Page 27

Better get this over quickly. “Have you told the Tragos of our engagement?”

“I have, but I’ve couched it in such terms that they won’t be surprised when they hear it’s been broken off.”

“Speaking ill of me already? You wound me, my dear! That’s not at all the way to go about it.

To the rest of the world, ours is a love match.

Certainly, my father will think so, and my mother will hope most earnestly that such is the case.

So please don’t start acting as if we’re incompatible before we’ve even told the world of our engagement. ”

Here, in this warm, confined space, he could hear the rhythm of her breathing, perhaps faster than normal—was he upsetting her?

“You want me to pretend to be in love with you?”

He tried not to be offended by the horror in her voice. “Yes. Give me your hand.”

After a pause, he felt the touch of her hand on his knee, so he pressed his fingers between hers, brought her hand to his lips, and kissed it.

“There—that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I suppose not.”

He didn’t release her. It would be good for her to get used to his touch.

“Any man might kiss a lady’s hand, though. It doesn’t mean he loves her.”

His eyebrows shot up. Was she asking for some other demonstration?

“Ah, but there’s not much that can be done in front of an audience, is there? Although holding hands like this under the table, or at the opera, or even when dancing, is a sign of something more than mere acquaintance.”

Still maintaining his grip on Belinda’s hand, he lay back against the pillows. “What were you reading when I interrupted you?”

“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. ..

There was another sigh, and he ran a thumb over her lips. “I can’t tell if that’s a happy mouth or a dismal one. Would you rather I held you?”

“My mouth is neutral. As for being held, you were very kind to me in the churchyard, and I found comfort in your arms. But I’m afraid if I let you do it again, the dam will break, and my woes will pour forth in a torrent.”

“Right. I have an idea. I’ll retrieve your candle, and let’s get off the bed.”

As soon as the lighted candle was set in a sconce, Piers stoked up the fire and fed it enough wood to create a cheerful blaze.

“How much better a wood fire smells than a coal one.”

Belinda, rosy-cheeked and certainly not being a watering pot, gave him a quizzical look. “I’ve thought that myself.”

“Perhaps you are cut out to be a country lass after all, not a town one.”

“Oh, Forty Court is virtually rural, but with a good road to London. Can one not have the best of both worlds?”

He supposed that he already did. Would she enjoy his kind of life?

“Now, then, Mr. Darvill, what are we doing next?”

Gazing at her in the flickering light of the fire, with her hair flowing loose about her shoulders, and her tempting curves outlined in shadow, he knew what the answer ought to be. He bit back the words, and instead, brought his heels together and gave her a smart bow.

“May I request your hand for this dance?”

She stared at him for a moment, dumbstruck, then frowned.

“I am trying to amuse you, my sweet. And you have no idea as yet what your fiancé, Piers Darvill, is like as a companion, a suitor, or a dance partner. I shall hum a waltz tune—I assume you know how to waltz?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You really are the most extraordinary man. How can I dance with a wounded ankle?”

“A compliment from you at last! And don’t worry—we won’t need your ankle.” He felt a heady satisfaction as he stepped toward her and lifted her into his arms. When her hands went around his neck, a surge of need buffeted him, unbalancing him with its impact. “Belinda, I—”

“You have bare feet. How can you dance with no shoes on?”

With an effort, Piers brought himself back to earth. “You have bare feet as well,” he pointed out, his breath catching. God forbid she should feel the trembling in his body—what had happened to all his masculine self-assurance?

“Let us begin.” He buried himself in the waltz, concentrating on remembering the tune, maintaining the tempo and managing the steps as well. Belinda felt perfect in his arms, and he knew if they’d had an audience, it would be applauding them, congratulating them on being the perfect couple.

“I suppose I ought to gaze into your eyes, if I’m meant to care for you.”

Not daring to answer lest he lose the tune, he nodded, and grinned. Unfortunately, Belinda’s acting was so convincing, it was all he could do not to clamp her against his chest and kiss her until she begged for breath.

He gazed down, losing himself in the blue depths of her eyes. Unable to help himself, he nuzzled against her cheek, and found her lips.

“To hell with waltzing.” He knew his kiss was not gentle, but she didn’t wriggle away. He drank from her mouth with a thirst that staggered him, and all the carefully erected barriers around his heart crumbled to dust. This was more than just lust...

Belinda squeezed his shoulder and pulled back, breaking the kiss. “Very convincing, Mr. Darvill. I quite understand why everyone in town has you down for a rake.”

He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Do you think I’m playing games with you, Belinda?”

“Of course. We both are, aren’t we? I hope we can make our falling out of love as convincing as our falling in love.’

The heat of the fire no longer reached him, and the shadows gathered closer. Not looking at her, he said, “It’s getting late and the room is chilly. Go back to bed. We’ll talk again in the morning.”

Not that he had any idea what he was going to say. But he had to get out of Belinda’s chamber now before he uttered any word that was likely to come back to bite him.

As he closed the door on an astonished-looking Belinda, he realized he’d had a very lucky escape. Had she not poured cold water on the flames of his passion, who knew what might have happened?

Perhaps this fake engagement wasn’t such a good idea, after all. He was going to have to think of something else. And he would no doubt think better, and more calmly, if he put a few hundred miles between himself and Miss Belinda Bellamy.

He would return to London at dawn.