Page 17 of The Lyon and the Lamb

“I’m not hungry.” How could she eat when her mind was in such turmoil? Not just her mind, in truth, but her whole body. She’d felt a javelin shaft of excitement when she’d laid eyes on Lord Aylsham, shamelessly admiring his tall, upright figure as he stood up from behind the desk and came to take her hand. She’d felt the full power of his touch then, and had been grateful for the gloves which stopped his touch from having its full impact.

She’d had to pull back so quickly, she feared she’d given herself away. Where had she found the courage to reveal her face to him? Maybe, deep down, she wanted him to know that it was she with whom he’d spent a night of passion. She wanted him to respond to her, to need her, to crave her again. But he’d given no sign of recognition.

He’d changed since she’d last met him in that office, though. He seemed softer around the edges despite being dignified and distant. And when she’d seen him with the child on his shoulders, her heart had given a peculiar lurch, and something melted within her.

No! She mustn’t think of him as a potential husband just because of his male prowess—that way, madness lay. Or did it? If they both needed the same thing, could they not find some common ground? She flushed. They already had—that common ground was in the bedchamber.

“You’re sickening for something, sister. At one moment you’re pale, and the next you’re red in the face as though you had a fever. And you won’t eat. If Mother were alive, she’d tell you to go straight to bed, and send a hot toddy up after you.”

“You’re kind to care about me.” It wasn’t often that Belinda escaped her private prison of misery and became aware of the needs of others. Perhaps Horatio’s death had changed her, too, and she now sensed that freedom was on the horizon. If only they could retain their home . . .

“Do you think, Belinda dear, you might like to visit with the children again?”

Her sister’s eyes brightened. “Could I go and play with them like yesterday? Help them tie their shoelaces and apron strings? Carry the cots in and out of doors to make the most of the fresh air?” Then her face clouded. “But we can’t go back there, can we? That horrible man wouldn’t do what we wanted. I know you think I don’t notice these things, but sometimes I do.”

It would be splendid if Belinda could be found some occupation that involved little ones. Araminta sipped at her tea. Dared she face Lord Aylsham again?

“We might as well get something out of ‘that horrible man,’ as you call him. You said Miss Brent was very personable—perhaps she’d like an assistant in the classroom. I can’t see Aylsham opposing that. You could help the children learn their letters, work on their arithmetic, or practice their handwriting. You were an able learner in the schoolroom, remember?”

Belinda tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear and assumed a faraway expression.

“I was, wasn’t I? Such a pity I fell in love with the lieutenant. He shouldn’t have taken advantage of me, should he? And I shouldn’t have let him.”

Araminta leaped up and took her sister in her arms. “Don’t even think of him. He’s in the past and all that happened then is forgiven. Our future will soon be decided, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t include you spending more time with little children if you enjoy their company so much.”

If she were to become the bride of Lord Aylsham, as Mrs. Dove-Lyon advised, surely, he could not refuse Belinda the opportunity to work with the children? Being his wife would open many doors for them both, even the chance of a decent match for Belinda from amongst his acquaintance. Assuming that a man of such stubborn temper had any friends.

Araminta waited until she was sure Belinda wasn’t going to burst into tears or throw a tantrum, then called for the carriage to be brought around.

“I’m going out for a little while, love. When I come back, I hope to have good news for you.”

“Can I not come with you?”

There was a wheedling note in Belinda’s voice. She had a bad habit of resorting to childlike behavior when she wanted something she didn’t expect to get.

“Not this time. Next time, if you’re good, perhaps.” Araminta kept her voice firm and her expression serious. Thankfully, Belinda seemed to accept this bargain. Thankfully, too, she didn’t notice the tremor of Araminta’s fingers as she pulled on her gloves before hastening out of the door.

Now that Araminta had made up her mind to take this momentous step, she could brook no delay.

The London streets were choked with traffic—carriages jostling for position, people walking quickly with their heads down, and urchins running to and fro with brooms and placards. The air was filled with the sound of street vendors crying their wares and carrion birds bickering and scrapping over rubbish in dark alleyways.

Araminta gazed out the carriage window at the busy scene. With each minute that passed, she feared her courage would desert her—it was only the concern that her coachman would think her eccentric that stopped her turning tail and heading back home. She must delve deep into her inner reserves and put on a show of bravado, no matter how she felt. She was going to accept marriage to Lord Aylsham, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon would tell her how it was to be achieved.

Leaving the carriage a couple of blocks away from Cleveland Row, she drew her veil over her face and headed determinedly toward the blue-painted building which housed the Lyon’s Den. So intent was she on speed, that she hadn’t noticed another person heading for the very same building. Before she could check her step, she’d run full-tilt into him.

“Oh, forgive me—”

The words died on her lips. She stared up at the man who’d caught her, steadying her in his firm grip.

Lord Aylsham! What appalling luck to run into him before she’d had a chance to speak with Mrs. Dove-Lyon!

“Lord Aylsham.” She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

He doffed his hat and sketched her a bow, stiff as an automaton at the fair, and clasped her hand to plant a kiss on the back of her glove. Expecting to be released immediately, Araminta froze when he held on and stared intently at her gloved hand.

“Good morning to you, Lady Lamb. I hope I didn’t hurt you—I wanted to stop you falling. I know I can be like a charging bull when marching from one place to another. Or so my brother tells me.” His voice died away.

Why was he not releasing her? Why was he studying her hand with such concentration? Of course—he was repulsed by the slight deformity of her little finger. She pulled away and shoved both hands behind her back.