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

Belle studied his features, looking for something that would give her some hint of what had happened on her way back to Hampstead last night, but there was nothing to suggest he had been the thief. But there was something different in him today. His manner was subdued and his tone of voice made her look more closely at him. She detected some indefinable, underlying emotion in it as his brilliant blue eyes gleamed beneath the well-defined brows. Belle was not shaken from her resolve that he was the one, and before she had finished she would prove it.

‘May I introduce you to this gentleman?’ Lance gestured to his companion. ‘This is Sir Rowland Gibbon, an old and valued friend of mine. Rowland, this is Miss Ainsley—the Dowager Countess of Harworth’s granddaughter. Rowland wanted to meet you, Miss Ainsley, having recently returned from America, where he travelled extensively.’

‘You exaggerate, Lance.’ Rowland bowed to her. ‘Although I did find the country interesting and exciting and hope very much to return there one day. I believe you are from America, Miss Ainsley.’

‘Indeed,’ she answered, liking his easy manner and trying not to look at Lord Bingham. Sir Rowland was not a handsome man by any means, but he had obviously spent a goodly amount of coin on his attire, for, completely devoid of prudence, he was garbed in a flamboyant fashion in dark-green velvet coat with a high stiff collar, frothing neck linen and skintight white trouser that clung to the line of his long legs above his black riding boots. He sat his horse with an easy swagger and the dashing air of a romantic highwayman.

Highwayman? Belle sighed. Highwaymen were very much at the forefront of her mind just now. ‘I was born there—in Charleston. And you are right to say it is exciting. I too wish to return there one day, but I can’t see that happening in the foreseeable future.’

At that moment someone caught Rowland’s eye and he excused himself to go and speak to them.

Lance’s unfathomable eyes locked on to Belle’s. ‘Ride with me a while, will you, Belle? I should like to hear more about America,’ he said, reverting to a quiet informality.

Belle hesitated. She was aware of the curious stares and of a hushed expectancy from those around them.

‘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.