Page 132 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Andrew lightly traced the gently curve of her jaw. How could anyone forget this woman? True, she was small—tiny, in fact—but she was so self-assured and seemingly self-contained, two characteristics that were rare in any person, but especially in a young woman who’d been cast out into the world by the only family she had left.

It took true strength of character to reject an offer of marriage when the alternative was working for harridans like Lady Addiscombe.

Which made him recall their current predicament. Andrew grimaced when he thought about the countess’s reaction once they finally got out of this attic.

“I could throttle you, Kathryn,” he muttered.

If he managed to break the door open and get them out tonight—which was his intention—was there any story they could concoct to justify their absence?

Andrew snorted. Christ. What sort of story could they come up with to explain a two-day absence for both of them? There simply wasn’t one.

Well, at the very least Stacia could sleep in her own bed before the circus commenced tomorrow morning. He glanced down at the woman who was as good as his wife and smiled. As much as he hated to admit it, Kathryn had chosen well for him. Never in a hundred years would he have imagined himself falling for a woman so much cleverer than him. Not that Mariah had been stupid, but they’d both been so young and in love that nothing else had mattered, certainly not mere practicalities. Would their marriage have been a happy one? Or would their physical passion have burnt out and left nothing but two people who had little in common?

Not that he had much in common with Miss Martin—other than he genuinely enjoyed being with her. Even getting drubbed in every damned game they’d played had been amusing. He liked watching her brain work far more than he cared about winning or losing. And he loved watching the joy that transformed her normally stern mien when she trounced him.

Andrew snorted. Sylvester would never believe that he had become besotted with a woman’s mind.

Besotted. Is that what he was?

He wasn’t sure that was accurate. Entranced might be better. He wanted her body—fiercely—but he wanted to see her blossom, not just for those rare moments when she forgot herself, but to bloom in a way he suspected would happen naturally when she was secure and had some stability and didn’t need to fetch and carry for a demanding harpy.

Because you are so good at creating security and stability for those you care about.

He winced at that accusation, unable to deny it. Andrew Derrick and stability had long been strangers. But a man could change, especially if he had a reason to do so. Andrew already had at least two reasons: regaining his people’s trust and his cousin’s respect. Making Miss Martin happy would be a third.

What about your discovery from earlier that she is in love with somebody else? You said you would never marry a woman who loved somebody else.

Andrew frowned at the reminder. He would just have to ask her outright. Obviously, there must be some obstacle to her love or she would not be working as a companion. For all he knew, whoever had her heart might be dead.

In any case, her reputation would be shattered after this episode. She needed a man’s protection. And it should be Andrew who offered it. She might not love him, but he knew when a woman wanted him sexually, and Miss Martin wanted him badly. What she felt for him was not love—perhaps it wasn’t even liking—but it was an opportunity. If he was careful—also not his forte—he might be able to forge something more enduring from sexual attraction.

Unless she simply rejects your offer. She rejected a peer—and a wealthy one, at that—once before, after all.

Andrew scowled surprisingly disgruntled by the thought. It had scarcely been more than a day, but he had come to like the thought of being married to her.

She clearly does not feel the same way about marrying you—she has already rejected you at least twice.

He would have expected to feel considerable relief at the thought of escaping marriage and responsibility. Instead, he felt an almost howling emptiness at the thought of leaving Wych House in another week and never seeing Miss Eustacia Martin ever again.

Good God. When had that happened? More to the point, what had happened? It wasn’t love he felt for her. It couldn’t be. It felt nothing like the feelings he’d harbored for Mariah for so long.

If not love, then what? Lust, surely, but that—at least—was an emotion he knew inside and out. This was something different.

Something more.

Something confusing.

Something more than a little alarming.

***

Stacia blinked up into a pair of smiling blue eyes, her own face immediately forming an answering smile.

She shifted and felt something beneath her that was neither a chair nor a bed. Something warm and…hard.

Stacia was still lying in Lord Shelton’s lap.

Memories of how she’d gotten there led to other memories. Of what she had done on one of his legs.