Page 75 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

While Andrew doubted Lady Kathryn would eat a live tomcat, which had been one of Barrymore’s more shocking wagers, he could see from the desperate glitter in her eyes that there were few self-imposed limits on her behavior.

Do. Not. Provoke. Her, a voice in his head commanded.

“Why don’t you go talk to her instead of yearning from afar?” the object of his terrified ruminations demanded. “Ask her to dance. That is why we are here.”

For once, Andrew refused to be drawn by her baiting.

“What? Is the big, brave war hero afraid to ask a downtrodden dab of—”

“Would you please keep your voice down,” Andrew hissed.

“Nobody can hear me.” She laughed, a warm throaty laugh that should have been appealing, but instead reminded him of how he’d felt when he’d heard artillery that was miles closer than it should have been.

“Is this revenge, Kathryn?”

“Revenge?” Her eyebrows shot up and she looked genuinely confused. “For what?”

“For abducting your sister?”

Kathryn scoffed. “Selina can take care of herself. If she wanted a pound of flesh, trust me, she would take it.”

Andrew did not doubt that for a moment.

She leaned forward. “I know all about Sarah Creighton.”

“What do you think you know?” Andrew asked, after a few seconds of slack-jawed shock. He knew that he should shut his mouth. But, once again, he could not seem to stop himself.

“You know what I know.”

“Why don’t you tell me, anyhow?”

She laughed.

Andrew struggled for patience.

“Oh dear,” she said.

“What?”

“Look.” She gestured to where Dixon was helping Miss Martin into her coat. “It seems that you missed what is often called a golden opportunity, Shelton.”

Andrew wanted to say something clever and flip, but as he watched Dixon lay his hand on Miss Martin’s lower back and guide her out of the church hall, he was forced to accept that Kathryn, for all her youth and inexperience was in this instance painfully correct.

He should have asked Miss Martin to dance.

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