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Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante
Bronwyn Scott


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesJust another dull debutante?From boxing at Jackson’s to dancing starry-eyed society belles around London’s ballrooms, Beldon Stratten is the perfect English gentleman. And he’s looking for a perfectly bland, respectable wife. Appearances can be deceiving…Exotic Lilya Stefanov is anything but bland. Beldon is intrigued to see the ragamuffin girl he once knew has matured into an elegant lady, poised and polite! But beneath the mysterious beauty’s evening gowns and polished etiquette lies a dangerous secret – and a scandalous sensuality…










Beldon stepped towards her and she backed away, her derrière hitting the wall. There was nowhere else to go.

Her chin went up in defiance. ‘I will not be intimidated.’

But she wasn’t immune to being other things she feared. Her pulse raced at his nearness. At this distance he was far more intoxicating than he’d ever been on the dance floor. The atmosphere between them had changed during the altercation, pregnant now with expectation. Something explosive and potent was brewing, about to brim over.

A wicked glint lit his eyes. ‘I don’t mean to intimidate you, Lilya. I mean to kiss you.’




AUTHOR NOTE


Beldon and Lilya’s adventure is set against the interesting backdrop of the Greek struggle for independence. The London conference seemed too good to pass up. The Phanariots are a fascinating group of people, and a large population of them did indeed move to London after the Chios massacre in 1822. They lived predominantly in the area of Finsbury Circus, which even today bears the imprint of Greek tradition. All those things in the story are true. However, there are some embellished fictions in the story too.

In the eastern part of Europe, secret societies abounded during that time. The Filiki Eteria is one of the most well known. However, the Filiki Adamao is entirely a product of my imagination. The other embellished fiction is the presence of the diamond. Pink diamonds like Lilya’s Adamao are considered rare even today.

I hope you enjoy Beldon and Lilya’s quest, which is as much an adventure to protect the diamond as it is a journey of self-discovery. Through their diamond quest they come to truly know themselves and open themselves up to the endless possibilities of love.

Please stop by my website at www.bronwynnscott.com, or my blog at www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com, and say hi! I love hearing from readers.




About the Author


BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two girls). When she’s not teaching or writing, she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages.

Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, www.bronwynnscott.com, or at her blog, www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com—she loves to hear from readers.

Previous novels from Bronwyn Scott:

PICKPOCKET COUNTESS

NOTORIOUS RAKE, INNOCENT LADY

THE VISCOUNT CLAIMS HIS BRIDE

THE EARL’S FORBIDDEN WARD

UNTAMED ROGUE, SCANDALOUS MISTRESS

A THOROUGHLY COMPROMISED LADY

and in Mills & Boon® Historical eBook Undone!:

LIBERTINE LORD, PICKPOCKET MISS

PLEASURED BY THE ENGLISH SPY

WICKED EARL, WANTON WIDOW

ARABIAN NIGHTS WITH A RAKE

Look forWICKED EARL, WANTON WIDOW,now part of theScandalous Regency Nights anthology.First time in print format.Available now.


SECRET LIFE OF A SCANDALOUS DEBUTANTE

Bronwyn Scott




















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For adventurers everywhere

who are not afraid to embrace a new and

uncertain future even when it takes them away

from everything they know.

For my editor, Lucy Gilmour,

to celebrate our first book together.

May it be the beginning of an exciting new journey.




Chapter One


Beldon Stratten, the fourth Baron Pendennys, was on a mission of matrimonial importance. His affairs were in order: the one prequisite needed for a good marriage or a good death among London’s social elite. Having been neither married nor dead, he’d have to take their word for it. There were those among his acquaintances who argued there wasn’t much difference between the two. He would reserve judgement.

His gaze roved the room, quartering it with purpose. He would choose one of them. Perhaps the lovely Miss Canby with her modest fortune, but impeccable bloodlines; maybe Miss Ells-worthy, granddaughter of a viscount, whose financial endowment made up for the lack of other endowments; or the elegant Elizabeth Smithbridge with her icy beauty and twenty thousand pounds. Beldon gave a mental shrug. No. Not Miss Smithbridge. Too cold. A man must have his standards, it wasn’t all about the money.

Dear Lord, did Miss Canby just wink at him? She waltzed by with the young heir to an earldom, clearly hedging her bets. That was definitely a wink.

Beldon grabbed up a chilled flute of champagne from a passing footman and silently toasted himself.

Welcome to the Season.

Four months of sizing up the opportunities.

And four months of being sized up. He was no naïve young blood first come to town. While he was assessing the available women, admittedly some more available than others, they were assessing him.

Beldon sipped from the flute. Lady Eleanor Braithmore floated by in a froth of white lace and pink ribbons, daughter of an earl and the most eligible heiress of the Season. All his common sense, and he had a healthy dose of it, suggested he make his suit in that direction. Wealthy, young and pretty, Eleanor was all a well-bred gentleman should desire.

Until his gaze moved on and he saw her.

More precisely, until he saw her back.

The her in question was not Eleanor Braithmore.

In fact, he didn’t know who she was.

The woman was stunning.

Granted, he could only see her back, but what a back. Beldon gave silent thanks to the fashion gods who’d decreed that this year’s gowns be low, off-the-shoulder creations that revealed a tantalising glimpse of a woman’s back and the feminine swell of a neatly rounded shoulder.

The woman in question wore the latest style exceptionally well. Her raven-dark hair was piled high and threaded with lengths of pearls, exposing the delicate column of her neck and enough of her back to cause a jolt of desire to fire straight to his core. He was suddenly and exceedingly aware of himself as a sexual being, a man in tune with his natural urges. What he could do with a woman like that! The very sight of her begged a man to conjure fantasies.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the feel of that straight, elegant back beneath the caress of his fingertips. Even now, across the room and her face unseen, his fingers itched to skim the sensual surface of her skin, his lips lightly brushing the place where neck met shoulders.

He seduced her in his mind. She would be exquisite by candlelight. He would approach her from behind, settle his hands, light but firm, on those bare shoulders and push the delicate material of her gown down the length of her arms, letting it glide over the slim flare of her hips, until the whole of her back was revealed; the indentation at the small where it gave way to the curved globes of her derrière.

She would be superb nude.

A man knew these things instinctively. And a smart man banished ‘those things’ to the recesses of his mind where they belonged, unable to interfere with logic and rational thought.

Beldon Stratten was nothing if not a smart man.

There was a time and place for such indulgences and in the past, he’d indulged rather frequently under those circumstances. Now was not the time. He was here for a wife, not an affair with a delicious stranger.

Beldon drew a deep breath and relinquished the fantasy. Whoever she was, she wasn’t on his mental list of candidates and for obviously good reasons. A temptress-wife brought a whole dowry of potential complications with her. He believed firmly in the adage, all things in moderation. A life of excesses was a life beyond control. His father’s lack of it had taught him that.

Then the woman turned, her face fully revealed and all his good intentions hit the well-paved road to hell.

His step slowed.

His breath hitched.

Lilya.

His mystery woman was no mystery at all. Instead, she was none other than Lilya Stefanov, his friend Valerian’s ward. He’d met her before at Valerian’s home in Cornwall, but not recently. This past year his investments had taken him often from home.

The transformation was astonishing. She bore little resemblance to the neat but plainly dressed girl he recalled. In his absence, she’d become a woman of extraordinary beauty. Tonight she was turned out to perfection in a crêpe gown of creamy ivory. Where other girls appeared washed out by the pristine whiteness of their gowns, Lilya positively glowed, managing to look ethereal amid the Season’s preference for heavy silks. She looked like a woman; a confident female in a ballroom full of girls fresh from the schoolroom who hadn’t so much as touched a man’s sleeve before tonight. There was no inherent reticence about Lilya. It was evident in her gaze. A certain spark burned in those beautiful sloe eyes of hers, a spark that held all nature of exotic promise.

With a bachelor’s eye for all things lovely and female, Beldon noted she was surrounded by beaux. Who would not want to bask in the rays of her beauty? She’d have half of London at her feet in no time. But he would not be one of them, unlooked-for visceral urges aside.

She was not what he considered a top candidate for himself. He knew what he wanted. He’d spent the winter contemplating the ideal wife: a woman who had the experience to run an estate, a woman who brought a certain financial security to the marriage. He’d spent ten years making the Pendennys holdings respectable again. He’d prefer his wife have the ability to continue that.

Aside from her loveliness, Lilya met neither of his two conditions. She was Valerian’s ward, a refugee Phanariot from Macedonia; her abilities to fully integrate into English society were dubious and untried. Her hostessing skills merely masked his larger concern. Even if those skills should prove exemplary, there was the financial barrier. She had Valerian’s generous dowry. However, Beldon could not bring himself to take his friend’s money. Scruples aside, the fact still remained that he needed to marry for money, at least a little of it. He could not afford the luxury of a poor marriage.

And yet she was somehow irresistible. He should at least go and make his presence known. Duty compelled it of him as Valerian’s friend and brother-in-law. Everyone would think it odd if he didn’t greet her. He would go over and say hello, nothing more, and then get back to the pursuit of Eleanor Braithmore, the perfect English rose.



The perfectly handsome man was staring at her with intense blue eyes reminiscent of hot coals, studying, searing. It was the ‘searing’ part that had caught Lilya’s attention.

No, he was no longer staring, he was moving. Towards her with a purpose in his stride that left no doubt of his destination.

She did not recognise him at first, although there was a slight sense of familiarity about him: the broad shoulders, the height, the confident walk of a man who knew what he was about, and the chestnut hair. In the end, it was the eyes that tipped his hand—strikingly blue and intense as he neared. She only knew one man with eyes like that.

Beldon Stratten.

So he was back.

Her mind assimilated the information objectively. Her stomach fluttered, assimilating the information in an entirely different way that had nothing to do with his return and everything to do with the way he was bent over her hand, all refined grace and male potency combined together in dark evening wear.

‘Enchanté, Miss Stefanov. It has been a long time.’

‘Lord Pendennys, how charming to see you.’ Lilya dipped a modest curtsy, reminding herself of reality. As Valerian’s brother-in-law he was obligated to acknowledge her. A sillier girl than she might have swooned. As it was, she was far too conscious of the blue gaze holding her own, of the unexpected frisson of excitement his most proper touch elicited. He’d done nothing wrong, yet he’d managed to turn a perfunctory greeting into something more.

Perhaps that was why women were gazing not so discreetly over the edges of their fans at him. A quick scan of the area indicated he was becoming an item of interest. Why not? A confident man was an attractive man and he had confidence in spades.

Such a reaction made her wonder what other mysterious skills Beldon Stratten might possess in order to evoke that level of feminine attention. It was a short journey down the path to another curious thought; if a simple touch affected her so thoroughly, what else might he evoke? A delicious shiver trembled through her at the idea.

Beldon deftly caught up the dance card dangling from her wrist and discovered the upcoming waltz was available, the only one left empty. ‘I would like to claim a dance. I hope I am not too late.’

It was immediately clear that he embodied a higher calibre of man than the usual young bloods surrounding her. Here was a man in his prime; a man old enough to assume responsibility, but young enough to thoroughly enjoy the pleasures of life.

What those pleasures might be, Lilya could only guess. He was not a man given to the obvious tonnish excesses of gambling and womanising. For all his confidence, it was also apparent from the formality of his manners that Beldon Stratten was a man of controlled reserve. He emanated an aura of power restrained, a certain air of mysterious reserve. If one could just get behind those eyes and see into that mind, one might see great secrets, one might unleash something primal, Lilya suspected. But for now, he remained something of an impenetrable fortress.

That man wanted to dance with her.

Now.

Another flutter swept her in anticipation. She felt like a green girl next to this polished man and all of his town bronze.

‘Are you nervous, Miss Stefanov?’ he asked, his voice low and private at her ear as he guided them to an empty place on the floor. ‘I would not have expected it from you.’

‘Nervous’ wasn’t the right word for what she was feeling but how to describe the thrill his simplest touch conjured? ‘It is just that I have not seen you in a long while.’

‘And I you, Miss Stefanov. When I saw you, you nearly stalled me in my tracks.’

Lord, the man flattered with exquisite expertise. She nearly believed him. Perhaps if his eyes had been warmer, she might have. But while his gaze remained intent, it was also aloof.

The music started. Beldon’s hand rested lightly at her waist, firm and possessive, pushing her awareness of him to new heights. ‘Shall we, Miss Stefanov? You do not strike me as a woman given to nerves over a dance.’

‘Do you know me so well, then, after a few minutes’ acquaintance?’ she parried. He might be Valerian’s brother-in-law but, she’d never shared a private conversation with him. For all intents and purposes, he was a stranger, albeit a stranger she’d fancied from afar; handsome and bold, he was the stuff of heroes. If she was smart, that’s where she’d keep him, too. A man like this was dangerous. She could indulge in the fantasy of a single waltz, but that was all. If she indulged in more, she’d likely end up with a broken heart or worse. No, Beldon Stratten was not for her.

Lilya put her hand up to his shoulder, alert to the intimate proximity of the dance. He surrounded her subtly; the sandalwood and citrus of his cologne teased her nostrils; the flex of his muscles flirted with her fingertips through layers of glove and fabric, reminding her of the absolute maleness of him; a reminder that was intoxicating and more than a little unsettling. She might just prove his suppositions wrong.

She had danced with men before, been held like this before, and not once had she experienced this extreme awareness of a partner.

He moved them into the dance with consummate ease, oblivious to his growing effect on her. Perhaps he affected all women this way. Lilya fell in with his smooth execution of the steps, finding comfort in the familiarity of the patterns. Then she made her first mistake.

She should have kept her eyes affixed on some invisible point over his shoulder as protocol demanded, but the temptation to study this man proved too great. She tipped her head up to look at his face and instantly knew it to be a grave misstep. It did nothing to quell his appeal.

The attraction and mystery of him were indelibly etched together in his features, in the intelligent but remote blue eyes, in the sharp, clean lines of his jaw and the mouth that so rarely gave over to a smile. It was a handsome, but not accessible, face. This was not a man one casually approached. This was a man who decided whom he would approach and when, which made it all the more exciting that he’d approached her.

Everything about Beldon Stratten bespoke purpose, an intriguing departure from some of the other men she’d danced with; older men whose boredom with their station was written in the angles of their faces; younger men who hadn’t any idea of what they might become, no calling evident to them. But here was a man who knew who he was and what he wanted. That knowledge made him interesting, made him magnetic. Maybe that was why women looked at him over the tips of their fans.

‘Are you enjoying yourself tonight?’ Beldon asked, sweeping them through the turn at the top of the ballroom.

‘Of course, everything is so grand in London, one cannot help but love the balls.’

‘I noticed Lord Idlefield is on your card later. May I be so bold as to warn you he will live up to his name?’

Lilya nearly missed the joke. She had not expected humour from this man. She caught the reference just in time and smiled broadly in response, her intrigue with him ratcheting up another notch. She cocked her head in a coquettish challenge, daring him to continue along this vein. ‘And Lord Fair-borough? I am to dance a cotillion with him after supper.’

Beldon arched a chestnut brow in doubting question. ‘He aspires to be a breeder of sheep, ewe know.’

Lilya laughed and the rarest of things occurred. Beldon Stratten’s mouth turned up into a smile that took the whole of his face, transforming all the purpose etched there into lines of merriment. For a brief instant they were co-conspirators in jollity, laughing together over their joke.

The dance ended, taking with it his smile and the fleeting magic that had stirred between them. Beldon returned her to her court, every fibre of him once again the polite, aloof gentleman. Cinderella must have felt this way when the clock struck midnight

‘Thank you for the dance, Miss Stefanov. I cannot recall when I’ve enjoyed waltzing more.’ He bent over her hand again, this time in farewell. ‘It is no wonder you’re besieged with admirers—you are truly a diamond of the first water.’

A diamond of the first water.

Lilya stiffened at the comment. She knew what the phrase meant. It was used to describe a young woman of the highest refinements and beauty, a virtuous model beyond reproach. But to Lilya diamonds would always represent something much darker.

‘Then we must dance again soon.’ She mustered a light laugh.

But not too soon, she thought, watching him retreat. She was astute enough to know Beldon Stratten held the ability to be a hazardous distraction for her. Her reaction to him this evening was proof enough. She could not give in to whatever adventure he might offer.

It was for his good as well as her own. She knew what no one else did: she was not an ordinary débutante. No matter how many beaux she collected or how much money Valerian endowed her with, she was not one of them, not really. The other débutantes carried their pedigrees and dowries with them like calling cards. They’d been bred for this just as she’d been bred to be the keeper of a secret; she held in her possession the Phanar Diamond, a jewel that could change the fate of nations.




Chapter Two


That night she dreamt of her home in Negush. She would rather have dreamt of Beldon Stratten and their dance. Instead, it was her father’s face she saw, his eyes bright, his voice low as he whispered the Stefanov legacy.

Whoever possesses the diamond possesses the power to finance a nation. There is no other jewel like it on earth. It is the rarest of rarities. In the hands of the right man it might become a tool for greatness. In the hands of the wrong man, it would become a weapon of tyranny. Who is to say who that man might be or what he might become? For that reason, the diamond has been secretly entrusted to us. It is up to us to see that no one possesses it. The risk is too great. This was the charge given to the Stefanovs four hundred years ago in Constantinople, and it is the same charge we continue today …

Lilya bolted upright in bed clammy with sweat, her breathing coming fast and hard. She’d been dreaming of the last terrible days before the uprising. Her family had been there, all of them; her brother Alexei, her aunt Natasha, baby Constantine, and her father.

Lilya’s breathing returned to its normal pace and she squinted against the invasion of bright light. She’d fallen asleep with the curtains open. It was morning and from the looks of it, the morning was well advanced.

Her stomach rumbled, confirming that she’d slept through her usual breakfast hour. She reached for the hand pull to call for a cup of hot chocolate. But she’d no more than reached for the pull when a knock sounded at her door.

‘Come in.’ Lilya fell back against the pillows, resigned to a rumbling stomach. It would be too much to hope for that her maid would be that efficient.

Philippa stood there, dressed for driving, a sharp contrast to her own nightgown. ‘Good, you’re up. Beldon’s here and he has invited us to ride in the park.’ Philippa smiled warmly and wagged a finger at her, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. ‘You didn’t tell me Beldon was there last night, and that you’d danced.’ Philippa had stayed home from the ball pleading a headache the last minute.

Lilya turned her attentions to her wardrobe, hoping her face didn’t give her away. ‘He did his duty. He was very polite and it was considerate of him to think of me.’ The last thing she needed was Philippa playing matchmaker. Coming up to London for the Season had been an excellent excuse to be in town while the peace talks over Greek Independence were going on. She’d felt compelled out of loyalty to her father and the family charge to be on hand for the occasion for which they’d fought and died. But it was becoming harder than she’d expected to avoid potential entanglements. It seemed everyone was in town for two reasons: marriage or politics, and some were here for both.

‘Beldon plans to marry this Season,’ Philippa announced.

Ah, suspicions confirmed. Everyone was in town for two reasons. Even Beldon was here for marriage. She hoped he wouldn’t marry too soon. The thought of him devoted to another was oddly deflating.

Lilya shrugged into her gown, trying not to think of Beldon married. It would be to someone else, of course. She certainly wasn’t marrying anyone. She could not ask anyone to share the burden of the diamond. Her father had tried to do both. He’d had a family while protecting the diamond. He ended up dead and most of his family with him. She would not make the same mistake and drag anyone into the covert dangers of her life.

She turned her back and let Philippa do up her buttons.

‘Personally, I think he’s going to choose Lady Eleanor.’ Philippa gave the buttons a final pat to signal she was finished. ‘Perhaps that’s the reason he’s so keen on riding in the park today. It’s usually a bit too tame for him.’

‘Lady Eleanor Braithmore?’ Lilya asked, somewhat surprised that the smooth-faced Lady Eleanor would garner the attentions of a man of Beldon’s depths. She snatched up a bonnet, tamping down a ridiculous stab of disappointment. What would a virile man like Beldon want with a girl who had the personality of a milquetoast?

‘Does that displease you?’

Lilya shrugged, unwilling to say anything disparaging. ‘No, Lady Eleanor’s a lovely girl. It’s just happened so quickly, I suppose.’

‘Beldon is not a man to remain idle once his mind is set on a goal. Don’t worry, it will happen for you, too, just wait and see. We’ll find you someone to marry. Now, as to that, has anyone snared your attentions? You’ve been surrounded by so many, surely one has stood out.’

Lilya kept her response vague. ‘No one yet, though many are pleasant.’ She could no more say ‘yes’ than she could say ‘no’. The only man of note was inappropriate. She couldn’t very well say Beldon.

‘Perhaps the marquis’s son will be riding in the park,’ Philippa continued, handing her a pair of gloves. ‘He’s twenty-eight and well situated even before he inherits. I noticed he has been avid in his attentions. Val knows his father. If you would encourage him just the slightest, I think he’d come up to scratch.’

‘Yes, I will consider him especially … to avoid most assiduously,’ Lilya murmured, buttoning up her jacket. What a disaster it would be if she became a marchioness. Any marriage was unthinkable for the risk it posed, but marriage to a high-ranking peer would be the worst. Her life would become excessively public. She’d be written about in society columns and it would be all that much easier for someone to find her.

Assuming that was the kind of marriage she wanted. In all honesty, the diamond protected her from thinking whether or not an English marriage would suit her. In truth she did not think an English marriage would fit her temperament. The English girls she’d met and many of the young wives, too, were insipid creatures with no temerity of their own. They were utterly their husbands’ property right down to the opinions they possessed. She had never lived like that and she did not believe she was capable of it, certainly not for a man.



Philippa’s intuition was correct. They did encounter Lady Eleanor Braithmore in the park, sitting demurely in a white landau twirling a frothy confection of a parasol. Beldon was all dashing solicitude, paying compliments to her beauty from atop his bay hunter, bareheaded in the sun, so strikingly handsome, the very picture of English manhood, that Lilya had to remind herself to breathe.

Did the girl understand the import of his attentions? Surely she must. As an earl’s daughter, she’d been raised to make a match like the one Beldon would offer her.

Lilya sighed against a tender remembrance of long ago. She’d tried love foolishly once, before she’d understood the depth of her father’s mistakes. At sixteen, she’d had attentions such as the ones Beldon lavished on Eleanor Braithmore. The result had been disaster. The young man, an importer’s promising son, had died. She’d learned from the tragedy of that single indulgence. She must remain alone.

She told herself she did not begrudge Lady Eleanor Beldon’s specific attentions, just the sentiment behind them. Such a courtship would never be hers with anyone again.

A trio of gentlemen approached their carriages where they were pulled over on the verge, drawing Lilya’s attention away from Beldon’s courtship efforts.

‘Pendennys, it is good to see you,’ one of the young men called out. Lilya recognised him vaguely as being Lady Eleanor’s brother, a cocky young blood of twenty-two. She thought she saw Beldon cringe slightly at the young man’s familiarity, but the expression was quickly concealed.

‘Bandon, it’s good to see you.’ Beldon’s jaw tightened with annoyance, affirming her thought earlier that Beldon was not a man to be approached casually.

‘I’d like you to meet some of my friends. This is Lord Crawford and this is Mr Agyros, who is in town for the London talks. M’father is involved with those, of course,’ young Lord Bandon puffed with his borrowed self-importance.

The introductions were made and Lilya was conscious of Mr Agyros’s eyes on her at regular intervals while the others talked. He was a handsome man and she blushed a little under the intense scrutiny of his mysterious dark eyes.

‘You must excuse my impertinence, Miss Stefanov. I can’t help but wonder about your name. It has a Russian sound to it and yet your accent, slight as it is, sounds like home to me. Is there any chance you’re from the Balkan regions or the Phanar itself?’ He flashed a wide, flattering smile and Lilya found herself smiling back in spite of her regular penchant for caution.

‘Where is home for you, Mr Agyros?’ she asked politely, thinking it best to counter a question with a question until she knew more. She’d learned to be vigilant on both fronts, direct and indirect danger. Direct danger operated under the assumption that someone knew she was in London and she had the diamond. Indirect danger operated under the premise that it only took one person to recognise her and pass that information on even inadvertently to dangerous sources.

In Cornwall at Val’s country estate, there’d been little chance of encountering anyone from the Balkan region. But London, during peace talks, was far more perilous. Danger could lurk in multiple guises. It was time to start wearing a knife beneath her gowns again.

He smiled once more and said fondly, ‘Constantinople by way of my uncle’s business in Marseilles these days.’

Lilya relaxed a little, trying to balance a very real danger against a very real paranoia. ‘Are you here long?’

Mr Agyros was probably harmless, a diplomatic aide looking to see the world and perhaps use this opportunity to gain some status back home. This meeting in the park seemed far too random to be anything other than coincidence. Still, her conscience warned, there was the indirect danger. He might tell someone …

Mr Agyros gave an elegant shrug. ‘It will depend on the negotiations.’ Then he offered her another disarming smile. ‘I’ll be here long enough to attend the Latimore rout. May I hope you’ll be in attendance as well? I find I cannot take my eyes off you, as unseemly as it is.’ They laughed at the joke; the Latimore rout was tomorrow evening.

Perhaps she was more homesick than she cared to admit or perhaps thinking of the diamond had stirred emotions and contradictions within her best left alone. Maybe this once she could indulge in conversation, nothing more, with a man from her part of the world, who’d seen the places she’d seen and walked the streets she’d walked. Lilya found herself saying, ‘I would love nothing better.’

His eyes twinkled. The dark-haired Adonis on horseback gave her a short bow from his horse and another of his wide, ready smiles, a very different face than Beldon’s. The others, sensing the conversation was at an end, made their farewells and wheeled their horses around, taking Lady Eleanor and her landau with them. Lilya watched the group go, acutely aware that Beldon studied her with curiosity.

Beldon edged his horse next to hers. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’ve gathered all the gentlemen in England to your banner, but now you must steal the hearts of all of Europe? ‘

He’d been listening. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. ‘Should I be flattered or offended that you were eavesdropping?’

‘Eavesdropping doesn’t count in public,’ he countered easily, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘Your trick won’t work twice, you know. Unlike Mr Agyros, I will not be distracted by a question. You never did answer him. Why didn’t you tell him where you’re from?’

She hadn’t really thought it would work twice either, but a girl had to try. Lilya offered a vague truth. ‘I like to be sure of people before I tell them too much.’

‘I thought you would have been delighted to see someone from your corner of the world,’ Beldon pushed.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again, and this time with a smile for variation. Lilya fixed him with a coy smile. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you a gentleman doesn’t press a lady for more answers than she wants to give?’

Foiled again. Beldon stayed the course of conversation.

‘I wonder what that says of our Mr Agyros? He seemed quite interested in whatever you had to say.’ Beldon’s tone was sharp, almost defensive, as if he was eager to point out that he hadn’t been the only one guilty of a misstep.

Lilya raised her eyebrows. ‘That is precisely my point.’ She lowered her voice to confidential tones in hopes of putting an end to his enquiry. ‘If I am reticent to disclose personal information, it is my business.’

He nodded. His eyes were upon her, solemn and considering. For a moment, they might have been the only two people in the bustling, crowded park. The power of him, the leashed control that she’d perceived last night, was palpable today.

‘My apologies, Miss Stefanov. I thought simply of how lonely it is for you. England must seem a lifetime away from your homeland.’ He was unerringly polite in his deference, his face a bland mask of gentlemanly propriety, yet, like last night, he stirred her unexpectedly. Last night it had been his touch. Today, it was his words.

A tear threatened in her eye and she quickly looked away. Lilya was moved by the kind direction of Beldon’s thoughts. It was interesting to discover how others might view her interactions with her countrymen. Where she saw danger, they saw offers of companionship. But Lilya could not partake in those perceptions. The moment she set aside her awareness was the moment she’d likely be dead. It was a testimony to the irony of fate that in order to protect her countrymen she was cut off from them entirely. In turn, she suspected them, feared them for the dangers they might pose to her. Constant fear was tiring and there was sadness in knowing she could not go back to those warmer climes, to the arms of her extended family.

‘My home is here. Val and Philippa are my family now,’ Lilya said simply.

‘And me, too. I hope you consider me family as well,’ Beldon added.

‘Of course,’ Lilya amended hastily. ‘But you’ll be starting your own family soon and your life will be even less centred around your sister’s.’ They were bold words from an unmarried girl. Unmarried girls did not speak to eligible bachelors about their matrimonial plans. But it was a good way to establish distance between her and Beldon. She was family, after all. He’d said so himself. Let him regret the remark if he didn’t like the permissions it gave her.

From the tight set of his jaw, she could see he didn’t.

‘Yes, wedding bells are in my future’ was all he said before kicking his horse into motion and returning to the path.



What was wrong with him? A day ago, that pronouncement would have flooded him with satisfaction; another goal achieved, another step forwards for the Pendennys legacy. He had decided on his most likely choices. All that remained was deciding who it would be, something he could accomplish within a month.

He’d need a few weeks for dancing, for drives in the park and other social avenues to get to know the women in question before making an official offer. It would likely be Miss Braithmore. He would not be rejected. He’d danced with her later last night and she’d been amenable to his conversation, staring up at him with dark brown eyes. He would be the one to win the heiress. He could not have hoped of such a match a few years ago.

The prospect did not fill him with the usual contentment and he laid the reasons for it at Lilya’s door. Last night she’d been a potent and uncharacteristic distraction for his customary good sense. She’d been vibrant and alive in a ballroom full of pattern-card girls. There was nothing wrong with the pattern card, he reminded himself. It was a template of virtuous womanhood. The pattern card just wasn’t very exciting.

Lilya was exciting.

There was a level of wit to her conversation and her lively eyes suggested a well-formed mind full of opinions and beliefs behind them. Last night had not been an anomaly. Whatever portion of him that hoped he’d merely been dazzled by the magic of a ballroom last night had been disappointed this afternoon.

Even in the bright light of day, Lilya exuded an extraordinary beauty. The delicate line of her jaw mixed with the fire of her eyes and the sensual set of her mouth to create a combination that was both utterly feminine and yet bespoke strength. For all her looks, one should not overlook the subtle power of her, a very attractive power none the less. It had taken a large part of his self-control to keep his attentions focused on Lady Eleanor today when he’d have liked nothing better than to follow the conversation between Lilya and Mr Agyros.

Perhaps he’d merely been too distracted by Mr Agyros’s attentions towards Lilya. The man’s eyes had nearly undressed Lilya with their perusal, his stare bordering on scandalous.

Beldon knew all too well from personal experience the kinds of thoughts Lilya’s person could awaken in a man. Last night he’d not been immune to her charms. He was a man and he knew how men thought. Years ago, he’d spent the better part of a Season making sure Philippa didn’t run afoul of ballroom bounders. He was more than well armed for the role of protector. But Lilya did not seem to need a protector. She had dealt aptly with Agyros’s questions and with his own probe afterwards, making it very clear she was more capable than the usual débutante.

The last provided some level of intrigue. She’d thwarted Agyros’s questions and that raised a question of its own—why would she want to avoid answering in the first place? What was she hiding? If she did have something to hide, it went some distance in explaining that attitude of worldliness he’d noted last night, that indefinable something, that subtle aura of power that set her apart from the other girls. People who kept secrets for a long time had to be successful at deflection.

He was making enormous assumptions. For a man who prided himself on his logic, these speculations were beyond the pale of reason. First, he had no significant grounds on which to found his suppositions. He knew very little about Lilya’s life before she’d come to live with Valerian. He might do well to keep it that way, too.

His behaviour last night had been totally unlike him. The consequence was obvious. He was distracted and tempted away from his plan, his whole purpose for coming to town. This would not do, but it was no less than he deserved for straying from the course. This is what one got for giving in to temptations. An antidote was in order. He must find a way to secure his wayward thoughts in her presence. Failing that, he must avoid her altogether until the details of his marriage were settled.




Chapter Three


Avoidance was proving impossible. Lilya Stefanov was a woman who needed watching. It was the only reasonable explanation for why Beldon found his gaze drifted towards the Latimore dance floor repeatedly where she spun in the arms of Christoph Agyros. There were other less reasonable explanations as well, but Beldon quickly discarded them. As a rule, he did not deal in the unreasonable.

He’d become the de facto chaperon tonight. Philippa had pled yet another headache and Val had taken her home earlier. Beldon wondered about the legitimacy of those ‘headaches’ just as he wondered if he’d have watched Lilya anyway.

He was developing an uncanny ability of knowing when Lilya was in a room and when she had left a room; a good ability for a chaperon to have especially when one’s responsibility looked like Lilya. Positively entrancing in rose silk, she had drawn the gaze of more than one man in the ballroom tonight, Mr Agyros notably among them. The man practically had his eyes glued to her bosom, another reason why Beldon had his attentions riveted on them. It was a chaperon’s job to cull the wheat from the chaff when it came to inappropriate attentions. If Mr Agyros didn’t avert his gaze, he would soon find himself ‘culled’. Agyros looked like the proverbial hungry man at a feast.

Agyros and Lilya whirled by the ballroom entrance and Beldon noticed the Braithmores enter as they passed. Lady Eleanor and her mother saw him and began the slow move his direction. Beldon tried to imagine that Lady Eleanor was already his wife. What would it be like to spot her across a room and know she was his? Certainly looking at her now did not conjure up a host of husbandly feelings. Would he develop an awareness of her presence, knowing when she left a room without actually seeing her go?

Their affections would grow over time as their companionship deepened. In theory that was how it was supposed to work. To date, the reality had been somewhat disappointing with Lady Eleanor. After all, what was the purpose of drives in the park and rounds of balls if not to get to know one another? He’d had several opportunities to meet with her and he still felt he knew nothing about her.

Lady Eleanor and her mother approached as the set ended. Lady Eleanor would want to dance and he ought to oblige. Tonight, Lady Eleanor was dressed prettily in a gown of pastel pink with thin white ribbons for trim. She looked like a strawberry ice from Gunter’s, smooth and unruffled. She always looked smooth and unruffled.

‘Good evening, Lady Eleanor. You look delicious enough to eat.’ Beldon bowed graciously over her hand. A man should be more than satisfied with such a lovely woman to call his wife. ‘I believe the next dance is a waltz. Would you do me the honour?’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ Lady Eleanor blushed, looking so very young to his eye and yet there couldn’t be more than a year or two between her and Lilya.

Lady Eleanor leaned forwards a little and said in a small whisper, ‘Almack’s granted me permission last week. May I confess? You’ll be my first waltz at a real ball.’

‘I am doubly honoured.’ Beldon offered her his arm and escorted her on to the floor. He most properly placed his hand at her waist and felt her delicate touch at his shoulder, her flush deepening at the supposed intimacy of the contact.

‘Do not worry over a thing, Lady Eleanor, I will make sure your first waltz is most memorable,’ he reassured her.

Lady Eleanor danced with perfunctory correctness. There was nothing wrong with her steps; still, Beldon couldn’t help but compare her textbook movements with Lilya’s fluid grace, his waltz with Lilya suddenly and vividly clear in his mind. There were other comparisons, too, that rose unbidden. He rather wished they hadn’t.

Both women were as equally unknown to him, but there’d been nothing mechanical about his conversation with Lilya. She had looked him in the eye instead of over his shoulder. Their conversation topic had been nothing out of the ordinary and yet their conversation had flowed easily. There had been wit and laughter and something else indefinable he wasn’t willing to name. He was using that word ‘indefinable’ quite a bit lately when it came to Lilya. For a man who liked a very defined world, it was an uncomfortable adjective.

‘I think the decorations tonight are divine,’ Lady Eleanor was saying. ‘Pink roses are some of my favourite flowers.’

‘Yes, pink looks especially nice on you.’ Beldon turned his attentions back to Eleanor, back to the plan. He simply must try harder. It was not to his credit that he’d thought of little else except dancing with Lilya since last night. She’d felt exquisite in his arms, confident and sure of her physicality. But it had been more than that. They’d laughed together. He wanted that moment again, although he suspected once more would not be enough. Such a need was not well done of him on the eve of proposing to another.

The waltz lasted an eternity. Lady Eleanor talked of decorations and gowns, her father’s new carriage and her mama’s new hat. Somewhere in the ballroom he heard Lilya laugh, a sound throaty and mellow like an aged whisky. His eyes roamed until he spotted her rose silk, her dark head tilted, contemplating something Mr Agyros had apparently leaned forwards and said, probably while the bounder stole another glance at her bosom.

He had every intention of extricating Lilya the moment the dance was over. He was the chaperon, after all. But when the dance ended, she was nowhere to be found. She and Mr Agyros had quietly disappeared from the ballroom.



There had been no way to refuse the request politely. The gardens would be well populated tonight with couples taking the air between heated dance sets. Christoph Agyros wasn’t whisking her off to dark, unlit paths. In fact, anything remotely resembling seduction would be virtually impossible in the gardens. But there would be more privacy for conversation than what the crowded ballroom afforded. Lilya wanted to avoid that as much as she wanted to avoid the other. Too much refusal, though, would look odd.

‘Fresh air would be delightful,’ Lilya assented after they’d had taken a glass of punch on the sidelines. She’d caught sight of Beldon dancing beautifully with Lady Eleanor. There’d be no help from that quarter. She was on her own for the time being.

Outside, they walked along the paths, surrounded by others taking the night air. ‘London and all its industry intrigue me.’ Christoph waved his free arm in a generous sweep to encompass the garden. ‘Does it captivate you as well?’

‘I prefer the countryside and a quieter pace of life,’ Lilya said, firmly shutting down that avenue of conversation.

He nodded in understanding. ‘My family had a villa on Chios, before the troubles. I was fourteen, when …’ he paused for effect and drew a deep breath before continuing ‘ … when the trouble came. We lost the villa and much more in the reprisals, of course.’

Lilya could not help but be touched by his disclosure.All Phanariots knew what had happened at Chios, how the Ottomans had struck Chios in deliberate retaliation for the rebellion in Negush, the rebellion her father and others had led. Families had been killed, children orphaned, countless wealth lost. It had brought the Phanar to its knees.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said with quiet sincerity. Regardless of her inherent scepticism, she knew what it meant to lose family. She should not have doubted him. She had lost her family at Negush as he had lost his at Chios. She would never forget clutching baby Constantine to her and watching in frozen horror as her aunt and Alexei were cut down. She’d feared the same would happen to her but Valerian had been a veritable berserker, defending Dimitri Stefanov’s children in that little copse of trees.

Christoph placed his hand over hers, the warmth of a private smile playing across his lips, his voice low and confidential. ‘Thank you. Only those who have experienced such devastation firsthand can truly appreciate what those days meant to us and how we’ve had to rebuild a new life. We’ve been cast to all corners of Europe these days, and still we survive, yes?’



Survival was at stake right that moment, Lilya thought, staring up at Christoph Agyros’s darkly handsome face. She worried that she’d made a tactical mistake. She had not told him where she was from when they’d met in the park. Yet he’d pushed ahead with his assumptions as if they’d been confirmed and she had not corrected him. Perhaps she should have. But a correction would have been a denial, a lie. If he discovered the truth later, he would wonder why she’d attempted the subterfuge. If he wasn’t suspicious of her now, he would be then. If he was truly a diplomatic aide with no ties to the diamond, then she had nothing to fear from the admission. If he had darker purposes, he knew who she was already. A lie would be useless at best, a confirmation at worst. Only people with something to hide lied.

‘My family was killed in Negush,’ she admitted quietly, her decision made. They’d somehow managed to find a place slightly off the path. They were alone in the brightly lit garden.

‘You are hesitant to talk of the past,’ he said softly. ‘Do not be ashamed. We have thrived. Like a phoenix, we have risen from the ashes.’ His voice carried a quiet intimacy, his words attempting to bind them together. She could allow herself to take comfort in the moment, but she could not take more, could not trust him more. Not yet.

‘Lilya,’ he whispered her name, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his intentions unmistakable. He was going to kiss her. They both knew it. He was a handsome man and so far she had no reason to feel threatened. There was no motivation for her alarm, but it was there all the same.

A voice intruded, terse and sharp. ‘Miss Stefanov, there you are.’

Beldon.

Lilya breathed a relieved sigh and stepped back out of reach at the sound of the familiar voice.

‘We’ve got a dance coming up.’ Beldon’s tone brooked no disagreement. His eyes were cold as he took in Christoph Agyros. How much had Beldon seen? For no particular reason, it didn’t sit well with her that he might have spied them on the brink of a kiss, unwanted as the kiss might have been.

Beldon held out his arm for her, offering her a reason to cross the pathway to join him. ‘Give me a moment with Mr Agyros, please. There are a few things I need to explain to him.’ His eyes were hard, looking past her to Christoph. Lilya complied, sensing argument would only serve to make her look foolish and to encourage Christoph. If she protested, Christoph would think she’d welcomed the kiss. With what she hoped looked like dignity, Lilya walked a discreet distance up the path and left Beldon to his ‘business’.

Beldon’s explanations did not take long and he soon materialised by her side. ‘What, precisely, did you explain to Mr Agyros?’ Lilya enquired, trying to sound affronted. The idea of Beldon meddling in her affairs left her feeling foolish in his presence. No doubt he considered her lacking in all sense to be caught almost-kissing an almost-stranger, especially when he knew she’d been wary of Mr Agyros in the park. He would wonder what kind of woman kissed a man she didn’t trust or necessarily know.

‘I explained to him that in our part of the world, a gentleman does not steal kisses on such short acquaintance and that a woman’s reputation is taken most seriously.’

She heard the message hidden there for her. Real gentlemen protected a woman’s reputation for her, but a woman had to guard her reputation as well. Lilya flushed at the subtle scolding.

Beldon’s demeanour relaxed slightly. ‘It’s only that Val left me in charge. I would see you treated with the respect you deserve.’ He paused, leaning his head close to her ear, his breath against her ear lobe sending a skittering sensation to her stomach. ‘And I could see that you did not wish for things to progress further.’

She heard forgiveness in his words. He had not missed any of the nuances. He’d understood perfectly what had happened in the garden.

‘No one kisses a woman against her will under my protection.’

There was a surprising ferocity in the hard set of his features that mirrored the power of his words. He was studying her with a male intensity that went beyond the scrutiny of a chaperon. For a moment, she envisioned she saw desire in his eyes, a desire for her that went beyond protection. Then it was gone. Of course, she must have been mistaken. He meant to pursue another. She’d seen him dancing with Lady Eleanor, all manners, nothing at all like the feral male who strode beside her now, his vaunted self-control threatening to slip its leash. All for her.

‘Exactly what dance are we dancing?’ Lilya attempted levity, hoping to restore her senses. She and Beldon were not themselves tonight. Beldon was a caged tiger, bristling with barely leashed fury. And she was no better, shivering at the sound of his voice near her ear, imagining hot desire in his eyes and, worse yet, welcoming it, wondering over it like the gaggles of women in the ballrooms who followed him everywhere with their eyes.

‘A polka, I believe.’ Beldon placed a hand at the small of her back to usher her through the door, his urbane manners reappearing the moment he set foot on the dance floor with her, the leash firmly back on his emotions. She envied him the ease with which he segued into politeness. No one would guess minutes ago he’d been out in the garden defending her jeopardised honour.

Lilya was glad the dance was a whirling polka, demanding all her energy. There wasn’t time to talk, only to dance, and yet even then she was conscious of Beldon’s every move: the flex of his shoulders, the muscles of his legs as they progressed through the steps. Perhaps it was a consequence of the Season and everyone being excessively marriage-minded that one couldn’t help but consider every male as a possible mate, even ones that were off limits. For her, that meant all of them, but especially Beldon. This was the worst possible time to be distracted; Greece was poised on the brink of independence and a Phanariot stranger had sought out her attentions. It was definitely time to strap on a dagger.




Chapter Four


Christoph Agyros let himself out by way of the back gate. He would not be missed and he had much to think about. The Filiki Adamao, the Brotherhood of the Diamond, would be pleased to know he’d completed the first part of his mission: to locate the daughter of Dimitri Stefanov. The Stefanovs were one of the names that came up repeatedly throughout history where the diamond was concerned. He’d been dispatched to hunt her down once she’d disappeared. There were other names, too. It was not a guarantee the Stefanovs were the keepers of the diamond. Others had been sent to explore those avenues. Now it was up to luck.

The next step was to determine if she had the diamond. Christoph hoped so. He did not like to think he’d journeyed this far only to meet a red herring. If it was his quarry that possessed the diamond, the possibilities were endless. He whistled in the darkness, trying to keep his thoughts from getting too far ahead.

The Filiki Adamao wanted the diamond for political reasons. They wanted the financial leverage to influence the next ruler, to set themselves up as the power behind the throne. They were a sentimental lot of older men. Sentiment and patriotism had its place, of course. But Christoph Agyros had a better cause: himself.

The idea had come to him during one of the many cold nights he’d spent on the road in inferior inns. He could claim the diamond for himself. After all, what had those old men done to retrieve the diamond? They’d plotted and planned, but in the end he’d endured the hardships. He’d been the one to attach himself to the Macedonian attaché once he’d arrived in London, a stroke of genius in hindsight. It had allowed him entrée into Lilya Stefanov’s world—her very wealthy, privileged world.

The pretty Phanariot had done well for herself. Once the usual hiding places had been exhausted, the Filiki Adamao had suspected she’d run to England and her father’s old friend. It was a long way to run, especially for a young woman alone. There had been some hope she’d be waylaid on the road, but she’d managed to reach England intact.

It didn’t matter how far she ran. He’d find her. Now that he’d seen her, a new plan was forming; if she had the diamond, he’d marry her. She might not even know he was after the diamond. She might believe he loved her. Women liked to believe in that twaddle and he was good at convincing them he did, too. It would, unfortunately, be a short marriage. The phrase ‘until death to us part’ was quite ambiguous about the length of the marital partnership. But at least it would be consummated. He would pay special attention to that detail.

The next step would be to court her with every ounce of his charm. He would make it a whirlwind romance, one that could justify a hasty marriage and quick departure back to the homeland in August, while attempting to ascertain her possession of the diamond. All this would be easier without her fierce protector. Lord Pendennys had made his position quite clear tonight. Christoph kicked at a loose pebble. It wasn’t the first time Pendennys had shown an interest in Miss Stefanov. Christoph had been aware of Pendennys watching them that first day in the park.

Christoph shrugged in the darkness. If she didn’t have the diamond, Pendennys could have her. But if she did, nothing would stand in his way, not even the good baron.

Beldon gave his cravat a final tug for good measure and shrugged into the carefully pressed morning coat of chocolate-brown superfine. It was time to step up his London campaign, as he was starting to refer to his plans for the Season. To do so, he needed to go shopping.

Beldon turned to his valet and took the driving gloves he offered. ‘Thank you, Fredericks. I can handle everything from here.’ He took the stairs with a rapid step, something shopping had never engendered in him before. But today was different. He was going to pick out a sincerity piece for Eleanor Braithmore and by doing so, firmly put errant thoughts of Lilya out of his mind. Goodness knew there were a million of them.

When he wasn’t thinking of dancing with her, he was thinking of finding her in Christoph Agyros’s arms, willowy and elegant, every man’s most kissable fantasy with her head tilted up just so, her lips slightly parted. That particular sight had filled him with unmitigated fury. She had not looked fully committed to the idea of that kiss when he’d come upon them. Even if she had, he would have felt compelled to stop it. He was the chaperon, after all. He had his duties.

At least that’s what he told himself.

In his more honest moments, he had his doubts.

Truth was, he’d wanted to be the man doing the kissing. The idea shocked him. He was not prepared for the magnitude of the revelation. He wanted to kiss Lilya. Wanted to do more than kiss her. Since the night he’d seen her delectable back, lust had been steadily growing, riding him hard in ways he was not used to. His reaction to Lilya was indeed stunning and unexpected, but it would resolve itself in time. She was merely a novelty to him. Eventually, the edge she raised in him would dull and fade.

Outside Pendennys House, his phaeton was waiting and Beldon swung confidently up on to the high seat in optimistic spirits. The best way to deal with temptations was to remove them altogether, hence the shopping trip. Thank goodness the sun was out.

He much preferred shopping in good weather if he had to shop at all. Squelching around in the mud and dashing between shop fronts dampened an experience he already found unenjoyable. Beldon pulled up in front of the Burlington Arcade with its uniformed guards and tossed the reins to his tiger. The Pendennys family jewellers, Messrs Bentham and Brown, were not far.

A doorman held open the door to the elite jewellers’. Ah, it was quiet in here, and private, a marked contrast from the busy street. Mr Brown came forwards to greet him personally when he stepped inside the shop.

Beldon had just taken a seat on a cushioned bench in front of the gem cases and explained his purpose when the door opened again. It was a small shop and Beldon could not help but turn to see the newcomer.

He stifled a groan of disbelief. Of all the jewellery shops in London, she had to walk into this one. In hindsight the odds were pretty good. It was the one Val and Philippa frequented. But who would have guessed she’d need a jeweller the same day he did? Fate had definitely made him her latest whipping boy. For all his efforts to drive Lilya from his mind, she seemed determined to keep showing up.

Lilya stepped forwards with a friendly smile, clearly feeling none of his angst over the encounter. ‘Oh, hello, Beldon, fancy meeting you here.’




Chapter Five


When had she started calling him by his first name? Never mind that it sounded right. Beldon rose to his feet, playing the gentleman. ‘Miss Stefanov, how good to see you. Are you enjoying the fine weather?’ Good Lord, could he sound any more ridiculous? His greeting seemed extraordinarily stiff compared to her more effusive, warmer one.

She smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, a reminder that she was not the usual débutante; she was far more worldly, able to understand the underlying nuances of conversation. He had not called her Lilya and she took it as a subtle rebuke. ‘The weather is lovely. We’ve had so little sun this year, it seems a special treat.’

The weather was duly dispatched and they stood facing one another for an awkward moment until Mr Brown broke in. ‘I’ll get the viscount’s things. My lord, I’ve laid out some trays if you’d like to begin looking.’

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Brown.’ Beldon turned back to the trays, immediately aware of his new dilemma. A gentleman did not ignore the presence of a lady, particularly when they were the only two people present. But a gentleman also did not discuss his affairs with a lady.

Lilya materialised at his side, having crossed the small space quietly. ‘It is awkward, is it not? All this formality when we’re not exactly strangers. It seems silly to have to pretend.’

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask precisely what they were when Mr Brown returned with a small package. ‘Here are the rings the viscount had sent in to be reset.’

Lilya took the package. ‘And the parure? Lady St Just said there would be two packages.’

Mr Brown excused himself again.

‘Val and Philippa are having the St Just jewels remounted in more modern settings,’ she explained. It was the perfect invitation to share his reason for being here. He chose to pass up the opportunity, but Lilya proved tenacious and perceptive.

‘Are you selecting a betrothal piece? ‘

He felt compelled to correct her. ‘No, there are jewels in the family vault for that. I merely wanted to select a sincerity piece.’

‘That’s a very kind gesture. I am sure whatever you choose will be lovely.’

That decreed a certain challenge. Would she tell him the truth if he picked something unacceptable? He had a rather perverse urge to find out. He picked up a necklace. ‘I was thinking of this.’

The piece was pretty enough, but he knew it was wrong, too showy for his purposes. Would Lilya know? Would she say anything? A typical lady would not dare to contradict him. Lilya did not hesitate. She smiled and shook her head.

‘Perhaps after you’re officially engaged,’ she said gently. ‘A necklace is too sophisticated, I think, for your intentions at present.’

Something dangerous and volatile sparked to life between them. He should leave well enough alone, but the devil in him was already awake and wanting his due. How would she handle it?

‘What are those intentions?’ Beldon asked in gravelly tones more appropriate for seduction than shopping. Truly he knew better than to stoke this ambiguous fire she roused in him.

‘You tell me. They’re your intentions.’ She studied him with sharp eyes, missing nothing of the innuendo, of the change in the atmosphere between them.

There it was. She’d called him out. This was his chance to declare himself. What a bold piece she was and yet she pulled off that boldness without seeming unladylike. Really, it was quite admirable.

Mr Brown returned with the second package. He handed it to Lilya and noted the necklace still dangling from Beldon’s hand. ‘Ah, you’ve made a choice, then? The necklace is very nice.’

Beldon skewered the smaller man with an imperial stare, his voice cold. ‘Very nice, but very wrong for my cause,’ he corrected. ‘A decent gentleman would not give such a piece to his bride.’

The man had the good grace to colour at the implication: he’d been caught toadying.

‘Perhaps something in pink?’ Lilya offered. It was meant to be a helpful suggestion, but Beldon saw the challenge behind it. Pink could only be for one person. But Lilya was right and Beldon saw no reason to disagree. A pink gem would be lovely and meaningful to Lady Eleanor. As long as they didn’t say Lady Eleanor’s name out loud, it wasn’t as if he was outright asking one woman to help him select jewellery for another.

Trays were taken away and others brought out from behind the locked cabinet, far more than he’d expected. He’d not anticipated such a variety. In tacit agreement, he and Lilya sat back down on the bench.

‘A ring, then?’ Beldon randomly chose one of the dozens of rings on display, suddenly less interested in what had brought him here in the first place and more interested in Lilya’s response. He had jewels aplenty in the Pendennys vault. He would save those for a wedding gift, or an anniversary gift. The Pendennys emeralds were heavy pieces. Every time he thought of Lady Eleanor in them, he imagined her bent over from the weight of them. They were not jewels for a girl.

Lilya laughed sweetly and took pity on him. ‘A bracelet or a pin would be best.’ She motioned to the jeweller. ‘You can put away all the trays but these three here.’

‘I can see that I would have made a disaster of this on my own.’ He should not have said that. It was entirely wrong, entirely too familiar. He was joking with her as if they were friends when everyone knew a man could not be friends with a lady. He could feel his jaw tightening. It was too easy to be charmed by Lilya—by her graceful gestures, by the subtle way she’d taken control of the situation.

She threw him a sidelong glance as if to say she doubted that, that she was on to his game of provoking her. Her eyes danced with an implicit understanding of their secret game. She turned back to study the trays. ‘This coral-and-pearl piece would be perfect.’

It was indeed quite the perfect piece: a cameo habille, a jewel within a jewel. Beldon could find no quarrel with it. He would have selected it himself, left to his own devices. In spite of the game he played with Lilya, he did know a thing or two about jewellery. The cameo was of angelskin coral in the palest shades of pink, a tiny stone of pink jasper set on the cameo’s bosom giving it the jewel within a jewel. Eleanor would be able to wear it pinned to a gown.

Lilya leaned forwards and spoke quietly, a finger tracing the fine lines of the cameo. ‘What better way to tell her of your feelings than that you view her as your very own jewel within a jewel, a woman you love as much for her beauty on the outside as her beauty on the inside?’

The sentiment surprised him. Is that what women saw in jewellery? No wonder they coveted it. Did men have any idea what secret messages they were sending? More importantly, is that what he meant by giving Lady Eleanor this gift? Admittedly, Lilya’s words had something of a shocking effect on him. The sentiment she expressed was noble and fine. But could he give Lady Eleanor such a gift, knowing the message behind it to be a lie? He hoped such sentiment would be true eventually. As of today, it was not. He had no idea if Lady Eleanor was a lovely person on the inside.She was precisely what she’d been bred to be, a blank slate for her husband to write on. A blanker slate, Beldon could not imagine. He simply didn’t know. He knew only that she fit his criteria. He stilled for a moment, a horrible thought coming to him.

What if your criteria are wrong? What if you need more? The thought was practically blasphemous. He should not even give credence to it. But there’d been a lot already today he should not have done, starting with allowing Lilya to sit down beside him. He’d played with fire and now he was getting burned, absolutely and thoroughly scorched.

‘What is it? You look pale all of a sudden.’ Lilya unconsciously placed a hand on his arm, her face full of concern within the frame of her bonnet. ‘I hope you’re not coming down with a spring cold. Philippa won’t forgive you if you get sick before Val’s Rose Gala. She’s spent days planning it to celebrate his new hybrid.’

Stubbornly, Beldon pushed the traitorous idea aside. There was no room for doubt. He stood up, shaking off Lilya’s hand. ‘I’m quite fine. The cameo is perfect. Mr Brown, I would like to have it wrapped up so I may take it right away.’

He must forgo the pleasure of such doubts. This moment of weakness was nonsense. More than one man had been the recipient of cold feet. It was part and parcel of the engagement ritual and the embracing of the unknown. He told himself it was actually nice to get cold feet. It reminded him of how important this decision was. It was worthy of being agonised over. If it was something that could be hastily done, everyone would do it.

The jeweller returned with the cameo in a small blue velvet box tied prettily with a pale blue ribbon. ‘I’ve done it up neatly for you, my lord. The ladies put as much store in the wrapping as they do what’s actually inside the box.’ He chuckled.

Beldon tucked the box into his coat pocket. The package was small enough not to draw attention. No one would even know he had it with him. He could carry it with him discreetly and wait for the right moment. Or, came the errant thought, he could forget about it, letting it lie unclaimed in a pocket for, oh, say ages, and no one would be the wiser.

‘Ahem, my lord, if I may be so bold, I happened to notice this piece in the back. We haven’t displayed it yet. I just acquired it a few days ago from a gem dealer. Since you were looking for something pink, I wanted to show it to you—it’s a bracelet of silver and tourmaline.’

Lilya gasped, enchanted at the sight of it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Encouraged, the jeweller went on, ‘It is straight from Burma and the mines of Mynnamar. If I might, Miss Stefanov?’ The jeweller deftly draped the bracelet about her wrist, but struggled with the clasp.

‘Here, allow me,’ Beldon volunteered unthinkingly. He reached out, gently capturing her wrist, and fastened the bracelet, but not without marveling at the feel of her fine, narrow bones beneath her glove. Her wrist was as delicate and slender as the bracelet itself—a perfect match that sent a jolt of unmistakable desire straight to his male core. Beldon stepped back, hoping to distance himself.

Lilya held up her wrist, the deep shades of the tourmaline catching the light. The bracelet slid towards her elbow. ‘It’s a little big.’

‘Links can be removed easily if it’s too large,’ Mr Brown put in quickly, no doubt smelling another sale in the air, or perhaps something else Beldon did not care to give name to. Beldon did not care for the suggestion Mr Brown intimated, that somehow he’d be purchasing jewellery also for Lilya. The assumption carried with it an inappropriate implication about the nature of their relationship.

‘It’s a beautiful piece, sir, thank you for sharing it. But I will pass. The bracelet is not in my intended’s style.’ Beldon was careful to emphasise the ‘my intended’ part. It wasn’t a lie. The bracelet was entirely wrong. It was too elegant, too subtle, too rich in colour, for an English rose like Lady Eleanor. The piece needed someone with dark hair and slightly foreign looks to be carried off. The piece needed someone like Lilya. Beldon could not imagine the bracelet on another’s wrist after seeing it on hers and that was dangerous ground indeed. It was time to go.

‘I am ready for sustenance, how about you?’ Beldon said, betraying none of the comparisons dominating his mind at the moment. He helped Lilya with the bracelet clasp and returned it to the jeweller. ‘May I interest you in a stop at Fortnum and Mason’s before we head home?’



Ah, he’d chosen wisely, Beldon thought twenty minutes later. Tea was precisely the thing he needed to restore his balance. He could not recall the last time he’d enjoyed sitting down to flavoured hot water and little sandwiches so much. If he’d been alone, he would have taken refreshment at his club over on St James’s. The meal would have been more substantial, but the company less so.

‘You knew more about jewels than I realised. Your taste was impeccable,’ Beldon complimented as they finished their second pot. It was nearly time to go. He could not justify lingering any longer.

Lilya blushed becomingly, but her eyes darkened and Beldon sensed she was holding an internal debate with herself. Fine. He would wait. At last, aware that he wasn’t going to fill the silence until she spoke, she said, ‘My family dealt in jewels in Negush and, before that, my grandfather was a jeweller to the sultan in Constantinople.’

The admission stunned him into silence. She said it as naturally as if she’d said, ‘My family own dairy cows in Herefordshire’.

‘I never knew’ was all he could manage. Maybe he’d have to call for a third pot of tea after all. One didn’t just get up from the table and leave a comment like that unexplored.

‘You don’t talk of your life very much and yet I think your life has been full of fascinating experiences. Certainly, very different experiences than what one has here.’ Beldon held her eyes across the table, wanting her to see the sincerity in his own, wanting to see the veils lift from hers. The more he knew her, the more mysterious she became. There were depths here. ‘I would like to hear about them. You don’t have to forget about them simply because you’re in England now.’

‘It is all in the past and sometimes forgetting can be better than remembering.’

But surely not better than never knowing. Beldon would not be put off. ‘Jewels are not a poor man’s trade. What was your father to the empire?’ He gave in to the inevitable and signalled for another pot of tea.

Then, just as she had in the jewellery store when he’d deliberately selected the wrong piece, Lilya smiled and took pity on him. In soft tones of confidentiality she said, ‘We were hospodars. Do you know the word?’ Beldon shook his head. Her next words took his breath away altogether. ‘We were princes.’

The disclosure all but flattened him. She’d been born to great wealth and privilege and then it had all been taken away. This was not what he’d expected. He’d envisioned her raised in modest surroundings, middle class, perhaps, with a merchant father caught up in the intrigues of larger men. He’d attributed her nervousness to feeling overwhelmed by the jewels, out of her element, but clearly that was not the case. Her taste had been far too exquisite and this recent revelation confirmed it.

She was used to riches.

Lilya continued and Beldon listened intently for fear that she’d stop and he’d not get another chance to hear her answer. ‘We had our trade, but we also were responsible for collecting taxes for the sultan in our region.’ She shrugged here. ‘Many of the ruling families abused their power in being tax collectors. But the Stefanovs were always fair.’

She was used to power.

Riches and power. A deadly combination. And one that might explain the glimpse of worldliness he sometimes saw in her eyes, the way she carried herself with a certain degree of pride and confidence not found in the usual débutante.

She was not willing to say more and adroitly turned the conversation to his estate, plying him with questions regarding the upgrades and new technologies he was employing for higher crop yields.

‘I can see you love your home,’ Lilya said after a while. ‘I think it’s good for a lord to care so much for his people. A good leader is always ready to put his needs aside for the benefit of the people.’ She poured out the last of the tea, only getting half a cup. ‘Oh dear, I think we’ve drunk half the tea in England.’

Beldon laughed, the austere line of his mouth turning up into an approachable grin.

‘You should do that more often,’ Lilya remarked.

‘Do what?’

‘Laugh. Smile.’

‘I laugh. I smile,’ Beldon protested.

‘Not nearly enough. You have a wonderful smile, it was one of the things I noticed about you when we danced at the Fitzsimmons’ ball.’

‘And Mr Agyros? Does he have a wonderful smile as well?’ He was stoking the fires again. Lilya looked as if she’d been struck. It was not well done of him. He wished immediately he could take the words back.

Lilya stood up and gathered her things. Her tone was frigidly formal. ‘If I was not clear then, let me be clear with my gratitude now. I appreciated your interference although it was not necessary.’

Beldon rose along with his temper. He was angry with himself and this current gambit of theirs made an easy target. ‘My interference? Is that what you call it?’

‘What would you prefer I call it?’ Lilya said, undaunted.

‘How about “intervention”? “Interference” implies I was sticking my nose where it wasn’t wanted.’

‘Perhaps you were.’

‘Would you have preferred letting Mr Agyros kiss you?’

‘I can handle myself with a gentleman. Nothing would have proceeded without my permission.’ Lilya gave her hair a regal toss. ‘Now, I think it best you take me home. I want to make sure Philippa is feeling better. She was feeling poorly when I left this morning.’



He promptly left Lilya after a short visit with his sister to assure himself of her health. But his day seemed decidedly empty after that. Beldon had no appetite for the social engagements on his calendar that evening and he opted for a night in, poring over atlases in his library and searching his shelves for books about the Ottoman Empire and the hospodars.

That night he dreamed of a dark-haired woman wearing only the Pendennys emeralds.



In the morning, he sent a hurried note to Mr Brown. He’d take the tourmaline bracelet after all.




Chapter Six


By the evening of Val’s Rose Gala, Lilya was starting to doubt her ability to avoid an engagement without causing a nasty scandal. A few weeks into the Season and she was worried about lasting until August. When she’d laid her plans, she had underestimated the issue of time. Three months, twelve weeks at the most, had not seemed such a great amount then. She had not realised just how different time was in the ton. Two weeks was a lifetime, three an eternity. The breath of scandal tumbled débutantes from their pedestals at dizzying speeds and courtships were alarmingly accelerated. Life was lived fast during the Season and decisions made even faster.

Lilya stood in Val’s drawing room, surrounded by her court of guests and all too aware of the subtle change in her circumstances. Two weeks ago, she’d been ably deflecting any marked interest of would-be suitors. Admittedly, some of those suitors had been lukewarm in their attentions, unsure of her suitability. She was not one of them, no matter what the size of Val’s dowry. She understood that, it had worked to her benefit.

Men might flock to a lovely woman, might even admire her, but she knew in the end some things mattered more than others when a peer contemplated marriage. She’d counted on that. But somewhere in the past month she’d gone from ‘potential’ wifely material to ‘acceptable’ and it was all Beldon’s fault, never mind that he’d made himself scarce since the day at the jewellers’. He’d danced with her on two different occasions. People had noticed and the damage was done.

Every match-making mama in London knew Lord Pendennys had come to town to take a wife, thus any girl he showed attentions towards must be a decent choice. It followed that any girl worthy of Pendennys’s high standards was worthy of the attentions of others, too.

The consequence was that her court was now filled with genuine suitors who were definitely looking to take home a wife in August. Among them, Christoph Agyros, who’d not overstepped his bounds since the night at Latimore’s.

Lilya took a modest sip of the pre-supper champagne Val was serving in honour of the occasion, letting her eyes scan the group around her. Christoph stood beside her in what he was starting to assume was his place of honour. Beldon was notably missing as he had been for the last week. He would be here tonight, she knew. He wouldn’t miss Val’s big party. The idea that Beldon would be here sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She wished she could like Christoph more. There was no reason not to. They had much in common and he was handsome with good prospects in the import-export business. If things were different, he’d be ideal.

Come now, be fair, her conscience chided. If things were different, she’d still be drawn to Beldon. Different wouldn’t change that attraction, just make it more possible to act upon. In which case, she was better off without ‘different’. An attraction to Beldon could easily lead to a broken heart if she gave her feelings their head.

She felt him before she saw him, some nebulous sixth sense telling her Beldon had entered the room and gone straight to Valerian. Her eyes surreptitiously followed him. How could they not? He was the finest man in the room. Impeccable in dark evening wear, his hair burnished and smooth in the light, he commanded attention with his very presence. He spoke with Val and then made his way towards her.

‘Miss Stefanov, our host has asked me to take you into supper.’

Her court groaned their mutual disappointment, but could do nothing to forestall the inevitable loss. She took Beldon’s arm and they prepared for the summons to dinner.

‘Do you think you might call me Lilya any time soon?’

‘Not in public company,’ Beldon replied, his eyes forwards. ‘By the way, you look lovely in green. That gown becomes you.’

‘Not just green, celery,’ Lilya corrected playfully.

‘Ah, celery. Why not broccoli? If we’re naming colours after vegetables, why stop with celery?’

‘But we have.’

‘Stopped?’

‘No, named. We have named other colours from nature. There’s peach, strawberry, lemon-yellow, grape.’

‘Those are fruits,’ Beldon interrupted with mock seriousness. ‘I believe we were talking about vegetables.’

Lilya laughed. ‘Well, there’s aubergine.’

‘Aubergine? Is that all you can come up with? This seems highly iniquitous to vegetables everywhere. Fruits have a clear monopoly on fashion.’

‘Herbs, too,’ Lilya put in, warming to the word-play. ‘Lavender, sage-green, mustard-yellow, saffron.’

‘Careful, saffron’s technically a spice.’

‘Careful,’ she repeated, unable to refuse a final tease. ‘You’re on the brink of a smile.’

‘I smile.’

‘A reactionary defence.’

‘What is? Smiling? ‘

‘Your answer. You’re just disagreeing to disagree. You never smile.’

‘I do. I’ve smiled three times at least that you’ve commented on.’

‘Maybe you only smile with me,’ Lilya ventured in the spirit of playful sparring, but it had the opposite effect.

He reached over to cover her hand with his where it lay upon his sleeve, another of his proper but arousing gestures. ‘Maybe I do. What do you suppose that means, Miss Stefanov?’




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