Page 24 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

The marquess made his way to the settee with the use of his cane and lowered himself beside his wife, who continued to stare at Andrew, keeping him standing like a supplicant for at least a minute before saying, “Lord Shelton.”

Andrew was impressed by how much scorn she could inject into just two words. As he studied her beautiful face, he realized she wasn’t the same soft kitten he’d abducted last summer. She had been a girl—regardless of the fact that she’d been at least twenty—last Season. Now she was all woman and had fully come into her own. Andrew doubted he would have meddled with this woman if he’d met her last spring.

Lady Shaftsbury inclined her head. “Have a seat, Shelton.”

Andrew flipped back his coat tails before lowering into the big armchair across from the couple, not sure whether he should be flattered or alarmed that she was allowing him to sit rather than kneel.

“I was astounded when my sister wrote to me about you coming to my family’s home for Christmas.”

He’d not believed his face could get hotter, but the cool mockery in her tone made him feel an inch tall. “You were not the only one astounded,” he admitted, smiling wryly.

She merely stared, unmoved by his attempt at humor.

Andrew discarded any hope of charming her. “In the main, I came here because my cousin asked me to. But I also came because I wanted to see you; to apologize to your face for the wrong I did you.” When he paused, she gave a slight gesture for him to continue. “I am profoundly grateful that you were not irreparably damaged by my actions. I don’t expect your forgiveness. You have already been more than generous just giving me this hearing and I thank you for that.” Andrew stood. “I won’t take any more of your time.” He nodded at the marquess, recalled the man couldn’t see and murmured a quiet, “My lord,” and then turned on his heel.

“Lord Shelton.” He had just reached for the door handle when her voice stopped him.

He forced himself to turn. “Yes, my lady?”

“I stopped being mad at you a long time ago, right after I met Shaftsbury for the first time.” Her expression softened as she reached over and took her husband’s far larger hand, entwining their fingers. Her lips suddenly quirked into a mischievous smile, this one more like the innocent young woman he’d known before. “Perhaps it wasn’t the first time I met him, but surely by the third or fourth.”

Shaftsbury laughed. “Thank you, my dear.” He lifted his wife’s hand to his lips, the love on his face so raw that Andrew felt shaken.

He jerked his gaze away from the other man and inclined his head to the marchioness. “Thank you. You are very generous, my lady. Far more than I deserve.”

“I have one question, Lord Shelton.”

“Of course.”

“If the duke had not fallen in with your plans, would you have abandoned me like you did Miss Sarah Creighton?”

Her soft words were like a knife to his belly. And not entirely unexpected, nor undeserved.

“It was my plan that we would marry regardless of what happened, my lady.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, and then nodded. “I believe you. And I also forgive you.”

Andrew gaped, too dumbfounded to do more than say, “Thank you, my lady.”

“I forgive you, but I cannot say the same for my family.” She paused and then added, “Especially my mother.” She gave him a look that was almost pitying. “Lady Addiscombe does not yet know you are here. I am afraid you have a confrontation awaiting you that will be far more unpleasant than this one has been.”

Andrew felt like running down to the stables, hopping on Drake, and riding away as fast as his horse would carry him. Instead, he nodded and said, “It is no less than I deserve.”

Lady Shaftsbury laughed. “Oh, trust me, my lord, nobody—and I mean nobody—deserves my mother’s wrath.”

***

If Stacia hadn’t been hurrying so fast, and not looking where she was going, she would have seen the large man who stepped out of a door right in front of her.

But she was hurrying—her mind on her disgruntled employer rather than what she was doing—and so she plowed right into the man, the impact slamming a yelp from her and a low, masculine “Ooof!” from her victim.

It was like running into a wall and she bounced back, arms flailing as she struggled to stay upright.

Big hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her.

Stacia craned her neck until she could see the face of her savior.

The world seemed to shift on its axis.