Helen Dickson - A Wayward Woman - Diamonds, Deception and the Debutante / Fugitive Countess

And then the dance was over and he released her, but he was reluctant to part from her. Belle Ainsley intrigued him. She was the only woman who had dared stand up to him, and flaunting the diamonds that by rights belonged to the Binghams—the sheer injustice of it—was tantamount to a challenge to him.

‘Would you defy your grandmother and dance with me again?’

‘Why? Are you asking?’

‘Would you like me to?’

‘Yes, just to give me the satisfaction of saying no.’

He grinned. ‘Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, Belle.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself. One dance with you is quite enough. Please excuse me. I think this brief encounter has gone on long enough.’

She turned from him, about to walk away, but he caught her arm. ‘Wait.’

She spun round. ‘What?’

‘Protocol dictates that I escort you back to your grandmother—or do you forget so easily what you have been taught?’

‘Are you sure you want to? Do you have the courage?’

‘After confronting Napoleon on the battle field, confronting your grandmother is mere child’s play.’

Belle elevated her brows in question. ‘You think so? Would you like to tell her—or shall I?’

‘I wouldn’t bother. Your grandmother might take offence to being compared to the mighty emperor.’

‘I don’t think so. Both are stoic and determined people, and unafraid of the enemy. I think they would get on remarkably well.’ She tossed her head haughtily. ‘I suppose you must return me to my grandmother—it will be interesting to observe the outcome.’

Taking her hand, Lance led her off the dance floor. He sensed that, in her belief she could do whatever she fancied, there was an air of danger about her. Nothing will ever beat her, he thought. He would wager she had teeth and claws. Determined too. What she wants she’ll go after—a girl after his own heart. But she was still young, still impressionable—trembling on the edge of ripe womanhood. Isabelle Ainsley would not be long without a husband. The Regent’s court possessed many handsome beaux, who would be willing to wed the beautiful granddaughter of the Dowager Countess of Harworth. She thought she had his measure. He smiled, confident in his own power over the female sex. She was only an apprentice compared to him.

He liked his women to be experienced, experienced in the ways of pleasing his own sexually mature body, and there was no doubt Belle Ainsley would make a perfect bed mate. But she must be shown that it was Lance Bingham who called the tune. However, Lance knew full well that though it was not in his nature to care what people thought of him—especially the Dowager Countess of Harworth—he must, for the time being, do the right thing and return this beautiful baggage with her reputation intact.

Lance bowed to the countess, his smile courteous. ‘Your granddaughter dances divinely, Countess. I hope you will forgive me for stealing her away. I was somewhat precipitate in rushing her on to the floor as I did.’

The dowager countess regarded him with an expression of acid tolerance for which she was known—and feared—by all the ton. A deep shudder passed through her and she felt as if she were being taken back in time, for Lance Bingham, with his lean, noble features, stunning good looks and tall, broad-shouldered frame, was so much like his grandfather. She was shocked by the likeness. He had the same mocking smile that she had always found so confusing. It had promised so much and yet meant so little.

‘Yes, you were. So, Colonel Bingham, you are back from France.’

‘As you see, Countess. I am especially honoured by this opportunity to renew our acquaintance.’

The countess considered it prudent to ignore his remark. ‘You are back for good?’

‘Indeed.’

‘You have been to Ryhill?’

‘I have, but pressing matters of business brought me back to London for the present.’

‘Wellington and Prince George have sung your praises often during your campaigns. From all reports, your regiment was a shining example of a well-disciplined force, which proved itself as valiant in battle as any in the British Army—in particular the battle at Waterloo. You are to be congratulated, Lord Bingham.’

‘No more than any other. Waterloo was a great victory for Wellington. Any officer would have deemed it a privilege to serve under his leadership. You kept up with what was happening?’

‘I read the newspapers,’ the countess replied, her tone stilted.

‘Of course you do.’ Lance’s eyes flicked to Belle. ‘I should be honoured if you would permit me to partner your granddaughter in another dance, Countess.’

‘I imagine you would be. However, I believe her dance card is full. I’m sure you will find some other young lady willing to partner you.’

Her face became alarmingly shuttered and without expression and her eyes darkened until they were almost black. That this impertinent man, whose family had done her so much harm in the past, should have the effrontery to try to ingratiate himself with her granddaughter was insupportable.

Lance nodded, understanding perfectly, but he was quite ready to be summarily dismissed. ‘I’m sure I shall, Countess.’ He looked at Belle and bowed his torso in a courtly gesture. ‘I enjoyed dancing with you, Miss Ainsley. Should one of your partners be unavailable, I am at your service. The night is still young. Who knows? Anything might happen.’ Without another word or so much as a glance at Belle, he bowed and walked away.

Determined to dedicate herself to keeping Lance Bingham away from Isabelle, and having planned to leave for the Ainsleys’ ancestral home in Wiltshire at the end of the Season, the countess considered it might be as well to leave in the next few days. Although even in Wiltshire it couldn’t be guaranteed that Isabelle would be safe from the officer if the wily rascal had a mind to see her.

She was pleased with the way Isabelle had turned out—even if she had enjoyed frustrating all her tutors’ efforts to correct any part of her like some precocious child out to tease her elders. However, her demeanour was much improved. She was at ease and content fraternising with affluent aristocrats with lofty titles and well respected. But there were still times—like tonight and her disagreeable and defiant behaviour over the necklace, and her refusal to send Lance Bingham packing when he’d asked her to dance—when the old Isabelle surfaced to remind her that the spirited, wilful hoyden was still present.

‘If Lord Bingham approaches you again, you will have nothing to do with him, Isabelle. The man believes he can talk his way into, or out of, any situation and I have no wish to see him do you harm. He has charm in abundance, but you will have nothing more to do with him. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Grandmother,’ Belle replied dutifully, knowing that if Lord Bingham had a mind to approach her again, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

As the evening progressed, from a distance Lance watched Belle Ainsley, making no attempt to approach her for the present, though this had nothing to do with her grandmother’s displeasure. No matter how he tried to clear his mind of her, the more difficult it became, for the woman was entangling him in desire and he hadn’t even kissed her yet, never mind possessed her. But he would. Yes, he would. Although Lance considered himself an experienced ladies’ man, with justification he knew when to take a step back. His senses were giving him that message right now.

However, his attention never wavered from the provocative sensuality of her as she danced with more men than she would be able to remember. There was a natural, unaffected sophistication and exhilarating liveliness that drew men to her, and he took pleasure in looking at her, at the vibrancy of her, her laughing face, his gaze shifting now and then to the glittering diamonds resting against her creamy flesh that brought a quiet, secretive smile to his lips.