Page 11 of The Lyon Rampant

It wasn’t what he expected.

She slapped him. While he was still gaping in amazement, she turned her back on him and hurried off toward the other exit from the park.

He wasn’t going to let his prey escape that easily. No one was going to strike Piers Darvill in public, in full daylight, and get away with it!

His long stride soon brought him abreast of her. “What was that for? You can’t just go around hitting people.”

She didn’t slow her step. “And you can’t just go around kissing people.”

His good humor returned. So that was it.

“At least I did that surreptitiously, where nobody would see. Now, anyone who saw you hit me will be wondering what it was about, and we’ll be the subject of the gossip sheets in no time. Surely, you don’t enjoy attracting that kind of speculation?”

She emitted a groan. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Mr. Darvill. Please give me my fish basket and let me go about my business.”

“You won’t tell me what you’re up to, then?”

“No. It’s vital that no one knows my secret. Since it’s partly due to you that I’m in this predicament, I think it would be churlish of you to bother me any longer.”

This only intrigued him more, of course, but he didn’t want to question her in a London park in the daytime. He sensed that the more he pressed her, the more she would retreat, and she was far too interesting an object for him to allow that.

“Very well, Miss Bellamy. You may keep your secrets, and I apologize if I’ve done you any disservice. I would apologize for the kiss as well had it not been so delectable. As you know, I have a reputation for being a rake, and I’m afraid we’re notorious for doing that kind of thing. Think nothing of it.”

Although, he rather hoped that she had thought about it. “Delectable” was an understatement; it had been as much as he could do not to kiss her again immediately. For a considerable length of time.

“I certainly do know about rakes.” She snatched the basket away from him. “And other things. It’s a pity you had to pay that actress for her services the other night. Yes, I saw you do so, from my carriage window. I would have thought a real rake wouldn’t have to pay for any lady’s attention. Good day to you.”

She stomped off.

The devil! He’d had his face slapped and ended up smelling of fish. And now she’d insulted his manhood!

“Watch out, Miss Belinda Bellamy,” he muttered, wiping his hands again. “That payment wasn’t what you think. One day, I shall prove to you that I don’t have to pay for the attentions of women. Not even a basket of smelly fish will save you.”