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,
