She did it again.
With a groan he pulled out of her, and turned away, gasping as he seemed to find his own pleasure. She closed her legs, feeling the slight sting of pain, and then he was behind her, wrapping her in his arms, and kissing her shoulder. “I hurt you. God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”
“I liked it,” she said with a yawn. “I think I’ll like it even more next time.”
“Next time? Belle, we can’t—”
“This again?” Her eyes were heavy. “If you’re not ready to beg me to marry you, then let’s go to sleep.”
She could feel him tensing, trying to think of what to say—something about giving her false hope or whatnot. She didn’t care at the moment. She turned her head and kissed him. “Shh,” she said. “Do you love me?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Then that’s all that matters. Now let me sleep.”
BELLE FELT AS THOUGH she’d slept for about five minutes before she was startled awake again. This time it was a loud, female voice, demanding...something.
She decided she didn’t like hotels. Too many people came to call.
Hew was still holding her, and he hadn’t been awakened by the noise, so she had to elbow him in the ribs—the uninjured side—to force him to release her. The woman was still speaking loudly in the next room, so Belle grabbed the first piece of clothing she’d found, which happened to be Hew’s dressing gown, donned it, and opened the bed chamber door.
The woman who had been making all the noise was standing in the middle of the outer chamber, dressing down a maid who was attempting to shoo her out. Judging by the tray on the table, the maid had brought tea and breakfast, and Belle’s stomach rumbled at the thought of food.
She opened her mouth to ask who the woman thought she was but, at the last moment, thought better of it. Belle knew wealth and importance when she saw it. This woman was dressed in clothing that cost more than the shop made in a month. She was of medium height, taller than Belle, and had dark hair coiled and pinned under a fashionable dark blue hat. The hat matched her morning gown and the pelisse she wore over it. Her white gloves were spotless, the fingers of one wrapped about the handle of an ebony and gold walking stick.
She turned blue eyes on Belle, lifted the walking stick, and pointed it at her. “Who are you?”
“Belle,” she said, somewhat distractedly. Belle couldn’t help but stare at the woman’s eyes. The color was lovely and familiar. Those eyes swept over Belle, seeming to take her measure rather quickly before making their final assessment.
“Belle, is it? Why are you wearing my son’s dressing gown?”
“Your son?” Oh! Now the eyes made sense. This was Hew’s mother. And this was not the way Belle had wanted to meet her, but then considering Hew’s rank and her own, she doubted there would be any good way to meet his mother. The woman was unlikely to be pleased that her son had become attached to a shopkeeper. “You’re Hew’s mother.”
“I am.” She straightened. “Who are you? And where is he?”
Belle’s gaze flicked to the maid, who was watching this exchange with avid interest. “Thank you for the tray. You can go.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid curtseyed and started for the door, dragging her feet in hopes that the argument between the women would continue. Once the door closed, Belle took a breath.
“Hew is still asleep,” Belle said, to answer his mother’s question. She pointed to the bed chamber door. “My father and I have been caring for Hew since he was stabbed.”
“Stabbed?” Hew’s mother seemed to sway, and Belle was glad she had the walking stick.
“Sit down, please.” She crossed the room and motioned to one of the chairs near the fire.
The woman took the chair, quite gracefully, but her face had gone white. “I knew he had been injured. I didn’t know he had been stabbed.”
“Mr. Randall wrote to you?” Belle asked, going to the tea tray, selecting the Earl Grey Cream, and beginning to brew it.
“Yes, he said my son had been hurt and was being cared for, but that we should come as soon as possible. My husband has been ill with gout and could not come. I had to wait until the roads were passable. I—stabbed.”
“Mr. Randall is married to the sister of my sister’s husband,” Belle said, thinking there was probably an easier way to say that. “Mrs. Randall went into labor at the same time your son was injured. Mr. Randall didn’t know where else to send his friend, so he sent him to my father and me to care for at our tea shop. We’ve been nursing him.”
Hew’s mother’s gaze lowered to the dressing gown again. “Where is your father now?”
“I wish I knew.” She poured them both cups of the Earl Grey Cream, carried them to the grouping of chairs, and gave one to Hew’s mother. “He’s been abducted,” she said, handing the other woman a cup.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not at liberty to explain,” Belle said, sitting opposite her. “It has to do with Hew’s work.”
His mother let out an annoyed huff. “His work,” she said, her tone dismissive. “That work will be the death of him.”
“It almost was,” Belle said, sipping the tea. Earl Grey Cream was not her favorite, but it was comforting and familiar. “He was badly injured.”
Hew’s mother took a sip of tea and eyed her over the rim. “I take it he has recovered.” She sipped again. “What exactly is your relationship with my son?”
Belle shrugged. “I love him.”
His mother’s eyes widened.
“He says he won’t ask me to marry him, but I think he will. I’ll say no, of course. He’ll have to talk me into it.”
The woman coughed and set her tea on a small table before it could spill. “My, but you are a forthright young lady. I have the feeling if I ask what you were doing in the bed chamber with my son, you might just tell me.”
“Just now, we were both asleep,” Belle said. “I’m sure all of this must be a shock to you. I must be the last woman you want to marry your son. I work at a tea shop, and I think your son said you are the daughter of a duke.”
“And yet you sit there and speak to me as though you are my equal.”
Belle knew she should apologize, but she was too tired, had been through too much at this point, to care. “I imagine you won’t be giving Hew your blessing to marry me then.”
Hew’s mother sputtered, and Belle thought this might be a good time to excuse herself.
“Allow me to see if he’s awake.”
She rose but just as she did there was a brisk knock on the door. This hotel was insufferable! She had more peace at her shop. The door opened, and Willoughby Galloway poked his head inside and spotted Belle. “Looks like you had a good night,” he said, “despite having to be forced out of the warehouse at the docks.”
Belle cleared her throat and glanced at Hew’s mother. Galloway stepped inside, closed the door, then froze. “Er, Lady Eleanor.”
“Mr. Galloway. I didn’t expect to see you here.”