Page 82 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“You do not pull your punches, do you. No—no, I will answer,” he added when she began to make sounds of retracting her question. “My cousin asked me to come, as did his wife. They made the argument that our families are now joined so there should be no ill feelings. I had apologized to Lady Shaftsbury before—in a letter as she did not wish to receive me in person at the time—but I felt I owed her a face-to-face apology.”

She nodded.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me? I am here because my employer is here.”

“Your family must be missing you.”

“There is nobody else.”

The way the muscles in her face tightened told him the subject was a sore one and Andrew decided not to pursue it.

Instead, he stopped in a wide, paneled corridor and glanced around. “The door is here…somewhere,” he murmured, pushing on the scrolling and trying to recall where the catch was hidden.

“A hidden door?”

He smiled at the excitement in her voice. “Yes. The idea was to keep the armory a secret from any enemies.”

“How do you know about the door?”

“Lord Needham took Chatham and me on a tour and delighted in showing us Wych House’s many, many secrets.” The tip of his tongue poked out and his brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to feel the panel. “I could swear it was—ah!” He pushed a carved acorn and there was a dull click and the panel swung inward.

Miss Martin peered into the gloom. “It looks as if somebody lighted the sconces, but it is still rather dark.”

“Allow me to go first.” He stepped onto the small landing and cast a glance down the wide stone stairs. “Yes, it is lighted all the way down.”

“Should I shut this panel?” she asked.

“You’d better leave it open. There is a mechanism on this side to open it, but it will take some doing to find it. Hold onto this rope railing while you descend.” The stairs had a very gentle curve, one that would not impede moving weaponry up and down and were wide enough for four men to walk abreast.

When they reached the bottom the massive iron-strapped door was already propped open and there was a table on the far side of the room, complete with a candelabra and large bowl, although no footman was seated beside it. “We’re obviously in the right place.”

“Look at those.” She pointed to the suits of armor that ran along one wall as they crossed the vast, low-ceilinged room. “This is an impressive collection.”

“They actually belong to Needham, not Addiscombe,” Andrew said. “His father collected them. You might have heard of him—Iron Mad Needham?”

“He was responsible for inventing some sort of gun, wasn’t he?”

“Something like that, yes. He gave the patent to the Crown.”

“That is why he received his title, is it not?”

Andrew chuckled. “Yes, but it is not done to say it so baldly.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“I am only teasing you.”

She scowled up at him, faint candlelight casting a warm glow over her features.

“Don’t you like to be teased, Miss Martin?”

Andrew knew he shouldn’t, but the way she was staring up at him…

He reached down and lightly caressed the gentle curve of her jaw with the back of his fingers.

Her lips parted and she drew in a ragged breath. “What are—”