Читать книгу A Wayward Woman: Diamonds, Deception and the Debutante / Fugitive Countess - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 10

When their coach finally arrived at the front of Carlton House, Belle was glad to climb in. Her feet ached and she was tired and couldn’t wait to get into her bed. She was travelling alone in the protection of the grooms, for her grandmother’s headache had become much worse. She was feeling so poorly that Lady Canning, a close friend, had invited her to spend the night at her house in town. She was expected to return home the following afternoon.

With two armed footmen travelling at the back of the coach, the coachman urged the horses forwards. The Dowager Countess of Harworth took no chances when travelling after dark.

Not only did one have to beware of highwaymen, but discontented soldiers—soldiers once loyal to the country, who had been cashiered from their regiments to eke out a miserable existence in the slums. Many of them took out their spite on the gentry as they travelled the quiet roads after dark to their elegant residences, robbing them of valuables before retreating back into the dark city streets.

A light wind blew, sending heavy rain clouds scudding across the sky, veiling the moon so that it shone through in a pale, diffused glow. The Ainsley conveyance lurched through the London streets and headed north. The house was close to the picturesque suburb of Hampstead. It stood high outside London, where the air was fresher. Beyond the orange glow of the carriage lamps, the trees all around them seemed to have taken on strange, moving shapes.

Suddenly a gunshot sounded ahead of them, startling the occupants of the coach. The coachman was heard to shout, ‘Robbers up ahead.’

Belle leaned out of the window, but could see no assailant, and in an urgent voice ordered the coachman to set the horses to a faster pace. But it was too late. The footmen had no time to load and cock their pistols. There was a sudden movement to the side of them, as if the trees had come to life, and they found themselves confronted by a menacing, ominously cloaked rider who called upon the driver to bring the coach to a halt.

The driver pulled on the brake lever and hauled at the reins to bring the team to a halt. Belle heard a muffled voice ordering the footmen and the coachman to climb down. Belle was beset with alarm. After what seemed like an eternity, but could not have been longer than a minute, the door was pulled open and the muzzle of a pistol appeared in the doorway held by a man in full cape and a tricorn low over his brow.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded. ‘If you mean to rob me, I have no money on me.’

‘Step outside, if you please,’ the man said from behind a concealing scarf half-covering his face, his voice low and rough sounding. ‘I will see for myself. I will be on my way when you’ve handed over your valuables. Be kind enough to oblige without causing me any trouble.’

Struggling to gather her wits about her and trying to quell the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, with great indignation, Belle said courageously, ‘I most certainly will not! You’ll get nothing from me, you thieving rogue.’

The pistol was raised, its single black eye settling on Belle where it stared unblinkingly for a long moment. Beneath the threat, even that brave young woman froze, as the man growled, ‘Then I’ll just have to take it. Get out of the coach—if you please, my lady,’ he added with mock sweetness.

With the pistol levelled on her, she knew there was nothing for it but to comply with the thief’s demands. He was ominously calm and there was an air of deadliness about him. Stepping down, she gasped with concern on seeing the footmen and the coachman all bound helplessly together. Unconcerned for her own safety, she turned her wrath on their assailant. The cold fire in her eyes bespoke the fury churning within her. She held herself in tight rein until the rage cooled. What was left was a gnawing wish to see this highway robber at the end of a rope.

‘How dare you do this? Please God you haven’t harmed them. What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded.

The robber scorned the words and would heed no argument. ‘Quiet, lady,’ the tall, shadowy figure rasped.

Belle’s eyes were glued to him. This was not how she had imagined highwaymen to be—fearless cavaliers, carefree, chivalrous, romantic knights, in masks and three-cornered hats, adventurers, ‘Gentleman of the Road’. Reluctant to submit to this footpad’s searching hands, she stepped back and looked around her, considering the idea that she might be able to disappear into the confines of the trees.

He read her thoughts. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ he rasped. ‘It would be foolish to think you could get away. You could not escape me if you tried.’ He swaggered closer. ‘What have you got, pretty lady, hidden beneath your cloak? A well-heeled lady like yourself must have something. Show me. Come now,’ he said when she shrank back, ‘it’s not worth dying for, no matter how much your valuables are worth. Are they so concealed that my fingers may have to forage?’

She shook her head, taking another step away from him. ‘Keep away from me. You are nothing but a thieving, unmitigated rogue out for easy money.’

‘True,’ he agreed almost pleasantly. ‘Come now—a bracelet, a brooch, a pretty necklace—a rich lady like yourself will not miss a bauble or two. I must ask you to hurry. I find myself getting impatient and that causes my finger to twitch on the trigger of my pistol.’

When he reached out to her with his free hand, incensed with his boldness and at the same time terrified of what he might do to her, Belle slapped his hand away. ‘Get away from me, you lout.’

He uttered a soft curse. ‘For a wench who has no help at hand, you’re mighty high minded. Do you think you can stand against me with your impudence? You’ll come to heel if I kill you first.’

‘I’ll shred your hand if you dare to touch me. I swear I will. Leave me alone,’ she cried, her body trembling with fear. ‘You have no right to touch me.’

‘Stop your blustering.’ In the blink of an eye he had reached out and flicked open the frogging securing the front of her cloak, which slid from her shoulders to her feet. Catching the light of the carriage lamps, the necklace sparkled. The man emitted a low whistle of admiration.

‘So, milady, you say you have nothing of value. Those sparklers look pretty expensive to me. Remove it.’ When she made no move to do so, he bowed his head in mock politeness. ‘If you please.’

‘You can go to hell,’ she hissed.

‘I shall—and very soon, I don’t doubt, for my chosen profession usually includes death at an early age.’

‘And well deserved,’ she retorted indignantly. ‘Hanging’s too good for the likes of you.’

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound feeding Belle’s anger. ‘You think you’re not afraid of me, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You sneer at me with your pretty face and big monkey eyes. When I take to the road I feel like a king and I’d like to think tonight is to be my lucky night and come daybreak I shall be as rich as one. Now turn around,’ he ordered, ‘if you value your life. If you try anything rash, I have no qualms about shooting your coachman.’

Afraid that he might carry out his threat, Belle reluctantly turned her back to the robber, who moved to stand directly behind her and, using one hand, his fingers reached to the back of her neck. A deadly sickness came upon her and she flinched when she felt the cool contact on her flesh. It only took him a second to unclasp and whip the necklace away.

Shoving the precious gems inside a pocket of his cape, the thief backed away, keeping the pistol levelled at her. ‘There, that wasn’t too painful, was it?’

‘You have what you want,’ Belle uttered scornfully. ‘Now what do you mean to do with us? Shoot us?’

‘Nothing so dramatic.’

‘Then you can leave us. I have nothing else to give.’

The man laughed. ‘’Twill be more than your jewels I’ll be having my fun with, your ladyship.’

When he moved closer Belle took a step back. Reaching out, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, amused when she drew back. Tiny shards of fear pricked Belle’s spine while a coldness congealed in the pit of her stomach. She was wary of angering him and bringing him to a level of violence that would destroy her. She had heard tales of how highwaymen sometimes killed those they waylaid—and a lone woman wouldn’t stand a chance against the strength of such a powerful man.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she whispered, almost choking on the words.

‘Wouldn’t I?’

‘And don’t look at me like that.’ She could feel his eyes devouring her, and could well imagine the lascivious smile on his lips behind the scarf. A shudder ran through her, and it was not because it was cold. ‘You’ll hang for sure.’

He placed the pistol beneath her chin so that the barrel touched her throat and tipped her face up to his. ‘Madam, if looking is a hanging offence, then I’d rather fulfil every aspect of my desire and be strung up for a lion than a lamb.’

She stared back at him in horror—the colour drained from her face. After a moment, which seemed like an eternity to Belle, he removed the pistol and stepped back.

‘Please don’t touch me again.’

He cocked a brow. ‘Please, is it? So the lady has remembered her manners. But worry not. I have neither the time nor the inclination, lady. I have what I want—you have been most generous. I thank you for your co-operation.’

‘Don’t think you’ll get away with this—you—you devil.’ Belle cried, unable to contain her fury. ‘I’ll find out who you are and see you hang. I swear I will.’

The thief laughed in the face of her ire. ‘Dear me, little lady. You have a strange preoccupation with seeing me hang. I’d dearly like to see you try.’

Having got what he wanted, without more ado the man took the reins of his horse and leapt into the saddle with the agility of an athlete. Turning about and giving her a farewell salute and a cheeky, knowing wink—a playful, frivolous gesture that infuriated Belle further—he galloped off into the night.

Seething with rage, her heart pounding in her chest, Belle watched the animal speed along, matching the wind over the narrow road. His hooves flashed like quicksilver in a brief spot of light, and his coat glistened as the muscles beneath it rolled and heaved. She did not move or utter a sound until the thief’s muffled laughter and the hoof beats could be heard no more.

Quickly releasing the footmen and the coachman and assured that they had not been molested in any way—while concealing her anger at their incompetence, for to her mind their pistols should have been loaded and cocked in the likelihood of such an event occurring—her face as hard and expressionless as a mask, she ordered them to take their positions on the coach.

Picking up her cloak, quivering with outrage and deeply shock by what had happened—and slightly bewildered, for something about the robbery and the highwayman did not make sense—Belle climbed inside the coach. The consequences of the theft of the jewels were too dreadful to contemplate.

How was she to tell her grandmother? They meant so much to her, not to mention their value. Dear Lord, this was a calamity—a disaster. Her grandmother would be livid, and rightly so. She should not have been wearing them in the first place. Even if the robbery was reported first thing in the morning, the thief would be far away by then so it would be difficult to apprehend him. And if he was apprehended, he would already have disposed of them.

They arrived home without further incident. Not until Belle was in bed did she give free rein to her thoughts. She was relieved her grandmother was still in town and had not been party to the ordeal she had suffered. Grandmother didn’t intend returning until the following afternoon, so she had a reprieve until then. But she would have to be told eventually. There was no way of escaping that.

Tossing and turning and unable to sleep, she went over and over in her mind what had happened. There had been something about the thief that was familiar. But what? It bothered her and she couldn’t shake it off. Then a strangled gasp emitted from her and she shot bolt upright as a multitude of thoughts chased themselves inside her head—a pair of familiar blue eyes glinted down at her as he danced her about the floor. A deep voice tinged with laughter as he lowered his eyes to her neck and said if I want something, I take it.

In the space of five seconds, all these memories collided head on with the reality of what had happened on the road. And something else. The scent the thief wore—the faint smell of his cologne when he had stood directly behind her to remove the necklace—was the same scent that had assailed her earlier, when she had been dancing with Lance Bingham.

Flinging herself out of bed in a tempestuous fury, she paced the carpet, unable to believe what she was thinking, unable to contain it. She remembered the moment when he had stood behind her and caressed her neck, when she had thought … What? What had she thought? That he wanted to touch her, that he desired her?

Oh, fool, fool that she was. Why, that arrogant lord had merely been checking the clasp on the necklace, familiarising himself with it, to make it easier for him to remove. He had set out to use her to get the necklace. Why he should want to eluded her for the moment, but she would find out.

The blackguard! The audacity and the gentlemanly courtesy with which he had demanded that she part with her valuables was astounding. There was no doubt in her mind that he was the thief. The man she had met at Carlton House had turned into the Devil when determination to steal the necklace had removed all semblance of civility from him, frightening her half to death. But he wouldn’t get away with it. Oh, no. She would see to that.

Every nerve in her body clenched against the onslaught of bitter rage. She continued to pace restlessly. After allowing the tide of emotion to carry her to the limit, nature took command of her again and she was strengthened, something of the old courage and force returning. She stewed. She seethed. Never had she been this angry before in her life. She had to decide on what course of action to take, ways she could make him pay for this outrage, how she could retrieve the stolen necklace before her grandmother returned—and she would, even if she expired in the attempt. Nothing could stop her doing anything once her mind was made up.

But beneath it all was the hurt when she remembered the tender words Lord Bingham had spoken to her on their parting at Carlton House, words she now knew to be empty, without meaning. How could he have said all those things to her and then do what he did—terrify and threaten her at the point of a gun?

The man was cold and heartless and without a shred of decency. She wanted to hurt him, to hurt him badly, and she would find a way to do it without letting him see how much he had hurt her—without letting him see how much she cared.

But why had he taken the necklace? She was utterly bewildered by his actions. And why did bad feeling exist between the Ainsleys and the Binghams? Whatever it was, she suspected it had something to do with the past.

Belle had always been self-willed, energetic and passionate, with a fierce and undisciplined temper, but her charm, her wit and her beauty had more than made up for the deficiencies in her character. She hadn’t a bad bone in her body, was just proud and spirited, so determined to have her own way that she had always been prepared to plough straight through any hurdle that stood in her path—just as she was about to do now.

But what was she to say to her grandmother?

As it turned out she was granted a welcome reprieve. The following morning a note was delivered to the house from Lady Channing, informing her that the countess had taken a turn for the worse and that the doctor advised her it would be unwise for her to leave her bed to make the journey to Hampstead until she was feeling better.

Later that day, with a groom in attendance, Belle rode from Hampstead to visit her grandmother. She did indeed look very ill when Lady Channing showed her to her room—too ill to be told about the theft of the necklace. Before returning to Hampstead, she joined a large gathering of fashionable people riding in Hyde Park, struck forcibly by the noise and colour and movement and wanting to feel a part of it. It was a glorious day, hot and sunny. Roses bloomed profusely and she could hear a band playing a jolly tune.

Serene and elegant atop her horse, she looked striking and stood out in her scarlet riding habit. Daisy had brushed her hair up on her head in an intricate arrangement of glossy curls, upon which a matching hat sat at a jaunty angle. She was greeted and stopped to speak to those who recognised her, who expressed their distress when told the dowager countess was unwell.

Suddenly she felt a small frisson of alarm as all her senses became heightened. Ahead of her a man atop a dark brown stallion had stopped to speak to an acquaintance. She did not need to see his face to know his identity. He was dressed in a tan jacket and buff-coloured breeches. He sported a tall hat and a snowy white cravat fitted snug about his throat.

As he turned slightly, and not wanting to be found looking at him, Belle averted her gaze, but not before she had seen a world of feelings flash across his set face—surprise, disbelief, admiration—but only for an instant.

Lance nudged his horse forwards, eager to introduce Rowland to this vision in scarlet.

Watching them ride towards her through the press of people, Belle braced herself for the encounter.

Lance bowed very coolly before her, his gaze calmly searching her face. ‘Miss Ainsley. I had hoped to have the pleasure of seeing you, but I did not think to find you here. Allow me to compliment you. You are exquisite.’

Aware that every person in the park seemed to be watching them, Belle straightened her back and lifted her head, unaware that she had been holding herself stiffly, her shoulders slightly hunched, as though to defend something vulnerable. She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

‘Why—I—thank you,’ she said, having decided to be tact and patience personified. She had also decided to play him at his own game and give him no reason to suspect she had identified him as her highwayman of the night before. ‘For myself, your presence took me wholly by surprise. I did not expect to see you again so soon.’

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.

‘I am giving a supper party tonight. There will be a large gathering. I would very much like you to come, but I realise you would encounter difficulties with your grandmother.’

‘Yes, I would. You know she would never allow it—but I thank you for the invitation all the same.’ They had been riding for some time and on reaching the place where she had been accosted last night, she drew her horse to a halt and faced him. If he thought there was any significance in her stopping in the exact spot, he didn’t show it. ‘I can manage quite well from here. I’m sure you have more important things to do than play escort to me, Lord Bingham. I shall be quite safe with my groom.’

Lance frowned across at her. ‘What’s wrong, Belle? You weren’t like this when you almost melted in my arms before we parted at Carlton House last night. ‘

Belle’s green eyes widened in apparent bewilderment. ‘Did I really almost do that? Goodness, I must have imbibed more champagne than I thought. I danced so many dances with so many different beaux, I forget. I recall dancing with you and you were hardly the soul of amiability—unlike my other partners—and some of them were much more desirable than you.’

‘Really?’ he said frostily. ‘In what way?’

‘For one thing, they were younger than you,’ she replied, trying to seem cool and unemotional. She longed to slap this insufferable, arrogant lord down to size. ‘I have decided that you are much too old for me.’

Lance’s eyes darkened very nearly to black. ‘What the hell are you saying?’ he hissed. ‘Don’t play games with me, Belle, because you’ll find you are well out of your league.’

She looked at him in all innocence and said breezily, ‘Games, my lord? I don’t play games. If I said anything to mislead you, then I apologise most sincerely.’

Lance’s eyes hardened and his jaw tightened ominously. When he spoke it was with a cold savage contempt, his voice dangerously low. ‘You’re nothing but a common little flirt. Take care how you try to bait me,’ he murmured softly. ‘I’m not one of the besotted fools who dance attendance on you night after night. I might want more from you than you are ready to grant—and when I want something, I do not give up until I have it.’

Drawing her horse away from him slightly, reminding herself not to let him annoy her and that she must carry out the charade to the end, Belle feigned innocence. ‘But—surely you have what you wanted?’

She saw something move behind his eyes and for a split second his gaze went to her unadorned neck before rising to her face. She waited, her eyes holding his, challenging him, aware of the sudden tension inside him, the stirring of suspicion behind his gaze.

‘I have?’ he answered, not without caution. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Why, you asked me to ride with you—and here I am.’ She tilted her head to one side and smiled, her eyes questioning. ‘Why, were you referring to something else?’

He studied her carefully before saying coldly, ‘I think this unpleasant encounter has gone on long enough. I bid you good day.’ With that he rode away.

Without a backward glance, Belle headed for home, a sense of triumphant jubilation in her heart, for Lord Bingham’s invitation to his supper party had given her an excellent idea as to how she might recover the diamonds.

At nine o’clock Belle, dressed in breeches and a jacket and a low-brimmed hat, with no time to lose and with much chiding from Daisy, who knew all about the missing necklace and what her mistress had in mind, left the house and climbed into the waiting coach.

The driver knew it was not his place to ask questions—although he did look startled at Miss Isabelle’s male form of attire. She gave him the address of Lord Bingham’s London residence, which had not been too difficult to procure, since he was so well known that the servants had been able to provide her with the address. Settling into the upholstery, in an attempt to still her wildly beating heart she took a deep breath. There was so much depending on this night. She could not expect everything to go well and doubt thwarted her attempt at calm.

By the time she reached her destination—a fine Palladian mansion located close to Hyde Park on Park Lane—she had worked herself up into such a knot of anticipation and foreboding that she was tempted to tell the driver to return to Hampstead. Quickly she recollected herself and, sternly determined, fought to bring her rioting panic under control, thinking of the immense satisfaction and triumph she would feel if her plan succeeded, which would have very little to do with retrieving the necklace, and everything to do with outwitting Lord Bingham.

Belle left the coach some distance from the house, telling the driver to wait, that she hoped not to be long. She avoided the front of the house, where several smart equipages were lined up. Quickly becoming lost in the dark, she found her way to the back of the house and into a yard with buildings that housed Lord Bingham’s carriages and horses. Standing in the shadows she carefully surveyed his town residence.

Lights shone from the windows and people could be seen strolling about the rooms and sitting about. Thankfully several of the upstairs rooms were in darkness and it seemed quiet enough. Suddenly she was overcome with a sense of urgency, for there was a need for haste if she was to find what she was looking for without being seen. Letting herself in by a door that led into a passageway, she paused and listened. Sounds of domesticity and cook issuing orders to the kitchenmaids could be heard from a room on her right—the kitchen, she thought. Fortunately the door was only slightly ajar and she managed to creep by. A narrow staircase rose from the passageway and gingerly she made her way upwards. With a stroke of luck she found herself on a landing, on the top floor of the house, off which were several rooms.

With her ears attuned to every sound—conversation and laughter from Lord Bingham’s guests and the clink of glasses—she went from door to door, pressing her ear to it before opening it a crack and peering inside. They were bedrooms mostly—though not one of them gave the impression of belonging to the master of the house. Undeterred, she crept along another landing, peering into each room until eventually she found it. Looking through the slightly open door she waited, afraid Lord Bingham’s valet might be in an adjacent room. After a few moments when nothing happened she stepped inside and closed the door.

Only one lamp was lit, giving off a dim light. She could have done with more, but decided she would have to manage. She set to work, starting on a tall bureau beside the door. Thankfully the drawers slid open soundlessly. After rummaging inside and being careful to leave things as she found them, she went on to the next piece of furniture, working quietly, admiring the expensive quality of everything her fingers touched.

She glanced at a rather ornate clock on the mantelpiece as it delicately chimed ten o’clock. Wondering where the time had flown and disappointed that her search had produced nothing as yet, she knew she would have to hurry. Looking about her, she saw a door that she assumed must lead into a dressing room. Slipping inside, she searched the chests of drawers and among racks of clothing, but all to no avail.

Feeling crushed and extremely disappointed, she emerged into the bedroom once more. She was about to admit defeat when her eyes lighted on the bedside tables. She paused to listen. Had she heard a noise on the landing, or was it the noise of the wind that had risen? Whatever it might have been, she decided to get on with it. She had no wish to be caught red-handed.

With one last desperate attempt to locate the jewels, she looked inside the first bedside table, almost shouting out in triumph when, on opening a small velvet pouch and seeing its sparkling contents, she realised she had found what she was looking for.

‘Got you, you thieving rogue,’ she whispered, pocketing the pouch. Quickly she closed the drawer and then halted abruptly. This time she could not mistake the footfall on the landing as someone came towards the bedroom. Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Belle flew to the lamp and blew out the flame, placing it on the floor so it could not be lit in a hurry—although there were others in the room to light, so she needn’t have bothered. The room was now in almost total darkness. Belle stood in the middle, turning about indecisively. She had to find a place to hide. Her eyes lit on the dressing screen and she flew behind it just as the door handle turned.

Lance came in, uttering an oath under his breath when he found his room in darkness, and an even louder oath when his foot made contact with the lamp and it toppled over.

‘What the devil has happened to the light?’ His voice bore an edge of sharpness that bespoke of vexation. Without more ado he picked up the lamp and, striking a sulphur match, soon had it lit. He stood for a moment in puzzlement. His eyes did a quick sweep of the room. Seeing that everything appeared to be in place, he removed his jacket and threw it on to the bed.

From behind the screen Belle listened to him moving about, wondering why he had come to his room and how she was going to get out without being seen. Her heart racing in confused fright, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her rapid pulse and to peer through a crack in the screen. She saw him loosen his neck linen and remove his waistcoat—and what was that dark stain? It looked like wine. So that was it. He’d clearly spilled some on his clothes and come up to change. Hopefully he would do it quickly and go. Seeing him disappear into his dressing room, she waited in trembling disquiet, horrified when, having changed his clothes, he came back into the bedroom and approached the screen.

Lance was just reaching to fold it back when it was shoved towards him by a decisive force. He was almost toppled over by its weight and was momentarily stunned as a shape leapt past him and ran towards the door, pausing for a split second to blow out the lamp. Angrily Lance tossed the screen aside and with quick long strides reached the intruder before he could escape, snatching a handful of his coat and pulling him back.

A rending tear preceded a startled cry and then a booted foot kicked at his shins.

‘Dammit, who the hell are you, and what do you think you’re doing in my house?’ Lance ignored the hands that flailed the air, hitting out at him, and jerked the figure around roughly.

Belle stumbled against the bed and in great trepidation scrambled across it to the other side.

Angered beyond bearing, Lance lunged after what he thought to be a man, since the figure was wearing breeches and the face was concealed by a low-brimmed hat.

Making a concerted effort to escape, Belle picked up his jacket and threw it at him, but swinging round the bedpost, Lance tossed it aside, his fingers again reaching out to ensnare the shadowy figure. Belle side-stepped and darted about the room, but the vague blur of bodies in the dark room gave away their movements. When he was near her, Belle abruptly changed directions and scurried to the door. Lance was faster and leapt after her in time to catch her full against him, clamping a hand over her mouth when she opened it to scream.

‘Be still. If you continue to fight me, I’ll knock you senseless. Do you understand me?’ His captive nodded, in which case he began loosening his grip slightly.

The moment he did, Belle sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his palm and flung herself away from him. He grabbed her before she had taken two steps and held her prisoner in his arms.

‘So, you want to draw my blood, eh?’

The sudden contact of their bodies brought a gasp to Belle’s lips.

Lance continued to hold her, finding the form too slender, too light to be that of a man. A youth, perhaps?

Taking her with him to the door, he turned the key before releasing her and lighting the lamp. Giving all his attention to his captive, who continued to squirm against him, he reached out and tore the hat away, his mind rebelling in disbelief at what he saw—the dark brown hair, with highlights of red and gold, framing a creamy-skinned visage. The lips were soft and sensuous, the eyes a clear, sparkling shade of green.

‘What the hell … Good Lord!’ he cried. ‘Belle!’

Belle turned from him, but he caught her wrist. Blindly, insanely, she fought him, wildly twisting and writhing and clawing at him in an attempt to get away from him.

‘Will you be still?’ he growled, pressing her back against the wall and trying to still her frantic threshing with the weight of his own body. When she wouldn’t he increased the pressure of his grip upon the delicately boned wrist. Stubbornly Belle resisted the pain until Lance finally loosed his hold, not wishing to hurt her unduly. Feeling what little fight she had left drain away, slowly she quieted, breathing heavily, very much aware that his thighs were crushing her own quaking limbs.

‘Stop fighting me, Belle, and I’ll step away. Then I will listen to what you have to say. You owe me that much at least.’

‘I owe you nothing,’ she hissed through clenched teeth, open mutiny in her tone, her eyes hurling daggers at him. She sidled away from him, rubbing her wrist. ‘I swear I’ll break your hands if you dare touch me again.’

Lance stepped away from her. A wave of anger that she could be so reckless, that she had put herself in danger like this, washed over him. ‘Do you realise I could have killed you, you stupid girl?’

Belle tossed her head in defiance, her expression indignant. ‘Desperation leads me to do stupid things.’

‘Desperate? You? Don’t make me laugh,’ he uttered sarcastically. ‘How nice of you to drop in to my party. Do you mind telling how you got past my butler—looking like that?’

‘I came in through a door at the back of the house. It wasn’t difficult.’

‘Are you going to tell me what the hell you think you’re playing at?’

‘Do I really have to tell you—thief?’ she hissed accusingly, looking at him with withering scorn.

He looked at her very calmly now, everything beginning to fall into place. ‘Thief? Now, that’s debatable.’

‘Not to me.’

‘You know, if you’re going to take this defensive attitude, we’re not going to get anywhere. I take it that you have found what you were looking for?’

She nodded.

‘So, you saw behind my disguise.’

‘That wasn’t too difficult when I had time to piece things together. It was your cologne that gave you away.’

His lips twitched with the hint of a smile. ‘How astute of you. Trust a woman to notice that—and it certainly explains your attitude towards me at the party.’

‘What you did, holding up a coach on the King’s highway and forcing—at gunpoint, I might add—a woman to part with her valuables, is a criminal offence—one you could be hanged for.’

‘As you took great pleasure in informing me last night. Please don’t go on,’ Lance drawled in exaggerated horror. ‘You will give me nightmares.’

His ability to mock his fate and ignore his crime was more than Belle could bear. Her voice shook with angry emotion, and she stared at him as if he were something inhuman and beyond her comprehension.

‘And my grandmother? Did you not spare a thought to how your actions might have affected her had she been in the coach? She might have suffered a seizure on being confronted by a violent highwayman.’

‘I doubt it. Your grandmother is made of sterner stuff than that. However, I heard it mentioned that she wasn’t feeling well and was to remain in town with Lady Channing.’

‘And if she had been in the coach?’

‘I would not have held you up.’

‘How perfectly noble of you,’ she scoffed. ‘My grandmother could bring charges against you for what you did.’

‘And who would believe a high-ranking lord of the realm—as well as being a highly respected and decorated officer in Wellington’s army—would stoop so low as to take to the road as a highwayman?’

Belle glowered at him. ‘Is there no limit to what you will dare?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No limit whatsoever. If you suspected it was me who took your necklace, didn’t it occur to you to simply ask me about it when we met earlier today, instead of taking matters into your own hands and sneaking into my home to look for them?’

Belle shrugged. ‘It’s no worse than what you did to me—you—you wretch. Besides, what was the point in asking you? You would have denied it.’

‘And you know that, do you?’

‘Don’t you feel any guilt at all about stealing the diamonds?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘I don’t suppose you would. One has to have a conscience to feel guilt,’ she said, shrugging out of her coat to examine the tear in the back.

‘If I were guilty of taking something that didn’t belong to me, maybe I would deny it. But I didn’t.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘The diamonds belong to me—to my family. I was merely retrieving them.’

Belle stared at him, surprised by his revelation and clearly shocked. ‘To you? But—they are Ainsley diamonds—my grand mother—’

‘Told you they belonged to your family, I know. Maybe after all these years she has come to believe that. Is the loss of the diamonds the reason why she has taken to her bed?’

‘No. You were right. She wasn’t feeling too well at Carlton House last night and stayed with Lady Channing. She is still not well, so I thought it wise to wait until she is feeling better before I tell her the diamonds were stolen.’

‘One cannot steal something that legitimately belongs to them.’

‘But why go to all that trouble of pretending to be a highwayman?’ Belle demanded.

At that moment Lance preferred not to think about the bet he had made with Rowland. ‘Because I wanted you to think the person who took your valuables was nothing more than an ordinary thief. Would you have given them to me if I’d asked?’

‘Of course not.’

‘There you are, then. You have your answer, but I cannot believe you planned this—to come here dressed as … you are,’ he said, contemplating her attire, thinking that in her white silk blouse, long and shapely legs encased in buff-coloured breeches, she really was a wonderful sight to behold, ‘and that you were foolish enough to come to my house to steal them back.’

Suddenly Belle felt suffocated by his nearness. Her whole being throbbed with an awareness of him, but she knew that if she gave any hint of her weakness, it would only lead to disaster. She saw where his gaze was directed and, glancing down, realised the twin peaks of her breasts were standing taut and high beneath her blouse. Her cheeks grew suddenly hot with embarrassment, and she folded her arms across her chest, glowering at him.

‘I never would have, if not for the fury I was beset with at the time—and there’s a confession for you. I have a temper—I can’t help it, and I’m rarely able to control it once it snaps.’

‘I’d already figured that out for myself,’ Lance said drily. By his actions he had woken a sleeping dragon.

‘Then perhaps you’ll think twice about provoking it in future.’

His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘I, too, have a temper, Belle. You would do well to remember that.’ He stared at her for a moment, his jaw tight and hard, and then he sauntered to the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantelpiece.

‘If I were a man, I’d call you out for what you did to me last night.’

‘That would not be wise, Belle.’

‘No? After threatening my life and the men whose duty it was to protect me, nothing would satisfy me more that to put a bullet between your eyes.’

‘What? You can use a gun?’

‘Of course I can—I’m a very good shot, as it happens. Where I come from it is not unusual for women to learn how to shoot. I can hit a target with the best of them.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I suppose you will say my vanity is showing itself.’

‘No, I’m impressed. Not one of the ladies of my acquaintance would know which end of a gun to fire.’

‘Then you should become more selective in the ladies you associate with.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he replied drily. ‘To become intimately acquainted with a woman whose skill with any weapon might exceed my own, could prove to be dangerous.’

‘Then that lets me off the hook,’ Belle retorted flippantly.

‘How so?’

‘Last night you let me believe you were as enamoured of me as the rest—just to get your hands on my grandmother’s diamonds. You certainly know how to dent a girl’s pride.’

Lance would like to have told her that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion, and that he was enamoured with both her and the necklace. The truth was that she was too beautiful, too sensational for a man not to be enamoured of her. But he refused to feed her vanity more than it already was by the doting swains who trailed in her wake.

‘I have every confidence that your pride will soon recover.’

Belle was disappointed that he wasn’t attracted by her, but didn’t show it. Why had she to say that? How absolutely embarrassing. He probably thought she’d been making advances toward him, fishing for compliments. She should have known that her remark would be pointless. But damn it all, why did he have to point it out?