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

Lance came in, uttering an oath under his breath when he found his room in darkness, and an even louder oath when his foot made contact with the lamp and it toppled over.

‘What the devil has happened to the light?’ His voice bore an edge of sharpness that bespoke of vexation. Without more ado he picked up the lamp and, striking a sulphur match, soon had it lit. He stood for a moment in puzzlement. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room. Seeing that everything appeared to be in place, he removed his jacket and threw it on to the bed.

From behind the screen Belle listened to him moving about, wondering why he had come to his room and how she was going to get out without being seen. Her heart racing in confused fright, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her rapid pulse and to peer through a crack in the screen. She saw him loosen his neck linen and remove his waistcoat—and what was that dark stain? It looked like wine. So that was it. He’d clearly spilled some on his clothes and come up to change. Hopefully he would do it quickly and go. Seeing him disappear into his dressing room, she waited in trembling disquiet, horrified when, having changed his clothes, he came back into the bedroom and approached the screen.

Lance was just reaching to fold it back when it was shoved towards him by a decisive force. He was almost toppled over by its weight and was momentarily stunned as a shape leapt past him and ran towards the door, pausing for a split second to blow out the lamp. Angrily Lance tossed the screen aside and with quick long strides reached the intruder before he could escape, snatching a handful of his coat and pulling him back.

A rending tear preceded a startled cry and then a booted foot kicked at his shins.

‘Dammit, who the hell are you, and what do you think you’re doing in my house?’ Lance ignored the hands that flailed the air, hitting out at him, and jerked the figure around roughly.

Belle stumbled against the bed and in great trepidation scrambled across it to the other side.

Angered beyond bearing, Lance lunged after what he thought to be a man, since the figure was wearing breeches and the face was concealed by a low-brimmed hat.

Making a concerted effort to escape, Belle picked up his jacket and threw it at him, but swinging round the bedpost, Lance tossed it aside, his fingers again reaching out to ensnare the shadowy figure. Belle side-stepped and darted about the room, but the vague blur of bodies in the dark room gave away their movements. When he was near her, Belle abruptly changed directions and scurried to the door. Lance was faster and leapt after her in time to catch her full against him, clamping a hand over her mouth when she opened it to scream.

‘Be still. If you continue to fight me, I’ll knock you senseless. Do you understand me?’ His captive nodded, in which case he began loosening his grip slightly.

The moment he did, Belle sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his palm and flung herself away from him. He grabbed her before she had taken two steps and held her prisoner in his arms.

‘So, you want to draw my blood, eh?’

The sudden contact of their bodies brought a gasp to Belle’s lips.

Lance continued to hold her, finding the form too slender, too light to be that of a man. A youth, perhaps?

Taking her with him to the door, he turned the key before releasing her and lighting the lamp. Giving all his attention to his captive, who continued to squirm against him, he reached out and tore the hat away, his mind rebelling in disbelief at what he saw—the dark brown hair, with highlights of red and gold, framing a creamy-skinned visage. The lips were soft and sensuous, the eyes a clear, sparkling shade of green.

‘What the hell … Good Lord!’ he cried. ‘Belle!’

Belle turned from him, but he caught her wrist. Blindly, insanely, she fought him, wildly twisting and writhing and clawing at him in an attempt to get away from him.

‘Will you be still?’ he growled, pressing her back against the wall and trying to still her frantic threshing with the weight of his own body. When she wouldn’t he increased the pressure of his grip upon the delicately boned wrist. Stubbornly Belle resisted the pain until Lance finally loosed his hold, not wishing to hurt her unduly. Feeling what little fight she had left drain away, slowly she quieted, breathing heavily, very much aware that his thighs were crushing her own quaking limbs.

‘Stop fighting me, Belle, and I’ll step away. Then I will listen to what you have to say. You owe me that much at least.’

‘I owe you nothing,’ she hissed through clenched teeth, open mutiny in her tone, her eyes hurling daggers at him. She sidled away from him, rubbing her wrist. ‘I swear I’ll break your hands if you dare touch me again.’

Lance stepped away from her. A wave of anger that she could be so reckless, that she had put herself in danger like this, washed over him. ‘Do you realise I could have killed you, you stupid girl?’

Belle tossed her head in defiance, her expression indignant. ‘Desperation leads me to do stupid things.’

‘Desperate? You? Don’t make me laugh,’ he uttered sarcastically. ‘How nice of you to drop in to my party. Do you mind telling how you got past my butler—looking like that?’

‘I came in through a door at the back of the house. It wasn’t difficult.’

‘Are you going to tell me what the hell you think you’re playing at?’

‘Do I really have to tell you—thief?’ she hissed accusingly, looking at him with withering scorn.

He looked at her very calmly now, everything beginning to fall into place. ‘Thief? Now, that’s debatable.’

‘Not to me.’

‘You know, if you’re going to take this defensive attitude, we’re not going to get anywhere. I take it that you have found what you were looking for?’

She nodded.

‘So, you saw behind my disguise.’

‘That wasn’t too difficult when I had time to piece things together. It was your cologne that gave you away.’

His lips twitched with the hint of a smile. ‘How astute of you. Trust a woman to notice that—and it certainly explains your attitude towards me at the party.’

‘What you did, holding up a coach on the King’s highway and forcing—at gunpoint, I might add—a woman to part with her valuables, is a criminal offence—one you could be hanged for.’

‘As you took great pleasure in informing me last night. Please don’t go on,’ Lance drawled in exaggerated horror. ‘You will give me nightmares.’

His ability to mock his fate and ignore his crime was more than Belle could bear. Her voice shook with angry emotion, and she stared at him as if he were something inhuman and beyond her comprehension.

‘And my grandmother? Did you not spare a thought to how your actions might have affected her had she been in the coach? She might have suffered a seizure on being confronted by a violent highwayman.’

‘I doubt it. Your grandmother is made of sterner stuff than that. However, I heard it mentioned that she wasn’t feeling well and was to remain in town with Lady Channing.’

‘And if she had been in the coach?’

‘I would not have held you up.’

‘How perfectly noble of you,’ she scoffed. ‘My grandmother could bring charges against you for what you did.’

‘And who would believe a high-ranking lord of the realm—as well as being a highly respected and decorated officer in Wellington’s army—would stoop so low as to take to the road as a highwayman?’

Belle glowered at him. ‘Is there no limit to what you will dare?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No limit whatsoever. If you suspected it was me who took your necklace, didn’t it occur to you to simply ask me about it when we met earlier today, instead of taking matters into your own hands and sneaking into my home to look for them?’

Belle shrugged. ‘It’s no worse than what you did to me—you—you wretch. Besides, what was the point in asking you? You would have denied it.’

‘And you know that, do you?’

‘Don’t you feel any guilt at all about stealing the diamonds?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘I don’t suppose you would. One has to have a conscience to feel guilt,’ she said, shrugging out of her coat to examine the tear in the back.

‘If I were guilty of taking something that didn’t belong to me, maybe I would deny it. But I didn’t.’