Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante. Bronwyn Scott
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.’