Page 46 of The Lyon Rampant

“My journal, if you must know. I’ve been drafting a letter in it.”

To whom was she writing? Another woman, he hoped.

“Ah. I thought you might be reading Shakespeare, checking that I hadn’t misquoted him.”

He heard her huff of annoyance. “You like to tease, don’t you?”

“Only when I’m comfortable with someone. I never bother with those I dislike.” He stroked her hand, reveling in its softness.

“I’m no good at teasing—I’m always worried about how people will react. I suppose it’s a sign of weakness.”

“But an adorable one.” He edged a little closer, so their arms were touching. “So, what letter were you drafting?”

“I thought you wanted to talk through our fake engagement.” He felt her slide down under the bedclothes, but she kept her arm outside, still holding his hand.

“Perhaps I want to get to know my pretend fiancée better first, and prepare myself for the intrusive questions I can expect from her family.”

Belinda let out a heartfelt sigh, so he squeezed her hand. “Is your ankle hurting you, my sweet?”

“Not really—I think it will heal faster than Dr. Fielding anticipated. No—you just reminded me about my letter.”

Releasing her hand, he shifted his weight and turned toward her, then started stroking her forearm where it lay above the coverlet. “Do you want to tell me about your letter?”

“I suppose I should, since you’re mentioned in it.”

“Indeed?” He needn’t worry about it, though, as she hadn’t sent the letter yet. He could still prevent her doing so, if it contained anything damaging.

“In my letter, I’ve explained everything to Minty. I’ve told her that although I love her dearly, I desperately needed to have a family and children of my own, and could not see any hope of that happening in the current circumstances. I’ve explained about my scheme to get the funds to pay Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find me a husband, and my subsequent unmasking by you, then the time spent working at the Lyon’s Den. I hope she can find it in her heart to forgive me.”

Belinda’s voice caught on a sob, and Piers automatically stretched an arm out to her, only to discover that she’d turned toward him. When she buried her face against his neck, he held her close, resting his forehead against hers and breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.

If only she would take her cap off—he would love to bury his hands in those tresses, bring the bouncing curls up to his lips and kiss them.

“I’m sure she will. Has she not suffered adversity herself? If she loves you, she’ll be sympathetic—and proud of you for telling the truth.”

She lifted her head, and the lace edging of her nightcap tickled his nose. “For an abominable fellow, and a rake, you can be exceedingly kind. Kinder, even, than my William.”

He didn’t want to talk about the accursed Lieutenant Coyle and he didn’t like being compared to other men—favorably or otherwise.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about him now. No one is going to believe you’re engaged to me if your thoughts keep drifting back to your former lover.”

Devil take it! Why had he said the word “lover?” The idea that some other man had been this close to Belinda, holding her, running his hand over her back, feeling her breath on his chin, was abhorrent.

“I wish you’d take your nightcap off. It’ll make me sneeze in a minute.”

“I’m sorry.” In an instant the nightcap was gone.

“If only getting a woman to undress was always that easy.”

She shifted away from him and he could feel her eyes boring into him, even though he couldn’t see her face. Then she relaxed.

“Oh, you’re intolerable. You’re teasing me again.”

“Correct. You’re becoming maudlin. I therefore have a choice—I can either hold you comfortingly in my arms and endure the torment of wanting more than that, or keep you at a distance and jest with you.”

He heard a little intake of breath. She was mulling over his words, trying to decide how to react. If only he could predict what she might do! But perhaps that was all part of her attraction—there was still an awful lot to discover and understand about her.

Reaching out in the darkness, he found her face and caressed her flawless skin, then her hair. She made no move to stop him, but sighed softly. In any other woman, he might have seen this as acquiescence, but who knew with Belinda Bellamy? She was just as likely to throw a jug of washing water over him. What a fool he’d been to remove her candle! Now, he could not properly see her expression, couldn’t be sure if she wanted comfort or something more . . .