Page 34 of The Lyon Rampant

Chapter Sixteen

Belinda waited for the axe to fall, for Piers Darvill to leap to his feet, his face a mask of disgust, and stride away. They would never cross paths again—he’d make sure of that. Oh, why had she trusted him? She should have known better than to trust anybody with her shameful secret, particularly one who had until so recently been her enemy.

She was thus surprised and shocked when Piers took her hand in his. Its warmth penetrated her chill uncertainty, spreading like a healing balm through her body. She stared at his face and saw only an expression of contemplation, no grimace of distaste.

He reached across with his other hand and toyed with her fingers. “Am I to assume that you weren’t married when the baby was born, and this is why you’ve been so unhappy?”

Had she been unhappy? No, indeed—she’d been feeling much better working with the children at the orphanage. But then Minty found the perfect man and became pregnant, and it was true, Belinda’s old misery had resurfaced.

“If you knew I was unhappy, why were you so hard on me?”

“We’re examining your story, not mine. I wasn’t happy then either, although I would probably never have admitted it to myself. Please, go on. I’m the last person to have any right to judge you. In fact, if the man who did the deed lives hereabouts, I’ll make him regret having abandoned you.”

“He didn’t mean to abandon me. Not really. He died, you see.”

Her throat grew dry. It was so difficult to talk about William Coyle. But maybe she would feel better if she did; she clearly had a willing listener, and he was—at least at the moment—in a compassionate mood.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve blundered in like an idiot. I made you speak of something equally as painful as the loss of a child.”

His face changed, and she sensed he was remembering his own pain. One day, perhaps, he’d reveal everything from his past and she’d understand him better.

“It’s a couple of years ago now, but that kind of thing never leaves you. It was wrong of me to let things go so far when we were not yet married, but I know he had every intention of making me his wife. He set sail for the Peninsula, but his ship ran into difficulties just off the Spanish coast. I only found out when those who drowned were listed in the newspaper—he had no family, so his superiors didn’t know who to tell. I never knew, when I bade him farewell, that I’d never see him again.”

She clenched her fists, and Piers wrapped his hands around hers and pressed them reassuringly.

“You needn’t go on if it hurts to do so.”

“I must. I’ve started and cannot tell you half a tale. William didn’t even know that I was with child—we only spent that one night together, before he embarked for the Peninsula.”

Oh, goodness! How could she have admitted such a transgression to Darvill, of all people? Perhaps, because she disliked him, she didn’t care what he thought of her. Only now, however, she rather feared that she might. “You do promise you won’t tell anyone?”

He released her and held her palm against his heart. “I swear by everything I hold dear—I won’t tell anyone.” He stared at her for a moment, and his brows furrowed. “That doesn’t mean that your secret will always remain a secret, however—these things have a way of coming out. I’m sure every gentleman in London knows about my missing son by now, and mocks me for it. They think I’m no kind of a man when I can’t even control a former mistress.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible! People can be so cruel.”

He emitted a bitter laugh. “Sometimes I wonder why we bother with London at all. If the metropolis were not a place where money and connections could be made, I’d be tempted to avoid it, and spend all my time in Devon.”

“You sound as if you know this county.”

“I most certainly do. I was brought up here. But we’re not supposed to be talking about me. There’ll be time enough for that, but I don’t think you’ll be all that interested. Please go on.”

“Araminta’s husband, Lord Lamb, was beastly. She took me as far away from him as possible, and we came to stay with our cousins, the Tragos, who run the inn. I had my confinement here.”

There was little left to tell, but what remained still felt like a sword thrust to the heart. How could a man understand that?

Piers had taken her hand again, and she felt once more the comfort of his presence. His touch gave her the courage to continue.

“I carried my baby to term. Everybody was so kind. And the doctor and the midwife were very skilled, even though this is just a little village in the countryside. But I don’t know if there was anything anybody could have done—the fault probably lay with me. Anyway—the child was stillborn.”

A hiccup of distress escaped her.

Instantly, he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

“You poor thing. How terrible it must have been to have that one reminder of your sweetheart stolen away from you. And having nurtured the baby in your womb for all that time and suffered, as I know women do, and then not to have the reward of something to love at the end of it. Unimaginable.”

Belinda blinked. She’d never expected a man to be so perceptive. But there again, were their situations not similar? He’d loved Charlotte Lavoisier, and she’d left him. He’d been ready to love their child, but the boy had been hidden away before Piers had even laid eyes on him. So, he’d doubtless been feeling the same loss that she had, although being a man, he was braver about it.

Guilt battered at her from all sides, and she pulled away from him, hiding her face in her hands. She’d done this man a great disservice, yet here he was, being kindness and sympathy itself. She didn’t deserve it.