Page 7 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

“Ididn’t know she was in the bloody coach until we stopped at the inn to spend the night,” Balwyn said, reaching for Maria as he entered her room.

“I couldn’t fathom why Harriet insisted on a second coach, other than she tends to overpack.

Had I been made aware, I would have insisted they return to London. ”

“You courted her.” Maria stepped away from the door.

“Briefly. We shared a love of architecture.”

“And Paris.” She turned her back on him and paced across the rug.

Addressing the menu with Mrs. Killigrew had merely been a ruse, though someone certainly needed to speak to the woman, which Maria would do after breakfast. Lady Piedmont had used up every ounce of tolerance, politeness, and patience she’d possessed, so after exiting the drawing room, her ruined skirts clutched in one hand, Maria had come directly upstairs.

Enid, her maid, perhaps sensing her mood, had immediately produced a decanter of brandy and a glass before departing.

Balwyn shut the door and threw the lock.

“Don’t bother. You aren’t staying.”

“I disagree.” He stood behind her, running his hands down her shoulders.

“Wilma and my sister became acquainted at some point after Mr. Lawrence mentioned her to Lord Piedmont.” He pressed a kiss to her neck.

“He and Piedmont were cronies and belonged to the same club. Lawrence pursued Wilma, but they broke things off and Harriet suggested she might be a good match for me. But I was never enamored of her.”

“Why not? She’s stunning.”

Balwyn nuzzled her neck. “But there was never even a hint of a spark. Once they wed, Lawrence fell ill and stayed bedridden for the last few years of his life. Wilma and Rupert became a fixture at Harriet’s gatherings. He’s a good lad. I saw no harm in befriending him.”

Maria placed her hands over his. She was not surprised he’d felt terrible for a fatherless boy.

“When Lawrence died, Wilma stayed with Harriet. I spent a great deal of time with Rupert. But I’d no idea Harriet would see that as a declaration of my interest in Wilma.

My sister has overstepped in bringing her here.

I am ashamed of Harriet’s behavior and have made her aware of such.

” He hugged Maria to his chest. “She is terrible.”

“You did warn me. I thought you were exaggerating.”

“I’ll tell Harriet and Piedmont to leave tomorrow.” Balwyn’s tone hardened. “Take Wilma and return to London.”

“Don’t forget the pugs.” Maria sighed. “But you cannot. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.” She gestured to the window, where rain and bits of ice pelted against the house. “Especially not in the middle of a storm.”

“I would if you wished it.” His dark eyes were full of concern. “I would do anything for you,” he whispered, turning so they faced each other. “Surely, you do not doubt it.”

Maria molded her body to his, feeling better than she had all day.

“I’m not the least interested in Wilma.”

“Mr. Lawrence didn’t steal her from you? You don’t feel the need to correct matters?” She whispered against his chest.

“I lost interest in Wilma long before Lawrence ‘stole her away.’ Had I wished to wed her, I would have done so. But I did not love her.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Love did not come until you, companion of my heart.”

Maria shut her eyes, snuggling into his warmth. “I like that my heart is a companion to yours. Excellent phrasing.”

Balwyn smiled. “I have my moments. And I will still throw the lot of them out if you wish it.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Your sister makes a good point. What if I am…unable to…give you a child. I realize we take precautions now, but—”

“I don’t care.” His mouth claimed hers gently, teeth grazing along her bottom lip until she moaned. “I made peace long ago with the fact that my cousin would inherit the title,” he whispered against her lips. “It matters not to me. You matter far more.”

Maria made a small, pathetic sound, hands sliding up his chest. “I do?”

“Granted, I’ve had to overlook a few things. Your singing voice, for instance. Comparable to the wailing of a cat. You have no musical aptitude, whatsoever. Cards, however, are a talent. I grow weary of being beaten soundly in whist.”

“Yes, but I get to take a piece of clothing from you when I win.” A smile curved her lips. “You enjoy that quite a bit.”

“Then there is your questionable taste in literature.” His lips brushed the top of her head.

“At the core, The Tale of a Milkmaid is a love story.”

“The milkmaid in question becomes a courtesan who makes butter in her spare time.” He pushed her in the direction of the bed, caging her beneath his larger body.

“You make me feel as if I am a young lad again in the throes of his first love.” A finger trailed along her cheek.

“Quite possibly because you are my first love, Maria. The only one. A gift. Do not allow Harriet to convince you otherwise.” His hand slid underneath her skirts, stroking along the inside of her thighs before cupping her sex. “I also like this quite a bit.”

“What are you about, my lord?”

“Comfort. You require it after suffering through my sister and her machinations. Also, you have far too much clothing on.”

“You said I was a gift,” she breathed. “Unwrap me.”

His fingers, so very talented, found a wonderfully sensitive spot. “With pleasure.”