam of his coat evidence of the tailoring only noblemen could afford. ‘Your tailor must delight in the opportunity to clothe such an illustrious hero of the wars with Napoleon. Why, a gentleman with such expensive and stylish apparel will be the envy of every roué in London.’

Lance met her cool stare. From all indications it seemed she was none too pleased with him, which did much to heighten his curiosity. ‘I count myself fortunate in my tailor, who has made my wardrobe for a good many years—military uniforms, mainly. Now I have retired from army life he is delighted at the opportunity to finally outfit me with all the clothes of a gentleman.’

‘Indeed, I think even that master of style and fashion Mr Brummell will have to sit up and take notice.’

‘My tailor is a man of sober tastes and it would go against the grain to kit me out in garish garb—and I have no desire to emulate the overdressed Beau Brummell. Besides, that particular gentleman has fallen out of favour with Prince George and it is rumoured that he is heavily in debt and no longer as stylishly garbed as he once was.’ He frowned across at her. ‘Was your comment about my attire because you find it flawed in some way?’

‘Not in the slightest. In fact, I must commend your tailor’s abilities, although I imagine you must feel strange in civilian attire after wearing a uniform for so long.’

‘It will be something I shall have to get used to—even to tying my own cravat. Thankfully my valet is a master.’ After falling silent while they negotiated a congested part of the thoroughfare, he said, ‘Your grandmother is well?’

Belle glanced at him, wondering what had prompted the question. Was he curious as to how she had reacted on being told about the theft of the necklace? She answered carefully. ‘No—as a matter of fact my grandmother is not feeling herself.’

He glanced at her sharply. ‘She is ill?’

‘Indisposed,’ Belle provided, not wishing to divulge too much. If he thought her grandmother was so distressed over the loss of the diamonds that she had taken to her bed, so much the better—although if a man as cunning as he could rob people at gunpoint and scare them witless, then she doubted he would be moved over the plight of an old woman grieving her loss.

‘I am sorry to hear it,’ he sympathised, his gaze searching. ‘I hope she will soon recover.’

‘I doubt it—that she will recover soon, I mean. She really is quite distraught over the loss of something that was close to her heart.’ Apart from a narrowing of his eyes, Lord Bingham’s expression did not change.

‘She is? And was this item—valuable?’

‘You might say that—but then—’ she smiled, tossing her head and urging her mount to a faster pace ‘—it is a family matter and I am sure it will be resolved very soon.’

Although she hadn’t objected to riding with him, Lance was a little taken aback by the courteous, but impersonal smiles she was giving him. He decided it prudent to let the matter of her grandmother drop.

‘I am giving a supper party tonight. There will be a large gathering. I would very much like you to come, but I realise you would encounter difficulties with your grandmother.’

‘Yes, I would. You know she would never allow it—but I thank you for the invitation all the same.’ They had been riding for some time and on reaching the place where she had been accosted last night, she drew her horse to a halt and faced him. If he thought there was any significance in her stopping in the exact spot, he didn’t show it. ‘I can manage quite well from here. I’m sure you have more important things to do than play escort to me, Lord Bingham. I shall be quite safe with my groom.’

Lance frowned across at her. ‘What’s wrong, Belle? You weren’t like this when you almost melted in my arms before we parted at Carlton House last night. ‘

Belle’s green eyes widened in apparent bewilderment. ‘Did I really almost do that? Goodness, I must have imbibed more champagne than I thought. I danced so many dances with so many different beaux, I forget. I recall dancing with you and you were hardly the soul of amiability—unlike my other partners—and some of them were much more desirable than you.’

‘Really?’ he said frostily. ‘In what way?’

‘For one thing, they were younger than you,’ she replied, trying to seem cool and unemotional. She longed to slap this insufferable, arrogant lord down to size. ‘I have decided that you are much too old for me.’

Lance’s eyes darkened very nearly to black. ‘What the hell are you saying?’ he hissed. ‘Don’t play games with me, Belle, because you’ll find you are well out of your league.’

She looked at him in all innocence and said breezily, ‘Games, my lord? I don’t play games. If I said anything to mislead you, then I apologise most sincerely.’

Lance’s eyes hardened and his jaw tightened ominously. When he spoke it was with a cold savage contempt, his voice dangerously low. ‘You’re nothing but a common little flirt. Take care how you try to bait me,’ he murmured softly. ‘I’m not one of the besotted fools who dance attendance on you night after night. I might want more from you than you are ready to grant—and when I want something, I do not give up until I have it.’

Drawing her horse away from him slightly, reminding herself not to let him annoy her and that she must carry out the charade to the end, Belle feigned innocence. ‘But—surely you have what you wanted?’

She saw something move behind his eyes and for a split second his gaze went to her unadorned neck before rising to her face. She waited, her eyes holding his, challenging him, aware of the sudden tension inside him, the stirring of suspicion behind his gaze.

‘I have?’ he answered, not without caution. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Why, you asked me to ride with you—and here I am.’ She tilted her head to one side and smiled, her eyes questioning. ‘Why, were you referring to something else?’

He studied her carefully before saying coldly, ‘I think this unpleasant encounter has gone on long enough. I bid you good day.’ With that he rode away.

Without a backward glance, Belle headed for home, a sense of triumphant jubilation in her heart, for Lord Bingham’s invitation to his supper party had given her an excellent idea as to how she might recover the diamonds.

At nine o’clock Belle, dressed in breeches and a jacket and a low-brimmed hat, with no time to lose and with much chiding from Daisy, who knew all about the missing necklace and what her mistress had in mind, left the house and climbed into the waiting coach.

The driver knew it was not his place to ask questions—although he did look startled at Miss Isabelle’s male form of attire. She gave him the address of Lord Bingham’s London residence, which had not been too difficult to procure, since he was so well known that the servants had been able to provide her with the address. Settling into the upholstery, in an attempt to still her wildly beating heart she took a deep breath. There was so much depending on this night. She could not expect everything to go well and doubt thwarted her attempt at calm.

By the time she reached her destination—a fine Palladian mansion located close to Hyde Park on Park Lane—she had worked herself up into such a knot of anticipation and foreboding that she was tempted to tell the driver to return to Hampstead. Quickly she recollected herself and, sternly determined, fought to bring her rioting panic under control, thinking of the immense satisfaction and triumph she would feel if her plan succeeded, which would have very little to do with retrieving the necklace, and everything to do with outwitting Lord Bingham.

Belle left the coach some distance from the house, telling the driver to wait, that she hoped not to be long. She avoided the front of the house, where several smart equipages were lined up. Quickly becoming lost in the dark, she found her way to the back of the house and into a yard with buildings that housed Lord Bingham’s carriages and horses. Standing in the shadows she carefully surveyed his town residence.

Lights shone from the windows and people could be seen strolling about the rooms and sitting about. Thankfully several of the upstairs rooms were in darkness and it seemed quiet enough. Suddenly she was overcome with a sense of urgency, for there was a need for haste if she was to find what she was looking for without being seen. Letting herself in by a door that led into a passageway, she paused and listened. Sounds of domesticity and cook issuing orders to the kitchenmaids could be heard from a room on her right—the kitchen, she thought. Fortunately the door was only slightly ajar and she managed to creep by. A narrow staircase rose from the passageway and gingerly she made her way upwards. With a stroke of luck she found herself on a landing, on the top floor of the house, off which were several rooms.

With her ears attuned to every sound—conversation and laughter from Lord Bingham’s guests and the clink of glasses—she went from door to door, pressing her ear to it before opening it a crack and peering inside. They were bedrooms mostly—though not one of them gave the impression of belonging to the master of the house. Undeterred, she crept along another landing, peering into each room until eventually she found it. Looking through the slightly open door she waited, afraid Lord Bingham’s valet might be in an adjacent room. After a few moments when nothing happened she stepped inside and closed the door.

Only one lamp was lit, giving off a dim light. She could have done with more, but decided she would have to manage. She set to work, starting on a tall bureau beside the door. Thankfully the drawers slid open soundlessly. After rummaging inside and being careful to leave things as she found them, she went on to the next piece of furniture, working quietly, admiring the expensive quality of everything her fingers touched.

She glanced at a rather ornate clock on the mantelpiece as it delicately chimed ten o’clock. Wondering where the time had flown and disappointed that her search had produced nothing as yet, she knew she would have to hurry. Looking about her, she saw a door that she assumed must lead into a dressing room. Slipping inside, she searched the chests of drawers and among racks of clothing, but all to no avail.

Feeling crushed and extremely disappointed, she emerged into the bedroom once more. She was about to admit defeat when her eyes lighted on the bedside tables. She paused to listen. Had she heard a noise on the landing, or was it the noise of the wind that had risen? Whatever it might have been, she decided to get on with it. She had no wish to be caught red-handed.

With one last desperate attempt to locate the jewels, she looked inside the first bedside table, almost shouting out in triumph when, on opening a small velvet pouch and seeing its sparkling contents, she realised she had found what she was looking for.

‘Got you, you thieving rogue,’ she whispered, pocketing the pouch. Quickly she closed the drawer and then halted abruptly. This time she could not mistake the footfall on the landing as someone came towards the bedroom. Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Belle flew to the lamp and blew out the flame, placing it on the floor so it could not be lit in a hurry—although there were others in the room to light, so she needn’t have bothered. The room was now in almost total darkness. Belle stood in the middle, turning about indecisively. She had to find a place to hide. Her eyes lit on the dressing screen and she flew behind it just as the door handle turned.