A Wayward Woman

by Helen Dickson

  ‘I am very much aware of that, Belle.’

  ‘The reason why she is finding it difficult is stuck firmly in the past. I know that much. You said your grandmother kept a journal. I take it you have read it?’

  He nodded. ‘It certainly makes for interesting reading.’

  ‘Will you tell me what you know?’

  ‘Certainly. Your grandmother and my grandfather knew each other for many years—the families were good friends and she and my grandfather’s sister were close. She always believed they would marry. They became engaged—the necklace was his gift to her, but then my grandfather met my grandmother and fell hopelessly in love with her.’

  Belle stared at him aghast. ‘Did he jilt my grandmother? Is that what happened?’

  Lance nodded. ‘I’m afraid he did. Your grandmother tried everything to get him back, but to no avail. In the end she gave up, but refused to return the necklace when my grandfather requested it for sentimental reasons. It was a family heirloom and meant a great deal to the Binghams.’

  ‘Poor Grandmother. Your grandfather must have hurt her terribly.’

  ‘I imagine he did. When she realised it was hopeless, since my grandfather’s love for my grandmother was very much in evidence wherever they went, she married the Earl of Harworth, your grandfather, and went to live at Harworth Hall—which was as close as she could get to my grandfather.’

  ‘Are you telling me she didn’t love my grandfather?’

  ‘I’m sure she was fond of him and held him in high esteem, but I think she still carries a candle for my grandfather to this day.’

  ‘I’m glad she decided to give the jewels back—although had she done so sooner, we would not be where we are now.’

  Lance looked at her sharply. ‘What’s this I hear, Belle? Regret?’

  ‘It would certainly cast a different light on everything. There would have been no scandal. You wouldn’t have asked me to marry you and we certainly wouldn’t be planning our wedding. Admit it, Lance. It’s the truth, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it is. And would you have turned me down had I asked you anyway?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. Do you mind?’

  He looked at her with grudging admiration. This situation must be devastating for her, he realised suddenly, having to support a solution to her predicament without much enthusiasm. ‘You’ve no need to apologise or look so despondent. Don’t ever fear telling me the truth—no matter how bad it is. I can accept it and even admire you for having the courage to say it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are correct in saying that we wouldn’t be thinking of our future together if you hadn’t taken it into your head to wear the necklace to the Prince’s party at Carlton House.’

  ‘Yes. Little wonder Grandmother was angry with me. I had no idea how upset she would be, because I didn’t know the story behind them. I merely thought they were too beautiful to be kept locked away all the time. At least she returned them to their rightful owner.’

  He gave her a wry smile. ‘After fifty years, I suppose one could say better late than never. Do you think she would have done so, had you not brought the matter back into the public eye?’

  ‘I don’t know that. I cannot speak for my grandmother. What I do know is that from what you have told me and knowing her as much as I am able to do after such a short acquaintance, she must have loved your grandfather very much.’

  ‘I believe she did, which accounts for her actions and for which—as anyone who has been in love will understand—she can be forgiven.’

  ‘Being aware of your own perceptions on love, which you explained to me so frankly the other night, I am surprised that you have even a modicum of understanding. But I thank you for saying that.’

  ‘Maybe that is why she is so protective of you, and why, after the humiliation she suffered herself all those yours ago, she wanted to save you from the same fate.’

  ‘She is not a devious person and I can imagine the torment that lies beneath her façade of stiff dignity, which is her nature, and none of us can help our nature. Nor is she an ogre. I have full confidence in her ability to be fair minded when it’s deserving—which was the case when she returned the diamonds to you—and equally harsh when circumstances compel her to be so—as when she insisted that you should do the honourable thing and marry me. I sense that she very much regrets what happened and her part in it. I can also understand how resentful you must have felt when you saw me wearing the necklace at Carlton House.’

  ‘Yes, I confess I was resentful—and angry—but I also knew that my resentment had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I have to ask you this, Lance—what of your family? How will they react when they realise you are to wed a woman from a family they must despise?’

  ‘My mother does not despise anyone. What happened between our grandparents had nothing to do with her. She is fair minded and will not turn her back on you because of who you are. After she has weighed everything up, she will see that we are doing the right thing and accept you as my future wife. To be honest, I think she’ll be relieved to end the feud and move on.’

  Belle paused and turned to look at him. ‘And you, Lance? Will you be glad to move on?’

  He frowned, his expression becoming tense, causing Belle to regret having asked the question. It was as though Delphine’s ghost stood between them. The picture of the woman who was the mother of his child continued to haunt him, those well-remembered brown eyes daring him to fall into the same dangerous trap in which he had allowed himself to be ensnared not so very long ago, causing him to lose his self-respect and his sanity.

  ‘I accept that things will change when we wed, but as for moving on—well—we shall see.’

  Chapter Seven

  Lance glanced at her. ‘As my wife, you know what will be expected of you?’

  ‘Of course, but I hope you won’t expect too much too soon.’

  He scanned her upturned face, finally broaching what was on his mind. ‘I gather, then, that you didn’t enjoy it when I made love to you.’

  Belle flushed to the roots of her hair and she averted her eyes, feeling a profound embarrassment. She appeared to consider his question before saying hesitantly, ‘It—it was not what I expected—although I found it most—illuminating.’

  His eyes narrowed on hers. ‘Illuminating? I was hoping for something better than that. Have you ever been kissed before, Belle?’

  ‘That is a secret I’d rather not confess. It is for me to know and for you to wonder about.’

  ‘Few confidences can remain untold between husband and wife. Couples share the most intimate secrets—as well as other things.’ He gave her a sharp, knowing look. ‘And by that you know what I mean, so do not play the innocent.’

  Finding it increasingly difficult to meet his gaze, Belle proceeded to walk on, trailing her hands over the flower heads as she went. ‘Intimate? Are we to be intimate again then, Lance?’

  Following in her wake, Lance scowled, watching her skirts swaying jauntily ahead of him. He had the greatest temptation to drag her off the path and into the confines of the shrubs and do more than kiss her, yet he was intrigued by her enquiry. Gently taking hold of her arm, he turned her to face him.

  ‘We were intimate at the ball. Would you like to be intimate with me again?’

  Beneath his closely attentive stare, a soft flush heightened on Belle’s cheeks. She knew how quickly his passions could be inflamed, and how eager he must be to repeat his actions of that particular occasion, and she also knew she must be wary. Even so, she kept her composure well enough to say, ‘I’m sure your disposition will be tested enough during the two months of our betrothal for us to ascertain our compatibility with just the minimal amount of physical contact, so if you intend using your manly charms to weaken my defences again, Lance Bingham, perhaps you should consider that I will not succumb to you again without the lasting commitment of marriage.’

  ‘You will have to get used to it when
you are my wife,’ he warned, moving to stand dangerously close to her. ‘You will have to be available to me whenever I want you.’

  Acutely aware of the nearness of his tall, wickedly muscular body, a blaze of excitement and tension leaped through Belle, her reaction a purely primitive response. She could almost feel its heat and vibrancy through her clothes. Helplessly, she stared up at him, two bright spots of colour staining her cheeks.

  His eyes smouldering, Lance stared back at her. ‘Consider it, Belle. As my wife you will be at my beck and call day and night. I will take my pleasure of you at my leisure, whenever I want.’

  If he was trying to destroy her resistance, he was succeeding. His voice had suddenly grown husky with sensuality, slicing through her like a hot knife through butter. She believed him—the fire streaking through her loins was so fierce it made her tremble.

  ‘Do you enjoy provoking me—and teasing me?’ she remarked. ‘Are you trying to persuade me to change my mind about marrying you? Is that it?’

  He gave her a hard look, his mouth tightening as he stared at the softly heaving bosom and the tantalising mouth. Belle Ainsley might look fragile, but he was beginning to suspect she was as strong as steel inside, and that behind that sweet, beautiful exterior of a genteel lady lurked an impish vixen who was every bit a match for the animal in him. He wouldn’t persuade her to change her mind.

  ‘I am merely pointing out to you what you can expect. I would waken all the passion in that lovely, untutored body of yours and make you moan with pleasure—’ He broke off, realising his mistake. His strategy had backfired with a vengeance. He had begun by trying to threaten and frighten her into backing out of this marriage he had grudgingly agreed to, and had finished up with his own resolutions threatened instead.

  He could feel his body reacting to the image his own words were arousing. Mentally flaying his thoughts into obedience, he made a fierce effort to control himself and stepped back, looking down at her standing there, wide-eyed and vulnerable and trembling. And lovely. Dear Lord, she was lovely. He wanted her with a fierceness that took his breath away.

  The fact was undeniable. He did not want to keep himself in restraint for the next eight weeks. How would he be able to endure having her near without making love to her? He told himself that she was just a woman, and women were all alike, and he had never known one who couldn’t be driven from his mind. But Belle was different. She was to be his wife and bear his children. That alone made her different. His inner turmoil turned to self-scorn. He should never have got so close to her. He should have kept his distance.

  ‘I told you, Lance,’ Belle said quietly. ‘As your wife I shall know perfectly well what is expected of me. I will try not to give you reason to regret marrying me. I promise you.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he stated. ‘Don’t be concerned that my barbaric display with words will be repeated. Despite my attempts to banish the tantalising memory of making love to you, I find I cannot.’ A devilish smile twisted his lips. ‘You’re presenting a definite challenge to me, so before I weaken and forget myself and sweep you off into the bushes from which you will not emerge without yielding to my animal desire once more, I think I should return you to your grandmother.’

  Focusing her gaze ahead of her, Belle was beset with so many conflicting emotions: anger, humiliation, wounded pride, regret. Was it possible to make this ill-fated marriage work when her feelings were so nebulous and chaotic? Yet one stood out clearly—her desire for this man.

  She wondered how she was going to get through the weeks of her betrothal, how she was going to withstand this powerful man walking beside her. She knew it would prove far more difficult than she imagined. When she was with him she couldn’t breathe without feeling his presence with every heightened sense of her female perception. It would be so easy to allow herself to yield to those provocatively stirring memories he had created when his hands had moved boldly over her body and he had invaded her in the most intimate way, that even now brought blood rushing to her cheeks and a feeling of molten heat flowing through her and into her loins so that she could think of nothing else.

  Later, extremely nervous about appearing in society for the first time as Lance’s fiancée, Belle was suffering from a severe fit of nerves. She took special pains with her appearance, knowing she’d be dashing the hopes once and for all of others who might have had their hopeful sights on Lance as a possible husband.

  A pale pink taffeta creation that bared her shoulders sublimely was what she chose to wear. It was bejewelled with tiny seed pearls and other diminutive beads that shimmered in the light. She wore no adornment at her throat, for the garment needed none. Her hair was drawn back smoothly from her face, the shining tresses intricately woven into a weighty mass above her nape. The fact that she had spent so much time fashioning her coiffure attested to her desire to win her future husband’s approval.

  She tried to tell herself she was marrying Lance because she had no choice, that it was the only way out of an impossible situation, but as she closed the door of her bedroom to go downstairs, she admitted that wasn’t entirely true. Part of her wanted to marry him. She loved his handsome looks and his lazy smile. She even liked the brisk authority in his voice and the confidence in his long, athletic strides and the way his eyes gleamed when he laughed, and the way his lips felt on hers.

  There were so many things she liked about him, she thought bleakly, and there were so many things about him that she had yet to find out. She had no illusions about what Lance felt about her. He was attracted to her, she knew, but beyond that he felt nothing for her. She, on the other hand, was in serious danger of falling in love with him. But he had told her he didn’t want her love and would scorn her for it.

  When they arrived at Lance’s house, for a moment he stood before her drinking in her beauty in quiet appreciation. Belle accepted his slow, exacting scrutiny as an unspoken compliment, for the warmth of those deep blue eyes had intensified significantly by the time they reached her shining head. She gazed at the dangerously impressive figure of the unpredictable Lance Bingham, attired in evening black and white that made him look overwhelmingly male.

  Lance favoured them with a glinting smile, but Belle noted his manner was guarded and reserved. ‘Good evening,’ he said briskly. ‘Welcome to my home.’ He looked at Belle. ‘Spare me just a moment, will you, Belle?’ He looked at his butler. ‘Show the dowager countess into the drawing room. We won’t be a moment.’

  Excusing herself, Belle followed him into his study.

  ‘I won’t keep you long,’ he promised, reaching into a drawer of his large carved desk and taking out a small velvet box. Without another word, he took her hand in his and slid a ring on to her finger. Belle gazed at it in wonder. A cluster of large emeralds were surrounded by shimmering diamonds.

  ‘Lance, I—I never expected. It is the most incredible, beautiful ring. Thank you.’

  ‘It is an engagement ring—what a man gives to his future bride. It is customary.’ His lips curved in a smile as his gaze settled on her lips. ‘You can thank me with a kiss.’

  He stepped closer, forcing Belle into nerve-racking proximity with his powerful body, and slowly lowered his lips to hers. He saw her mouth part to welcome his, which captured hers in a long, hungry, thorough kiss, crushing her hard against him. Leaning up on her toes, she slid her hands up along his hard chest and twined them around his neck, letting her fingers slide through the soft hairs at his nape, while he explored her mouth with heady delight, his kiss attesting to his ravenous greed, draining Belle’s mind by his ardour and her body’s helpless response to it.

  When he finally lifted his head, she stared into his smoky deep blue eyes, trying to understand why his kisses always had this shattering effect on her.

  Lance stared down at her with an odd expression of bemusement and self-mockery on his chiselled features. ‘I can see I shall have to give you jewels more often to get a response like that from you. But for now my gift comes wi
th a dire warning, Belle. Do not kiss me again like that until after we are married, otherwise I will not be held responsible for the con sequences.’

  Belle already knew how easily he could be carried away by his ardour, which would lead him to behave in an unspecified way. He was telling her he had no wish to lose his head and she was feminine enough to feel a surge of satisfaction because her nearness and her kiss could so affect this extremely experienced man. She also knew of the dangers of getting too close to him, for she would be unable to resist him if he plied her again with his persuasive wooing. He could steal her will away with no more than a gentle kiss.

  She smiled coyly up at him. ‘I have your meaning, Lance, and will be only too happy to oblige.’

  He scowled down at her. ‘Eight weeks, Belle, for eight weeks, and then you can prepare yourself for my assault.’

  At dinner the three of them conversed amiably. No one seeing them would believe that theses two families had been anything but friends for the past fifty years.

  Afterwards they attended the Earl and Countess of Sidmouth’s ball in Mayfair. It seemed as if everyone in London was there, and every pair of eyes seemed to shift to them as their names were announced. Having read the announcement of the betrothal in the newspaper, heads turned, fans fluttered and whispers began.

  No one looking at Belle would have guessed how nervous she was. For a moment while Lance paused to greet an acquaintance, she stood beside her grandmother at the top of the steps leading down into the ballroom, looking down into the sea of nameless faces. Then Lance suddenly appeared by her side and held out his hand. Belle placed her hand in his and he tucked it possessively in the crook of his arm.

  Lance felt it tremble, and, bending over her, murmured, ‘You’re nervous, aren’t you? I can tell.’