Helen Dickson - A Wayward Woman

Belle turned in astonishment as the officer materialised from the shadows. Belle recognised that mocking smile—it was identical to the one he had given her across the table, when he’d caught her inadvertently staring at him. His voice was deep and throaty, like thick honey. It was a seductive voice that made her think of highly improper things. It seemed to caress each word he uttered, and she knew there couldn’t be many women who could resist a voice like that, not if the man speaking looked like Lord Bingham. But she told herself she needn’t worry, for she was completely immune to that potent masculine allure.

‘That would not be appropriate. I don’t know you.’

Lance laughed at her. ‘Well, my fine lady, you should indeed know me—and if you don’t, I will tell you that I am Lance Bingham, at your service. Now does my name sound familiar?’

‘My grandmother has already told me who you are,’ Belle replied coolly.

‘I thought she might.’

She looked at him directly. ‘Why does she not like you?’

Instead of reacting with offence, he merely chuckled. ‘You should ask your grandmother. You may find what she has to tell you—interesting.’ He grinned, his mouth curving up at one corner. Beneath his heavy, drooping lids his eyes were filled with amusement, and idle speculation. ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?’

She cocked a dark, finely arched brow above a baleful glare, which, with the chillingly beautiful smile, could have frozen the heart of the fiercest opponent. Woe to the man this woman unleashed her wrath upon.

‘I’m minding my own business. I suggest you mind yours.’

He grinned. ‘You’re outspoken.’

‘None of your business. Why don’t you just go away?’

‘Hostile, too. I don’t often encounter hostility from young ladies.’

‘I’m surprised.’

‘You’re not impressed?’

‘Not a bit.’

Those seductive blue eyes settled on her. ‘Well, Miss Isabelle, I find you quite challenging.’

‘You do?’

‘Did anyone ever tell you you’re quite lovely?’

‘All the time.’

‘And you’ve got lovely hair. You’re got a provocative mouth, too.’

‘Save your breath. I am not interested.’

‘No?’ He arched a brow.

‘Not in the slightest.’

‘I find that hard to believe.’

‘You are very convincing. You actually make a woman believe you are speaking the truth—but then you have undoubtedly had a great deal of practice.’

He grinned. ‘True, but I am sincere.’

Belle could feel her cheeks warming as she met those smiling blue eyes. ‘You seem terribly sure of yourself, my lord.’

‘And I can see you’re not easily taken in, but can you not understand what a man like myself experiences in the presence of such a beautiful woman?’

Belle peered at him frostily. ‘And I can see you’re all talk.’

Leaning forwards, Lance ensnared her gaze and carefully probed those dark green eyes as a slow smile curved his lips. ‘You’ve got me all wrong. You’ve awakened emotions within me that I was sure I was incapable of feeling—some of which are appreciative—others I’m simply struggling to restrain.’

‘Then you will just have to curb your emotions, my lord, for I am not interested.’

He cocked a sleek black brow. ‘No?’

‘Conceited, aren’t you? Conceited and arrogant.’

He pretended offence. ‘You do me a terrible injustice. In fact, you make me feel quite downcast and disconsolate. Here I am, complimenting you on your beauty, and you start casting aspersions on my character. You think I’m insufferable?’

‘Quite,’ she agreed heatedly.

‘That’s quite a temper you have,’ he said, shaking his head in teasing, chiding reproof. ‘And here I was thinking that you wanted me to ask you to dance.’

Her eyes flared. ‘Do you actually think I was waiting for you to ask me?’

Her show of outrage bestirred his hearty laughter. Thoroughly incensed, Belle glowered at him until his amusement dwindled to nothing more than a slanted grin. ‘You can’t fault a soldier recently returned from the wars for hoping that such would be the case. You really are quite the most enticing female I’ve met. So, what do you say? Will you dance with me?’

‘No. Like I said, you are insufferable. I don’t think I like you very much.’

‘A little would do. Actually, I’m quite delightful once you get to know me. I do have a reputation, I admit it frankly—but I’ve been dreadfully maligned. You shouldn’t believe all you hear about me.’

Belle gazed at him with a cool hauteur. After a moment he smiled a devilishly engaging smile, offended demeanour gone.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to dance?’

‘Quite sure,’ she retorted.

‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘Sore feet, probably.’

‘It’s a long time since I trod on a lady’s toes, Belle.’

Her heart lurched at his familiar use of her name. ‘Maybe so, but I will not risk it. I did not invite you to ask me to dance.’

He grinned unrepentantly. ‘I know. I took it upon myself. Always was impetuous.’

‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me? If you will excuse me, I see my grandmother beckoning to me.’

Lance Bingham gave her a mock-polite nod, eyelids drooping, a half-smile playing on his mouth. Lowering his head, he spoke softly into her ear, his warm breath fanning her neck. Mingled with an underlying essence of soap, the pleasantly aromatic bouquet of his cologne drifted into her nostrils and twined amazingly through her senses, and she found the manly fragrance intoxicating.

‘Go if you must, but I will not give up.’

True to his word, Lance Bingham didn’t. His mind never wandering far from the diamonds around her neck, Belle Ainsley’s delectable form fully visible to his hungry eyes was an inducement he was unable to resist.

The Dowager Countess of Harworth had watched him throughout the evening carefully. She had seen him approach Isabelle and noted her rejection. However she was unsettled by it. Countless young women surrounded him all the time, all vying for his attention. Lord Bingham, she noted, treated them with amused tolerance, for his attention was on the only female at Carlton House who seemed immune to his magnetism—her granddaughter.

Having serious cause to doubt that he had never seen such perfection before and tempted to dally with the lady to his heart’s content, half an hour after he had spoken to her, Lance threw caution to the four winds and approached Belle once more.

From where she sat conversing with two elderly ladies who were friends of her grandmother, glancing up, Belle saw his head above the crowd and instinctively knew he was looking for her. When he turned his imperious head his eyes locked on to hers and he smiled, a lazy cocksure smile. When he strode arrogantly towards her, she was not in the least surprised when the crowd parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses.

Belle lifted her eyes to look into his face. He was smiling down at her, the bright blueness of his eyes catching her breath. She was used to male admiration, but this one was the first to rouse her hostility while at the same time stirring her senses and capturing her imagination. Not that she’d let him see it, for that was not her way, but she had never reacted like this before to any man.

‘As you do not appear to be taken for this dance, I wonder if I might—’

Belle raised her chin haughtily. ‘Thank you, but I am not dancing at the moment.’

‘I can see that, which is why I am here. Now, if the ladies will excuse us …’

Bowing in the direction of the open-mouthed ladies, Lance took Belle’s hand, pulled her out of the chair and whisked her into the middle of the swirling dancers where he took her into his arms. Belle was so unused to anyone forcing her to do something against her will that she went with him, automatically falling into the right steps of the waltz before she realised what she was doing.