Page 43 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Andrew couldn’t blame her. He’d behaved like a cad.

He suspected that she was about to launch into a proper raking, but they were near enough to the stables that a lad came trotting over to take Drake’s reins and interrupted whatever she was about to say.

“Leave the horse for a moment and take the dog,” he said to the boy. “Have a care, it is injured.”

Once Miss Martin had handed over the dog, Andrew took her hand. “Use my boot again and I’ll lower you.”

Andrew was amazed by how much he missed the soft warmth of her body once it was gone.

She smoothed out her gown, as if that would rid the garment of blood and muck, and then looked up at him and—very grudgingly—said, “Thank you for helping me.”

“Shall I go with the lad and—”

“I will see to the dog, my lord.” Go away! her hostile eyes shouted.

“As you wish,” he said, and then watched as Miss Martin, the boy, and the dog disappeared into the stables.

***

By the time Stacia had finished binding the dog’s leg—with the help of not only the stable boy, Gerald, but also the kind stablemaster Mr. Higgins—settled him into a vacant stall, fetched some milk and a bone from the kitchen, and then sat with the quivering little dog until he dropped into a restless sleep, it was already past ten o’clock. She hurried up to her quarters to change before heading to Lady Addiscombe.

It was the friendly maid Dora who delivered her hot water. “Goodness!” she said when she saw Stacia’s gown. “What happened?”

Stacia told her about the dog—leaving out Lord Shelton’s rescue—and then said, “I don’t suppose there is anything that can be done to save the dress?”

“You leave it to me, Miss.”

“Thank you, Dora.” Stacia quickly stripped off the gown, politely declined the maid’s help to dress, and then donned her dark brown morning dress, the newest of any of her clothing.

She paused to regard her reflection in the mirror. The gown was suitable and the color was not unattractive on her.

But it is, undeniably, drab.

She scowled at her reflection as she speedily unpinned, brushed, and then re-plaited her hair. There. That was good enough. As good as she ever looked.

As she made her way toward Lady Addiscombe’s chambers Stacia told herself to forget Lord Shelton and anything he’d said. Unfortunately, her body clung to the man as tenaciously as her brain and kept reminding her of what it had felt like to be pressed up against his gorgeous body as tightly as paint on a wall.

Even through all the layers of clothing she’d felt the warmth of hard muscles, his far bigger body easily enclosing hers, his strong arms gently but firmly holding—

Enough. Stacia gritted her teeth against the distracting clenching between her thighs.

She had been a fool to not take Lady Addiscombe’s side and encourage Lord Needham to banish Shelton from the property. The man was an unrepentant menace.

You should banishyourself from the property. Lord Shelton did nothing untoward this morning other than be exceedingly helpful and proper.

Stacia hated the accusation. He had behaved like a gentleman.

And that is why you’re so miffed. You were expecting him to importune you or carry you off to the border.

No, actually, I wasn’t. You forget that I heard his brutal assessment of me three nights ago. You forget—

Stacia pulled a face when she realized she was arguing with her own mind and scratched softly on the door before opening it.

The room was black—so black that somebody must have covered the windows because not even a sliver of light was showing.

“My lady?” she asked, hesitating on the threshold.

“Don’t shout so, Martin.” Stacia didn’t immediately recognize the croaky husk of a voice as Lady Addiscombe’s. “I have a dreadful migraine.”