Secret Life Of A Scandalous Debutante. Bronwyn Scott

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.