Bronwyn Scott - Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante

The piece was pretty enough, but he knew it was wrong, too showy for his purposes. Would Lilya know? Would she say anything? A typical lady would not dare to contradict him. Lilya did not hesitate. She smiled and shook her head.

‘Perhaps after you’re officially engaged,’ she said gently. ‘A necklace is too sophisticated, I think, for your intentions at present.’

Something dangerous and volatile sparked to life between them. He should leave well enough alone, but the devil in him was already awake and wanting his due. How would she handle it?

‘What are those intentions?’ Beldon asked in gravelly tones more appropriate for seduction than shopping. Truly he knew better than to stoke this ambiguous fire she roused in him.

‘You tell me. They’re your intentions.’ She studied him with sharp eyes, missing nothing of the innuendo, of the change in the atmosphere between them.

There it was. She’d called him out. This was his chance to declare himself. What a bold piece she was and yet she pulled off that boldness without seeming unladylike. Really, it was quite admirable.

Mr Brown returned with the second package. He handed it to Lilya and noted the necklace still dangling from Beldon’s hand. ‘Ah, you’ve made a choice, then? The necklace is very nice.’

Beldon skewered the smaller man with an imperial stare, his voice cold. ‘Very nice, but very wrong for my cause,’ he corrected. ‘A decent gentleman would not give such a piece to his bride.’

The man had the good grace to colour at the implication: he’d been caught toadying.

‘Perhaps something in pink?’ Lilya offered. It was meant to be a helpful suggestion, but Beldon saw the challenge behind it. Pink could only be for one person. But Lilya was right and Beldon saw no reason to disagree. A pink gem would be lovely and meaningful to Lady Eleanor. As long as they didn’t say Lady Eleanor’s name out loud, it wasn’t as if he was outright asking one woman to help him select jewellery for another.

Trays were taken away and others brought out from behind the locked cabinet, far more than he’d expected. He’d not anticipated such a variety. In tacit agreement, he and Lilya sat back down on the bench.

‘A ring, then?’ Beldon randomly chose one of the dozens of rings on display, suddenly less interested in what had brought him here in the first place and more interested in Lilya’s response. He had jewels aplenty in the Pendennys vault. He would save those for a wedding gift, or an anniversary gift. The Pendennys emeralds were heavy pieces. Every time he thought of Lady Eleanor in them, he imagined her bent over from the weight of them. They were not jewels for a girl.

Lilya laughed sweetly and took pity on him. ‘A bracelet or a pin would be best.’ She motioned to the jeweller. ‘You can put away all the trays but these three here.’

‘I can see that I would have made a disaster of this on my own.’ He should not have said that. It was entirely wrong, entirely too familiar. He was joking with her as if they were friends when everyone knew a man could not be friends with a lady. He could feel his jaw tightening. It was too easy to be charmed by Lilya—by her graceful gestures, by the subtle way she’d taken control of the situation.

She threw him a sidelong glance as if to say she doubted that, that she was on to his game of provoking her. Her eyes danced with an implicit understanding of their secret game. She turned back to study the trays. ‘This coral-and-pearl piece would be perfect.’

It was indeed quite the perfect piece: a cameo habille, a jewel within a jewel. Beldon could find no quarrel with it. He would have selected it himself, left to his own devices. In spite of the game he played with Lilya, he did know a thing or two about jewellery. The cameo was of angelskin coral in the palest shades of pink, a tiny stone of pink jasper set on the cameo’s bosom giving it the jewel within a jewel. Eleanor would be able to wear it pinned to a gown.

Lilya leaned forwards and spoke quietly, a finger tracing the fine lines of the cameo. ‘What better way to tell her of your feelings than that you view her as your very own jewel within a jewel, a woman you love as much for her beauty on the outside as her beauty on the inside?’

The sentiment surprised him. Is that what women saw in jewellery? No wonder they coveted it. Did men have any idea what secret messages they were sending? More importantly, is that what he meant by giving Lady Eleanor this gift? Admittedly, Lilya’s words had something of a shocking effect on him. The sentiment she expressed was noble and fine. But could he give Lady Eleanor such a gift, knowing the message behind it to be a lie? He hoped such sentiment would be true eventually. As of today, it was not. He had no idea if Lady Eleanor was a lovely person on the inside.She was precisely what she’d been bred to be, a blank slate for her husband to write on. A blanker slate, Beldon could not imagine. He simply didn’t know. He knew only that she fit his criteria. He stilled for a moment, a horrible thought coming to him.

What if your criteria are wrong? What if you need more? The thought was practically blasphemous. He should not even give credence to it. But there’d been a lot already today he should not have done, starting with allowing Lilya to sit down beside him. He’d played with fire and now he was getting burned, absolutely and thoroughly scorched.

‘What is it? You look pale all of a sudden.’ Lilya unconsciously placed a hand on his arm, her face full of concern within the frame of her bonnet. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with a spring cold. Philippa won’t forgive you if you get sick before Val’s Rose Gala. She’s spent days planning it to celebrate his new hybrid.’

Stubbornly, Beldon pushed the traitorous idea aside. There was no room for doubt. He stood up, shaking off Lilya’s hand. ‘I’m quite fine. The cameo is perfect. Mr Brown, I would like to have it wrapped up so I may take it right away.’

He must forgo the pleasure of such doubts. This moment of weakness was nonsense. More than one man had been the recipient of cold feet. It was part and parcel of the engagement ritual and the embracing of the unknown. He told himself it was actually nice to get cold feet. It reminded him of how important this decision was. It was worthy of being agonised over. If it was something that could be hastily done, everyone would do it.

The jeweller returned with the cameo in a small blue velvet box tied prettily with a pale blue ribbon. ‘I’ve done it up neatly for you, my lord. The ladies put as much store in the wrapping as they do what’s actually inside the box.’ He chuckled.

Beldon tucked the box into his coat pocket. The package was small enough not to draw attention. No one would even know he had it with him. He could carry it with him discreetly and wait for the right moment. Or, came the errant thought, he could forget about it, letting it lie unclaimed in a pocket for, oh, say ages, and no one would be the wiser.

‘Ahem, my lord, if I may be so bold, I happened to notice this piece in the back. We haven’t displayed it yet. I just acquired it a few days ago from a gem dealer. Since you were looking for something pink, I wanted to show it to you—it’s a bracelet of silver and tourmaline.’

Lilya gasped, enchanted at the sight of it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Encouraged, the jeweller went on, ‘It is straight from Burma and the mines of Mynnamar. If I might, Miss Stefanov?’ The jeweller deftly draped the bracelet about her wrist, but struggled with the clasp.

‘Here, allow me,’ Beldon volunteered unthinkingly. He reached out, gently capturing her wrist, and fastened the bracelet, but not without marveling at the feel of her fine, narrow bones beneath her glove. Her wrist was as delicate and slender as the bracelet itself—a perfect match that sent a jolt of unmistakable desire straight to his male core. Beldon stepped back, hoping to distance himself.