Page 115 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“No,” he said, and then rolled both their bodies to the side. “I cheated,” he said, caressing her cheek with one hand, finding strands of hair in the darkness and tucking them behind her ear.

“What do you mean?”

“My minute was up a while ago.”

Stacia closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into his palm, wishing he had gone on cheating.

What was wrong with her to think such brazen thoughts? It had to be the darkness; it was far too easy to forget herself—to forget who he was—in the dark.

You want this. The darkness only gives you an excuse to act on your desire.

She felt him move and then the soft pressure of lips on the tip of her nose. “This is a dangerous game we are playing,” he murmured in the darkness. “Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he said, reaching over her to pull the blankets up over her.

Disappointment, as sharp as any dagger, sliced through her and she forced herself to say, “Good night, my lord,” before rolling onto her other side and staring into the darkness, listening to Lord Shelton’s breathing as it far too quickly turned deep and regular.

Stacia envied him; she would never sleep. This had easily been the most exciting night of her life.

And the most unbelievable.

Stacia felt inside her ear, smiling foolishly when she imagined a dampness remained from his playful, silly behavior.

Unwanted memories of all those ballrooms, when she had watched the man beside her glide about with female after female, assaulted her brain. She had always known he was an accomplished flirt. Hadn’t she watched him charm every woman he had given even a moment of his time? Making them laugh as he had just done with her?

Stacia chewed her lip, her stomach boiling like a witch’s cauldron. She could marry him. He was determined to do what he felt was the right thing.

It warmed her heart that he was not a heartless cad.

You wouldn’t have cared if he had been as bad as he’s been painted; you would still want to marry him.

That was true, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t pleased to be wrong about his character.

He might be innocent—or even noble—when it comes to Sarah Creighton, but what about Lady Shaftsbury?

Stacia did not know what had ensued between Shelton and the beautiful marchioness, but she would not be so quick to judge him as she had been in the past. Besides, if Lady Shaftsbury and her family had forgiven him—all except Lady Addiscombe—who was she to bear a grudge?

She believed that he was determined to marry her. Stacia suspected that beneath his light, teasing manner was a will of iron. Something told her that Andrew Derrick would not be swayed from his purpose once he had made up his mind.

The thought of being such a man’s wife made her shiver with excitement, desire, and—could there even be a twinge of hope in her breast?

It is easy to be hopeful when it is only the two of you in this attic. But what happens when you leave? What happens when you find yourself in a ton ballroom with a husband who plies his irresistible charm on every other woman? Women more beautiful and seductive than you could ever be.

Stacia swallowed down the lump in her throat, or at least she tried to, but it refused to budge. Just because he insists on marriage does not mean I have to agree.

You will never be able to deny him. Don’t lie to yourself.

Could she say no to him?

She did not know.

***

Stacia shifted. Or at least she tried to, but something heavy and burning hot was draped over her back and shoulder and hip. She opened her eyes, but no light came from the window that overlooked the gardens.

She blinked, confused.

And then her memory of the night before came back to her. There was no window because she was in the priest hole.

With Lord Shelton.