Page 90 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 18

Andrew glared daggers at the door, as if it might slide open if he stared long and hard enough.

“I am sorry, my lord.”

He turned and faced his unwilling companion.

Miss Martin’s lips were tightly pursed, and her cheeks were stained with dark red splotches.

“What are you apologizing for?” he asked.

“It was unkind of me to say that you had arranged all this.”

Andrew opened his mouth to tell her it did not matter, but she was not finished.

“It was also foolish. After all, what could I possibly have to offer that would cause a man to lure me into such an indiscretion?”

He barked an unamused laugh at her backhanded apology. “According to my detractors I don’t need a reason.”

Andrew turned away from her and strode down the length of the room.

He flipped open the lids on the hampers; both were filled to the brim with food, enough to last several days. Beside the fireplace was a coal scuttle with ample fuel for a protracted blaze.

In addition to the food, blankets, and furniture, there was off to the side a rather modern-looking three-fold screen with a close stool tucked behind it.

Whoever had staged this had certainly thought of everything.

Andrew heard the scuff of a shoe and turned to find Miss Martin staring at the bed, her arms wrapped around her body, as if she were cold.

He scooped up more coal and tossed it onto the fire.

They might as well make themselves comfortable, because he suspected they would be there a while.

***

Stacia felt like a toad.

Even an idiot could see that Lord Shelton had been appalled when the door had slid shut, locking them both in.

Instead of snapping at her when she’d accused him of masterminding the episode, he’d merely looked resigned. And very weary.

And then she had compounded her bad behavior with her insulting apology.

Apologize. And be sincere, this time.

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling chilled to the bone, although not by the weather.

Shelton was building up the fire, his back to her.

Stacia chewed her lip, unable to look away from the bed. It was simple in construction, almost monastic, the bedding a soft white cloud.

And there was only one.

She swallowed and briefly closed her eyes, as if that could contain the emotions that were swirling inside her—fear, joy, excitement, anxiety and more—the sensations pulling her in a dozen directions, like the tug of conflicting waves striking a beach. The resulting undercurrents created a vortex that threatened to overwhelm her, just like the lethal drag of an undertow.

I get to spend time with Lord Shelton! I do not need to share him with anyone else!

Mine! Mine! Mine!