Page 10 of The Boxer’s Belle

“You invited West?” Bella’s voice rang, clear and shrill, through the thin plaster wall. Another delightful discovery of the morning—his room was directly beside hers. But he hadn’t thought he might hear⁠—

“Bella…” Ben grumbled.

“I cannot believe you!”

“He is my friend. And you got on well enough last year. I thought you ironed out your differences.”

“Our differences?”

West winced when she hit a heretofore undiscovered pitch.

“Last year was a temporary ceasefire. Are you arranging another life-or-death situation?”

“Absolutely not.” His voice was strangled.

“Then why would you invite him? And until Christmas?”

“His parents live here. You can hardly ban him from the county. It’s done now.”

Her only response was a wordless grunt before the door banged shut again.

West was a pillock—a selfish pillock. He’d known what kind of reception awaited him, and he’d come anyway. Because when he was nettling Bella, he wasn’t numb. Breathing the same air as her—his skin heated and his heart pounded. In her presence, his fingers ached, not from the years in the ring, but to cup her cheek and waist. Her spicy scent left him weak-kneed and desperate.

A knock sounded on his door. He was unsurprised to find Benedict when he opened it. West gestured for them to leave the room. Bella wouldn’t be pleased to learn he was next door—and she’d certainly hear any conversation the same way he had.

“The food is ready. Mrs. Rowe made a proper feast.”

“You’ve a cook now?” West asked.

Benedict nodded, an excited grin on his face.

“I need a wealthy wife,” West mused.

“Find yourself an heiress, my friend.” Ben clapped a hand on West’s shoulder and guided him into the morning room. The table was laden with food, sagging beneath the weight of sausage, eggs, sticky buns, porridge, and fruit. “In all seriousness, the insurance and Wayland’s support more than covered the repairs. And without Father gambling away every cent we’ve brought in, the estate nets a tidy profit—enough for a respectable staff at least.”

West nodded and took a seat beside Ben. Eliza swept into the room in a flurry of reddish-purple skirts and settled in beside her husband. She was a sweet girl and rather pretty. He’d never have chosen her for Ben, but she softened his friend—centered him.

“West! I trust you slept well?” she asked in a breezy tone.

“Yes, thank you.” He heaped a bountiful assortment of food onto his plate. “Though I intend to cut my trip a fair bit shorter.”

“Is this about my sister?” Ben asked.

“This is her home. I don’t mean to take it from her⁠—”

“Do not adjust your plans on my account.” Bella’s cool voice washed over him from behind. West waited, breath caught, until she sat next to him before chancing a glance.

She’d done herself up, pretty as a picture—she usually did when she knew he’d be around. Bella suffered from no false modesty. She was breathtaking, and she knew it. Nor she wasn’t shy about wielding her beauty for her own ends.

But she refused to look at him. Instead, she studiously piled her plate high with a sticky bun and fresh berries. The sight had him biting back a smile; she’d always had a taste, too rarely indulged, for sweet things.

“Well, if you want me to stay…”

As expected, the comment drew her gaze. Her lips twisted into a fetching pout. He longed to taste it.

“I could not possibly care less what you do, Weston.”

“Then it’s settled. I’ll stay. Perhaps until Easter, if you’ll have me, Lady Blackwood?” West directed the last question to Benedict’s wife.