Page 185 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“I’m so sorry, Andrew,” she said, unwilling to forgive her suspicious mind as quickly as he did.

“You are forgiven. Just promise me you won’t think such a thing again?”

“I promise.”

“Good. Because I am yours. And you are mine. I don’t want any other woman, Stacia.” He hesitated, met her eyes with an unsmiling look, and said, “For years I have cultivated a reputation as a heartless rake, but—like so much of my behavior—most of what I did was engineered to irk Sylvester.” He lightly stroked her cheek, his eyes flickering over her face.

His expression shifted until he looked almost tentative.

“What is it?” she asked, a tendril of fear snaking through her.

“There is something else. Something I did not want to mention when you told me I had met you before—often. I didn’t say anything at the time because it seemed too self-serving.” He pulled a wry face. “It is also an unpleasant subject for me. I have known for a long time that I must have sustained more than hearing loss when I, er, got my bell rung. I often forget things, Stacia—people, faces, names. I do better if there is more than just a brief introduction. Conversations of any length seem to—to set a person in my mind, for lack of a better term. I should have confessed my problem before we marr—”

She cupped his face with both hands and brought him lower for a kiss.

“Mmm,” he hummed when she practiced some of his own tricks on him. When she pulled away, his eyes were heavy-lidded. “What was that for?”

“Because I wanted to kiss you.”

He smiled. “That is an excellent impulse. You must always surrender to it. Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he asked, his teasing tone telling her that the question was not a memory lapse.

“You did. Twice.”

“Here is a third time: you look utterly gorgeous.” He cocked his head. “Are you hungry?”

Stacia blinked at the change of subject. “Er, no.”

“Do you want to play a game of Dictionary?”

She gave a startled laugh. “No.”

His nostril flared slightly. “Are you ready for bed?”

Her face scalded under his knowing look. “Ye—”

He lunged to his feet before the word was all the way out.

Stacia laughed as he carried her toward the bed, all but sprinting.

***

Andrew loved hearing Stacia laugh almost as much as he loved hearing her pant, gasp, and whimper.

He had been looking forward to tonight for days, but he also felt a certain tension. She was a virgin, after all.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, as he set her down on the bed.

“A little. But I trust you.”

Christ! The woman knew how to grab his heart. Andrew suddenly recalled a conversation they’d had in this very room, in this bed. Lord. How much did she know? How much didn’t she know? “Are there any, er, questions that I can answer?”

“Oh. You mean about what is going to happen?”

Andrew nodded. “You told me that nobody tells young women about, er, sexual matters.”

Her cheeks darkened. “Lady Needham spoke to me last night.”

Andrew felt a rush of relief. As much as he adored filthy pillow talk, he had not relished having to describe such an intimacy in practical terms. “Ah. Good. Excellent. I daresay she knows what she is talking about.”