Page 153 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Andrew gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Now there is an outcome I never anticipated.”

Chatham frowned at him and Andrew could read the question in his cousin’s eyes as clearly as if Sylvester had shouted it at him.

“It is not what you think,” he said quietly, holding his cousin’s gaze.

The duke’s jaw worked—as if he wanted to ask something. After a moment, he gave an abrupt nod. “I hope so,” was all he said.

“She will not marry me,” Andrew said. “And I will not force her to.”

Chatham inhaled until Andrew thought his chest might explode and then nodded grimly. “She is of age—four-and-twenty, Kathryn said”—Andrew nodded—“then the choice is her own.” He glanced at his wife who nodded without hesitation.

“The choice is hers,” she repeated firmly. “What of her family?”

“She has a maternal aunt who appears to have disowned her and, then there is a cousin who inherited her father’s title and property.” Andrew scowled as he thought about the man who’d essentially thrown Stacia out on her arse. “The reason she works is because of him. There is nobody else.”

After a moment the duchess said, “Everyone except us is in bed. If you go and wake her, I will escort her back to her chambers. It will raise far fewer questions than if she is seen with either of you at this hour.”

Andrew knew that was true, and yet it was hard to make himself agree. “Very well. Give me a quarter of an hour?”

The duke and duchess nodded.

And then Andrew turned and made the short journey back up the stairs.

***

“Sweetheart?”

Stacia smiled. She loved it when Andrew called her that. She snuggled deeper under the delightfully warm blankets, reaching for the big warm body she’d just been pressed against.

And frowned when she encountered nothing but bedding. “Andrew?” she murmured, unwilling to wake from her happy dream.

Gentle fingers carded her hair off her forehead and soft lips pressed far too briefly against hers. “Stacia, love. You need to wake up.”

“Just a little longer,” she said, grabbing his hand and tugging him closer.

His low chuckle warmed her. “I would love to crawl in beside you, but the door is open, and we must make haste to return you to your chambers while we have the opportunity.”

Stacia’s eyes flew open, and she scrambled upright, her head swiveling toward the attic door, which was indeed open. “You opened it!”

“Not exactly.” Andrew stood and the mattress shifted dramatically with the loss of his weight.

Stacia squinted up at him. “You are dressed. How long have—”

“Not long.” He gestured to the foot of the bed. “Your clothing is all there—a bit wrinkled, I’m afraid, but that cannot be helped. I found several hairpins and put them near the wash basin along with the brush and comb from the trunk. There is already hot water waiting for you in the basin. We have enough time for a quick cup of tea before we go.”

Stacia swallowed at his crisp tone and hurried to comply, realizing that Andrew must have lighted some candles while she’d slept because she had no trouble making her way to the screened area.

Her mind whirled while she washed her face, brushed and re-plaited her hair, and then dressed in everything except her boots, which must still be by the settee, where she’d shucked them so she could prowl around Andrew’s body quietly.

Stacia shoved the memory aside as she stepped outside the screen.

Andrew was already seated and setting out cups and saucers. He smiled up at her when she took a seat on the settee.

“Good news,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked, bending over to slip on her boots and button them.

“Our captor managed to keep our disappearance secret.”