Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante

by Bronwyn Scott

  Instinctively, her body knew something more lay beyond. These kisses, these caresses, were a mere prelude to something grander. He was promising it all to her if she’d only believe in him. Perhaps he understood that today, she needed to believe more than ever that he could keep the wolf of Christoph Agyros at bay through any means possible.

  As if drawn there by some intuitive magnetism Lilya’s hand slipped between them, seeking the source of his manly hardness. Finding it, she moulded its length beneath his trousers with slow wondrous strokes, exploring and pleasing as she went.

  Beldon groaned, her name escaping his lips in a hoarse rasp of pleasure. ‘Do you know what you do to me, Lilya?’

  ‘You once said I made you smile.’

  ‘Vixen,’ he growled, taking her in a fierce kiss.

  Lilya was giddy with the flood of life that coursed through her. Her body tingled, every nerve alive. She thought she might burst from the sheer thrill of it, standing with this man on the brink of the ultimate intimacy. With an intuition born of Eve, she knew exactly what she was about. Her decision was made. She did not want to wait for a wedding that was nothing more than a ruse. She wanted the raw passion that awaited her right now in this room, wanted to engage it and throw the darkness cast by Agyros aside, at least temporarily.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lilya took a step backwards so that Beldon could see all of her. The fire had burned down and only two lamps lit the room, bathing it in sensuous shadows of dusk. She raised one arm, slowly, deliberately, to the comb holding her coiffure in place, a half-smile lighting her lips, her eyes locked on his desire-darkened gaze. She pulled the comb in a single fluid motion, letting her hair spill down her back in a dark cascade. Her hands worked the laces at the back of her gown with incredible efficiency driven by her growing need for him.

  Laces loose, she pushed the sleeves of her gown down her arms, the rest of her gown sliding to her feet in a puddle of silk until she stood before him, a tantalising offering, her body outlined through the thin linen of her undergarments by the room’s dimming lights.

  ‘Lilya, what are you doing?’ Beldon’s breath came hard, the question a rhetorical warning.

  ‘I am seducing you, Beldon Stratten.’ Never mind she didn’t know precisely how to do that, but so far instinct had not betrayed her.

  Beldon closed the gap between them. ‘Let me finish. Raise your arms for me.’ She did, letting him pull her chemise over her head. She divined his intentions immediately. With her arms raised, her breasts hung full and exposed, falling into his hands as if meant for them. He pressed her back to the sofa, laying her down. ‘Let me look at you, Lilya,’ he whispered.

  And he looked. Oh, how he looked. She’d never been looked at in quite that way before, with his eyes, with his hands, and with his mouth, until Lilya thought she might die from the pleasure of it. The feel of his hands, of his mouth at her breasts, was exquisite, a pleasure undreamed of. It was more than the satisfying of a curiosity. This pleasure went straight to the core of her being and yet it was still not enough.

  Beldon’s hands moved to the waist of her pantalettes, slipping them over her hips, leaving her entirely uncovered to the air of the room. His hand was at the vulnerable intersection of her thighs. She arched against it in her impatience. ‘Wait, Lilya, let me show you what your body needs.’

  ‘It needs you.’ Her voice was husky with want and rising desire. The life that had coursed through her earlier was a mere smoulder compared to the blaze Beldon had ignited now. She gave a throaty laugh. ‘And here I’d thought to seduce you. It’s turned out to be quite the other way around.’

  ‘But you have seduced me, Lilya, oh, indeed you have, and quite thoroughly, too.’ Beldon stood and quickly shed his shirt, his hands resting on the waist of his trousers. He drew a deep breath, as if fortifying himself. ‘We can stop here.’

  Lilya saw the effort such a statement cost him. ‘No, we cannot.’ She rose up from the sofa, propped on an elbow and reached for him, pulling him towards her. There was no turning back tonight. She wanted this man and tonight might be her only chance to claim him. She fumbled with the flap of his trousers and pushed them down over his lean hips, revelling in the sculpture of a man at his most private, most exposed. With her thumbs she traced the tapering muscles of his abdomen to the place where his hardness jutted upwards to greet her.

  ‘I had no idea a man could be so beautiful,’ she breathed, gently grasping him. ‘Show me how to please you.’

  He straddled her, giving her full access to him. ‘Only for a short while. I want to last long enough to please us both.’ Beldon’s hand covered hers and moved it in a long stroke, down and back up.

  He bucked beneath her hand and she revelled in the power of her ability to bring this man such gratification. Too soon, he halted her, shifting his body to cover her with the length of him. ‘Your turn, now, our turn.’ He kissed her fully on the mouth, his knee prodding her legs apart, his body settling between them. His hand was there, between her legs where she’d grown damp in her excitement and this time his hand caressed the intimate seam of her, surprising with a jolt of pleasure as his thumb found a hidden hub, a nucleus from which an extraordinary thrill radiated out to the rest of her body. She arched against him, her cry of delight silenced only by his kiss.

  ‘Please,’ she managed, her faculties slipping away in the wake of this new sensation.

  He smiled down at her. ‘I know,’ he said simply. She felt the weight of his manhood at her entrance and then he was there, inside her, filling her. There was a jab of pain and her body tensed against the heretofore enjoyable invasion. Beldon stilled, withdrew and re-entered, this time without any impediment. She picked up his rhythm, her hips moving against his, urging him for more, desperate to reclaim the sensation that grew within her. Something cataclysmic loomed on the near horizon. Her body, her mind, reached for it, stretching towards it, driven there by the thrust of Beldon’s body against hers.

  Beldon was with her in this journey of ecstasy, his body leading hers, provoking hers to greater response until at last, he gave a mighty shudder that she felt at the very centre of her body, his strength and might pouring into her in an unquestionable act of claiming, of joining. She gave herself up to it entirely, knowing in the fibre of her being she was meant for this purpose, for this man, at least for a night, or maybe two, if fate was kind.

  Beldon lifted a drowsy Lilya into his arms, a hall clock striking the late hour. She murmured a soft protest at being moved and nestled her head against his shoulder, lengths of her dark hair spilling over his arm. She looked like a princess from a fairy-tale book. His princess now. After what had transpired in the drawing room, there would be no turning back for either of them.

  Beldon moved swiftly up the back stairs, careful to avoid any chance of running into Val or Philippa or any lingering late-night servants. He’d managed to decently drape Lilya in an elegant sofa throw, but nothing more. It was one thing if Val guessed what was occurring in the drawing room. It would be another to flaunt such behaviour in his face.

  Of course, Beldon had not planned to fully seduce her in Val’s drawing room. To his credit, he hadn’t started it. But he’d certainly finished it, caught up in the madness of his own need and perhaps caught up in the intensity of Lilya’s desperation, her desire to lose herself completely, to forget for a few moments about the diamond.

  Even now when he thought himself thoroughly sated, he was hardening at the memory of her standing in the shadows of the fire, unveiling her body, her gown caressing her curves on its downwards spiral to the floor. Then she’d offered herself to him, every inch of that delectable body revealed and offered to him alone, the most incredible of gifts.

  Beldon pushed open her bedroom door and deposited Lilya on the bed, arranging her blankets to keep her warm. He set aside her clothing and shoes and took a moment to study his sleeping bride. Taking her had not been part of his plan, but perhaps it should ha
ve been. If anything, tonight should have shown her that their marriage need not be a ruse. The passion between them held great promise for the future, a future that waited only for them to build it. He smoothed back a stray length of hair from her face. What had transpired between them had been extraordinary to him, far beyond the physically satisfying experiences he was used to with willing widows. He was still getting used to it, adjusting to it, processing it. A woman’s pleasure had never meant so much to him as it had meant with Lilya.

  He slipped from the room, wondering whether perhaps, just perhaps, he was falling in love with his intended, which was something quite unintended.

  In spite of his late night, Beldon was up early. There was much to do and he wanted to catch Valerian at breakfast before the house began the organised chaos of packing for the hasty journey back to Cornwall. True to form, Valerian was up when he arrived, breakfast set before him on a plate, coffee steaming at his right hand. A news paper lay untouched beside him. But the signs of a difficult night were evident in the dark circles beneath his friend’s eyes.

  ‘She’s yours now.’ Valerian looked up from his food with a gaze that said he more than guessed what had passed in the night.

  Beldon did not waver. ‘She was mine the moment I put the announcement in The Times. I’ve never gone back on my word or needed an inducement to keep it. I will make her happy and I will make her safe.’ Beldon helped himself to eggs and ham, scooping up a large spoonful of strawberries on the side.

  ‘The marriage gambit may not work. Agyros may not be dissuaded,’ Val mused out loud. ‘Perhaps this risk is for naught.’

  Beldon sat down with a shrug. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let him come. I am ready for him. I protect what is mine.’

  He was aware of Val studying him for a long moment. ‘But do you love her?’

  Beldon gave a wry smile. ‘Are you a poet now, Val? You’ve become quite the romantic.’ He’d not anticipated falling in love with his wife, whoever she might have been when he’d laid his plans. ‘I don’t know about love at this point, Val.’ When he’d begun his quest for a wife, he’d felt it best to limit his emotional offerings to respect and esteem, lest he become carried away as his father had been. ‘But she has my admiration and my support. I think, too, that she is not indifferent to me.’

  It was Val’s turn to shrug. ‘Love is one of life’s great pleasures and not to be missed. I wish it for both your sakes. Love can change a man, for the better; make him appreciate what truly matters in this one life.’

  ‘Well, think of it this way, everything is working out just as we’d planned when we were young.’ Beldon offered Val a consoling smile.

  Val nodded, both of them remembering the day the two of them and Philippa had pledged to be together always. It was the day before he and Val had left for school, the first term after Val’s parents had died and emotions were running high. Philippa had been twelve, they’d been a grown-up fifteen. Back then, no one would have guessed Val would end up married to Philippa. But here they all were: Philippa and Val parents, Val’s estate restored, Beldon’s home finally out of debt and ready for its mistress.

  Val broke the silence. ‘Don’t misunderstand, I’m delighted, of course. I could not wish for Lilya a finer man and you are my best friend, even if I wish the circumstances were different.’

  ‘We will not let those circumstances cloud the joy of a wedding.’ Philippa swept into the room, stopping to plant a kiss on Val’s cheek. ‘By the time you and Lilya arrive in Cornwall, we’ll have all the details set. You only have to decide if you want to marry at Pendennys or at St Justus.’

  ‘Pendennys, I think,’ Beldon said without equivocation, ‘in the little stone chapel where our parents married.’

  ‘It will be lovely. Everyone deserves a beautiful wedding, no matter what the cause. Lilya’s dress will be done at the end of the week and then it’s up to you when you want to come down,’ Philippa advised warily, worry evident in the furrow of her brow. Beldon read her thoughts easily. The blackmail deadline was tonight at midnight and no one truly knew what that deadline would bring.

  Noon brought the St Just travelling coach, ready for departure, to the front of the town house. Travelling trunks were strapped on top and behind. Philippa had worked a miracle with packing and leaving instructions for the staff, while Valerian briefed Beldon on who to contact if he needed help, most of which Beldon knew already. But he could see it eased Valerian’s anxiety over leaving.

  Valerian’s plain-clothed hired men would remain outside the town house as long as Lilya was in residence. Beldon would stay on here as well. For Lilya’s protection, he would not return to Pendennys House. He’d sent a set of his own instructions on ahead to close up Pendennys House and to prepare for a removal to Cornwall much earlier than expected. He’d also sent for his own personals and clothes to be brought over.

  No one spoke of diamonds or blackmail as Beldon and Lilya stood on the steps of the town house to wave off the carriage. Philippa hugged Beldon. ‘Are you sure you won’t come? Both of you? Perhaps coming to Cornwall with us will be safer after all? Safety in numbers?’ Worry was evident in her eyes.

  ‘Do not worry. We shall handle everything here,’ Beldon reassured her. He and Valerian had decided sending Lilya to Cornwall with them would quite likely invite an attack on the road where they’d be unable to protect themselves. The risk was unacceptable.

  ‘We’ll follow later. You’ll see us soon.’ Beldon kissed his sister’s cheek. ‘That’s for my nephew when you see him.’ He did mean to spirit Lilya out of town, but it must be done covertly and under the cover of night. Theirs would be an escape. Even though they’d made it public knowledge the wedding would be in Cornwall, Beldon preferred to travel as secretly as possible. An unpersuaded Agyros could make mischief on the road for them.

  Valerian helped Philippa into the carriage and shut the door behind him. The carriage pulled away from the curb and Beldon felt Lilya slip her hand into his. Beldon made a show of waving to the coach. If the house were being watched, Christoph would know the viscount and his wife had departed. They’d departed well before the midnight deadline, putting them effectively out of reach. Even if Christoph had not planned on coming after Beldon, he had no choice now with Val and Philippa gone. If he meant to enforce his threat, he had to go through Beldon.

  Beldon turned into the house, ushering Lilya before him. Grim determination settled on his shoulders. His friend and sister were off to safety. He’d drawn the attentions of the man who’d threatened his soon-to-be wife to himself. He would have it no other way. All those he cared about were protected to the best of his abilities for the moment.

  The moment the door shut behind them, Lilya bolted for the back parlour. Facing Beldon the morning after—or rather the afternoon after—was far more difficult than she had imagined. She’d awakened to find herself in her bed, stark naked beneath the blankets, with a very clear recollection of how she’d come to be in such a state.

  The good news was that she was no longer focused on his lips when he was in the room. The bad news was that she was now focused on other unmentionable male parts. It begged the question: would she always look at him and picture him gloriously naked from now on? She had yet to look at him today without mentally erasing his clothes. She was not immune to the consequences of her imaginings. She was fast learning that every action had its own reciprocal. Her body recalled with acute accuracy how a naked Beldon made it feel.

  Lilya chose a book at random from the glass-fronted case in the little room, determined to lose herself in whatever she’d chosen—a history, a treatise, perhaps. She settled on the sofa, legs curled beneath her and opened the book.

  Damn and double damn.

  Sonnets.

  Love sonnets.

  Maybe it was a sign she shouldn’t be looking for distraction. She was distracted enough. Just when she needed all her wits to outmanoeuvre Christoph, they seemed to have left her altogether
. If she’d been the Lilya who’d first come to England, she would have fled in the night without hesitation. That girl was gone. In her place was a woman who was tired of running, who wanted to stand and fight in the hopes that she might win, no matter that the odds indicated her chances were minimal.

  When that had changed for her, she couldn’t say. But it had definitely changed. Perhaps the change had begun with Val and Philippa. Life in the peace of their household had been a potent lure. Normalcy was an enticing luxury. Perhaps it had been Beldon’s hot kisses, the explosive way he made her feel when she was in his arms, as if they could conquer the world. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t run ever again. If running was the only way to protect those around her, she would do it. It just meant she’d rather stay. If she could.

  Most unfortunately, along with capitulating to marriage, she’d also managed to fall in love. Lilya traced an idle pattern on the sofa with her finger. How had it come to this? She’d been so careful to guard against falling in love. She’d promised herself she’d never endanger people she cared for as her father had. It had been easy to promise such things to herself when she hadn’t truly understood the price. When she’d made these pledges she had not dreamed the cost would be so high.