Page 8 of The Lyon Rampant

Darvill felt in his pocket and his expression changed. His jaw set and his eyes flashed like obsidian. “I think, ma’am, that you’re mistaken. Nothing’s been taken from my pocket. Perhaps it was someone else who was the victim here, and you’ve confused me with them.”

She stared up at him. With his impressive height, dark eyes, and thick, curling hair, he could not easily be mistaken for anybody else. Not only was he sinfully handsome, but he also had an effortless air of authority.

Perhaps that was how he’d made a success of his life. She didn’t know, and she most certainly didn’t care. Drawing herself up to her full—though not very impressive—height, she snapped, “I know what I saw. Apologies for attempting to do you a favor. I’ll make sure never to repeat my error.”

He sucked in a breath, but she didn’t wait for his next pronouncement. Instead, she marched back to Caroline, grabbed her, and pulled her off in the direction the pickpocket had taken.

“Where are we going? Why are we running down this street? This isn’t where we left the carriage. Shouldn’t we be waiting for Roland? He won’t be a moment.”

“This won’t take long. I just saw a street urchin pick a gentleman’s pocket. The man doesn’t seem concerned—as a matter of fact, he denied it. But that boy’s in danger of falling into evil ways and I need to do something.”

“Belinda, please. You cannot save every godless child in London. He’s probably part of a large family of thieves, tricksters, and cutthroats.”

Caroline tugged on her arm but Belinda freed herself. “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to, Caroline. But I would have thought that you, a teacher of orphans and abandoned children, would want to make sure that the child changes his ways before he becomes a victim of our unfair justice system. If I can catch him, and make him give the watch—or whatever it was—back, no harm will be done.”

Caroline dug her heels in and pulled Belinda to a halt. “I can’t see any movement down there. We’re on a wild goose chase.”

“Not necessarily. He may have ducked into an alleyway. Wait here, and keep an eye on me. If you stay at the corner of the street, Roland will soon find you.”

Caroline hovered uncertainly beneath the flickering glow of the streetlight. “You’re not to go into the shadows, promise me! And if you spot some injured veteran begging in an alleyway, you’re not to go near him—not all of them are as genuine as they seem. If I lose sight of you, I’ll scream, assuming you’ve been set upon by bandits.”

Belinda tilted her head. Caroline was starting to sound like Belinda herself a few months ago when she’d still been so ill. She’d been afraid of her own shadow then, and had seen little hope in anything. That was what the loss of a child did to one. Look how far she’d come since then!

She patted her friend on the shoulder. “Don’t fret, and don’t scream. I won’t be a moment.”

Smiling to herself, she hurried down the street, looking into dark doorways, peering into basement areas, and peeping over walls. She’d just approached the opening to the first alleyway where the boy might have gone to ground when she was seized roughly from behind.

Her captor spun her round, and she looked up once more into the hated, handsome face of Piers Darvill.

“Take your hands off me, or I’ll scream. Or my friend at the end of the road will do the screaming for me.”

He held her firmly by the elbows, scanning her face, while a smile tugged at the corner of his perfectly chiseled mouth. “Your friend has been instructed not to do so. She’s returning to your carriage as we speak, to join the rest of your party. That’s where you’re going, too. Allow me to escort you.”

“I have no intention of going back! I have some business to attend to which has nothing to do with you, sir.”

The smile broadened, but there was no longer any humor in it. “I know what you’re about and it makes no difference. You’re leaving with me and must think no further of pursuing the hapless child. Look.”

He produced a gold pocket watch on its chain and dangled it in front of her face. This was tucked away, and then, like some well-dressed street magician, he produced a sovereign purse. As if to prove to her that it was real, he bounced it up and down so the coins inside jingled.

Belinda just stared at him. She had no idea what to make of this behavior. She was convinced of what she’d seen, yet he was equally certain that she was mistaken. And since he appeared to still have his valuables, it looked as if she must be.

What was she supposed to do now? Apologize? Demand an apology from him for handling her roughly? Before she could find the words to do either, he’d tucked her hand over his forearm and was guiding her back to the main street.

“Whom do I have the honor of addressing?” What? How could he sound so normal under such extraordinary circumstances?

Evidently—thank heaven—he hadn’t recognized her as the kitchen maid from the Lyon’s Den. So—was there any harm in telling him who she was?

“I’m Miss Bellamy. My companion, who you seem more than happy to order about, is Miss Brent.”

“I presume you were escorted to the theater by your family or friends. Please assure me you had at least one gentleman with you. It’s not safe for young ladies to racket about the streets of London by themselves.”

Oh, but he was so pompous! Belinda tossed her head. “We are not unaccompanied. My chaperone awaits us in the carriage. He didn’t realize I had a brief errand to run.”

Darvill halted, just shy of the lamp illuminating the corner of the street. He still held her hand against his side, but at least they weren’t walking anymore. It had been decidedly unnerving, feeling the movement of his hip as he strode along the pavement, and she could tell from the touch of his arm that he was as strong as sprung steel. It was a long time since she’d been this close to a man.

Sensing his appraisal, she turned her face away, hoping that the fold of her hood would conceal her from his inquiring gaze.

“Miss Bellamy. That name rings a bell. There was a Miss Bellamy who became Lady Lamb and who is now, I believe, the Countess of Aylsham. Therefore, you must be the mysterious younger sister, and thus a relation by marriage of the Right Honorable Roland Chetwynd. Everything is clear to me now.”