Page 19 of The Lyon Rampant

Belinda remembered her vow to behave like a lady, and not to engage in any verbal sparring. “Perhaps I’ve not yet fully made up my mind. Maybe, if you would tell me more about yourself, a truer picture would emerge.”

“Let me make a bargain with you, Miss Bellamy. If I reveal some of my secrets, would you be prepared to reveal some of yours?”

Belinda gulped. There was one secret that would never be revealed. Surely, he hadn’t heard anything about that? What right did he have to press her about things that must remain buried? However, she was intrigued by his hint that his reputation for being a rake was a front. She’d just have to come up with some very minor misdemeanor to share with him.

“I will hear you out, sir. You could tell me what you think you have to recommend you before we start trading secrets.”

In fact, that wasn’t a question that needed answering. There had been many blatant stares from females as they tooled through the London streets, some of which had been admiring, and others, envious. She had been on the receiving end of the envious looks, whilst he had received the admiring ones. Most women in London seemed to have a good opinion of Mr. Piers Darvill, despite his infamy. Well, that was the power of money, she supposed. And perhaps the fact that some women—not her of course—might consider him exceedingly good-looking.

“I’ll tell you in a moment. Now, I believe you are fond of children, Miss Bellamy.”

She nodded. “You have, perhaps, heard of the work that I, and at one time Miss Brent, did at the Lady Aylsham Foundling Hospital.”

“I knew all about it, yes, before I even met you. I’ve been a trustee and a supporter of that organization for several years. I don’t suppose they’ve kept that gilded notice with the list of subscribers now they’ve moved out to Forty Court. But if they have, you’ll see my name upon it.”

This was an unexpected disclosure. But she mustn’t let it sway her opinion. Many members of the ton subscribed to one charity or another—it was expected. And she knew well enough that some benefactors did it from vanity or to impress others.

“Then I hope you’ll continue to donate to such a worthy cause, sir.”

He inclined his head. “I shall. Now—I’ve been wondering why you decided to remain in town with the feckless Mr. Chetwynd, instead of returning to Forty Court. Does your arrangement with Mrs. Dove-Lyon have something to do with it?”

Aha! So, this was the secret he was interested in. Well, there was no harm in telling him about the agreement. He didn’t need to know it all.

“It does indeed. When you so ungallantly unmasked me at that card game, you put me in Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s debt. She’s an indomitable lady, and extremely good at putting pressure on people. Having told her that my only decent skill was the making of soup, she decided I could pay off my debt by working in her kitchens for a fortnight.”

He disentangled one hand from the reins and laid it upon hers. “Had I known it was you beneath that mask and those unflattering clothes, I would have dealt with the issue more discreetly. I apologize.”

His unexpected apology threw her completely. The touch of his hand made her extremely flustered, but she didn’t want to stroke his vanity by revealing the fact. So, she kept her hand quite still and waited until he released her and turned his attention back to the horses.

“I suppose I must accept your apology. Grudgingly, however. I don’t want you to think it makes me like you any better.”

He tilted his head toward her. “Would it help if I told you that I wasn’t a wealthy wastrel? That I do spend much of my time working—some of it for the good of the country.”

She supposed running a popular London theater must count as an occupation, although he doubtless made enough money to pay somebody to run it for him. But why it should be for the good of the nation, she couldn’t fathom.

“It’s rarely spoken about, because I don’t want information getting into the wrong hands. I run a mine that produces lead, zinc, silver, and arsenic. Mostly lead.”

“I should imagine the price of lead is high at present, with the ongoing wars.”

Darvill straightened and glanced at her in surprise. “I would not have put you down as someone who follows such matters. The manufacture of lead shot is not a usual topic of conversation between a gentleman and a lady.”

“If it isn’t, then it should be. I heartily disapprove of firearms—shooting people from a distance instead of fighting them face to face is cowardly.”

Darvill was staring at her, giving the horses their heads. Fortunately, he recovered himself in time to turn the beasts deftly through the gates into Hyde Park.

“I can’t say I share your opinion, Miss Bellamy.”

The ensuing silence was as chill as the breeze that filtered through Belinda’s sleeves, making her shiver. Darvill drew his team to a sudden halt.

“I can see that you’re cold, Miss Bellamy. We’ve been out for far too long—I’ll take you to George Street immediately.”

His expression was thunderous, and his jaw was tight as he wheeled the horses about and exited the park.

Belinda made some desultory attempts at conversation, but her companion was done with her—which was a relief but insulting at the same time. As the carriage drew up outside her front door, she said, “I was simply being honest just now. I don’t approve of the manufacture of cannons and firearms—or lead shot. It’s destructive and cruel.”

It was clear from the expression on Darvill’s face as he handed her down from the carriage that she’d touched a nerve.

He pulled her close and bent his head, bringing his lips close to her ear. “And I do not approve of young women who don’t know what they’re talking about and don’t actively support this country’s struggles against the Revolutionary French. Have a care, Miss Bellamy, that your opinions don’t get you into trouble.”

With that crushing remark, he leaped into the driving seat of the phaeton, touched his whip to his team, and hurtled off over the cobbles as if the Devil himself was at his heels.

Nonplussed, Belinda clung to the railings next to the front doorstep, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Just because a war was necessary didn’t mean one had to like it—she’d lost her baby’s father as a result of the conflict with Bonaparte.

Why had her remark put Darvill so out of countenance? And had his last riposte been a threat?