The guests let out a collective gasp, and a few giggles came from the maids of the house, who had stopped in their tracks to gawp at the youth who had a definite feminine air about him, only to be shooed away by an irate butler.
‘Leave it, Rowland,’ Lance uttered through his teeth.
Rowland wasn’t going to let it drop. With Belle’s identity revealed, he turned his incredulous look on Lance and back to the slender, black garbed figure. ‘Good Lord! If it isn’t Miss Ainsley!’
Belle felt physically ill and glanced towards Lord Bingham’s guests. She recognised several of them as being elite members of the ton. The expressions on their faces ranged from amusement to icy condemnation. Knowing there was no help for it but to brazen it out, in a defiant gesture she thrust out her chin and squared her shoulders.
‘As you see, sir,’ she replied coolly. ‘Please don’t ask me to explain what I am doing here dressed like this. You would not believe it.’
Smiling broadly, Rowland laughed. ‘I might. I shall certainly enjoy hearing it.’
‘Miss Ainsley took the opportunity of me being otherwise engaged to steal into my house to retrieve the necklace I took from her last night,’ Lance told him, careful to keep his voice low. It was bad enough that his guests had witnessed Belle coming down his stairs with him attired as she was, without providing them with her reason for being in his house.
Comprehension dawned in Rowland’s eyes, quickly followed by astonishment. ‘Ah, she did?’
‘Indeed. My disguise didn’t deceive this clever young lady and she must be complimented on her success. She was about to walk off with the necklace when I returned home unexpectedly and took it back.’
‘Did she, now? Then she is to be congratulated, but I’m sorry you got it back. I would have been in order to demand my money back, for I would have considered I’d won the bet.’
Belle frowned, but what Sir Rowland was implying didn’t sink in immediately. Until she saw Lance cringe.
‘Take no notice of what Rowland says, Belle.’
But as if he hadn’t spoken, she said, ‘A bet? Am I to understand last night, when you posed as a highwayman and put me through hell, was all about a bet?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No,’ Lance assured her. ‘I told you, I was simply retrieving my own property.’
‘That’s what you told me,’ she flared. ‘But now I am not inclined to believe you.’
‘It’s true. Believe me.’
‘And the bet?’
‘Was merely a reaction to Rowland’s scepticism.’
Belle glanced at Sir Rowland to see him somewhat shamefaced now. ‘You mean he didn’t believe you would succeed?’
‘I didn’t,’ Rowland said. ‘Not for a minute.’
Belle didn’t reply immediately. All she could think of was Lord Bingham and his friend laughing together at her when they’d made their bet. As the colour mounted high in her cheeks and warmed her ears, the people crowding in the doorway became a blur.
‘Well, I’m glad you had some fun at my expense—enjoying yourselves enormously, I don’t doubt.’ The look she turned on Lance was murderous. ‘You accost me in the early hours—at gunpoint, I might add—you steal my grandmother’s necklace, scare me half out of my wits by threatening to shoot me—and all because you had money riding on it.’ Moving to stand before him, she thrust her face close to his. ‘My God! My breaking into your house was nothing compared to that, you—you animal. I hope you enjoy your winnings.’
Turning on her heel, she strode past him, past a stupefied butler, who was standing with his mouth agape, her only thought being to get out and away from her tormentor and his astonished guests as quickly as she could.
‘Belle, wait. Your grandmother?’
She spun round. ‘What about her?’
‘She will have to be told.’
‘I don’t think so—you see, there is nothing to tell.’
‘Wait.’
‘Go to hell,’ she bit back, whirling round and hurrying to the door, unable to say more because she couldn’t get any more words past the lump in her throat.
Lance followed, but she rushed out of the door before he could stop her. With her coach waiting down the street, she was inside and on her way home within moments.
Lance stood in the doorway, watching her coach disappear.
After ushering the guests who had watched the whole scene back into the dining room and closing the door, Rowland came to stand beside him and casually remarked, ‘I take it she didn’t know about the bet?’
‘Of course not.’ Lance spun round. ‘Do you see stupid idiot written on my face, Rowland?’
He shrugged. ‘Why should it matter to her if we made a bet? You won, don’t forget—and besides, Miss Ainsley’s intrusion into your house was not the action of a respectably reared young lady, now, was it?’
‘She came here for all the right reasons.’
‘Well, I think you’ve come out of it pretty well. You have the necklace and two hundred pounds.’
Frowning, Lance closed the door. Something puzzled him—Belle’s parting remark about her grandmother. She had nothing to tell her, she had said. Why would she say that—unless …?
Lance looked at Rowland. ‘Wait here.’
‘Lance—what.?’
‘Wait.’
Rowland watched his friend bound up the stairs two at a time. Not a minute passed and he was back.
‘Well?’ Rowland asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
‘She’s taken them.’
‘Taken what?’
‘The diamonds.’
Rowland smiled, his face almost comical in its disbelief. ‘Do you mean to tell me that the delectable Miss Isabelle Ainsley has outwitted you?’
‘This time, Rowland—and it will be the last. When I get my hands on that green-eyed witch, I’ll.’
Rowland could clearly see that Lance’s pride had suffered a grievous blow. ‘You’ll what?’
A smile flickered into Lance’s eyes as he shot a wry look at his friend. ‘I haven’t made up my mind yet. But whatever I decide, she won’t like it.’
He stood and looked at the closed door through which Belle had disappeared, thinking of her in his arms, of her soft warm body curving to him, of her long, lovely limbs entwining with his. The hot blood surged through him and he chuckled to himself, amazed that one young woman could make him feel like this. He was worse than any rutting stag in her company.
In helpless misery Belle leaned back against the upholstery inside the coach, her heart filled with dread in anticipation of the condemnation she would ultimately receive from her grandmother. Had her departure from Lord Bingham’s house not been witnessed by his guests, she could have returned the diamonds to their rightful place and her grandmother would have been none the wiser.
She was confident the coach driver and the two footmen wouldn’t say anything about being held up. They were terrified she would accuse them of being irresponsible. After all, they were supposed to be taking care of her granddaughter. They were armed and should have been prepared for such a thing happening.
As it was there was nothing for it but to tell her grandmother everything. There would be no redemption for her, she knew that. People were too quick to judge and condemn. She had already tarnished her reputation with her liaison with Carlton Robinson when she had known no better, and there were those among the ton—ladies mostly, who saw her as an American upstart who outshone their own daughters, and deeply resented her popularity among London’s eligible bachelors and therefore reducing their chances of making a good match—who would take vindictive delight in her downfall. In their eyes she was a shameless wanton.
As for Lord Bingham, she could not see her actions reflecting on him, she thought bitterly. If there was a scandal, she doubted he would be embarrassed by it. The man was a complete and utter scoundrel and she hoped never to set eyes on him again—and yet she did
wonder how he would react when he discovered she had taken back the necklace. She could only hope that he would concede defeat and not pursue it, but deep down she knew he wasn’t the kind of man to let it drop.
Her grandmother arrived home the following afternoon feeling much better, but insisted on going to her room to lie down, summoning Belle to follow her up.
From her bed where she was sitting propped up against a mountain of pillows, the dowager countess looked at her granddaughter perched on the edge of a chair next to the bed. ‘Did you enjoy yourself at Carlton House the other night, Isabelle?’
‘Yes, very much,’ Belle answered, putting off the moment to tell her of the awful thing she had done. ‘I always enjoy parties and the Prince Regent excelled himself.
The countess’s gaze became pointed. ‘Are you feeling well, Isabelle? You are very pale.’
‘Yes—I am quite well. I—I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘Then you must have an early night. I must say that I would have preferred you not to have had anything to do with Lord Bingham. I sincerely hope he has not approached you since?’ The countess noticed that a bright pink had swept into her granddaughter’s cheeks, a sure sign that the girl was guilty about something. ‘He has, hasn’t he—the scoundrel.’
‘I—I happened to encounter him yesterday after visiting you. He—he rode part of the way home with me.’ She quailed at the look that entered her grandmother’s eyes—a mixture of disappointment, hurt and anger. ‘I’m sorry, Grandmother. I know you asked me not to have anything to do with him, but I—I couldn’t avoid him.’
The countess rested her head against the pillows and closed her eyes, deep in thought. ‘That man is too persistent,’ she murmured at length. ‘I have decided we shall leave for Wiltshire earlier than I intended. I would like to think that at Harworth Hall you will not be so easily available to him. Unfortunately that may not be the case. The Ryhill estate borders Harworth Hall, so unless our neighbour remains in London—as I sincerely hope he will—then there is every chance that the two of you will meet some time. Hopefully it will be later rather than sooner, and in the meantime Lord Bingham will have found himself a wife.’
Belle fell silent. As relentlessly as she had tried to thrust that blue-eyed devil from her mind, regretfully he was still very much in residence. She remembered what it had felt like to be in his arms, how his kiss had made her forget everything but the two of them, how he had sent her emotions spiralling upwards, her passion mounting until she feared for her sanity. In fact, it was something of a shock to her that she was just as susceptible to his absence as she was to his presence.
It seemed far fetched to think that one man could move her to such extremes, yet when she compared her joy at the feelings he had awakened in her to the strange, inexplicable yearning that presently thwarted her mood, what else could she put it down to?
Anger stirred inside her, anger at her response to his seduction, at the betrayal of her body. Damn him, she thought. How dare he do this to her? And now her grandmother had told her his home in Wiltshire adjoined Harworth Hall, and she found herself in the vexing position of how to avoid him in the future. What could she possibly do to save herself now that he looked like some godly being sent to earth to play havoc with her mind and her heart?
Unable to stop her mind running off in a dozen different directions, she got up and went to the window and stood looking out. Her back was ramrod straight, her hands clenched by her sides.
‘Isabelle? What is it?’
With a worried, haunted look, as though she carried a burden too heavy to bear on her young shoulders, she turned and looked at her grandmother, meeting her questioning eyes. She would have to tell her everything. It could not be avoided.
Chapter Five
Belle thought her grandmother was going to have an apoplectic fit as she hesitantly told her of everything that had transpired from the night Lord Bingham had played highwayman. Her eyes never moved from her granddaughter’s face. She seemed unable to speak, to form any words, from between her rigidly clamped lips. When Belle had finished speaking she remained for a while in contemplation of her clasped hands. Belle respected her silence, stifling her painful anxiety.
At last the older woman raised her eyelids and looked at her and Belle shivered at the anger and disappointment in her eyes.
‘I am deeply shocked, Isabelle. Deeply so.’
‘Grandmother, I am so sorry.’
‘Sorry? Isabelle, what you have done is outrageous. Among other things, to enter the house and the bedchamber of any man, never mind a practised seducer, was disgraceful. Do you know what you have done? No decent man will have you now. Did he touch you?’
Growing increasingly alarmed by her grandmother’s anger and distress, Belle actually considered telling a lie, but the increased colour in her face told its own story.
‘So, he did.’ The Countess’s voice was low and shaking. ‘You foolish, foolish girl. The answer is written all over your face.’
‘Grandmother, please don’t upset yourself. It was my fault. I—I should not have been there.’
‘At least you have got that right. You may not understand the enormity of what you have done, but he knows. He is just like his grandfather—uses women for his own amusement and then discards them. I will not let Lance Bingham do that to you. He has to do what is right.’
‘Oh, please,’ Belle burst out, having no idea what her grandmother meant by that. ‘He did nothing so terrible. It was just a kiss, nothing more than that.’
‘It was enough,’ she said, with biting, icy calm. ‘Do not forget that you are already treading on thin ice in society’s eyes because of your liaison with Carlton Robinson. Another scandal will ruin you completely. Your reputation was shattered the minute you entered Lord Bingham’s house, destroying any chance of your making a decent marriage—and to add to the shame your wantonness was witnessed by the elite of London society. You were seen coming down the stairs together, so everyone will have correctly surmised that you were with him in his bedchamber. No other man will have you now. As soon as the scandal breaks—indeed, I shall be surprised if it hasn’t already—you will be blacklisted. We have to go and see him, you do realise that, don’t you?’
‘I would rather not see Lord Bingham ever again,’ Belle mumbled miserably.
Her grandmother smiled thinly. ‘You have no choice—wretched girl. I’m surprised that after all the trouble he went to to get the diamonds, he could be persuaded to part with them.’
‘He wasn’t. I mean—I took them back when he wasn’t looking. He told me they belonged to him—but I didn’t believe him. Is it true, Grandmother?’
‘Yes, it is true, and if I had been aware of what had occurred, I would have let him keep them. You should have let me deal with it. What were you thinking?’
‘What is the story behind the diamonds?’ Belle asked. ‘Will you not tell me?’
‘Never mind that now. What is important is how we are going to extricate you from this sordid affair without complete ruin to your reputation.’
The countess knew the lengths the ton would go to ostracise Isabelle—and there were many who, regarding her as an American upstart who gathered men around her like flies, would enjoy slating her. Those who were anxious for their own daughters to make good marriages were jealous of Isabelle’s burst into society, putting their own darling daughters in the shade. It wasn’t just her beauty that drew the attention of single males. There was a vibrancy about her, a sparkle that was absent in many of the newly launched débutantes. Now they would have enough fuel to cinder Isabelle and turn to ashes any infatuation that London’s bachelors might have felt for the girl.
The countess prided herself on being realistic and a moment’s thought made her understand that what she was about to do was the right thing for Belle—and it was borne out of the fact that she refused to let history repeat itself. The countess had been treated very badly by Lance Bingham’s grandfather, Stuart Bi
ngham. She still felt the pain of being jilted and the humiliation that almost ruined her reputation that followed, and she didn’t want this to happen to her granddaughter. The diamonds—a Bingham family heirloom—had been given to her on her betrothal to Stuart Bingham. When he had broken the engagement and asked for them to be returned, as a form of punishment she had refused and had kept them to this day. Perhaps now was the time to give them back.
Lance Bingham was handsome and so well mannered that resorting to posing as a highwayman to get back something that by rights belonged to him, one could hardly believe that in doing so he had done anything wicked. He was so like his grandfather with that merry twinkle in his eye, that soft smiling curl to his mouth, the way he spoke. She had noticed the way he had taken Belle on to the floor at Carlton House, the way he had looked at her. Who could help it, and the idle thought occurred to her that here was a man whom Belle could not get the better of. He might be the one person who could tame her wild and rebellious granddaughter. Perhaps it was time to forget all the old grievances after all.
Lance was in his study when the butler came to inform him that the Dowager Countess of Harworth and Miss Isabelle Ainsley had arrived and that the countess insisted on seeing him.
The word insist caused Lance’s eyebrows to snap together into a frown. ‘Show them into the drawing room,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll see them in there.’
Keeping her eyes straight ahead of her, Belle followed reluctantly in the wake of her grandmother. The butler swept open a pair of carved oaken doors and stepped aside to admit them into the drawing room, a comfortable, tastefully furnished room.
Belle’s entire being was engulfed in mortification, her misery increasing a thousandfold as she sat stiffly on the edge of her chair across from her grandmother and facing the fireplace. She couldn’t help remembering the last time she had been in this house, and knowing how furious Lord Bingham must have been on discovering she had taken the diamonds when his back was turned, she dreaded the moment when she would have to confront him and see what she knew would surely be contempt written all over his features.
A Wayward Woman Page 11