Page 97 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Selina also knew how complaining about her beauty would only irritate those around her. It hadn’t surprised him at all that she had eventually fallen in love with a man who had no idea what she looked like. A man who’d fallen in love with her rather than her appearance.

Andrew had tried to explain the problem to Sylvester years ago—long before they had fallen out over Mariah—and his cousin had scoffed. “Poor, poor, Drew! So popular with the ladies that they flock to him like pigeons.”

“And that’s what you’d like—to be swarmed by pigeons?” he had retorted.

But his cousin had only laughed.

Selina, Kathryn, Hyacinth—and now Miss Martin—were among the very few women not fooled by his face. All four had seen past his appearance to the wreck of a man beneath.

Miss Martin was staring at him, waiting for his response.

“Kathryn chose you because you hate me and that gives her no end of amusement,” he said, only partly lying.

“I do not hate you.”

“Fine, not hate, but dislike. Certainly, you are not swayed by my looks.” He shrugged, uninterested in parsing the finer points of exactly how she despised him. “Unfortunately for you, Lady Kathryn has chosen a husband for you whom she believes you cannot respect.” He gave an unamused bark of laughter. “Have you displeased her in some way to earn such treatment?” Andrew did not wait for an answer. “Disregard that question. It doesn’t matter why she engineered this. It irritates me to spend time discussing the willful chit. We are left to deal with the repercussions.” Which meant marriage, but he wasn’t going to bring that up again, not after the look of loathing she’d given him the first time he’d mentioned it. There would be ample time to discuss the subject later, when Kathryn decided to release them.

“You never answered my question about how long she will leave us here?” Miss Martin asked quietly.

He shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What is in those trunks?” she asked.

He stood and opened the lid on the first one. “Toiletries, candles, and—” Andrew dropped to his haunches and opened a very familiar red leather case. He laughed. The nerve of the girl!

“What is it?” Miss Martin asked.

“My spectacles.”

“You wear glasses?”

He cut her a sideways look. “Yes.”

“I have never seen you wear them.”

“And you shan’t today, either.” Andrew turned back to the trunk and pawed through the rest of the contents.

“You choose not to wear them because you are vain.”

He ignored the comment, only looking up when she laughed. Yet again he was taken by how different she appeared with a genuine smile rather than the prim pursing of lips that usually passed for a smile. “I’m so pleased you find my visual deficiency amusing.”

“I am not laughing because you need to wear them. I am laughing because your vanity won’t allow you to.”

Andrew closed the trunk before moving to the second one, which held a folding chessboard, spillikins, several packs of cards, a faro board, and a half dozen books.

“What is in that one?”

“Games and books.” He looked up and smiled grimly. “You asked how long I think she will keep us here? I’m guessing the answer to that is exactly as long as she likes.”

Three hours later…

Stacia eased the fourth-to-last stick from the pile without disturbing the other three, and then quickly picked up the remaining ones.

“Congratulations. You won. Again,” Lord Shelton said sourly. “May we play something else, now?”

She grinned. “Are you pouting, my lord?”

He snorted.