Page 18 of The Lyon Rampant

They were going without Caroline? Belinda had at least thought she would have some protection from this overwhelming man. Now, her hopes were dashed.

“Caroline, my dear. May I borrow your smelling salts? I fear I may need them.”

Darvill raised an amused eyebrow but said nothing. Caroline, however, had other ideas.

“You’re very kind, Mr. Darvill,” she said, thrusting the smelling salts at Belinda. “However, I have errands that I can run instead. I will, of course, return here before the hour is up, so that I may accompany Miss Bellamy home.”

“No need. I’ll drop her off at George Street myself. If you’re happy to run your errands, Miss Brent, I can have no objection.”

So, that was that. Caroline was off, with an uncharacteristic smirk on her face, and Belinda was sentenced to being at close quarters with Mr. Darvill for the best part of the next hour.

While his groom held the horses’ heads, Darvill lowered the steps and took her elbow in a firm grip to ensure she kept her balance. As soon as she reached the top, she sat down promptly—standing up in a slightly wobbling carriage of such height was unnerving. Taking a deep breath, she settled her hands and her reticule in her lap and held her head high. She’d been told she was a good little actress, so now she was going to pretend that she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Particularly not Mr. Piers Darvill, because she was a Lady, and had every intention of behaving like one.

The carriage dipped as Darvill seated himself beside her, and reached behind for a tartan rug. “There’s a brisk breeze today, Miss Bellamy, and I wouldn’t want you to get a chill.”

She had to lean back and bear it as he tucked the rug over their knees. The warmth of his body immediately seeped into her—she hadn’t imagined that one could be quite so intimate with another person whilst in public. But of course, he was a rake—and knew all the tricks of the trade. What if he could control the horses with one hand, and stroke her knee with the other, under the blanket? Or hold her hand, or do even more despicable things—no one would be any the wiser.

Her heart was pounding, so she busied herself tightening the bow on her bonnet so he wouldn’t notice the scarlet flare in her cheeks. As far as he knew, Miss Belinda Bellamy knew nothing of such . . . things. And she was determined that he continue on in that belief.

The phaeton lurched forward, then settled into an even motion as Darvill pointed the horses’ heads in the direction of Hyde Park.

“I’m delighted that you were prepared to accompany me today.” Darvill was in good spirits. Wretched fellow.

“I appeared to have little choice. What have you and Roland been cooking up between you?”

“Under the circumstances, I think you’ve got off very lightly, considering that the alternative to our agreement would have been pistols at dawn. An arrangement of which you did not approve.”

At that moment, she really wouldn’t care if somebody made a few holes in Mr. Piers Darvill’s thick hide. But she mustn’t reveal her feelings; she’d decided to behave herself, in the hope of making the time pass more quickly.

“It’s a trifle unfair that your arrangement should have been made without consulting me. It seems that I’m the only person put to any trouble and that you and Roland don’t have to do a thing.”

“Not entirely the case, Miss Bellamy. We’re assisting one another in matters of some delicacy. One of these concerns your reputation, and therefore the reputations of the Earl and Countess of Aylsham, too. On one thing we are agreed—that said reputation needs to remain intact. We both also agree, as you must now realize, that you shouldn’t allow yourself to be beholden to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Much as I enjoy your superior culinary skills, a gambling den is no place for a lady. I may have found you out, but you’ll discover that I’m no tittle-tattle. I cannot say the same for anybody else. Secrets are safe with Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff, of course, but you can’t predict who might see you going in and out of the place, no matter how careful you try to be.”

She lifted her chin. “Roland has allowed me to continue. I won’t be there much longer, however.”

“Then I shall dine there every day until you leave. Something to look forward to!”

She didn’t know why he had to seem so pleased about it, odious man. She wasn’t doing it for his benefit.

“I’m surprised you choose to dine there when you have an establishment of your own. And there must be good food available near the Old Forum. You can at least take your lady friends to such places, whereas they’re not permitted to join you at the Lyon’s Den.”

“Lady friends? I can’t say I have many of those.”

“An odd assertion, coming from a man reputed to be something of a satyr. But then I suppose when you pay someone, you can hardly call that relationship a friendship.” She couldn’t help herself, even though she knew her words would provoke him.

The carriage jolted, and she clung tightly to the strap. “Pray, attend to your driving, sir.”

“You appear to have a barbed tongue today, Miss Bellamy. I trust I’m not taking you out when you’re feeling out of sorts?”

She didn’t deny it. If, or most likely when, his company became unbearable, she’d fake a swoon, forcing him to return her to George Street immediately.

“I have no wish to cause a scene by disputing with you in public, sir. But surely, you didn’t expect me to hang on your neck, flutter my eyelashes at you, or appear to be hugely entertained by every word you utter when I’m here as the result of blackmail?”

He laughed at that. “Is that what you call it? Then I apologize. However, I don’t wish you to think ill of me. Let me just say that you can’t believe everything you see. I own a theater and consort with actors, so I’m quite accomplished at putting on a performance myself.”

What did he mean by that? Was he denying that he’d given that woman money? “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. With my own eyes, I’ve seen you paying a gaudily dressed woman of ill repute.”

“If you’ve decided to believe what everyone else does, I shan’t refute it. I can’t imagine a denial would make any difference to your opinion of me, which I suspect is very low. Although I know Katie Richmond would be mortified to be thought a ‘woman of ill repute.’”