Page 51 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“It was. But it also turned out to be a very good place for me.”

“How long did you serve?”

“Almost eight years.”

“A long time.”

That was one way to put it. Andrew changed the subject. “How about you? How many Seasons did you spend in London?”

She laughed and Andrew happened to be looking at her when she did so. It transformed her from moderately attractive to startlingly pretty. “What is so amusing?” he asked.

“Just that you asked about London Seasons right after I asked you how many years you’d been in the army.”

Andrew smiled. “Yes, I suppose that speaks to a rather telling mental connection. So, how many?”

“Just the one.”

“And did you—”

“Shelton!” Kathryn skated up alongside them, twin blonde women on her far side and a trio of dark-haired young women trailing in her wake. Andrew bit back a groan.

“Kathryn, how delightful,” he said flatly, wanting to strangle her for interrupting what had been a pleasurable tête-à-tête.

Her green eyes twinkled maliciously. “My neighbors desperately wish to make your acquaintance. I told them it would be anticlimactic—that you were better enjoyed from afar—but they insisted.”

“Kathryn!” the blondes exclaimed in horrified unison.

Andrew turned to Miss Martin. “Let us move off to the side as we are impeding traffic.”

She nodded, an anxious notch forming between her large brown eyes.

“Do you remember how to stop?” he asked. “You just push your toes slowly together,” he said before she could answer.

“Push my toes together,” she muttered, watching her feet. A smile slowly spread over her face as they came to a halt.

Andrew waited until they’d fully halted and Miss Martin had released his arm before turning to Kathryn and her friends. He recognized their eager, adoring looks and suppressed a sigh, his mask already sliding into place. “And who are these delightful young ladies?” he asked, smiling from face to face.

The twins giggled immoderately, and Kathryn gave Andrew a wry smile. “Miss Lowery and Miss Susannah Lowery are our neighbors—Sir Thomas and Lady Lowery’s daughters—and these ladies,” she gracefully slid aside and gestured to the other three, “are their cousins who are visiting. Miss Moore, Miss Arabella Moore, and Miss Coraline Moore.” Her smile grew. “All of them begged me to introduce them to the most notorious rake in England.”

Her last words were drowned out by the protests of the five young women, who were clearly mortified.

“We did not say that, my lord,” one of the twins insisted—he’d already forgotten which was which.

Andrew gave the flustered young women a reassuring smile. “I recognize Lady Kathryn’s words when I hear them. I am charmed to meet all of you.” Now skate away, he wanted to add.

Unfortunately, rather than move off, more young people drifted up.

Bloody hell.

Lord Bellamy, the two lads he’d brought with him—whose names Andrew had already forgotten—and Bellamy’s little blonde familiar, Miss Lucy, skated up.

“I say, Miss Martin,” Bellamy said, “Kathryn says Lord Clayton—er, the former viscount—was your father. Hornsby here is from Devon—right next to your family’s seat.”

“I’m afraid it has been many years since my family occupied Clayton Abbey,” Miss Martin said.

“Your c-c-cousin has recently moved b-b-back,” Hornsby, informed her. “He cut down the rose garden and built a Greek folly,” he added, apropos of nothing.

“Oh. I did not realize—”