Page 152 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 31

Andrew was having a lovely dream. It was nothing specific, just a sense of comfort and rightness. He also felt strangely…light, as if a pallet of bricks had been lifted off his chest.

Odd, that. Because not until that moment had he even noticed how heavy his heart had felt.

He opened his eyes and was temporarily disoriented. First, by the strange bed and slanted roof he could see above him.

And then by the small body that so tightly knitted to his.

Stacia.

He smiled just thinking the name and glanced down at the head burrowed into his chest. Her breathing was that of a person in deep sleep.

And she felt utterly delicious.

Unfortunately, he needed to use the chamber pot.

He also needed to begin working on the attic door, even though he hated the thought of damaging it. But…needs must.

Andrew kissed her head and carefully extricated himself from her tight embrace. He covered her with the blanket, turned toward the screen, and then almost leapt out of his skin when he saw a man in the wingchair he had begun to think of as his.

Chatham.

After a quick glance at the door—which was open—he searched for his drawers in the tangle of clothing on the floor, slipped into them, and went behind the screen to take care of business before washing his hands and face in cold water and facing his cousin.

The duke looked up at him without speaking, his expression weary in the light of the guttering candle.

Andrew dressed without speaking, donning everything except his cravat and boots. He shoved the former in his pocket and picked up the latter before walking quietly toward the door.

Rather than stand in the suffocating stairwell, he descended to the corridor below. The instant he stepped outside the linen closet he saw he was not alone. The duchess waited, arms crossed over her chest, her expression as unreadable as ever. When she pushed off the wall and strode toward the secret stairwell he shook his head.

“She is sleeping.” He pulled out his watch. It was far earlier than he thought—barely two o’clock. “I will wake her shortly.”

The duchess looked as if she wanted to argue, but gave an abrupt nod as the duke joined her.

Andrew bent to pull on his boot and asked his cousin, “How did you find us?”

“Kathryn told us.”

Andrew’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not voluntarily,” the duke added.

“I assume the house has been in an uproar searching for us? Or did they assume we headed for the border?”

“Neither. Nobody even knew you were missing.”

Andrew paused in the act of pulling on his second boot. “But…how?”

“Kathryn is devious, I must give her that.” Sylvester chuckled, received a look of disbelief from his wife, and then quickly smothered his amusement and said, “She made it seem that you’d gone to look at a horse somewhere and that Miss Martin was bedridden with a terrible cold.”

“And nobody noticed or bothered to check on her?” His gaze slid to the duchess. “Not even her employer?”

“My mother is a hypochondriac and feared catching whatever had forced Miss Martin to take to her bed.”

“So… nobody knows but you two?”

They both nodded.