Page 40 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

She hesitated, but then gently lifted the little dog.

“No squirming,” Andrew admonished, cradling the dog in one arm and offering his other hand to Miss Martin, who ignored it and pushed to feet with a harsh intake of breath that told him her legs had probably fallen asleep.

He gestured to the fallen tree trunk. “Sit for a moment and allow the feeling to return.”

“No, I am ready.”

“I want to dispose of the trap first,” he said, handing her the dog.

“Oh. I’d forgotten about that.”

Andrew found the nasty piece of metal and used the hard heel of his riding boot to crush the trap, over and over and over, until it was so bent and twisted it could never be repaired.

He looked up to find Miss Martin watching him with wide eyes.

“I loathe those things,” he said, feeling his face heat a bit in the cold morning air. “It is a coward’s way to kill and oftentimes the poor animal languishes for hours or days before the hunter returns.”

She nodded.

“My horse isn’t far,” he said after an awkward moment. “I can take you both back.”

“On your horse?”She looked so scandalized that one would have thought Andrew had just informed her they were heading for the Scottish border. “I can walk, my lord. It is not—”

“I was riding for almost a quarter of an hour, Miss Martin. It will take you at least twice as long afoot.”

She opened her mouth, clearly bent on arguing, but then heaved an exasperated sigh and said, “Oh, very well,” employing the ungracious tone of a person who was doing him a favor.

Andrew was amused by her prickly nature. How did she manage to efface herself to Lady Addiscombe when she was so combative? Or perhaps it was only Andrew who brought it out of her?

The little dog bore the jostling in stoic silence, and they reached his horse without any fuss from either his canine or human companion.

Andrew turned to the woman and saw that she was gazing up at the big gelding with an uncertain look. “Don’t worry—he looks big, but he is a gentle giant and shan’t hurt you.”

She pulled her gaze from the gelding to glare up at him. “I am not afraid of horses, my lord.”

He grinned at her withering tone. “No, of course not. I will mount and then you can hand him up.”

Still looking dubious, she nodded.

Once Andrew was astride, he leaned low and scooped the dog up with a minimum of squirming, holding it as he’d done before.

He turned to Miss Martin and extended his free hand. “Take my hand and put your foot on my boot.”

Her brow furrowed and she bit her lower lip, a lip he couldn’t help noticing was nicely plush in contrast to her far slimmer upper lip.

After studying him for a moment, she set her gloved hand in his and lifted her foot.

“The other one,” he said.

The furrows in her forehead deepened briefly before a sheepish look flickered across her features. “Oh.”

She was small—indeed, tiny was a more fitting word—but as stiff as a plank, which made it awkward to maneuver her with only one arm. Still, Andrew managed to get her hip onto the saddle.

“Take our patient,” he said, shifting so she could collect the dog. Once she had, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, until she was securely tucked between his thighs. She might be small, but she had a pleasingly full, soft backside.

His brain wasn’t the only part of him to take note of how nice she felt, and warmth pooled in his groin. Christ! He had definitely been without a woman for too long if a plush arse was enough to get him excited.

She whimpered.