Page 63 of The Lyon Rampant

“Once again, I admire your optimism, Belinda. I suppose we may learn something—only I recall you once saying that you weren’t interested in gossip.” He raised a stern eyebrow.

“Don’t tease me! You’re making me laugh and pull faces, and I don’t want to do that when people are watching us.”

“Are they?” He’d been lost in a world that contained only himself and Belinda. Dragging his gaze away from her enchanting features, he realized they were drawing admiring glances. It wasn’t just a case of the men looking enviously at the phaeton—they were looking admiringly at Belinda, while their wives glanced at him.

“Let them look. And make whatever face you want, my darling. We’re going to be married next week and become the epitome of respectability. Out-of-doors at least, when we are under public scrutiny. I can’t promise to be respectable in the bedchamber, and I hope you won’t be, either.”

“Do be quiet, Piers. I’m blushing and people are staring even harder.”

A pity, as he loved to tease her. “I’ll desist for the moment. This is the Ilford Road, so we’ll soon be away from the gossiping tabbies of the ton and surrounded instead by bucolic people and scenery.”

Piers spent the next hour joyfully making plans for their joint future and trying to keep his eyes on the road instead of on Belinda. If anyone had told him he could fall so heavily in love, he wouldn’t have believed them. But now, Belinda colored his entire world—his past, his present, his future. She mattered more than anything, and she held his heart in her delicate little hands. A part of him knew he was deeply unworthy of her love, and he must devote every hour to making himself worthy. Fortunately, they had a lifetime in which to do it.

“Belinda.” He nudged her gently where she lay dozing against his shoulder. “We have arrived at Little Ongar. Do you feel like a brief respite at the inn before we discover whatever revelation the parish clerk has for us?”

She sat up and looked around, blinking her eyes sleepily. “I don’t know. Oh, what a pretty village. It must be lovely to live close enough to London to be civilized, and far enough away to avoid its disadvantages.”

Piers was gratified that she waited for him to lift her down from the carriage. It wasn’t necessary, because her ankle had made a complete recovery, but he adored the feel of her in his arms, the sensuous slide of her body against his before he released her.

He retrieved the directions from his pocket and tried to get his bearings while Belinda took in their surroundings.

“I assume this is the correct church. Such a charming spot! I love those yew hedges and the roses rambling over the lychgate. I almost wish we were being married here instead of in London. Could we have a quick look round and then go to the inn?”

“You know I can refuse you nothing. Besides, it would be good to stretch our legs.” Piers tucked the paper away and strode across to the inn to make arrangements for the horse to be stabled and the phaeton taken into the cobbled yard.

Belinda waited beneath the lychgate when he returned, the golden halo of her hair framed by the roses that cascaded on either side of her, and for a moment, he was spellbound. Offering up a silent vow of thanks to the gods who had smiled on him, he took his future wife’s hand in his and led her into the churchyard.

As they walked along the gravel path between the green mounds of the dead, it seemed as if time was suspended, and a solemn silence descended over the sacred space. He moved forward, as if in a dream, and then discovered that he and Belinda were not alone.

Someone else was visiting the graveyard that day. A woman, brightly dressed in green with an elaborate turban and paisley shawl, stood with her back to them, staring down at a grave. Her presence struck a discordant note, and Piers pulled Belinda to a halt.

The stranger immediately spun around, then stood stock-still, staring at them.

Only . . . this was no stranger. All the golden glory fled from the day as Piers stared back. What treachery was this? What cruel trick had Mrs. Dove-Lyon played upon them?

“I don’t believe it!” Belinda’s hand clenched on his sleeve.

The woman jerked into movement, taking a step toward them.

Piers had expected an internal battle of feelings and emotions when he saw this woman again. What he had not expected was the white-hot fury that raged through his veins.

He took several deep breaths before he felt calm enough to speak. “Belinda—I believe you’ve already met Miss Charlotte Lavoisier?”