Page 21 of The Boxer’s Belle

CHAPTER 6

Calloused hands worked their way between her thighs, dragging them eagerly open. An impossibly hot mouth traced the line of her throat. Bella’s sex clenched in anticipation⁠—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Bella groaned, a hand dragging down her too-warm face.

“Lady Bella?” Tamsin called through the door.

“Just a moment,” she replied, voice tight, and a little graveled.

She hadn’t anticipated this side effect of West’s presence. In all her fretting, the idea of waking flushed with thoughts of their long-forgotten encounter hadn’t occurred to her. While it was infinitely more pleasurable than shooting upright on a petrified gasp, she wasn’t certain she preferred it.

With a sigh, she rose and donned her robe. “Come in.”

Bella’s lady’s maid slipped inside and pressed the door closed behind her. “Are you well, my lady? You’re never still abed at this hour.”

Bella bit her tongue against the instinctual snap; Tamsin had no way of knowing what she’d interrupted. And Bella knew that nothing worthwhile lay at the end of that dream. Well, it had been shaping up to be a rather pleasurable dream, but she already struggled to keep the blush from her cheeks in West’s presence.

“Perfectly well, thank you. How is the weather today?”

“Chilly this morning. But no hint of rain.”

“The moss velvet then, I think. With the russet trim.”

Tamsin nodded and pulled the dress from Bella’s wardrobe. The velvet had worn thin in places, but they would take advantage of the weather to plant Eliza’s flowers that day. She could excuse it as not wanting to ruin a newer dress. That the neckline gaped when she turned in certain directions was an added benefit.

West may drive her to madness, but he was just as affected by her. It was astonishing how quickly her awareness of him had returned.

Once dressed, she slipped into the morning room to find the now-familiar cup of tea.

“Thank you for this, Tamsin,” she called out to the maid before taking a sip. The brew wasn’t piping hot, but it was still warm, boiled with a pinch of lavender and splashed with milk and a dollop of the dark, late-season honey, just as she preferred.

“Oh, I didn’t leave that, my lady. I think it was— Well…”

Bella’s tongue darted between her lips to lick off the final dollop. “Weston,” she finished.

The maid nodded before continuing her shuffle down the hall.

Bella set the cup back down on the table beside her favorite chair, contemplating it. She should have known—a part of her probably had—because no one had ever made her a cup of tea that perfect. Save West.

Ben stepped into the room, interrupting her conflicted contemplation—looking like death. Dark circles lined his eyes, and his hair was bedraggled.

“She’s still unwell this morning. It has been a week,” he murmured by way of explanation. “I’m sending for a physician tomorrow if she is not improved. She may be as cross with me as she likes.”

Bella privately thought Eliza’s plan to keep the truth from Benedict as long as possible was a good one—he would fret something fierce once he discovered she was with child. The longer they could delay the inevitable anxiety, the better. But her brother loved his wife. She could put him off only so long without another explanation.

Ben looked at her askance. Bella could offer only a raised brow and pressed lips for the besotted fool to interpret however he wished.

She took another unthinking sip of tea. Damn him, it was perfection. Precisely brewed and thoughtfully accompanied. She set it back against the saucer with a clank.

“What’d it do to you?” Ben asked.

She rolled her eyes as West stepped into the room.

“Is Eliza joining us?” he asked.

“No, she’s unwell again this morning, though she was improved yesterday evening. I’m sending for Pryor tomorrow if she’s not well.”