Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante Page 12

  The costs weren’t just about the diamond, although those were plenty. She was a woman in love with a man who didn’t love her, and that posed a dangerous set of questions. Would Beldon have ever offered for her if not for the diamond? Would he ever have fallen for Lilya Stefanov if she hadn’t been a damsel in distress? She didn’t know because she barely knew who she was without the diamond. Who was she if she wasn’t the secret-keeper of Adamao?

  ‘I thought I’d find you here.’ Beldon lounged in the door way, conjured from her very thoughts, the very epitome of masculinity, coatless and rolled-up shirt sleeves. Something primal flickered in his eyes. For a moment she thought he was going to devour her on the sofa and her stomach flipped over in anticipation. Then the fires in his eyes banked. He held out his hand and said, ‘It’s time to write the letter.’

  Lilya’s heart sank.

  Ah, yes. The diamond. The damned diamond. When Beldon looked at her, he saw the diamond for different reasons than Christoph Agyros, but he still saw the diamond. She wished he didn’t.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dear Mr Agyros,

  I regret to inform you that your request that a certain gem be put into your care has met with disapproval and confusion. I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, perhaps. I am not in possession of said item. Nor do I approve of being approached in such a threatening manner.

  I must politely request that you do not attempt to seek me out any further. Your pursuit of me is unseemly. As I am sure you are aware, I am about to marry and must terminate contact with you out of respect for my future husband.

  Lilya Stefanov

  Christoph crumpled the note in his hand. She regretted to inform him? She’d regret it soon enough and the outright lie. In an outburst of anger, Christoph violently swept the items on his table to the floor. There was the satisfaction of crockery smashing. One cup remained intact. Christoph picked it up and hurled it against the wall. A gratifying smash heralded the cup’s doom.

  Anger subdued, Christoph slumped into a chair to think. Did he believe her? She’d certainly made no secret of her wedding. Her actions had not been the actions of a woman looking to keep a low profile. She’d gone and caught the catch of the Season in Pendennys. There was nothing discreet in that. It was possible she wasn’t the one, that one of the other suspects had the diamond instead. But that alternative wasn’t palatable. He had worked too long for that to be the case. She had to be the one.

  Christoph clung to instinct and one last fact. She’d been willing to forsake her home and flee across Europe. That was not the action of an innocent. That fact alone sustained him. He would proceed as if she had the diamond and had not turned it over to him. That meant retribution tomorrow.

  Christoph pulled out a lethal blade and twirled it on the scarred table top. What should he do? Make her beloved Lord Pendennys a eunuch? Give the pretty Englishman a scar? He was too handsome by half. It would serve her right since she’d not succumbed to his own charms. It was something of a private blow to his ego that she had not been charmed by his good looks. Women seldom refused him and yet Lilya had not swooned at his feet. She might think differently about refusing him before all this was over. Oh, yes, Lilya Stefanov’s body might yet be his. A woman would do anything to save the man she loves.

  This was shaping up nicely; a little revenge mixed in with his pleasure, striking back at the man who had ruined his plans while getting even with the girl. Christoph reached into a trunk, searching until he found what he sought. He hefted a sturdy leather pouch of coins. Surely he had plenty to buy a baron’s life. He’d head down to the docks and see how much a baron went for these days. It was much better to have someone actually do the knife work for him, because then he could watch. Once that was arranged, all he had to do was sit back and wait for Pendennys to leave the house.

  Something was wrong. The sun and the top down on the town landau did nothing to dispel her concerns. ‘Are you certain this is a good idea?’ Lilya nervously fingered the fringe of her shawl, an expensive Indian silk done in a lovely yellow-and-blue paisley.

  ‘Good idea or not, it’s really the only choice,’ Beldon argued firmly. ‘You have a need to visit the dressmaker’s for a fitting and we’re not putting it off because we’re afraid of Agyros.’

  But his resolve did nothing to appease Lilya.

  ‘Midnight has come and gone. Agyros knows he does not have the diamond. He’s had time now to ponder what he’ll do next. He has only two choices; do something or do nothing. If he chooses the latter, his blackmail is a sham without influence.’

  Something was definitely wrong. His nonchalance did not fool her. Beldon was different this morning. Lilya could see it. There was grimness to his features, his eyes hard and alert, his body tense.

  Someone looking at him in passing would not know it. His toilette was immaculate, his clothes crisp and pressed, his jaw smoothly shaven. But further study revealed the tiny chinks in his gentlemanly armour. He chatted pleasantly with her during the drive and for once his attentions were not focused on her. Those blue eyes of his periodically and methodically darted into the crowds around them on the street, especially when they came to a full stop, as they were now. A large dray was unloading in front of a shop and progress around it was slow.

  There were other tell-tale signs of unease. He’d opted to take Philippa’s town landau when he could have driven Valerian’s curricle or his own phaeton and taken the ribbons himself, a task she knew Beldon enjoyed. He seldom had himself driven anywhere. He was too much of a horseman to deny himself the pleasure. The other concerning feature was the presence of his walking stick, a sleek affair of cherry wood and polished brass. Val had a swordstick inside his. She’d wager a monkey Beldon did, too. She was no idiot. In spite of the seemingly harmless trip to the dressmaker’s, Beldon was anticipating trouble, welcoming it even.

  The carriage inched forwards and Lilya decided to tackle the issue. ‘What do you expect to happen, Beldon? It’s clear you expect something so it’s no use trying to lie.’

  His answer was cryptic. ‘I simply want to be prepared. We cannot stay boxed up at home for ever, but neither can we ignore the dangers when we do go out.’ At least he hadn’t tried to deny it. Perhaps his preparations were simply precautions after all. Well, she could be prepared, too.

  She’d taken to quartering the street with her gaze these past few blocks, but riding backwards, Beldon had the advantage. He could see behind them. She could only see ahead of them. Someone following the landau wouldn’t want to get ahead of them. Out of a reflexive need for comfort, she felt for her knife. Today, it rode low on her leg, strapped to her calf so she only had to flick her skirts to reach it. A knife high on her thigh wouldn’t be easily accessible in public.

  If there was an attack, when would it come? Would it come while they were trapped in traffic? The thought made Lilya uneasy. ‘Perhaps we should get out and walk,’ she suggested.

  ‘We’re nearly there. The shop is just the next street up once we get past the dray.’

  But we’re sitting ducks, Lilya wanted to protest. Maybe that’s what Beldon intended. Did he want to draw Christoph’s attentions? They had no idea how Christoph meant to come after them—a gun, a knife, a kidnapping and torment? She shuddered to think of it. The Filiki Adamao was ruthless and she did not know how she’d endure it if Beldon were tortured. To watch him be slowly murdered, knowing she could stop it if she turned over the jewel, was something she didn’t want to contemplate. If they were taken, there’d be no real hope of escape except death. They’d be killed regardless of what she gave up. In the end it would only be a matter of mercy. That’s how the Filiki operated.

  The crowds parted and for an instant Lilya caught sight of a man staring in their direction. She reached for Beldon’s hand. ‘There, over to the left, can you see him? He’s staring at us.’

  Beldon turned his head to look, but was distracted. ‘Money, for a poor veteran, good sir
?’ A vagrant approached the other side of the landau, apparently taking advantage of the stalled traffic.

  ‘There he is!’ Lilya gave a hushed cry and tugged at Beldon’s sleeve. He glanced over his shoulder. The crowd shifted and they saw the danger together. The man had moved into position slightly ahead of the carriage, a pistol raised hastily and his target clear.

  Beldon reacted first, roughly shoving her to the floor of the carriage, but not before the man got off a shot. She felt rather than saw Beldon lunge to the far side of the carriage. Foolish man! Didn’t he understand the bullet was meant for him? Not her. No one dared to shoot her, not yet, not while she alone possessed the diamond.

  There were other screams now, people running to get out of the way of the nameless terror. The street was alive with panic, horses and people caught up in the noisy aftermath of the shot. Lilya could feel the carriage rock as people raced past, bumping the vehicle in their haste to get away. From the sound of things, the driver was struggling with the spooked horses.

  Where was Beldon? She’d felt his weight against one side of the carriage, but that weight was gone now. He was no longer in the landau with her.

  Gathering her courage, Lilya rose up from the floor, slipping out her knife from beneath her skirt. What she saw horrified her. In the midst of the stampeding crowd surging around the carriage, two men grappled with Beldon and the coachman for control of the vehicle by pulling them off the bench. Lilya recognised the assailants immediately: the vagrant and the man with the gun. The coachman struck out valiantly with his long whip, but it was minimally effective in close fighting. Beldon parried blows with his swordstick.

  That was when she noticed something was wrong. Beldon wielded the stick with his left hand as opposed to his usual right. Beldon struggled, losing his balance momentarily. Lilya’s breath caught, her eyes drawn to the crimson stain at Beldon’s shoulder. The bullet had found its target after all.

  Beldon pushed back his attacker with a well-placed boot to the stomach. He regained his feet in a rolling lurch, signs of pain evident in his stance. She had to do something! If they pulled Beldon down, Christoph would have the leverage he needed to negotiate. If they took him, how could she not trade the diamond for his release?

  Lilya hefted the small, perfectly balanced knife in her hand. No one paid her any attention. Beldon and the coachman’s backs were to her, their bulk blocking her from the attention of the two assailants.

  Beldon’s attacker regrouped from being kicked in the stomach and charged again. This time Lilya didn’t wait. She rose up, exposing her presence for the moment and threw the knife, hitting Beldon’s attacker squarely and effectively in the shoulder.

  The would-be assailant screamed in shocked pain, his eyes looking beyond Beldon for the source of his agony. ‘The bitch stabbed me!’

  Beldon snarled, and with a shove sent him sprawling backwards into the street in final defeat. It was enough to turn the engagement their way. Seeing his accomplice wounded and useless, the other man quickly retreated into the mob and disappeared. Beldon fell back on to the bench seat, clutching his shoulder and breathing hard.

  ‘Drive! Drive!’ Lilya shouted the moment they were free.

  Grabbing up the fallen reins, the coachman leapt to action, forcing a path through the scattering crowd, the sudden movement throwing Lilya back into her seat. Her mind was racing, her heart was racing in the aftermath.

  Fear came to Lilya for the first time since she’d spotted the man in the crowd. Her warning had come too late. For all his courage, Beldon was not immortal, a fact attested to by the crimson stain rapidly spreading across his back. The bullet had entered the shoulder from behind. She wanted Beldon to come sit with her, she wanted to see the extent of the injury, but he made no move to join her as the carriage bowled along the streets home to the St Just house. Dear Lord, there was a lot of blood. Beldon had his hand over his shoulder, but she could see his hand was red in an attempt to staunch the wound.

  Had the shot been intended for his shoulder or had his quick turn at her cry ruined the intended target? If he had not moved, the bullet could easily have found its way to his head. Lilya shuddered against the gruesome contemplations. She grabbed up her shawl from the seat beside her. ‘Here, Beldon, use this.’ She handed him the shawl. He took it with his left hand, his face pale and grim in profile. He said nothing.

  ‘Please, let it be better than it looks,’ Lilya murmured.

  In her mind, she went over all that would need doing when they arrived home. She would have to call for Val’s physician and there would be a surgery to set up. At the least, Beldon’s shoulder would need stitching. At the worst, the bullet was still lodged inside.

  At the town house, Lilya jumped down from the carriage, shouting orders. ‘Get the baron in the house, draw the curtains. Someone go for the viscount’s doctor. The baron’s been shot.’ Val’s men were well trained and every one leapt into action. Footmen mobilised with alacrity to set up a surgery in the drawing room. It was all handled with such ease, Lilya had to wonder just how much experience they’d had with such things.

  Beldon reluctantly let a footman help him down from the driver’s bench, trying desperately to not need assistance, but Lilya could see the effort his bravado cost him in the paleness of his face and the sweat on his brow. ‘There’s no need to be stubborn,’ she said, walking close to Beldon’s other side.

  ‘There’s every need,’ he ground out between gritted teeth, making the slow walk up Val’s front steps. ‘We want Christoph to think it was only a minor scratch.’

  Oh, no. Did that mean it wasn’t? Lilya’s stomach plummeted. Was it more than blood and pain?

  His next words confirmed it, his left hand reaching out to grasp hers for a moment as they stepped inside. ‘Lilya, I can’t feel my arm.’

  Beldon’s concentration amazed her. It would have been easy to give in to blessed unconsciousness throughout his ordeal with the doctor. But Beldon struggled to remain alert, a feat of physical and mental fortitude. If he could be stubborn, she could be, too.

  The housekeeper urged her to lie down and rest. They would let her know how it all went after the doctor’s visit. But Lilya would not be dislodged from Beldon’s side. He was her responsibility. She had caused this.

  The bullet was still lodged in a tricky part of the shoulder. It would need to come out. That was all Lilya needed to know to roll up her sleeves.

  Lilya laboured by the doctor through the long process of removing the bullet, fighting her squeamishness valiantly. She’d worked in a war zone before, but it was far different when the warrior was the man you loved. Lilya felt each painful probe as if it were her own flesh.

  ‘There it is, I can feel it,’ the doctor said with the satisfaction of a small victory. Moments later the doctor held up a tiny ball of steel before plunking it into a small dish. ‘Fortunately for him the ball didn’t shatter,’ the doctor declared triumphantly, reaching for a needle. ‘I’ll close the wound and we’ll be finished.’

  ‘Will he be all right now?’ Lilya was desperate for good news even though she knew they weren’t out of the woods yet.

  The doctor looked at her dubiously. ‘If he can avoid infection.’

  ‘And his arm? Can he feel it?’ Lilya pressed.

  The doctor shrugged, pausing in mid-stitch. ‘Hard to say. It might have been the bullet’s pressure on some nerves that caused the numbness. With the bullet gone, feeling will gradually return. But…’ he held up his hand in warning ‘…the bullet may have ruined some nerves and severed the connection altogether.’

  ‘When can he be moved?’

  ‘Upstairs?’ the doctor questioned, tying off his stitches.

  ‘No, to Cornwall.’ She had to get Beldon home. If Christoph knew Beldon was indisposed, he might become more aggressive.

  ‘Oh, my dear, he shouldn’t attempt to travel for a month; perhaps a couple of weeks if it was an emergency and it was handled with
the utmost care. Aside from the injury to his arm, he did lose blood.’

  A month? Two weeks? Impossible. She had a day or two.

  The doctor placed a kindly hand on her shoulder. ‘Be thankful, my dear, that the baron has come through this relatively well. But I wouldn’t want to push luck any further. Give him time.’

  Lilya watched the doctor go. Time was the one thing she couldn’t give Beldon. She sighed and leaned her head against the wall. She would stay until he was out of danger and then…well, and then she’d do what she should have done from the start before she’d begun to believe things could be different. She would leave and the danger would leave with her. After the scandal passed, he could go on to marry Lady Eleanor and she, well, she’d just go on. Surely, Beldon would agree the brief scandal of a broken engagement was an affordable price to pay for a life, especially when the life was his.