Page 27 of The Lyon Rampant

Chapter Twelve

Roland was the first to speak. “What the blazes are you doing here, Belinda?”

She could ask him the same thing—how was it that Roland was now in cahoots with Darvill?

“I came to prevent a selfish act on your part, Mr. Darvill. A mother has every right to keep her child.” No man could ever know what it felt like to bear a child.

Darvill wasn’t looking well, she realized, ignoring a prick of guilt. In the light of her lamp, the shadows of his face looked deeper, whereas those parts picked out by the light looked deathly pale.

She’d confounded him. He didn’t have a word to say for himself. Good.

Roland waved his hand, so she backed into the hallway, and he entered. Like a puppet suddenly coming to life when its strings are pulled, Darvill jerked into movement and followed Roland. He slammed the door behind him, strode into the hallway and brushed past her into the parlor. She followed and set her lantern on the mantelshelf. The man’s anger was palpable, and her courage wavered.

“Do you know what you’ve done, Belinda?” She’d never seen Roland so furious. But surely, this whole affair was to do with Darvill, not him? Why was he so upset? “I think we’d all better sit down.”

Ignoring Roland’s suggestion, Darvill walked woodenly toward the empty fireplace and stationed himself with an elbow against the mantelpiece. Then his whole frame sagged, and she realized he was relying on the mantelpiece to keep him upright.

She’d successfully foiled his plans but couldn’t understand why he was so devastated. Had he been so desperate, then, to recruit another child to do his spying for him? Why had he decided to go for Oliver in particular? Miss Lavoisier had not enlightened her on that point. Darvill must have anticipated a refusal, or he wouldn’t have taken such a clandestine approach.

She’d been right to warn the mother. Miss Lavoisier’s response to Belinda’s news that Darvill was on his way was all the proof she needed that this woman already knew the man, was afraid of him, and meant to avoid him at all costs. She’d started giving commands to the little boy and stuffing their possessions into cases almost as soon as Belinda was through the door.

Having been begged to delay any pursuit, Belinda had remained behind, ready to waylay Darvill. His arrival with Roland in tow had confused her, however, and now they were both reacting as if she’d kicked a puppy.

“Belinda, you don’t know what you’ve done!” Roland sank into a chair and hid his face in his hands. Belinda glanced at Darvill and saw that he, too, had covered his face.

She backed toward a chair and collapsed into it. Why all this emotion? Surely Darvill had only wanted some kind of business arrangement with the boy? Anyway, whatever Roland or Darvill said, the boy had looked far too young to be involved in any nefarious schemes.

“Will somebody please tell me what has caused such a melodramatic reaction?” She couldn’t keep a wobble of uncertainty from her voice.

Roland shot her a look that made her quail. “It’s not my story to tell. It’s up to Darvill if he wants you to know, but it’s really none of your business. Since when did you start meddling in other people’s affairs, Belinda? I should never have supported you in that Lyon’s Den scheme. I thought your scapegrace days were over, but evidently, we were all mistaken about that.”

To hear such harsh words from someone whom she considered her friend and protector was painful. She turned to Darvill but was unable to meet his gaze.

After a long pause, during which the atmosphere in the room grew ever colder, he pushed away from the mantelpiece and took the one remaining chair.

“You’ve just allowed the mother of my child to evade me again. I gave her, and the boy, the freedom she required for six years, but enough is enough. I need to be married, I need an heir, someone who will eventually take over my businesses and inherit my fortune. Oliver is my son, and therefore the only person entitled to do so. I trust that is sufficient claim on the boy to satisfy even you, Miss Bellamy.”

Oliver was his son? No, she could not believe it. They looked nothing alike. But there was no trace of deceit on Darvill’s face. Oh! How could she have made such a terrible mistake?

“But Miss Lavoisier—she didn’t tell me that!”

“What did she tell you?” Darvill’s tone was icy.

“Why, that she was an actress at the Old Forum who wanted to make her own way and travel about the country. You refused her request to leave and have hounded her ever since. Now you’ve discovered her whereabouts and the fact she has a child, you’re even more determined that she return to the fold because you like recruiting children to act as spies for you. Knowing how you’ve treated Tom Haggar, I was determined to stop you.”

“And exactly how have I treated Tom Haggar? Like the father he never had, that’s how I’ve treated him. I’ve given him money to try to keep him on the straight and narrow, plus the odd little errand to run so he can feel he’s earned it, like a normal boy. Unfortunately, much of it goes to fund his mother’s drinking habit, but I’ve never tried to wrest him from the only home and family he has, however inadequate they may be. I haven’t given up on the boy, and still live in hope that he may see sense and take up an apprenticeship.”

“So do I!” Belinda interrupted. “I want the best for Tom. Is this why you wanted to recruit little Oliver, because Tom will no longer be available?”

“Of course not, foolish chit. Aren’t you listening to a word I’ve said?”

Without realizing it, Belinda was now standing up, breast-to-breast with Darvill, and her face was level with his cravat and its lion-headed tie pin. She could feel the enmity emanating from his body, but was too stubborn to step away, despite the sting of tears in her eyes. Why was everyone being so horrid, when she’d done a Good Thing?

“I’ll spell it out for you, Miss Bellamy, but you must swear to keep this to yourself.”

She nodded, dumbly. She’d forgotten Roland’s presence—it was as if the whole world had sunk to a tiny little island, with no one upon it but herself and Darvill, locked in a bloodless but bruising battle.

“When I reached my majority, I decided that I needed to cut a dash in London, so the ton would not just associate me with ‘Trade.’ In truth, I do have noble blood, but that’s a story for another day. As far as I could tell, any gentleman worth his salt must have a mistress, or be rumored to have one. Since I’d already become interested in the theater and all its workings, I found myself often in the company of actresses, and one in particular caught my eye.”